self-definition

So I found myself last night at the parent meeting of my almost-3-year-old's preschool feeling very old.  I was probably the oldest mom there by about 6 or 7 years.  Of course, this makes perfect sense since I had Claire when I was 43 years old.  I looked at the other moms and saw them like I see my nieces, young and excited about their relatively new roles as moms, just entering the world of parenting school-aged children.   The parents sitting behind me were engaged in a conversation with another even younger couple, lecturing them on how much more complicated life gets when you have a third child and sharing all their parenting wisdom...after all, they were almost 40 and had a child in kindergarten already.  I think I would've given them all a heart attack if I turned around and told them my oldest was in her second year of college.  It seemed like everyone had friends to talk to and knew each other's kids; I sat quietly by myself feeling quite out of place.

And then I started remembering when I went to these types of meetings when Elizabeth first started preschool.  Everything *was* so exciting.  And here in New York, people do tend to start their families a little later than average, so at 28 years old, I was definitely one of the youngest parents in attendance.  I felt a bit out of place then, too.

I suppose I was mostly among similarly-aged peers at school functions for Abigail and Viktor.  It was easier to speak to and relate with the other parents, and our family dynamics didn't stand out as unusual.  But was I so much in a different place then as I have been as mom to my oldest and youngest? 

Yes, my experience level was very low when Elizabeth started preschool and it is very high now as Claire is starting, and yes, that does mean something.  But does it really define me?  Was I "young mom" back then and am I "old mom" now?  I actually surprise myself sometimes by how much I am going through the exact same emotions and thought processes.  I forgot how potty-training can be until I recently got back in the thick of it, and now it's all coming back to me...including the lyrics of "It's Potty Time".  I am still always trying to learn the strengths, weaknesses, and idiosyncrasies of my unique child and researching the heck out of whatever conclusions have been drawn.  Now I can mostly do it online instead of buying all the parenting books out there, but still.  I continue to get enthusiastic about milestones and inspired by my children and their growth. 

I am still myself, Julie the mom.  I'm not so different this time around from how I was when my college student was a preschooler.  I know more, I've experienced more, but I'm still me.  I need to try to forge some relationships with these other, younger moms.   They should not be defined by age and experience levels any more than I should be, and we are going to be going through these years with our little ones together.

revelations

A couple of years ago, my oldest daughter came out to me as gay.  I think of it as kind of a gradual process.  During high school, she had friends who identified as homosexual or bisexual, and she would occasionally indicate some leanings.  I will say I didn't take it too seriously at first.  Maybe she entertained the idea because she knew a number of gay people and because it was accepted at her pretty progressive school.  Maybe she was somewhere on the spectrum of sexuality, understanding people to have fluidity when it came to preferences.  Maybe she was experimenting with the idea as part of a normal search for identity.

Elizabeth had a couple of pretty innocent relationships with boys, one at the end of 8th grade and one in 10th.  Interestingly, both boys eventually came out as gay or bi themselves.  There was another boy, a good friend who remains one now, whom she was interested in for a little while.  I latched on to these examples as proof that she didn't actually have lesbian feelings.  I discounted the girl crushes and what she was actually verbalizing to me, which was basically "I am gay and the heterosexuality you observe in me is the rare exception." 

If I am going to be really honest, it is far more telling that I would resist her self-identification than that she would have a couple of minor apparent inconsistencies with it.   After all, it was probably fairly difficult for an introverted girl, one who never liked to stand out and who always sought her  mom's approval, to put herself "out there".  Why did I resist?  I could give myself some unflattering reasons, like I am not as open-minded and accepting a person as I like to think I am, and maybe there is some of that.  But the real reason, the very strongest reason, is that I am first and foremost a mother who deeply loves her children.  And my kind of love calls for protecting from the outside world.  The outside world doesn't always embrace or even tolerate homosexuality or untraditional families. I wanted my daughter shielded from unkind words and thoughts, and to fit into the traditional mold and have what I have--whether she wanted it or not!

But stronger than the need to shield is a mother's drive to support and encourage.  Once I was able to recognize the reality of Elizabeth's orientation, I was compelled to shift my focus from protection to support.  Shortly after she arrived at college, my daughter began dating another girl and they are still a couple a year later.  I have told the significant people in my life, educated the younger siblings, and welcomed the girlfriend.  I am grateful that we live in a state where they can legally marry if they want to--eventually!

In keeping with the recurrent theme of my life, "My children are my greatest teachers", Elizabeth's coming out forced me to do a kind of coming out myself.  It began in a roundabout way.  My daughter's faith had always been a significant part of her life.  I was her religious education teacher for 5 years through the Catholic church we belonged to.  Elizabeth would attend weekly Mass with me as special mommy-daughter bonding from the time she was little, followed by a Sunday dinner date at Friendly's.  She joined the church's youth group after her Confirmation and remained a part of it through most of high school.  We talked about God and prayer regularly.

As she began to identify as gay, I noticed Elizabeth withdrawing from church and her faith.  This made me sad, but I saw it as completely understandable.  Even if she felt love from the Church, it would be a stretch to feel embraced just as she was--tolerated, accepted at best, but never fully embraced in her authentic life.  There would certainly be no Church wedding in her future.  Motivated by a desire to help her find a faith community which would be a better fit for her, I did a little research and accompanied her to a Unitarian Universalist church last summer.  What a perfect fit!  Not only is her lifestyle accepted 100%, but all her other views and feelings are fully supported. 

The part I wasn't really counting on was that I would also feel drawn to this denomination, to the point of wanting to join it myself. I haven't done it yet, but I have been attending fairly regularly, often with Abigail, and with Elizabeth when she is home. It truly feeds my mind and spirit.  I come home from a service energized, with new ideas and reading material and focus.

This isn't meant to be a post criticizing the Catholic Church, which is my heritage and to which the  majority of those near and dear to me belong.  I still belong, too, and my son is currently in the Confirmation program.  I respect the beautiful rituals, the reverence for all life, and the care focused on the poor and suffering.  I am, however, in a state of transition.  The principles of Unitarian Universalism are the ones I intuitively feel and follow.  My daughter's courage in living authentically has motivated me to do the same.

family forever

originally written in 2006--

     The bittersweet nature of life, and so many other important lessons, were driven home to me almost three years ago.  As my children’s grandpa was slowly dying from cancer, my immediate family was preparing to welcome a new member.  The parallels and simultaneous contrasts between these two events were striking.  I also believe they were anything but coincidental.

     Grandpa Jim, as my two young daughters called him, was my mother’s second husband.  My father had died of prostate cancer in 1989, shortly after my parents’ 40^th wedding anniversary.  Together they had raised nine children in a very traditional, stable marriage.  Five years after my dad’s death, my mother married Jim.  Jim was a personable, smart, and quick-witted country gentleman.  He quickly became an accepted member of the family by Mom’s skeptical adult children, in spite of ourselves.  The little grandchildren made the transition from “Mr. Jim” to “Grandpa Jim” effortlessly, for Jim was the quintessential grandpa.  He helped them feed the ducks and geese, took them on tractor rides, and pointed out “Bambi” in the woods.

     Jim had lived with a diagnosis of prostate cancer for several years.  Unlike my dad, Jim was able to keep his cancer controlled for quite some time with various courses of treatment.  There finally came a time, however, when Jim’s care revolved around keeping his quality of life as opposed to killing the cancer. 

Grandpa Jim arriving to visit us in NY

     It happened that during this time, I became increasingly drawn to the idea of adoption.  My first daughter, Elizabeth, was conceived easily just a few months after my husband George and I were married.  She actually attended my mom and Jim’s wedding when she was a toddler.  When George and I were ready for a second child, it didn’t happen so easily.  After a year and a half and some beginning diagnostic testing for secondary infertility, Abigail was finally conceived naturally.  We happily didn’t need to pursue any more testing, which had so far provided no explanation for the temporary difficulty.

     Looking back now at the path my road to motherhood took, I know it was meant to be that way.  I have no doubt in my mind that my daughters were supposed to be born, and to come into my life exactly when and how they did.  The frustrating wait for Abigail was time I needed to open my mind to the idea of adoption.  Several years later, when I longed for a third child but had not become pregnant, I had already done some of the preliminary emotional work I needed to do before I was ready to discuss the idea of adoption with my husband.  Also since the birth of Abigail, we witnessed some of our friends’ adoption experiences and were able to see the beauty of them.

     Once I began the countless hours of research, reading, and discussion about adoption, it seemed there were signs everywhere telling me to go get my young son in Russia.  Everything I read and heard, and the voice in my heart, gently prodded me to proceed out of my comfort zone and bring home a little boy who needed a family.

     Our adoption required my husband and me to travel to Russia for two trips, both during a couple months’ time.  This was a very difficult sticking point for me, having two school-aged daughters at home who needed me.  I remember one day kneeling in prayer and saying, “God, if this is what you want me to do, please show me the answer.”  The very next day, my dear friend Wendy actually volunteered to come up to New York from Virginia, with her baby in tow, to care for the girls during our adoption travel.  How much clearer an answer can one receive?

     All the months of medical clearances, paperwork, document-gathering, payments, and fingerprinting for the adoption coincided with doctor appointments, paperwork, and payments for Jim’s care.  My mother and I carried on a daily telephone call relationship during the summer and fall of 2003, sharing our hassles and heartaches along the way.  Her hardship helped me keep perspective and try to be supportive in her time of suffering.  My journey helped provide her with hope and a focus on life during a time of decline and impending loss.

     When we received our son’s referral, with his name and picture and some basic information, we were thrilled to see a three-year-old boy who seemed vibrant and happy despite a very tough beginning in life.  We decided to keep his given name, Viktor, and add James as a middle name in honor of the grandpa he would never know in person.  Little did we know then that this blond boy would have so many characteristics in common with the once-blond Grandpa Jim—both such active and charismatic people.

Viktor's referral photo--Fall 2003

     We took our first trip to meet Viktor at the end of October.  We made a videotape, and I was quick to forward it to my mother and Jim.  I feel lucky that Jim was able to see the tape before his passing.  My mother shared that at the nursing facility, Jim would ask, “What’s new with Viktor James?”  It was so fitting that, as Jim was preparing to leave this life, a little boy who would share his name was about to join our family.

     Jim passed away on December 6, the day after we received our Russian court date of December 17.  We finally arrived home with Viktor on the evening of December 23, just in time for Christmas.  That was another point of significance to me.  Christmas is clearly a time to celebrate a joyous arrival, but one cannot think of Jesus without also remembering His suffering and death.  Bringing Viktor home was exciting and happy, but we were also mourning Jim.

     Viktor is not biologically related to anyone in my family, and neither was Jim.  Yet Viktor is my son, and Jim was Grandpa.  When things get difficult in relationships, people often say that love can sometimes be more a decision than a feeling.  If that is true, then the same can be said for family.  Family is love, and family is a decision.  We decided to take Jim into our fold and accept him as my mother’s husband and the kids’ grandpa.  My husband and I decided to adopt Viktor to make him our son and our daughters’ brother.  When the going got rough with Jim, the decision of family made sure he and my mom were supported.  Sometimes things are tough with Viktor.  Very few children from a background like his can make it out without some damage and some healing needed.  Viktor is family so we are committed to him.  Besides, how could that strong voice in my heart, the answer to my prayer, and the signs everywhere lead me to bring home a child without also providing me with the means to be able to take care of him?  I feel if God led me to it, He’ll lead me through it.

     In the end, I was blessed to be shown in a dramatic way what the circle of life is all about.  As one beloved family member left us and another arrived, I was also shown that family is forever.

open books

We are a family of readers.  These days, it's as much bookmarked websites and Kindle downloads as it is as actual books, but it seems we are all in the midst of reading something that interests us.  Elizabeth set the tone early on for the family, asking for "a stack a books" as soon as she could talk and poring over them endlessly.  Abigail is a particularly voracious reader, especially in the summer, zipping through a new novel every day or two.  Most of us finish one thing before starting the next.  I, on the other hand, usually have several open books at once.

At any given time, you will find some kind of inspirational or spiritual read at my bedside or near the bath tub.  Favorites of the past have included Simple Abundance, Everyday Grace, and Daily Parenting Reflections.  Sometimes it's a heavier selection from Eckhart Tolle or Gary Zukav.  I feel like I always need to stretch that side of myself. Often, somewhere in the house, there is a book I'm reading aloud to my husband and whomever else may wander into the room.  Right now I'm finishing up The Hunger Games trilogy.  It is new to George and me, but Abigail and Viktor have read them all already.  They still like to listen in.  Of course, there are young children's books which I read to Claire each night...again and again.  Recent favorites are Koala Lou and the Clifford and Spot books.  I'm happy that reading is being worked into her bedtime ritual and so amused when I see her mimic me (everything begins with "one day" and ends with "that was a great story").  Sometimes there is a guilty pleasure read for me like the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy...yes, I admit it...I had to see what all the fuss was about.  From time to time, there is a good piece of literature just for me.  The Weird Sisters, recommended by my sister, is this summer's selection.  And then there is a specific parenting book.  This will be focused on whatever my current challenge or interest is.  Now it's Raising Your Spirited Child, which has been priceless because it describes Claire to a tee and has given me countless practical suggestions.  In the past, my parenting books have included Parenting the Hurt Child and Beyond Consequences Logic and Control, among many other adoption-based pieces.  There have also been more general ones like One Two Three Magic, the Dr. Sears and What to Expect books, Siblings Without Rivalry, and many others. 

It occurred to me that my reading style mirrors my mothering.  I've definitely got several books open right now as a mom.  I have the college-aged daughter book, focused on letting go but still supporting...always supporting.  It's the time to forge a new kind of relationship--one with visits instead of full-time living together, one of respectful differences and ideas from a young adult, one that may involve accepting new people into the family circle.  I have the high school kid book.  This one is similar to the first book except this daughter is still fully in the nest and needing more direct nurturing.  It's a time of helping her search for her own identity and letting her take on the role of oldest child in the house.  I have the tween boy book.  I'm still not sure what this means, but I do know I'm getting glimpses of the young man he will be.  He has very defined interests that are all his own, but he requires much guidance in where he will go and what he will do.  It looks like it's probably a time of focusing more on him and what directions he will take.  And I have the toddler/preschooler book.  It's a time of rapid changes and lots of fun.  It's high intensity and a great deal of work, but it really is so straightforward--tons of love and guidance.  Having the perspective of parenting three much older siblings helps a lot in getting through this book!

So are they four different books or four chapters of the same one??

how they came to me

Lately I've been thinking a lot about how differently each of my four children made me their mother.  My experiences really ran the gamut.  My first, Elizabeth, was born 2 1/2 weeks late after a full day of labor induction.  Abigail, my second, was born shortly after her due date in a completely natural birth, about 15 minutes after I arrived at the hospital.  My son, Viktor, was adopted at the age of 3 from a Russian orphanage.  My "pregnancy" there was about 6 months of paperwork and traveling, followed by a surreal meeting and bonding with a child who was, at that time, a complete stranger.  Baby Claire arrived after a heavily monitored high-risk pregnancy by an emergency c-section which followed a failed induction.

Mom & Elizabeth--January 1993

Abigail's Birth Day--June 1997

Sometimes I wonder if the way they entered my life had any significant impact on how I saw and possibly still see them, if it maybe even affected their personalities.  Was Elizabeth's long-awaited birth a harbinger of many more years of her wanting to hang back with Mom?  Did Abigail's textbook ideal birth make me take for granted that she would be an easy child to raise?  Would I look for issues with Viktor simply because his difficult history made them seem a foregone conclusion?  Do I treasure Claire in a way that every baby should be treasured because her existence itself just seems like such a gift and miracle?

Getting to know Viktor in Russia--October 2003

I am glad for the varied paths my kids took to me not only because I have that much more experience to draw on and hopefully that much more connection to other people and their histories, but also because I am led to ask further questions.  What other outside circumstances, apart from who my children are genetically wired to be, have had significant effects on their lives?  What if Elizabeth had me as a full-time stay-at-home mom from the beginning?  Would her adjustments in life have gone more smoothly or less so?  What if Abigail had been first instead of second?  Would she have defined her role in the family in a completely different way?  What if Viktor had a healthy, secure start in life?  Outsiders who don't know his background are generally surprised when they find out; is he the resilient kid he is in spite of what he's been through or because of it?  What if Claire had been born to much younger and more energetic parents?  Would they have been able to handle and channel her spirited nature better?

Meeting Claire face-to-face--September 2009

The questions have no answers, but they are good questions.  They prompt me to look at what I can (and can't) do better, how I can be more understanding and compassionate.  My calling is to be mother to these four souls, my greatest teachers in life.  And the greatest teachers always make one ask questions.