The Story of Us Part 4

For my own reference, the events I'm referring to in this post occurred in the year 2007.  I also want it to be clear, especially from here on out, that I am not writing this to assign blame or to 'trash talk' anyone.  I am writing our story, and other people happen to be in it.  I'll do my best to be fair to everyone, but sometimes I felt wrong was done to us and I'm not going to gloss this over - I'm going to be honest, from my perspective.  It is not the only perspective, but this is my blog, so this is mine.

The year started out as 2006 ended - me, M, and A, just spending time together, having fun.  That school year, 2006-2007, really was the best of my life, because of those blessings that the Lord had chosen to put in my path.

In the Spring, M turned 8, A turned 4, and I turned 18.  Still no potty training yet.  In fact, I have a hilarious picture from that spring of me holding A, having just picked her up and realized she'd had an accident in her underwear.  We worked on potty training by sitting on the potty and reading, A had a sticker chart, and when I could, I kept her in underwear so that she'd be aware of accidents, but it didn't really click.

We spent a wonderful weekend at my grandparents' lake house and I got some fabulous pictures.

First boat ride!

Passed out on the way home - and yes, this is before I was a CPST.

I graduated high school, but I held off on getting a 'real job' (one that paid, as I was rarely paid for watching A anymore) to spend the summer with my girls.  And we had a wonderful summer together, but that summer was also the year that things started to get difficult.  A's mom moved in with her new boyfriend and was often at odds with her grandparents, with A and I caught in the middle.  I didn't know what to do but try to protect the little girl I'd come to love as if she were my own family.

I remember a real turning point for us in August of 2007.  On Tuesday, I took A to the fair for the first time.  We stopped at Kmart to buy her new sandals and underwear, because once again, I'd gotten her barefoot and in a diaper.  It was stressful at first, getting there, spending all the money... but I remember sitting at a picnic table with A, eating ice cream cones, taking a picture of her covered in ice cream and sending it to my mom and thinking, yes, I'm glad we came, even if just for this moment.

On Friday, we went to the fair with A's mom and her boyfriend for the first time.  They asked me to come along to take A to play while they spent time together.  I remember finding this strange - they'd never taken her to the fair before, didn't they want to see her ride the carousel, eat ice cream with her?  But they didn't... so I did.  Before we got there, we had to run errands with them.  I saw where A was living, sleeping on a couch, and I felt sad.  It was hot and there was no air or water in the car.  I remember being stressed, but just trying to protect A - open the doors when the heat was too stifling and we were waiting in the parking lot someplace... trying to get her a sip to drink.  We finally got to the fair, and A and I had fun together, we did the things we hadn't had time for on Tuesday... but then I got a call to meet her mom and her boyfriend (we're going to call him D) at the ferris wheel.  When we got there, it was obvious something was wrong.  They were fighting.  Yelling at each other.  I tried to distract A... talked about Dora and Boots, her favorite topic.  In the midst of the fight, they stormed away from the stroller and left A and I standing there, not knowing what to do.  D threatened to leave without us.  I said I could have my mom pick us up.  She said no, he wouldn't leave... and he didn't, but he made us wish he had.

They continued to fight in the car.  They screamed at each other, hit each other.  A's mom cried.  Sitting in the back, in a backless booster seat, A looked to me and asked, "Mommy cwy?"

"No, no, sweetie.  It's okay.  Tell me who Dora's best friend is."

As D got angry, he drove recklessly and sped in and out of traffic.  I was scared for my life and for A's.  We got back to the apartment complex and they stormed out of the car without a word to us.  I called my mom the second I had the chance.  I asked her to get A's car seat and gave her the address where we were.  At that point, all I could think of was getting A and I out of there, although I wasn't sure how I was going to do it.  They came back out to the car.  They said no, they would take me home.  I told my mom to wait.  They continued in the car, and by the time we reached my house, A's mom was sobbing.  I asked them to please let A spend the night with me, that she didn't need to deal with a child on top of what they were going through.  I could take care of her for the night.  She shrugged her shoulders to say she didn't care, and I didn't wait around.  I took A and ran into the house, where she looked at me again and said "Mommy cwy?"

"Mommy's okay, sweetheart.  Would you like to play in the swimming pool?  I'll get us a popsicle, okay?"  I wanted her to forget.  I was deeply affected by what I witnessed that day, which I later recognized as an episode of domestic violence.  I didn't want her to feel the same way.  We were so hot and so thirsty, so we climbed into the swimming pool in our clothes, sat and ate popsicles... then I spent the rest of the night spoiling her.  They picked her up the next day and apologized to me, and I remember thinking that I wasn't the one who was owed an apology.  My own life was crazy - I lost my grandfather that month - but I never stopped worrying about A through any of it.

From then on, I told myself I'd do anything it took to keep her out of situations like that, and if that meant watching her for free or being jerked around and treated like a doormat, I'd do it for her.  Because I had a choice, a choice to walk away when things got hard.  She didn't.  And I wasn't leaving without her.

But I started college, I started working part time at a daycare center, and A started Head Start on my recommendation.  She got the last spot available.  She was almost told she couldn't come back because she continued to have potty accidents - but later I found out that they had deemed her completely potty trained after D had taken to spanking her any time she had an accident :(  I was glad she got to stay in head start, but my heart broke for how she was "potty trained".  A continued to have bladder control issues into elementary school and I believe they stemmed from the harsh practices used on her.

We spent Halloween together again.  I think this was the start of the princess obsession - A was Snow White.  And a terribly cute one at that.  She spent that night at my house, and then I dropped her off with a babysitter before going to class the next day.

When she needed me, I put my life on hold for A.  I left work to pick her up from Head Start sometimes.  In November, I had surgery to correct my endometriosis.  The day after my surgery, I got a phone call in the afternoon - it was the preschool.  It was 4 pm and no one had picked A up yet.  As it turned out, her grandparents and her mom and D had their signals crossed as to who would pick her up, but they called me because no one else was picking up and I was her emergency contact.

I couldn't drive, I had to wait for my mom to come and get me.  I was in a panic.  I was afraid she was upset and scared, so while I waited, I gathered up a snack and grabbed A's car seat.  As soon as we pulled into her school's parking lot I took off for the door, my mom yelling behind me not to tear out my stitches.  I didn't care.  At 4:30 they would call the police.  I couldn't let that happen, A would be so scared.  I had to get to her.  And I did, and she was sitting in the lobby looking at books with a staff member.  They asked me if I was supposed to pick her up.  I told them no, I didn't know who was, but I'd take her.  We took her home with us until her grandma got off work.  I was stressed for her though, hoping it didn't happen again.  But college let out between Thanksgiving and New Year's, so I had more time to spend with her and just assuaged my concerns by spoiling her some more.  The year ended with me uneasy and A's life up in the air... and unfortunately it wasn't something that was going to end soon... so we just tried to make the most of the moments in between.

Future veterinarian

"Hi, my name is A, and I cut my own bangs."

From here on out, it gets even harder to write, so please forgive me if it takes me some time to put part 5 together.

Happy Birthday, Princess

Happy birthday, little girl.  Or should I say, big girl?  Ten, really!  Next year you'll have to start using your toes to count!

I miss you and love you more than you will ever know, but don't worry.  I'll be okay.  I know God is watching over you, and I know He will bring you back to me sooner or later.

I hope you had some cake and ice cream today.  I hope somebody sang to you and gave you a present.  It didn't rain like I was afraid it would, so hopefully you got to have outdoor recess.

We had cake and ice cream for you.  Princess and Ellfant celebrated with us.  It was oreo cake and birthday blast ice cream.  It was really good, but it would've been better if you were here.

Remember... I love you like the moon at night - big, and round, and warm, and bright.  I love you... goodnight.

Empty

That's how this week feels.  Empty.  And it's the most horrible feeling.

Once upon a time, I used a camera with film.  Once upon a time waaaay back in 2007 ;)  So one year is missing.  Three.  Although, actually, I do have this random picture from a little later that year...

Three

But since then...

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight isn't here... a miracle was busy unfolding... but here's a little girl who dressed herself a few weeks later...

Pardon my messy apartment.

Nine

...



This is ten.

Ten

We're having cake... but there won't be anybody to blow out the candles.  (But you better bet I'm going to make a wish!)

Nobody to open every present, even the ones that are clothes, and exclaim, "OH, THANK YOU!  I JUST DID WANT THIS!"

Nobody to model all those new outfits like she's destined for the catwalk.

There's a hole.

An hole that was left in my heart the last time I saw her... that will never be filled without her.  Not just some kid.  Her.  One of a kind.  My A.  The little girl who could light up any room, and yet still manage to throw the most royal temper tantrums.

That's what I feel this year.  A hole.  An empty hole.  An empty chair.  An empty bed.  My empty arms.

In everything I do, in every moment... empty.

I would give anything to make it different.

Happy tenth birthday, princess.  We'll celebrate... someday.

The Naked Truth

Regular Days

Dear Princess,

Tonight, I'm missing you, and I'm thinking not about any specific memory, but rather just the normal days, the ones we lived all the time... together.  So tonight I'm going to tell you about those... just in case you've forgotten.

For years, you spent nights here more often than not.  I moved my bedroom around to fit a second bed in it for you.  When your baby brother was born, I put a cosleeper next to my bed for him.  It was tight, but we were okay.

Every morning, I'd wake up very early - in the dark, I'd creep out of our room and get dressed in the hallway in the clothes I set out the night before.  I'd pack your lunch for school, pack up my things for college (for the years I attended), get breakfast ready for you and your brother if he was with us, and then wake you up.  You'd always wake up sleepy-eyed and slow moving, so I'd help you change into your clothes for the day and tell you things to make you laugh, things we said every day... then once you were dressed I'd tell you how pretty you were and we'd go downstairs.  I brushed your hair while you ate breakfast, got your brother dressed and fed if he was with us, then we went upstairs to brush your teeth.  Once you were ready to go, I'd pack us all up, load us into the car, you safely buckled up in your harness or your booster seat, and we'd head for your school.

I know they didn't like it, but I preferred to walk you into school, if not to your classroom at least to the door.  Not until you were in second grade did I get used to just dropping you off.  I hated turning you over to strangers, even though you loved school and you (usually) wanted to go).  When I left your school, I'd drop your brother off if I had school or work that day, or if not, go back home to spend time with him.  I always missed you on those days, I wished I could have my big girl home with me too.

I loved picking you up from school.  Sometimes I had to send my mom to do it, but I always preferred to do it myself.  I loved seeing the big grin on your face after your school day and seeing you come running toward me down the hall.  I loved looking in your backpack and seeing the latest schoolwork and art that came home with you.  I loved seeing you say goodbye to your friends... it was like a little glimpse into the individual you were becoming when you were with your peers.  I loved to have a snack waiting for you in the car (even though it came at the expense of my upholstery).

After school, we'd head home, finish snacks, and then spend some time playing.  Outside, if it was nice.  You always wanted to play outside.  While I was in college, I'd read textbooks while I watched you play.  Once I was finally out of college, I was free to just play with you.  On days when it wasn't nice enough to go outside, you'd pick the activity.  Coloring, playing a game, watching a show, playing with your babies, reading books, whatever.  Mostly you liked to follow me or my mom around the house and help with whatever we were doing.

When your little break was over, I'd direct you to the counter to do some homework.  When I was in college, I'd get my own homework out to work on it right next to you.  After that, I just focused on helping you.  I dug out all the manipulatives and things we kept from my and my brother's school years to help you learn.  I loved seeing the lightbulb come on and watching you get better and better at skills you used to struggle with.

By the time we were done, it was usually time for dinner.  You were picky, and sometimes it was a battle to get you to at least try everything, but other times, when we were eating something you particularly adored, your mealtime enthusiasm was enchanting.  I still cut up your bites for you, although you were starting to get the hang of it in the last year or so.  You still liked me to do it, and I didn't usually mind, as long as you asked nicely!  Before we ate, you would always remind us to say the prayer, and more often than not, you were the one to say it.  You said the prayer my family has always said before mealtimes, but you always added your own unique twist:

"God is Great
God is Good
And we thank Him
For our food
And thank you for Carol, and Katie, and McKenzie, and Danny, and the cats, and my friends like Jordan and Ava and Hannah... and my Mamaw and Papaw and my other Papaw and my mommy and daddy and my puppy dog and baby brother and... I think that's it.  Amen."

You were the best pray-er in the family, for sure.

After dinner was usually a little bit of playtime, then baths.  When you were littler you needed a lot of help so I'd give you your bath, then wrap you up in a towel and pick you up and sing "Hush Little Baby" to you.  Then you got too big for that, so I took to sitting on my laptop outside the bathroom while you took your bath (so I could help you with your long hair when you called me), and then reach the towel for you when you were done.  Even though you were bigger, I'd still wrap you up in it, then give you a hug.  If you were feeling sad, I'd even sing.  I'd brush your hair out, and you'd always tell me how you liked it when I brushed your hair because it didn't pull too much, but then you'd go "ow!" because I hit a tangle.  You'd get your pajamas on, we'd brush your teeth (I took a turn, then you took a turn... until you showed me that you could do just as good a job on your own!) and then it was your favorite part of 'bedtime'.

Invariably, I'd say "Okay, go pick a book!" and you'd run off to your/our room, spend ages choosing just the perfect book you wanted to read that night... I'd pick a book too... and I'd remind you that God always picked the Bible.  We read your book first.  Sometimes you preferred to do a page out of an I Spy book.  Then we'd read my book, which was always one of a select few with a "Goodnight, I love you" sort of message (my all time favorite being "I Love You, Goodnight" - the book that ends with "I love you like the moon at night.. big and round and warm and bright.  I love you, goodnight," and the one that made you laugh at the page that said "I love you like frogs love flies", that you eventually memorized and read along with me), and finally we'd read a story from your children's Bible and maybe talk about it a little.  Then I'd give you hugs and kisses and your Ellfant, turn on the TV channel that was just a bulletin board and music (before I could afford a night light), and either go to bed myself or leave the room until you were asleep.

Sometimes you talked in your sleep.  Every once in a while you cried in your sleep.  I always heard you.  When you were there, I sort of slept with one eye open... listening... waiting... in case you needed me.  If I heard you sounding upset, I'd just come sit on your bed and stroke your hair and talk soothingly to you until you calmed down.  You'd never even wake up.  Then I'd go back to bed and wait until morning when I could give you a good, big hug again.

I miss those days, Princess.  Even the ones when you didn't eat your vegetables and I had to put them in the refrigerator for the next time you told me you were hungry.  Because any day with one of your hugs in it, was a good day.  We didn't have to do anything extraordinary to be happy together... we just were.  And one day we will be again.  For now... well, it's not the same as hugging you, but you'd better bet I'm huggin' your Ellfant and thinking of you... just like I promised.

Love you forever,
"Kai"

The Story of Us, Part 3

It's been a while since I've written.  After the first two posts two days in a row, I kind of felt I needed a break - especially since I dreamed about A every night after that, for a long time, and then woke up wanting to cry.  I want to share our story, but I have to make sure I don't become consumed by the past, or by what ifs, or by could've, should've, would've.  So I took a little break.  Not from thinking about our story, but from writing it - because in truth, I'm always thinking about my A.

Last time, I posted about some of the fun things A and I used to do together, all the things I had experienced as a child that I wanted to share with her.  I actually remember shortly after the day we went sledding, telling her grandma about it, and her grandma said "Oh, wow, Katie, you're doing all these firsts with her!"  I started to apologize, thinking perhaps I'd stepped on toes, but she interrupted me and said "No, we just can't always do those things with her, we're glad she has you to do new things with her."  I was glad too.  Last time, I talked about introducing her to my friends, family, classmates, teachers... and their amusing misconceptions... and how even over time she was still a mystery to me.  A tough little egg that couldn't be cracked.  I wrote about both the good times and the tough times, because that's what life is - a mix of some of each.

Today I want to talk a little about the improvements I saw in A over the first several months.  If you recall, I said that the first day I watched her at her grandparents' house, she was completely nonverbal.  Two months later, she proudly announced "Uno, Dos, Tres!" to my Spanish teacher - only she smushed it all together (more like "Unodostres"), because Dora ALWAYS says those three words together!  I think she thought it was one word.  For a long time when I'd talk to her in the car about what we were seeing, etc, she'd just be sitting back there in her car seat replying "Uno dos tres!  Uno dos tres!"  Funny, funny girl... always a mystery... lived her whole life in Ohio with family members who spoke only English, and her first words were in Spanish.  I suppose we can thank Dora for that.

When her vocabulary started to grow (by leaps and bounds!) I started to wonder why she'd ever been so quiet to begin with.  It was just another piece of the mystery.  By Christmas she was saying all kinds of words, albeit in a rudimentary way.  One of her favorites was "Kee-kee" (Kitty).  She mastered "Tee-Whoas" (Cheerios), "Baaw" (Ball), "Pay" (Play), "Skoo" (School), and many more.  I remember talking to my mom about why she'd been so quiet for so long, but was suddenly learning at a rapid pace.  I'd researched and I knew that there had been cases of kids who seemingly chose not to speak for years and then started spouting full sentences... but that wasn't A.  I knew there were cases where children had developmental disabilities, hearing or sensory input problems, and simply couldn't verbalize their thoughts, but I didn't think A was one of those kids either, because of how quickly she seemed to pick up new language after a while, and how well her perceptive hearing functioned.  She could hear me and follow directions and understand what was going on, she just couldn't talk about it herself.  So why... why no words until she was nearly three, and why on earth were her first words in Spanish?

My mom told me that what I had been doing with A was good for her - narrating what we were doing, naming items as we saw them, talking to her as much as possible.  She said that when I was a baby, they encouraged parents to talk to their babies all the time even if they knew they didn't understand, because that was how they would learn to talk.  She said that our first words are often the words we hear most often.  (I believe mine was 'hot'.  I had an affinity for playing in the kitchen, I guess).  This made me think back to the conversation I'd had with A's grandmother about the 'situation' that led to A and her mother moving in with them... and to all A's other mysterious behaviors - and suddenly it clicked.  A didn't speak because A hadn't been spoken to.

When she did finally start to speak, she mimicked the words she heard often from people who did speak to her... or, as the case may be, cartoon characters like Dora the Explorer.  Well, I supposed, that closed the case of why A's speech was so delayed, and also gave me a prescription for exactly what to do about it (the same thing I'd already been doing - talk to her, narrate everything, name everything).  It also made me sad, imagining times when there hadn't been someone to speak to her.  Because I knew little about A's life before I met her, the only thing I could be sure of was that her grandparents had done their best when she was with them - but clearly, somewhere along the line, this aspect of her development had been neglected.  A family member even acknowledged this to me at a later time.  A had never been nonverbal because of a developmental disability or a choice not to talk as I first thought.  All she needed was someone - no, a few someones, who took the time to talk to her.

After Christmas, A's vocabulary took off even more.  She could finally convey to me what she wanted with little help from pointing and grunting.  We spent a lot of time around other kids, in the nursery at church especially... at the playground... other children started to talk to her more too, as she became more aware of and interacted with her surroundings.

That January was also when I started watching M.  M was six, going on seven, and I'd known her for years - she was the little girl that A reminded me of, that caused me to feel so drawn to A, that first day in the nursery.  Her family called me, in dire need of a sitter, and I said yes.  I took M on in addition to A on an ongoing basis.  It became easier for me to watch both the girls at my home, so that's what I did.  I restructured my bedroom so that it was childproof, there was a place for A to nap, if not with me, a toy box, children's DVDs... I bought a booster chair for the dinner table, a few other things, and after a slightly doubtful reception from several people (can you really handle this?  Shouldn't you focus on school?  What about your own life, your own future?), my friends and family grew to love the girls like I did.  M and A were like sisters - people always asked me if they were.  No, I'd tell them, but don't they look like it?

Over the next year, A pretty much knocked my socks off with her ability to learn.  Some things, she still wasn't grasping.  When I tried to introduce the concept of colors to her (in the spring, while we were planting flowers), I would point them all out, tell her the colors, day after day, tell her what color everything was, until finally I said one day on a walk around the neighborhood "A, look at the tree!  What color is the tree?"

A's response?  "BOO."  ie. "blue".  It was the only color she said consistantly.  Yup.  Trees were blue.  They stayed blue for a long time, too.  Even after she learned 'pik' and 'geen'.  Until she went to head start.  I'll have to do a whole seperate post on how far she came in head start!

It was also sometime shortly after she turned three that she started picking up more and more language - putting together simple, two word requests.  But she shocked me completely one day, by saying a word she'd never said before (at least in my presence).


The first time she said it, we were in the car, taking her mom (who I had started seeing more often) to work. I don't remember exactly what context she said it in, but she said "Mommy!"... and it was clear that she was talking to me.  I tried to brush it off for her mom's sake - kids often do that - all adult females are Mommy - but I can imagine it's still hard when you really are Mommy.  So I said something like "No, silly girl, Mommy's not driving, Katie's driving!  Mommy's over there."  And her mom relaxed.  Then we dropped her off, drove away, and she said it again.  "Mommy, Moo-sik!"  Ah.  She wanted 'her songs' (Silly Songs from Veggie Tales) on.  So she asked me to turn it on.

I started off patiently redirecting her - because, like I said, lots of kids do the 'all adult females are Mommy' thing.  "No, sweetie, I'm not Mommy, I'm Katie!  Mommy's back there, at work!"  And she'd get mad.  "MOMMY," she'd insist.  I didn't argue with her after that - you didn't win a battle with this kid.  I figured the behavior would fade like all other childhood behaviors do.

But as time went on, something became apparent.  All adult females were not Mommy.  Not my mom, not my friends, not other kids' moms, she even knew that her grandmother, another primary caregiver, was "MaMAW".  Only me and her actual mother ever consistently got that designation.  I still don't understand what exactly led her to associate the word with me... sure, I took care of her, but so did lots of other people.  Her grandma, her grandpa, my mom, nursery workers at church... but no matter how hard I tried to convince her "No, silly, I'm Katie!"... it stuck.

Which left me in a couple of embarrassing situations.  At school, at the grocery store, at the park, everywhere we went, I was a seventeen year old toting around a three year old who called me Mommy.  I'm sure you can imagine the dirty looks that earned me.  I didn't care though, I just laughed, because those people didn't know us or our lives, and I didn't feel I owed them an explanation.

Unfortunately, A didn't have much of a filter, and she used that word for me many more times in her mother's presence, until I started to feel like my explanations weren't really holding water for her anymore.  I felt bad.  It wasn't until she was four, after over a year of answering "No, I'm *Katie*!" that she amended her verbage to "Mommy Kai."  Oh well.  It was a step.

Since she was making so much progress, and she was already three, when I got out of school for the Summer I discussed potty training with her grandmother, and we agreed that we'd start working on it.

Haha.  Hahahaha.  Hahahahahahahahaha.

Easier said than done.

My mom always used to say "Just wait until they're three.  It'll make potty training much easier and less stressful."  I thought I was doing that.  But A was delayed in all other areas - why didn't I expect her to be delayed in this too?  It took me nearly the whole summer of sitting in the bathroom, in front of cartoons, reading books, doing whatever it took to get her to sit on the potty, until she actually peed on it.  And then, of course, she didn't do it again for weeks.  I read everything on potty training, asked everyone for advice... I got her books and videos from the library... one of which featured a song called "She is a Super Duper Pooper" which I will never, ever be able to un-hear... anyways, needless to say, it was not the 'summer project' I'd intended... more like a year and a half long commitment, and then some.  Things just didn't come easily to A.

But through it all, that whole year... we played.  Just played, had fun... tried to learn at the same time, but mostly we just played.  As my senior year of high school approached, I was excited to take Spanish IV, until the school district threatened to remove it from the curriculum.  A friend and I went to the school board to ask them to reconsider.  I was quoted in the paper.

Then the news came out, that yes, there would be a Spanish IV, because of us.  But it came on the heels of the news that students who had met graduation requirements only needed to take five classes, and could be dismissed as early as noon, so long as they didn't have a class 6th, 7th, or 8th period.  You could get out earlier if you were looking into post-secondary options, which I was.  The way my schedule had come together, I'd be dismissed at 11:40 each day.  I was so excited to be able to spend those extra hours with A.

Then we found out that the only period Spanish IV would be offered was 8th period.  I'd have to take three study halls in a row to take that class, get out at 3:20, and not have near as much time with A.

Most people would've told me that I still needed to put myself first - I was young, after all, and she wasn't my daughter... and that might've been what I did, if not for one experience I'd just had that broke my heart for A all over again.

I'd gone to her third birthday party... arms full of presents, smile on my face... excited to see her enjoy herself with all her favorite people.  It was close to her mom's birthday so her friends were there too, even the ones without kids, which was fine... except that there was no one else with kids.  It was a birthday party for a three year old, and there were no other children there.  A cried more than once, after being scolded for touching the cake, opening presents too fast, not saying thank you, and then was scolded for crying.  Family members argued.  Myself and a couple other family members tried to distract A, intervene before she could get upset, but I left in tears.  I could see, and I know a few others could see, that it hadn't gone the way it should.  Some people in A's life, with whom I hadn't seen her interact much, didn't seem to know how to just let her be a kid... and it made me sad for her... so as I drove home crying, I vowed to do everything I could to just let A enjoy being a kid.

COSI Columbus!

Mowing my lawn

I love this one - like she's sure she can climb it if she tries hard enough.

And I didn't sign up for Spanish IV.  I decided I'd look into other options, because four hours of time with her every day just wasn't something I was willing to sacrifice.

I never regretted that decision.  I still don't.

So Fall came...

Halloween came...

That Halloween sweatshirt used to be mine!

Winter came...

And Christmas came...

And we just kept on having fun - from the moment her mom would drop her off to me, outside my last class at the art complex at 11:40, until we were all exhausted...

And it was the best year of my life.

Little Yellow Flower

It was a Friday in May when I picked a newly nine-year-old Alivia up from school, walking from my car into the lobby to get her because the sheer number of car seats in my car makes it difficult to go through the pick up line.  As every day, the chatter and laughter of children bubbled around me.  I waited while the children were called to busses, then the rest of the children released.  Liv was usually one of the first ones down the hallway, but this day, the hallway emptied out almost completely before she appeared.  As I watched her emerge from her classroom, the reason for the delay became apparent.  She was struggling to work her backpack over one shoulder while balancing her jacket and lunch bag, as well as a piece of white paper folded in half and a little clear cup, no bigger than the kids' tumblers they often give you at restraurants, that was full of something dark brown.  From her homework recently, I guessed it was probably dirt - her second grade class had been studying seeds and plants.

When she reached me, I greeted her the same way I always did:  "Hi Princess, how was school?"  Then came the customary reply.

"Good," she said.

I reached to help her with her things and indicated the cup, which I could now see had a little green sprout less than an inch tall emerging from the dirt.  "What's this?"

"It's a plant," she replied.

I laughed.  "What kind of plant?"

"A flower," she elaborated, handing it to me along with the folded piece of paper.  "It's for you.  I maked this for you for mother's day.  I just do love you SO much Katie."

I almost started crying right there in the school parking lot, kids, teachers and parents still milling around.  You see, when I met this child eight years ago, she resisted all affection vehemently, and didn't speak one single word for two more years.  The first time she told me she loved me, I had been in her life for three years.  It came out slurred together in her immature speech:  "Ovvfoo!"  But I spoke her language and I heard her.  I still have a cell phone that had been on my lap that day, because the second time she said it I wanted to catch it on audio.  Sorry, electronics junkers, you're not getting that one.

Besides the obvious factor of how far she had come, you probably noticed that she called me by my first name.  This is because I am not her mother.  I have played an enormous part in raising her, there have been many times when her home has been with me, but I am not her mother and she had known this at least since she stopped calling me Mommy when she was four years old.  Don't ask me why she started - when she started to speak at three, that's just what she called me.  Then I was "Kai" for two or three years.  The first time she said my name correctly, I DID cry.

But I digress.  Here she was, handing me this flower that she "maked" for me, and a card covered in hearts that read "Happy Mother's Day!!!!!!!!!" on the front... knowing full well that I was not her mother... and the only conclusion I could draw was that this was her way of telling me that she loved me, and that she did notice that I cared for her as I would my own child, and appreciated it.

I bit back tears and told her "Thank you, sweetie, I love it!"  I buckled her into her booster seat and pulled out one of the cup holders, where she securely nestled the little cup holding my flower.  Then I got in the driver's seat and opened the card and read:

I have those words memorized now.  Right down to her sweet little mispellings.  The card itself is safely stored in a page protector in a book of Alivia's cards and drawings... along with these...

...among others, which won't upload properly.

We drove home, and I carefully placed the cup containing the little sprout on the windowsill in the kitchen where the sun would shine on it every morning.  We talked about remembering to give it water every day.

It grew to be a big sprout.  Honestly, at first, I didn't expect it to make it.  I brought home plenty of those little projects that fell victim to a 'brown thumb' that seems to run in our family.  Then it wasn't a sprout at all anymore - it was as big as the marigolds outside in our garden, but no blooms yet.  As we left for Florida in June, the roots were starting to press up against the sides of the translucent cup.  I told Alivia we'd move it to a bigger pot when we got home.

She never got to come home.

But I did move her flower to a bigger pot - one I painted myself when I was around her age.  She would have liked it.  I moved it as carefully as if I were performing brain surgery.  It wasn't just a plant, it would never be just a plant again... it was a symbol that my little girl loved me and I loved her.

And as we embarked on a road marred with legal and ethical obstacles, the flower continued to grow.  Everyone in our family made sure it had enough water every day.  That flower would bloom.  If, just maybe, she came home, we wanted her to see how much it had grown.

It bloomed as summer faded into fall... three beautiful, yellow blossoms.  I've never taken so many pictures of a single plant in my life.

When an early freeze came, we brought it inside at night and took it back out to get some sun every day.  I think it may have set the record for longest living marigold.  The day we went to court in November, it was still blooming.  It was the last thing I saw as I walked out the door.

My girl never got to come home.  Eventually the pretty yellow flower succumbed to the winter.  But we still have our memories.  Seven years of happy times with my princess.  More photos than I could fit in six scrapbooks.  The pictures and memories of the (not so little) yellow flower grown with a healthy dose of sunlight, soil, and water... but mostly love.  The card, the sweet words that told me that she knew, she saw, how much I loved her then and how much I will always love her.

My little yellow flower... was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be...

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Dear sweet Alivia - this post is for you - someday.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on 
Our troubles will be out of sight...

Let your heart be light, princess.  Take that joy you have deep down inside you and don't let anybody take it away from you.  Believe in magic.  Believe in love.  Believe that someone out there is thinking of you tonight.

I can't promise that our troubles will go away.  I tried to make them go away and I couldn't.  I'm sorry, princess.  But hold that light in your heart and let it burn so bright that it chases away the shadows.  It is my prayer that your troubles flee your sight.  Someday we will be free.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on
Our troubles will be miles away...

Stop giggling, goofy pants.  They mean gay like happy.  ;)

Once, our troubles were miles away.  Remember?  It was so perfect.  Don't lose those memories baby.  Let them be the light that shines inside of you.  No one can take them away from you.  Someday, we'll be there again... our troubles miles away.  Someday.  I promise.  And I'm keeping this one.

Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more

Here we are in our 'olden days' (no, contrary to what you might think, the 'olden days' were not the time when I was a little girl!)  Those were truly happy, golden days.

Days with our faithful friends, our little patchwork family, gathered together, year after year, thick and thin, through the best and the worst of times.  Someday we will all be together again.

2006

2009

2010

Through the years
We all will be together
If the fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.


Through all these years we have been together.  Six years together.  Six Christmases.  Birthdays.  School days.  Snow days.  Hard days.  Perfect days.

This year we're not together.  The 'fates' did not allow.  It will be our first real Christmas apart... the first year I don't get to see that smile on your face with every present you open, the first year you don't grill me about Santa, the first year I don't agonize over making sure your holiday is perfect.  I don't like it, not one bit.

But someday... we have lots more years... we will all be together again - if the fates allow.  I think they will.  We're family, kiddo, we may not have started out that way, but we are now, and you can't keep family apart.

Until then... enjoy yourself.  Hold onto the magic.  I hope somewhere you have a tree to hang a shining star on (even though ours always had an angel).  If you don't... imagine it, in your mind.  Like in A Little Princess - do you remember when we watched that movie?  How they imagined all the riches and fine foods they would have if they could, and then they woke up and it was all there?  I hoped you remembered that scene.  Imagine it, and it will be real inside of you, sweetie.

I miss you.  I love you.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

We're still waiting... we'll never stop.  Elephants never forget, you know.

Christmas Magic and The Year That Santa Came

In the past few weeks, a few different people have shared their Christmas traditions with me and others via social media.  Why they do Santa, why they don't do Santa, what variations they may have on traditional themes, what special activities they do together as a family, on and on.  More than once, it has brought me to tears - for many of these stories reflect the true nature of giving that is so vital to the Christmas spirit.

All this made me reflect on the Christmas traditions I grew up with... and the new meanings that came to them in recent years.

My childhood Christmas traditions were pretty typical.  We went to the mall to see Santa.  We baked cookies - chocolate crinkles and chocolate chip and peanut butter and sugar cookies shaped like stars, trees, bells, snowmen, wreaths, etc.  My parents taught me the true meaning of Christmas - why we celebrate - the birth of Christ, we went to church on Christmas eve, we read the story of the first Christmas, but our holiday always included both religious and secularized elements.  I was a stickler for the Jesus aspect of Christmas growing up - I remember one year as a child, we were making Christmas cookies and I realized there was no baby Jesus, which was just wrong in my eyes, so I set to work with construction paper (blue), drew and cut out a Jesus-in-a-manger shape to use as a cookie cutter.  And my mom, bless her heart, didn't tell me that logistically, you couldn't make a cookie cutter out of paper, or suggest we look for a cutter to buy instead... no, she took my paper craft and carefully traced around it with a knife to cut out several hunks of cookie dough that, by my estimation, looked exactly like baby Jesus.  I was so proud of those cookies.

But I digress.  What I mean to say here is that my Christmases were full of magic - both in the childish sense (that I was determined never to outgrow - my mom had to tell me the news about Santa when I was eleven) and the true sense of the season of Christ.  I never wanted for anything.  I'd go through catalogs before Christmas and circle everything I wanted (might as well have just circled the whole catalogs), I ran to my mom after every commercial and cried "Mom!  I want that!  I want that!"  Big tree- always real - decked out in colored lights and tinsel and garland and ornaments that had been in our family for years... And on Christmas morning, I woke up to piles of gifts that spread out far past 'under' the tree.

We had celebrations with both sides of my family, celebrations with my best friend, cards from far away family members (and sometimes special gifts), and boy, I was probably the most spoiled kid who ever lived. But I was thankful.  I used to write in my letter to Santa "Here are some cookies and a carrot for your reindeer.  I have been good and thank you for the presents I haven't recieved yet" (that was not a typo - I couldn't spell received until eighth grade).  One year, 'Santa' wrote back that one of his reindeer (I forget which one) liked his carrot dipped in peanut butter - so I left peanut butter out every year too.  And my mom didn't neglect to let me know that Santa really preferred Dr. Pepper to milk.  ;)

I was really a lucky kid.  Even as I got older and our Christmases became a little more modest and more about giving than receiving, I still never had any idea what it was to go without, especially on Christmas.

My dear borrowed kids came to me in high school - at least the girls - my Junior year.  AJ wasn't born until I was in college.  What became clear right away is that the kind of Christmas I'd grown up with, was something they had yet to experience.  When they were 3 and 7 years old, we had our first gift exchange - and oh yes, you'd better bet we went overboard, especially after hearing that A's big gift the previous year had been a new coat.  I have the cutest pictures from Christmas that year, my two girls dressed up in the outfits we carefully picked out... and of course balanced with an equal number of toys, because what kid wants clothes for a gift?  (Well, it turns out, these ones do.  Neither one of them has ever had that 'eh, clothes' reaction.  They were thankful for each and every article.)

A couple, just for cuteness' sake.

M, age 7

A, age 3 (love how this one captured her silliness!)

Girls by the tree

Every year after that we had our own little 'Christmas' with the girls.  Some years one or both of them didn't get much else, because times were troubled at home.

But as A got older, she started to ask a whole lot of questions - wanted to know if Santa was really coming, how would he know whose house she was at, would he really bring her what she asked for, would he come to my house, Mamaw's house, mommy's house?

A had so little real 'magic' in her early life, I wanted her to have 'Santa'.  I wanted her to believe in magic, to have that childlike wonder and joy and just get to be innocent for a time, and so when she asked me, I assured her that Santa was coming if she made good choices (we do not say "good girl/bad girl in this house).  I knew it couldn't last forever, only as long as I could keep the promise to her myself, but I wanted her to have it for however long she could.  M actually believed for a while too, even told off her classmates a couple times over it!

We'd always done our Christmas in the evening one day, because that's when I usually had M, although in later years we took to having sleepovers for Christmas because the girls always wanted to play with their new toys together (and no, they are not sisters).  A was usually here over night for one reason or another anyways.  The year A was six, I had almost thought we weren't going to be able to spend Christmas together.  Prior to our celebration, which occurred the weekend before Christmas, I hadn't seen her in seven weeks.  That was the year the second Ellfant was born.

It was one of the happiest Christmases I could remember, because my little girl was home.  I remember we got her 'Elefun' that year, and after we made gingerbread (okay, graham cracker) houses and opened presents, we all tried to catch those crazy little butterflies until the three of us collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor and my heart was so full I had to hold back tears.  Then we went out to look at Christmas lights in the car and eat candy canes, and these sweet little voices were singing Christmas carols from the back seat the whole way, eyes lighting up in wonder at the most elaborately decorated houses.

Just... happy.

The fun of that year, and how neither of them wanted it to end, and all the questions A started asking about Santa, made me think a little harder about the following year.  It would be AJ's first year of celebrating Christmas with us, since he'd only been less than two months old the previous year.  M was through her Santa days, but had experienced plenty of magic thanks to her wonderful mom, who did everything she could to make Christmas special for M every year.  A, though... that year she was six, when I asked her what she did on Christmas day (I saw her the next day), if Santa came to mommy's house too... "No, we just didn't do nothin'.  Santa didn't have a tree to put presents under so he just brought them all to your house."

It was then that I realized the one bit of the magic she was missing.  The sleepless night on Christmas eve, startling at every noise, thinking you heard reindeer paws on your roof, checking the clock every hour, looking out the window for the first hint of dawn that meant it was okay to wake up the adults, coming downstairs and seeing the house instantly transformed to a place of magic over night because Santa had been there.  So the next year, I resolved to give her the whole experience.  It turned out to be easier than I thought because she wound up living with me on and off that year anyways.

I sat down with M and explained that even though I knew she didn't 'believe' anymore, I wanted this to be special for A and I needed her help.  I told her what my mom told me about Santa - it's not that he's not real, because he is.  He's not a fat guy in a red suit who comes down your chimney, but 'Santa' is the spirit of giving, the little bit of magic in us all, the effort we put forth every year to give our kids that magic - and now that she was big enough, she was part of 'Santa' too, and I couldn't do it without her help.  Sweet M took the words to heart and helped me make the year magic.

We did everything 'by the book'.  The girls wrote letters to 'Santa' and left out cookies, a carrot, and some peanut butter.  I showed them the letters that Santa wrote back to me as a child, especially the one about the peanut butter.  They drew pictures for Santa too.  We all hung our stockings by the fireplace.  We sat by the Christmas tree before bed and read 'The Night Before Christmas', and of course the story of the first Christmas.  Then I put little one year old AJ to bed and the two little girls (one of whom I'm pretty sure was actually bouncing off the walls) in their BRAND NEW Christmas present room that we'd painted and decorated just for them (the following picture is the looks on their faces the moment they saw it).

I'll translate those expressions for you:  "This is for ME?!"

Now, the thing of it was, I had quit my job just a few months before that Christmas.  I was a full time student, caring for two little girls and a baby whose formula cost TWENTY SIX DOLLARS A CAN.  O, alimentum, how I loathe thee.  I was commuting a half an hour each way to and from school every day, with detours thrown in to pick up and drop off kids at school or childcare arrangements.  Things were tight.  The reason we decorated their room for a gift was because we already had most of what we needed and the rest we bought with gift cards that had been sitting around forever.  It was most costly in labor, which we did ourselves.  Other than that, I only had a couple presents for each of them - but I was doing stockings for the first time, and fruit is cheap and fits well, so that helped.  Still, though, I felt like we'd set the bar too high on the gift front in previous years, and while I knew they'd be happy, when all the presents were bought and then A chose to ask Santa for things she hadn't even told me she'd wanted - I didn't know what to do!  Santa couldn't let her down, not this year!

I remember crying to my friends one night online - friends I knew from a message board, mostly, only a few of whom had met me or the girls.  A wanted a pillow pet.  Those stupid things were twenty dollars.  I'd had the 'Cinderella dress to match my shoes' since Halloween - but the kid sprung the pillow pet on me at the last minute.  I racked my brain for how to get her one.  Then M showed up wearing her mom's (far too big) coat one day, saying she didn't have one.  Another thing I hadn't planned on buying.  I looked for that one in a swap section of our board.  It had to be bought, she needed it.

Eventually I swallowed my pride, planned to wrap everything separately and fill in with homemade gifts.

Then Santa came.

First, he came in the form of a friend, who sent me a message to tell me she was going to be in my area soon, and her son was just a little older than AJ, would I want some of the toys he had never really played with for AJ's Christmas?

Cue tears.  She presented me with two BIG BAGS of gifts, including a coat that HE desperately needed.

Then came the friend who wrote to tell me after Thanksgiving that she'd been at her pastor's sermon on random acts of kindness, and as she sat thinking of whom she could be kind to, A's face popped into her head.  She had some credit at gymboree, and she loved buying girl clothes but she didn't have a daughter, would I please let her send something for A?

Let her?  I cried again.  Told her she didn't have to, but that we were struggling and if she wanted to buy girl clothes, A certainly needed them.  Yeah, I made sure she had sufficient clothing, but, you know, my girly girl... she always wanted more pretty things.

Then came the friend who sent me a picture of a coat, and did I think it would fit M?  I told her yes, I thought it would, and asked her how much she wanted for it.

She put it in the mail and told me not to worry about it.  She didn't need it anyways, she said.

Tears again.

The straw that broke the camel's back though... was maybe a week before Christmas... just after I'd had the breakdown over the pillow pet situation... and lo and behold, one day, a package came addressed to me from Amazon... but I hadn't ordered anything.  I opened it... and I thought the tears would never stop.  Not only the coveted pillow pet, but the perfect one for A, and not just that, but a gift card, so that I could get something 'for me or for the kids'... from another friend.

Here I'd resigned myself to having to explain the absence of the pillow pet... and it shows up unexpected at my door.

Tell me that's not 'Santa' in the truest form.

When it came time to wrap the gifts, some of them were from me, and I wrote that on the tags.  But some of them weren't from me.  They were from the collective kindness of a world who wanted to help me make the kids' Christmas special.  I couldn't take credit for that.

Those tags read 'Santa'.

After the kids were in bed that night, I stayed up late arranging the presents just perfectly, stuffing stockings, eating cookies, and of course writing a note back from Santa about their good choices.

When A saw this, she shouted "HE ATE THE COOKIES!"

Michael's, one dollar, and glitter glue.  Awesome.

Didn't turn out too shabby at all.

When M questioned me about it in private later about the Santa gifts, after the discussion we'd already had about keeping up the pretense for the little kids, I looked at her straight faced and said, "No, those really did come from Santa.  Remember what I told you?  I didn't buy those things.  They came from people who just wanted to give - and that's what Santa is."

I took picture after picture of that year's magic.

The one everyone commented on though, was one I didn't even realize I was in until later.

Why?  Surprisingly, not for the cute little girl in the foreground... but for goofy old me in the previous day's clothes in the background...

They all said I looked so genuinely happy and that they could just see how much I loved those kids.

And they were right.  Because the biggest present Santa brought that year was for me... the perfect Christmas with my babies.

Oh, and this.  Best gift ever.

So, when people ask me if we 'do' Santa, I tell them yes - because he's real.  And most adults look at me warily, like I might start speaking in tongues or something, but if they'd been there, the year that Santa came, they'd believe too.