skin color does matter

age 9

This week I witnessed Jess sunbathing after an hour of swimming. To her credit, she applied SPF 50 sunscreen first. She's seen the latest news reports on the dangers of skin cancer and my hula girl is adamant, "It can kill you and I don't want anyone in my family to die!"

Although, with the way she sprays the sunscreen in hers and the boys' faces, someone may die from inhalation......

I asked (with a slight "maybe you're not really doing what I think you're doing"), "Jess, are you trying to nap out here? If so, I'd like you to go inside."

"No, I'm not napping! I'm SUNTANNING!" she blurts.

Pause. "Why?"

Again, blurting, because I must be the only clueless mom on the block, "So I can get tan!"

Pause. "Honey, you're Hawaiian. You're already tan. Please at least go sit in the shade for a while."

Our first Texas summer, her almost-white skin bronzed quickly and became the deepest, golden brown. She was confused. "Why is my skin darker?" Living in the Last Frontier all of her life hadn't provided opportunities like this melanin reaction. She'd do the arm comparison, where you hold up your arms next to one another to see who is darker, to EVERYONE. Constantly. As if a day inside might make her skin return to it's Alaska color. No luck.

This child had been with us for 4 years at that point and never once felt different because of her skin color. Now, when we out, my hula girl stuck out more than her CP, microcephalic brother. Feelings she'd never experienced bubbled to the surface. To our credit as a family, she was still the little sister to Allen and Emma and the big sister to the twins. Solid in the middle. Solid in who she is as an individual. We discussed her feelings, helped her process the face she was seeing in the mirror each day and in typical Jess form, she shrugged her shoulders, made a little whatever expression and moved on.

I've read other blogs and articles on discussing race with your children, especially informative ones by Kristen at Rage Against the Minivan where she says

"Love that overlooks is belittling. Love that acknowledges is accepting."

Kristen also says, based on her research, that the risk of a child being excluded from their peers based on race is high. Jess has definitely had experiences of being left out for her race, but also for being adopted. For that matter, we've all had those experiences as the parents and siblings. You learn to react with purpose to the shocked classmates' mom's faces or the playmates' blatant "how can you be HER mommy? You're white!" comments. 

But Jess sees her younger brothers being excluded as well. Excluded for their developmental delays, their hearing loss, their physical disabilities. Kristen, at Rage Against the Minivan, says race is "as impactful as gender, physical differences, and even cognitive ability."

Great.... Maybe we should just stay home. 

Or maybe we follow Jessi's lead, who has no doubt been following Matt's lead. Matt believes the world has been made for him. Sometimes only him. He enters a room, declares his arrival with a giant, "Hey Friends!" and immediately scours for the most entertaining item at breakneck speed. He easily ignores the looks and stares at his cochlear implants. I think in a funny jokes-on-you way, he believes all of those stares are because he's so awesome. "Why wouldn't someone want to look at me?"

I also think Jess can use her brothers to her advantage. "Yeah, well, if you have a problem with my skin color, you should my brothers and their differences." No, I can't imagine she'd actually say that, but I can see her shrugging those shoulders and moving on in a way that's the epitome of Jess, ""Fine with me. You aren't very nice anyway."

age 3 in Hawaii

We don't talk about race every day, but we aren't blind to Jessi's skin color. She's darker. Period. And she wants to be even darker. Jess has decided this is the year she will again win the arm comparison competition. (Admittedly, it IS done frequently in our home because both my husband and oldest son are dark complected and my son will compete with you for ANYTHING. Just his nature and all in fun.)

She WANTS to be the darkest family member. She WANTS her skin color to set her apart. She's PROUD of her skin color, of her heritage and of her family. She is nani and she's our determined hula girl.

KISS the mentally retarded child

5 facts about Nick:

he loves NASCAR

he will hug you

he screams - ALOT

he fixes mac-n-cheese

he is severely mentally retarded (MR)

Nick is my daily challenge. Some days he wakes up and is as happy as a hermit crab being released back into his ocean, and we sail through with smiles. Other days, the only sound emanating from our home are Nick's screams and our frustrations. He screams about pain, but also about transitions. "Time to brush your teeth" WAAAAAAA! "Time to get dressed" WAAAAAAA! You get the point.

Added to his preferable mode of communication (screaming instead of making his mouth form words or use his hands to sign) is his extreme MR. Simple conversations cannot be exchanged with him. "How was your day? Did you play with your friends?" Every time the answer is a flat, "Yeah." It would be "yeah" if we asked, "Did you fly a space shuttle to the moon and simultaneously find the cure for cancer?" 

It is overwhelmingly frustrating at times. And it's not just that he can't answer "How was your day?", it's that this is reality. He will NEVER be able to answer "How was your day?" He can't think or understand that abstractly. We all find ourselves vacillating furiously between celebration for moments where "he gets it" and extreme despair for what this child's future holds.

This week on our way to Nick's PT, OT and speech sessions, Allen and I tried to explain to Nick to pull his shirt up over his left shoulder. He will let it slide off and his tiny body will eventually start to make it's way through the neck of the shirt. Part "I don't care", part left-sided hemiplegia with his cerebral palsy. The situation was ridiculous. Allen and I are in the front seats, I'm trying to drive and look at Nick through the rearview. Nick is in the third seat, unreachable. "Pull your shirt up! Nooo, the other side. The OTHER side Nick." This went on for at least 2 minutes and when Nick finally performed the requested task, I cheered like a crazy woman and assigned a name to the task, "Good job FIX SHIRT!"

Nick started with speech that morning and immediately launched into his "I'm MR therefore I can do what I want" routine with his rag doll impersonation. Great..... Yet another professional who will not like my kid because of his behavior....

As a parent, you take ownership of your child's behavior. Society says that he must be the way he is because of how you're raising him. Society doesn't stop to ask, "Is this child adopted? Did this child suffer imaginable abuse and trauma that may never be overcome?" Society doesn't get down on the child's level, attempt to look him in the eye and ask, "What do you want? How can I help you?" Society simply gives the proverbial hairy eyeball and turns away thinking, "That mother can't make her kid behave. SHE must be doing something wrong." 

Putting it in raw terms, society places shame on why Nick is the way he is. Nick doesn't know shame (either that or he's followed along with me during my e-course on Ordinary Courage with Brene Brown), so he's not at all worried. By default, the shame falls to us as the parents and probably a little to the other children. We've learned, though, to take a Nick-led approach and just let the disapproving glares roll off our backs as best we can. What those narrowed-browed people don't realize is that this world without Nick would be a world without simple accomplishments, without a day full of hugs and slobbery kisses, a day without grace. Carrie, from daysofwonderandgrace.blogspot.com, shared this relevation recently:

...the invisible attributes of God may be more clearly manifest in the lives of people with disabilities and those who surround them because it is so patently obvious that grace emanates from God, not people. 

Back to the story. Allen and I had errands to run and when we returned, I quietly slipped into the pediatric therapy room and watched. The OT was bringing out a game Nick recognized, so he was willing and excited. During the game, she methodically and gently held his right hand while encouraging him to use his left. 

Pause, as his brain tries to tell the left hand to move. My breath catches and I try to hold back the tears of this reality for me. I know he can use that left hand (he was reigning champ last weekend on Mimi's Kinect system in boxing!), but to see him struggle reminds me of just how much his CP affects his life. To see him struggle reminds me of the degree of MR he lives with.

And then he made a motion, may have taken all of a second, that makes me smile. He pulled his shirt up over his left shoulder.

He did it without my "official word" prompting. He did it without someone calling his attention to it. He did it without cue cards on the wall or someone signing to him. He did it without an encyclopedia's worth of IEPs and a lengthy conversation with a professional on positive reinforcements - all things I'd spent the last hour worrying about. AND he did it with his left hand.

I'm watching from the other room feeling frustration and grief and anger when the lightbulb over my head flickered on. I need to just KISS when it comes to Nick. Keep It Simple Stupid. In this situation, the stupid applies to ME. Me, the one who over-thinks and worries too much. ME, his mom.

a favorite frozen treat

"A literal hole in the wall that's the last place you'd expect to have good snowballs" ~ Emma's description of Plum Street Snowballs in New Orleans

We are huge Plum Street fans. Huge I tell you! So huge that when my cousin recently posted she was AT Plum Street AND added a picture of her delectable frozen treat, my children groaned with envy. Naturally, the stop was added to our day in New Orleans this past weekend. No one went away unsatisfied!

blended adoptive family sighting in New Orleans!!!!!

ALERT! ALERT! Blended adoptive family spotted on the streets of New Orleans!!!!!

Truth be told, my family wasn't all that excited or supportive of me setting my camera on the ground and using the timer to get this image in the middle of the French Quarter in New Orleans. Probably wasn't the smartest idea to set it on my purse, either, but I was banking on the fact that not many people approach us in a big city. 

*side note* There was this ONE time a guy lurched out of the shadows at the kids and I as we were heading to our car after a long night at the Houston Rodeo. He asked for money.... Did I mention it was a LONG night? Or that I'd carried Nick the entire walk? I replied with something along the lines of "Are you serious? Do you not see the F-I-V-E children I have with me? They take all of my money! There's none for left for ME, much less some STRANGER! Who do you think you are?" The kids said they'd never seen someone run away so fast. Ever!

Besides, don't Brad and Angelina walk the streets with their kids all the time? If it's good for them, it must be for us, too! Actually, we love New Orleans. We were treated with 3 festivals that day: Seafood Fest, Creole Tomato Fest and Zydeco Fest. All free. Music on every corner, people dancing, delicious food smells, yummy eating and that energy vibe that only NOLA can offer.

Lucky children of mine were tortured with a request to sit on different steps of homes that lined a street perpendicular to Bourbon. They look thrilled, right?

life is grand in Grand Isle

Grand what? Where is that? Where is Grand Isle?

Grand Isle, LA is a barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico accessible by a toll causeway. It's a seafood haven and also home to Coast Guard Cutter STURGEON, which is Michael's new unit for this next year. There is plenty of fishing to be done and a beach with decent waves, which we took full advantage of during our stay.

Mimi joined us at the state park for camping and rented a small boat for the day. Allen, Emma and I perfected our southern fishing abilities and realized quickly how different it is from salmon fishing in Alaska. At one point, Allen landed a little fish and asked what he should do with it. "Throw it back in and use it as bait!" He did and immediately caught a speckled trout! Two for one!

We also landed a mullet. Okay, more like he sacrificed himself by jumping into the boat as we were moving. Literally, jumped into the boat. Like you see in the movies.

We had a great time with STURGEON's crew and a special shout out of THANKS to the FS2 who cooked several meals (and delicious cupcakes) for Circus Vorholt.

when's dinner?

Would you like to come to dinner? All seven of you?

It's a simple question. A simple question followed by hours of food preparation, house cleaning, cooking and entertaining, but a simple question nonetheless. For our family, it's a simple question that can make you run for the Pepcid or Tums. Or a bottle of alcohol.

From the day we took the twins on our first outing as a soon-to-be family, eating has been problematic. That day began somewhat normal. Michael and I stopped at a local grocery, I bought pretzels (because what toddler doesn't eat pretzels?) and we apprehensively took responsibility for two little boys. The apprehension came from having met them the day before and realizing what a mountain of struggle we were up against. They could hardly walk... and they were two years old. There was zero understanding of basic needs like thirst and hunger. They could say a handful of words, actually it was more like they parroted what they'd heard, and it was obvious there was no comprehension of what these few words even meant.

But they smiled. And they were happy. These two little boys would be joining our family and we needed to get busy on making a connection with them. 

We chose to have lunch in our favorite Alaskan town of Talkeetna, about an hour drive from where the boys were living. We set out on our date with songs and finger play to keep the confusion of "who are these people" at a minimum. At one point, somewhere in BFE Alaska, I handed each boy a pretzel. I was raising three children, for crying out loud. The act of handing a toddler a pretzel in a car was second nature. I could do it in my sleep if needed. 

Pretzels were taken and I turned around to enjoy the beautiful scenery as we made our way towards Denali. The sound of deep, guttural retching didn't really register at first for either myself or my husband. Up until that part of our parenting chapter, those sounds only occurred when a child was violently ill. I turned around to see one child beginning to vomit and like a precision clock set to go off exactly two seconds later, the other child vomited. All over themselves, all over their seats, all over the rental car. 

Fast forward a few years, because revisiting those first few months with these children who could regurgitate like penguins if you only showed them a spoon much less had them take a bite would require a bottle of wine and some long weekend on a tropical island, and mealtimes still are not our favorite activity. Our better days, the ones where the boys actually want to eat and clean their plates with no gagging or frequent jags of protest, do occur. Not as often as we'd like, but they happen. 

We learned it was impossible to expect these children not to gag at some point. Nick has cerebral palsy and literally forgets to swallow periodically. So, he'll start to talk and forget he has a mouthful of food. And up it comes. Matt will occasionally shove too much food in his mouth in an attempt to be "all done" and leave the table. He chokes and up comes the food. 

Acceptance of this behavior was integral and necessary for us to maintain some sanity, so we taught them to vomit quietly and efficiently. Throw up into something, whether it's a bowl or a napkin or your own shirt (OK, this was only once and Nick was really sick in a store where I didn't want to make a scene because we already get enough rubberneck stares as it is). We also trained ourselves and the other children to not give the situation any attention, to the point where we can help the child but not look at them, so others with you aren't alerted to what is going on. In fact, Matt threw up yesterday while we were eating lunch and I'm not sure my mom even noticed. We kept the conversation going, Matt really didn't make a sound and no one stared or said anything. 

Added to the boys' oral motor difficulties are the years of trauma they experienced in life, but especially with food and eating. Trauma that told them reaching for food was unacceptable, trying to feed yourself was unacceptable. And paramount was that if you vomited, you were taken out of the chair. A meal was/is seen as a punishment. We've come a long way (think around the world long), but we still have several more planets to traverse before we ever reach anything that resembles a relaxing family meal where everyone smiles and chats and no one gags or asks for ketchup.

signs of summer

Top Ten Signs of Summer in Casa Vorholt:

1. clothes are being shed wherever and whenever someone gets an urge to swim
2. frequent crying jags b/c we're out of routine
3. pitcher of Michael's tea (1/2 lemonade, 1/2 tea) in the fridge
4. increased amounts of sound, particularly yelling, emanating from the abode b/c (a) you don't realize Matt is without his CI's or (b) Nick is without his hearing aide
5. did I mention the crying? (It seemed to be Nick's primary mode of communication today until he took a 2 hour nap)
6. signing, signing and more signing b/c Matt doesn't wear his ears in the pool, which is where he stays 24/7
7. dinner is eaten outside in the backyard
8. quiet mornings are plentiful and no longer require me pulling my hair out as I try to get the little kids up, fed, dressed and out the door for the buses 
9. HYPER children..... we don't medicate often when they're not in school and it shows
10. an endless line of requests for "band tape" from all of the accidents, scrapes and falls that come with hours of creative outside playing

This picture is a typical scene. I'm not sure why Matt left his ears on the stairs...... Chances are, he isn't either. He asked for his "swim soup" as the clothes were flying and he saw Jessi run past ready to swim.
Ready or not, summer is here!