Worse than Bruises...

I had every intention of starting this at the beginning of our adoptions, when Peanut came home. But instead I'll be starting right in the middle of the hard stuff.

Parenting an older adopted child is usually (always?) much different from parenting children you've had since birth. These children come fully-loaded with a history and patterns for dealing with that history, than children you've cared for since they were infants. I think I never really grasped that concept until we adopted Peanut and Jellybean. And honestly, I'm still working to understand and accept it completely.

I've been reading and re-reading and re-reading the book Beyond Consequences, Logic, and Control and working to fully understand and apply it's principles to my children. If the book and videos could be summed up in one thought, it's that all the acting out I see in my two youngest babes, comes from a place of fear. For those who haven't adopted an older child (and even for me), that's an incredibly hard concept to grasp.

The best I can describe it is like this. A child you've parented since infancy has a strong base built of security and love. They know deep in their very being that you love them and will take care of them, and every single one of their actions stems from that security. When they act out, they do it knowing that mom and dad will always love them, even if they disobey. They have tantrums, but they are just that, tantrums.

The difference in a child who has been adopted as an older child, is that they may or may not have this base in place. These children will also tantrum, but in the case of a child like Jellybean, they also rage. I don't have any statistics to back me up, but I would bet that most children adopted as older children have serious holes in that base and some may come to you with no base at all. That's the knowledge that Bryan Post and Heather Forbes hinge their work on. And it's a concept I'm working very hard to grasp. Learning to step inside my child's fear so that healing can begin.

And then there are nights like last night.

Each year our town has a celebration at the very beginning of summer. It's a fun time to all get together, have some really bad for you food ;), listen to some good music, watch a parade, and laugh together over 3 days. This year our church is doing a Music Camp in the fall and decided to hand our flyers and goodies during the parade.

Last night was very hot and muggy. In order to make it to the parade, we had to rush from home and naps, which meant no snacks or wake-up time for the littles. I was sure however, that I was well-prepared. I had my backpack packed and had a couple of fruit snacks, sippy-cups, and extra clothes for all of us. The parade was a lot of fun and both kiddos sat in the stroller enjoying the ride and waving at the crowd. They were all smiles. :)

The parade started shortly after 5:00 and we were to the end by 5:45ish. By then, I was hot and tired and the kids were too. We started to walk back to the van (which was parked all the way across town) but decided instead to stop almost right away and watch the end of the parade. There's always TONS of candy involved with this parade and all the kids come home with bags bulging. It's like Halloween in June. :)

Peanut and Jellybean were having a great time, jumping across puddles by the curb to run out and get another handful of candy. They were sticking a couple their mouths, while they filled the seat of the stroller. Our plan was to go out for supper after the parade and then head home.

That all came to a screeching halt.

As the last couple of entries went by us, I decided the kids better stop eating candy or they wouldn't have any room for supper. Jellybean had two pieces of candy in his hand. I asked him to put them in his pocket and save them for later.

I saw the look.

The one where he drops his head and his eyes and briefly and completely withdraws into himself.

I saw it, but I didn't catch it. Looking back, I wish I had caught it and acted right then. I'm getting there, but I still don't do well with it at least half the time. It's a learning curve and it means that I have to stop and change my body language, my thoughts, and my focus to help him deal with his fears.

I didn't.

So he didn't.

Instead what happened was possibly the most humiliating and embarrassing experience of my life. He went into complete meltdown, and mentally so did I.

And here is where a sharp line is drawn in the sand between children with a solid, deep knowledge of who they are and that they are loved, and those who's histories we will never know.

A child who has a solid base will likely have a tantrum. You who are parents of these kids have been there. It's bad and it's not fun, but it's manageable.

What happens to Jellybean is on the other end of the spectrum. Since I've been reading BCLC, I can now look back in hindsight and figure out what I could have done different to bring a different outcome. The challenge for me personally is to learn to mentally step-out of the moment as it's occurring, and step into his fears. I wasn't able to do that last night.

So instead there was a sweaty, white mom, trying to hold tightly to an equally sweaty black child, trying to keep him from hitting and biting her, while she walked all the way across town. In front of everyone. He was screaming like a wild animal, spitting, and clawing at me. I have the bruises to prove it. I dropped him repeatedly and he tried bolt. It was singly the most humiliating experience of my life. Somehow by the grace of God (I'm not using those words loosely), we made it home in one piece. We showered, we cuddled, and we talked. We fed hungry bodies. And I cried.

I am learning.

So instead of starting at the beginning, here's where I begin. Right in the middle of the pain. Learning to see that these rages are not "being naughty" but are instead driven by fear deep within him. I don't know and I can't know what happened to this baby when he was little. I know just a little more about Peanut's history than his, and he is such a lover and cuddler that sometimes I forget that this little boy also came to us with a past.

A past that requires his own survival when he can't see that the adults in his life will provide that survival for him.

And that hurts worse than any bruises or sore arms.

Two pieces of candy and a hungry child.

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us. 1 John 4:18-19

Helping these children heal.

Stepping out of the shame and into the light.

That's where we will begin.