War
Oscar has declared war against me. Just me, apparently, everyone else is safe. Why would he do this, you ask? It looks like it’s all because I make him talk.
Remember how I was bragging last week about how Oscar finally “got it” and could say “I want” X? Well, Oscar’s made it pretty clear since that day that he does not want to say “I want” X. He wants to say X and only X and I’d better give him X when he says it or all hell will break loose. I’ve been all Super Nanny consistency on him from day one and I have not given in, but as you know, I’m not the only authority figure in the house. Nanny Norma will give in to him when it comes to food.
The rule is that if Oscar wants a certain food he has to say “I want” [that food]. No big deal, right? It is a big deal, of course. I know it is very difficult for him to actually say those words and he not only has to enunciate them, which is tough, but he also seems to have a memory retrieval issue so that just makes things more difficult for him. But, this is not going to resolve itself without constant practice, so I prompt him to practice. Norma prompts it, too. I’ve seen it. It’s just that she’ll give in after a few attempts and give him food. She remembers Super Skinny Oscar, and she does not want to go back there.
This has led to a fairly big issue in our house these days. When we go down for breakfast, Oscar now looks at me and points to the door, basically telling me to get out. Obviously, this is not going to fly, so I give him his cereal [the aim here is to get him to talk, not to starve him into submission] and stand my ground and start with the questions. Do you want yogurt, do you want toast, etc. All he will say to me at meal time now is NO. Well, NO, and then he’ll turn to Norma and say whatever food he wants that I haven’t listed (eg., “No, soup”). She’ll say “Oscar do you want soup?” and he’ll say “NO”, not because he doesn’t want soup, but because he knows that he’s supposed to say “I want soup” now.
To get away from this hangup, I let him say “soup, please” instead of the entire sentence, but that just creates the same control issue for him, it seems. He’s refusing to say that, too.
I had started to think that he was doing this because he really couldn’t remember the words I and want, but that possibility was eliminated today at speech when Oscar said to his speech therapist “I want” X exactly when he was supposed to even before she visually prompted him. Honestly, it was sort of annoying. I explained what was happening and she said it was pretty common, especially with kids with oppositional issues (and boy are those showing themselves these days 
).
I suspect that this is a combination of him telling me that at home he shouldn’t have to work as hard as he does at therapy, a bit of Norma undermining the message of consistency, Oscar mimicking his sister (who is the Empress of No-land these days) and possibly my pushing him to work too hard at all of this. I’m not sure what the answer is, but for the time being, we’re going to stick with the consistency approach (and I’m going to push Norma more on that so we’re consistent all day long). Why? Because “I want” Oscar to start talking.
Pics to prove I’m not actually torturing the kids . . .
Oscar trying to pull Etta around. It was a little tougher for him than it was when Hailey was doing it.
Oscar also built a train track and found a big train at kids’ club the other day. The boy’s an engineering genius.
Oscar and Etta Join a Country Club
Okay, maybe it’s not technically a “country” club, but it’s a club nonetheless. A club with an initiation fee and monthly dues with a membership list that is restricted, so it feels a bit country club’ish.
Before I had kids, I had no idea that the lives of very young children were so incredibly busy. I figured one’s infancy and toddlerhood were the periods in a child’s life where the only thing they had to do was play, eat and sleep. And, maybe that is the case, but the child’s mom is apparently supposed to concern herself with where her child is playing, eating and sleeping. . . . and from what I’ve found, the kids are not supposed to be doing all (or even the vast majority) of their playing at home.
From Oscar’s first doctor’s appointment in the U.S., when he was about ten months old, I’ve been repeatedly asked whether he was enrolled in any classes and activities. Music? Tumbling? Gymb0ree? How about a playgroup? None of these things were realistic for Oscar when he came here from Vietnam. Looking back, it was ridiculous that my pediatrician, who knew what was going on with Oscar emotionally and developmentally, even asked. Back then, I just ignored the questions, thinking that if we ever got to a point where Oscar did not scream for the majority of his day, we’d look into this classes and activities thing.
Fast forward a couple few years and we’re at the point where Oscar does not scream for the majority of his day. In fact, there are some days when he doesn’t scream at all. I know, shocking. We have, in the past, enrolled (and even attended) music classes and swim lessons, and Oscar and Etta already do a lot of stuff at the library each week (storytime, yoga infrequently and crafts whenever offered), play at the park (which is usually devoid of children) and have some playdates. The thing is, it’s not enough. I know they’re supposed to be socializing more with other kids, and I know that because I have them home with a nanny, they’re not getting the same level of interaction that kids in daycare “pre-school” are getting.
One of the problems, of course, is that I am not a SAHM. Because of my employment status, my children are not eligible for membership in a lot of playgroups. Sad, but true. Playdates happen during the workday, and since I’m working during the workday . . . my kids are not playing with other kids. Hence the country club.
So, we joined this club, and it’s sort of fabulous. It’s basically just a humongous room with a bunch of different areas designated for different sorts of play with another big room designated for gymnastics and another area with a library and cafeteria (organic, naturally). There were a ton of kids there on Sunday when we first attended, and while most of Oscar’s play was still parallel, he did try to get an older girl to play with him on the gymnastics equipment. It’s a great place for him to practice many of the things he’s working on in OT, so I feel like that’s a huge benefit in and of itself.
The kids love it there. Oscar loved it immediately. He took off after two seconds of assessing the layout. Etta? She loved it after about an hour. Most of the time I feel like Etta has been here with us forever, but every once in a while I’m reminded of the fact that I actually adopted Etta from Ethiopia. Sunday was one of those days. She was very clingy and unsure about the whole experience initially, so we hung out in the baby section where she could kind of get a lay of the land.
After a bit of watching, venturing out into the play space and back to the baby section to regroup, she took the place by storm. Once she had the grown ups telling her how beautiful and brilliant she was (with her cocking her head towards me and grinning to make sure I heard), I knew we’d be all right. She played so hard that she took a two and a half hour nap afterwards to recuperate.
So, at least for the winter, they’ll be hanging out at the club, playing and taking a weekly art class, followed by music together. If this place were a bit like a real country club (read – with a pool, lounge chairs for mom and a beer cart (again for mom)), we’d be in for the long haul. But for now, it’s just someplace for us to escape the cold California winter. All three weeks of it.
Project 28
Since I’m incapable of doing a 365 project (really, I am), I’ve decided to embark on a 28 day project instead. Each day this month, Oscar, Nanny Norma and I are going to learn a new sign.
Why sign more? I’m coming to terms with the reality that Oscar is not going to suddenly burst forth speaking in sentences. I’m not coming to terms with the possibility that Oscar is not going to speak eventually, but I do want to figure out a way to bridge the gap between now and the time he can communicate verbally. I’m also looking into formal programs to help the entire family out in terms of learning ASL or even having a tutor come to the house. It’s just clear to me that we need a method of communication that is more effective than the hodge-podge of grunts, signs and words that we have in our shared vocabulary.
Right now, Oscar can sign* and/or speak^ the following (off the top of my head, I’m sure I’m missing a few):
Mom^, OMa (Norma)^, Grandma*, Sister^*, Boy*, Girl*, Hat*, Milk*, Ice cream*, Baby*, Signing*, Cookie^*, Cracker*, Cake^, Cereal*, Banana*, Bread*, Egg^, Fish*, Candy*, Cheese*, Tea^, Please*, Thank you*, Sorry*, Ball^*, Play*, Bath*, Car^*, Bus*, Shoes*, Star*, Socks*, Sleep*, Eat*, Drink*, Thirsty*, Hungry*, Monkey* (three words in one – means he wants to walk with his monkey backpack, eat gummy candies (shaped like monkeys) or monkey), Bear*, Dog*, Cat*, Help^*, Hot^*, Cold*, Go^*, More^*, Up^, Down*, Hurt*, Wow^ (my favorite – two syllables), Oh no^ and Uh oh^.
Here’s what I have on our list for this month. And I feel I should note the lack of vegetables in Oscar’s vocabulary – it’s not that he doesn’t eat them; it’s just that we don’t speak of them. Kind of like Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter.
Grandpa, Chicken, Soup, Pasta, Yogurt, Swim, Paint, Potty, Walk, Bike, Clean, Talk, TV, Happy, Sad, Soup, Pants, Shirt, Dressed, Read, Yes, No (he uses no, but only when he’s really upset; I would like him to use it as an answer to a question).
Any suggestions? You families who communicate – what words do your toddlers most frequently use?
Confession time
I’m coming clean. I’m a bad mom. Oscar is doing exceedingly well with this whole potty training thing. I really didn’t think he was ready – he cried the first few times Norma sat him on his little toilet and he was definitely not a fan. Let’s face it, though, I’m not the one at home during the day, so I don’t make this decision. Nanny Norma says he’s ready – he’s ready. So she started him on the naked potty training method, modified, and last week he spent the first half of each day pantless. Mixed results. This week, full days with no pants. Some improvement.
I got home last night and Norma was thrilled to tell me that Oscar was only then wearing his first diaper of the day (with only one accident all day). Not only that, but he can now say – clearly – “pee pee” and “poh poh”, although he has yet to tell us that he needs to using his words. He has, however, run to the little toilet when he needed to pee.
Why are these successes evidence that I’m a bad mom? They aren’t, really, in and of themselves, although some may think that the fact that I’m having Nanny Norma do this during the week instead of starting it myself on a long holiday weekend is. But, like I said, I would’ve been happier to leave this be for a few months (when it’s warmer (at least that’s been my excuse)). And that, my friends, is where the bad mommyhood begins.
Thing is, I’m not so ready for my little boy to grow up. He’s my baby. Sure, I’d love to hear him speak and am excited about upcoming milestones and having a child who can draw pictures that are more than scribbles and color inside the lines. I’m certainly not doing anything to impede any of those things. Far from it. I have, though, chosen not to potty train him. He’s 2 ½, so I don’t think I can be accused of waiting too long, but the fact remains that I chose not to start the process because I was not ready for him to grow up just yet. I am not ready to buy underwear for him. I am not ready to rush into a public bathroom with him or needing to stop on the side of the road for him to go to the bathroom. I am not ready to give up my moments with him on the changing table looking up at me and “talking” (even if he’s practically falling off the changing table since he’s so big). I’m also not ready to give up the convenience of diapers, although that is way at the back of my list of why I’m not thrilled about all of this.
You may be reading this thinking, well that’s not too bad, but wait. There’s more. Potty training is not the only area where I might be stunting my child’s progression. You know how we’re supposed to stop giving our kids bottles at some ridiculous age? One or two years old? Yeah, I pretty much ignored that completely. Not only ignored it, but I affirmatively lie to the pediatrician about it. Yes, friends, Oscar still drinks from a bottle. Not all day, but every single day. He mostly drinks from either his own glass or a sippy cup, but he gets his milk from a bottle at night. I did wean him off them a while ago, but for the few months when he was without his bottle, his personality changed. My new-found happy boy reverted into mean surly boy. Nanny Norma kept telling me that “Oscar need bottle”, which I knew was the case, but I knew about the horrors of tooth rot and all that nasty stuff we’re avoiding by not allowing the evil bottle, so I refused to give it to him. Then one day we were trying to take a nap, with Oscar desperately signing “milk” to me, and I went to give it to him in a sippy – he threw it on the floor and just started sobbing. That was it. I put the milk in a bottle and happy Oscar reemerged. I don’t know how long I’ll keep this up. This one isn’t as much for me (although you know there’s part of me that likes it because of the “baby” issue), but I actually think his bottle is more significant to him than simply being a means to funnel milk into his body. I don’t know if it’s because his bottle is the one constant he’s had his life – I’m sure it was the one and only thing he had in the orphanage that gave him any comfort, regardless of whether the formula was watered down. He certainly has clung to it since we became a family. I don’t think I’ll take it away until after Baby Etta comes home. I suspect if I did, he would just regress and want it even more when she arrives (if she’s using one). We’ll have to see. I know I’m not alone here, but I am amazed at the cultural taboo associated with this issue.
I’m sure there are many other ways in which I’m a bad mom, but these are the two biggest that I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to admit. I just figure that since I so infrequently update this blog anymore, my confession is going to fall on mostly deaf ears and my secret should be safe here .
Parenting advice
If you happen to be the mother of a little monster angel named Oscar, who likes his weeknight routine just so, do NOT rush home from work early to spend an extra 90 minutes with him before bedtime. If you do, and you attempt to have the nanny put him to bed so you can lead a conference call from your home office, you might end up with a toddler who cries so forcefully that, when you go to check on him after your call, he projectile vomits all over you. Not near you. On you. Twice.
Just sayin.
The Speech Thing
I’ve been a bit reticent to post about this, but I’ll let you in on a bit of a secret. Oscar has been talking. Well, sort of. He uses some words every once in a while. He has a vocabulary of about a dozen words now, including ball, bubble, bowl, up, hot, help, out, hat and apple. Most of the time he uses them it’s almost involuntary (i.e., he sees a ball and yells “ball”), but it’s still cause for celebration whenever it happens. He’s still not really using words volitionally (i.e., to tell me what he wants) very often, although on Saturday I almost fainted when he shoved his milk at me and said “hot”, meaning put some ice in this milk before you burn my tongue off, mom. It was the first time he had used words to actually convey an actual concept to me.
You’re probably sensing a lack of enthusiasm from me. Okay, you caught me. I don’t know if I was expecting some major language explosion or breakthrough when we started our three a week speech therapy sessions. I wasn’t letting myself think there was going to be some seminal moment when the floodgates broke and Oscar started talking, telling me everything he hadn’t been able to communicate before then. But you know how it is. You might not let yourself actively think something, but it’s there in the back of your mind. The other reason for my hesitation is that our speech therapist has planted another seed in my mind, and it’s called “apraxia.” Google it and you’ll find it’s not a happy word.
When Oscar was evaluated by oh so many therapists and doctors last summer they explained the difference between a speech delay and a speech disorder to me. They didn’t wrap it all up in a pretty bow and name it officially at that time, but they told me that his delay was likely caused by a disorder (meaning that he wasn’t just a “late talker”). I, like I do when anyone tells me something distressing about my boy (anyone remember my ability to ignore the fact that Oscar’s opthamologist was actually a neurologist for six months?), kind of ignored this label, thinking that they’d change their minds once the SLP flipped on whatever speech switch she knew how to trigger. Yes, I was hoping for some tricks or tools of the trade to be implemented. No, there haven’t been any.*
I guess what I’m finding is that there is not going to be an easy answer to this problem. Oscar has a definite issue getting his words out of his mouth. I can see it when he attempts to tell me something, and then just stops. I don’t know if it really is apraxia, but it’s more complicated than I had hoped. Before this fall I never had thought about all of the processes that have to occur simply to communicate, but a lot has to happen to convey a thought. And, if your brain did not have a chance to fully develop the nerves that link your right and left hemispheres together because of abject neglect for the first eight months of life, the ramifications can be pretty severe.
The upside of all of this therapy is that I have a better sense of what we need to do to help Oscar along. We’re also getting him to communicate more using sign language. He’s a signing machine these days. He “talks” throughout the day, but he really uses signs most of the day in order to get his thoughts across, like when he signs monkey he either wants a Curious George gummy candy (monkey candy) or to go for a walk (using his monkey backpack/leash). Every day he’ll say maybe one or two words, but that’s pretty much it. I’m not letting myself even go down the path yet that sign language will be his primary method of communication, but I know that possibility is out there, lurking.
I know some of you think that writing about these things is wrong. That I should keep matters like this private. To some (teensy tiny) degree I agree with you, but much like I did when I chose to write about my attachment issues, I think there are a lot more people dealing with developmental delays and the like than I had previously thought. I wish I had more to read about this than just the books I have to buy. That I could see it from the perspective of other moms in my situation. I hear the same sentiment in the email messages and the comments that parents post and ask to be kept unpublished. I also just don’t see that there is any reason to pretend this is not happening. I’m not ashamed of the fact that Oscar has a neurological issue that has caused this problem. I’m angry about the root of it, but I’m not ashamed of him or embarrassed of the subject matter. It’s just something else about him that makes him that much more unique.
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*For those of you with kids with sensory issues, one quite cool thing that our SLP uses is a plastic bin with either dried beans or a mix of lentils and rice for Oscar to play in. Oscar had some pretty severe sensory issues when we first met, and I actually had thought we had conquered them (wrong – he used to be avoidant and now is seeking). The amazing thing about these beans / rice / lentils is that they have somewhat of a calming effect on some kids. The first time she brought them out, Oscar went from running wild around his room, refusing to focus, to sitting quietly and playing with the beans. She whispered to me that sometimes kids actually sit in the bin and while she was saying it (and he could not have heard her) he sat down in them. He went from being his active little self to a calmer child instantly, and he started babbling after having been silent for hours. Don’t know how or why it works, but it does. We bought a big Tupperware container to house our beans that weekend.
The parent I want to be
Before I adopted Oscar I wondered what kind of parent I was going to be. Given my own life experiences and history, I wondered if I was going to fall into the Alpha Mom trap. I suspected I’d be able to steer clear of that, but suspected I’d land somewhere fairly near the mark. Close enough to annoy my kid, but hopefully far enough away to save him from too much harm.
Now that I actually am a parent, I spend far less time thinking about the type I am, what with the trying to get us both through the day unscathed and all, but sometimes the issue sort of foists itself on me.
Oscar has been going through more developmental “assessments” this past month. I received his results (actual scores) on them yesterday. They were remarkably difficult for me to decipher at first. I was the girl at school usually in the top percentile of all those fun standardized tests we all took. To this day filling in those answer bubbles makes me happy. Might be why I’ve passed the Bar in three different states. I’ve always assumed my kid would excel at testing, too. Maybe we’re not genetically related, but he’s my kid, right?
I sat reading his results last night not understanding what the numbers meant. I saw the words on the page, but the significance of them was lost on me. The social worker and speech therapist asked me if I had any questions about the results. I think I just looked dumbly at them and asked about the percentile notation. Hoping that being in the first percentile was the highest achievent, but knowing from personal experience that that was saved for the 99th percentile. When they confirmed what I feared, they immediately launched into all the caveats. Factors that could lead to higher scores in the future. Oscar is internationally adopted, maybe he still needs time to adjust to hearing English spoken. He was fairly ill last year, it could have taken a toll on both his receptive and expressive language skills and his cognition generally. He may have had off days when tested.
I’m sure I just looked at them blankly when they asked if I had questions. I had no idea what to say. Nothing has prepared me for this. Somehow I can understand medical journal articles about abnormalities of the corpus callossum, but when faced with the prospect my son might have a significant language disorder, I was rendered mute. The only thing I could ask was the one thing I knew they couldn’t answer. What will this mean for him in the long run? Their turn for the blank stares. At least they gave me the answer that enabled me to believe in their credibility going forward.
So, what does this all mean? Oscar has a significant speech language disorder, one that is more problematic than a simple delay, but no one can tell me how it will impact him. It’s apparently not the same thing as when some toddlers just don’t talk (sorry, Dad, but Logan and Giancarlopaolociaobella rarely speaking aren’t the same; they probably understand what people are saying). Is it related to the “Eye Thing” or the “Brain Thing”? I’m going to guess it is, but we’ll have to see his neurologist and neuro-optho to confirm.
There are some bright sides to this. Oscar will be getting home-based therapy three or four times a week now. And, since it’s such very sucky news? Even the bankrupt State of California is going to pay for a good chunk of it. Personally, I’d be happy not needing these services, but I’m not going to pass them up (especially given how difficult it was even getting Oscar into Early Start to begin with – remember the whole “he’s internationally adopted, he’ll grow out of it” headache?).
The biggest bright side? I’m not concerned anymore about being one of those highly competitive moms. Don’t get me wrong, I know my child is extraordinary. Test results like these don’t change that. They just might make me better realize what’s important. And right now if I had to define importance it would have nothing to do with where Oscar ranks among his peers. It’s far more important to me that I do whatever I can to help him fulfill his potential, which I think is immense.
Mom’s Day Out
It’s going to happen. I’m going to take a day off work, and I’m not taking it off to spend with Oscar. It was difficult even typing that. I felt guilty. I’m still going to do it, though. Sometime in the next few weeks, I’m going to take a day to go here:
to look at this:
perhaps avail myself of this:
and maybe even this:
Just staking my claim.
Be a part of history
I would like to buy this t-shirt for Oscar (or Baby Etta), but there’s really no point. Given that neither of them were born on American soil, they’ll never have the right to be considered for President under current law.
While I was stuck in Viet Nam, I met a brilliant woman named McLane Layton, a former Congressional staffer and adoptive mother, who has worked tirelessly to advocate for the rights of adopted children. She is yet again attempting to gain certain basic rights for our children, including treating all adopted children of American citizens the same as a bio child of a citizen born outside of the U.S., a fundamentally fair concept and one whose time has come. I am sending the following letter to my Senators and I encourage you to consider doing the same (feel free to use any part of this you’d like in an attempt to obtain the same rights for our kids as any other American child enjoys).
Dear Senator,
I am the mother of a two-year-old boy named Oscar who I adopted from Viet Nam last year as an infant. I am currently in the process of adopting a sister for him from Ethiopia. I am writing to urge you to advocate for and support the FACE Act (S. 1359 Foreign Adopted Children Equality Act), which was introduced in the Senate in June.
When I adopted Oscar from Viet Nam, I was able to travel to meet him before his adoption was finalized by the Vietnamese ministry. This allowed me to bring him home to the United States on an IR3 visa. He became a U.S. citizen the second our plane touched down in San Francisco. Since then, I have spent months finalizing additional paperwork in the U.S. to finalize the adoption in California state court, complete a name change, and apply for a domestic birth certificate, social security number and a U.S. passport.
This time, adopting from Ethiopia, my daughter will travel home on an IR4 visa. Despite the fact that this adoption journey will likely take years to complete, it will be far from over when our plane touches down in the United States. Without automatic citizenship, I will be forced to apply for visas for her to travel to and from the U.S. I will also be unable to file my taxes (including applying for the federal adoption tax credit) until I have secured a social security number for my daughter. The adoption won’t be able to be finalized until I have had multiple post-placement home visits.
The FACE Act also guarantees internationally adopted children the same benefits all children born to Americans in this country receive. Electing Barack Obama to our nation’s highest office this past November was a seminal moment in our lives – particularly because our children will grow up assuming that anyone, of any ethnicity, can be president. However, no matter how hard my son and daughter work in school and how much they accomplish in life, neither will be able to aspire to be president of the United States. President Obama’s story is a story of the American dream realized. Please give that same American dream to each and every child who is adopted internationally by American parents.
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Etta’s Hats
Where I’ve Been
