Skip to main content

Kate and James and all the good things

This blog has had a very narrow focus--mainly issues with Jane, birth family, and social workers--and so I thought I'd take a moment to write a bit about the other two in our Three Little Musketeers trio.

First, Kate is almost three. Her birthday is next month. She is teaching me why the term "threenager" was coined. Oh my, is she ever. All my boys had more difficult threes than twos (I don't know where Terrible Twos came from) but it's about stubbornness and big-opinion-but-deficient-vocabulary scenarios. Kate, on the other hand, has as much attitude and emotional fluctuation as my actual teenagers. I mean, thank god all this attitude is in a body that only comes to my waist, and also that she has the attention span of a toddler so she genuinely forgets why she was being pissy, because, wow, that girl can bring it.

And I keep having this moment where I realize that Jane came to us just two months into her three year old year. Poor thing. If she was dealing with all this adjustment to the world that makes a normal three-yr-old difficult to be around, plus removal from birth family and adjustment to a new home with a ton more rules than she'd ever experienced before...wow, in hindsight she actually coped remarkably well.

But, back to Kate. While she's frequently miss sassy pants she is also incredibly funny. I feel like I can't stop watching her. She just moves funny. She just looks and talks funny. I don't mean weird, I mean like she could be headed to the stage as a comedian someday. She has this huge personality and is utterly confident and entertaining.

And her vocabulary! Oh my goodness that girl never stops talking. It's almost compulsive at times; nonstop narration. The other day she said this whole thing in the two minutes it took her to go potty:
"I have to go potty. Dere my potty. Dere it is. My potty has wittle part and big part and I sit on the wittle part and only mama dumps the wittle part, not me, I mall girl, I mall but den I be BIG girl, I be big girl and I go on BIG potty but not yet. Now I have mall potty and I go pee all by myself. I can do it. And when I go poo I push VERA hard, like dis, VERA VERA hard. I can do it. I big girl now."

And it went on from there. Just talking to herself--all her little thoughts about being big or small said out loud. A few months ago she was putting an /s/ sound on every word she said and now she isn't putting it at the front or the back of any word. She also says a /d/ sound for /th/. I love that she says, "vera" instead of "very". So many little quirks so she sounds little and cute and she's just chattering constantly. Highly adorable and entertaining. (Maybe because all my boys were late talkers so I'm enthralled by the dialogue of little people.)

James, meanwhile, is growing by leaps and bounds. Specifically in the area of independence. Yesterday I saw he had a bandaid on his hand and I asked who put it there and he said he did it by himself. I was shocked. I truly didn't even know that he knew where the bandaids were kept. He had a little scratch on his hand and then off he went to find a bandaid, get it unwrapped, and then put it on properly which is hard to do one handed. It's kind of amazing.

A few weeks ago he suddenly started making his own PB&J sandwiches. (I love that when he puts the top slice on he says, "there, make the house, put the roof on, like that, nice!" as if he's building with the bread.) And he went overnight from me dressing him to him being completely independent. I think the theme with James, as with my other boys, is that they can do whatever they want---once they want it. They're never gonna do something until they're motivated intrinsically. Good kids; but hard to motivate as a parent.

James has gotten really cuddly the last few weeks. I love it. He just wants to sit or lay by me. Just touching quietly. Usually I stroke his arm or back or head. I love the quiet with him. He's an incredibly peaceful little boy. My mom says it's because he's been raised in a home full of love so he can rest confidently in that. I think it's also his nature.

He's incredibly imaginative. So much of his play is him staring off into space thinking about something. Lining up his toys and studying them and then imagining his own story with them. I've always loved watching him play.

Lately he's becoming more articulate about the girls. He will now tearfully tell me that, "I jellish" (jealous) or, "I fusteereeted" (frustrated). It's good because then I can help him work through using words to solve the dispute. I'm glad he's speaking up when he's mad instead of physically lashing out. He's genuinely gentle and sweet.

So, as I look back over the year since I started this blog, we're in a whole different place. My worst fears about Jane have subsided. James and Kate are cute and doing well. Seth is amazing and I'm so proud of him--his character and intelligence and creativity and drive. He's so ready to launch to college and I'm so happy for him. Gus is--well, a teenager--but not too bad of a one. He still loves to talk to me. He still wants to be connected to us so we'll weather the hormonal storm okay, I think.

If all our kids are genuinely good kids, we must be doing something right. 2019 was a terribly hard year I didn't know if I'd survive. But, we did. It's well and truly behind us. Time to take a little breather and enjoy the good things.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Teaching "ouch"

I taught the girls to say ouch. When they first came to me their hair was a mess. Snarls, mismatched lengths where sections had been hacked off, thin and coarse hair that tangled in every hair clip I tried, etc. Due to a healthy diet and daily vitamins, as well as good hair products and regular brushing, their hair is now sleek and glossy. Jane has a cute haircut. Kate's hair is growing longer every day and curling into ringlets that bounce. I was so afraid of hurting them when they first came! I have naturally curly hair and my mother's is stick straight. She never understood how much it hurt when she pulled the brush straight through. I haven't let her touch my head since I could do my first clumsy pony tail. (At first, I held their hair so loosely while trying to do it that every single pony tail fell out minutes after going in. Looking back I feel like those people who don't know how to put a diaper on and it falls off when they lift the baby up!)  But eve...

So What About Mother's Day?

I was looking ahead on the calendar to our next visit and suddenly realized it fell during Mother's Day weekend. A flood of mixed emotions hit me immediately. Mother's Day is not a deeply important holiday to me. It's nice and all but I've never had super big emotions about it.  The girls can't know what it is yet and won't have any big feelings this year. But...years from now...will this be a uniquely difficult holiday?  So if no one cares right now can I just kinda slide this one under the rug and avoid all the drama? Please, please, please someone confirm this is a real option!?! Ugh, but what about the birth family. Is this a big deal for them? Are there major traditions? Will this be a minefield of potential hurt feelings? Is there a tactful way to call them up and say, so, on a scale of 1 to 10 how invested are you into making this a big rigamarole? While thinking this through I did some googling and found that the local zoo does a special Mother...

Flash Fiction - Guilt Free

And this one I wrote for the fun of it. It was delicious to wallow in such a world of self-indulgence I'll never know. This is flash fiction (less than 1,000 words). Guilt Free It was fudge sauce, thick and cold from the back of the fridge, dipped in gourmet raspberry jam—the kind from France with the understated label—straight onto a spoon and then suckled in my mouth, a frosty mug of milk tremoring faintly in my left hand, to be gulped in indelicate swaths allowing a dribble or two down my front, the first time I hit her. Not really hit. Shoved. A forceful push. A push that began with contact. The contact of my hand wedging so neatly between her small sharp shoulder blades, wedging in so that I almost could not retract myself from the catapulting force launching her into the tub. Not a hit—there was no smacking, cracking, sharp stinging rebound. No bruise. She’d laughed. She’d thought it was a game. Like when I clapped my hands together as she went up the stairs, cla...