Winding Roads/ Evan's first Christmas

A friend posted on Facebook the following quote:

 “Don’t look back unless you are planning on going that way.” 

This completely gels with my constant mantra of “Put one foot in front of the other.”  It must have resonated with several other positive thinkers because the “Likes” and concurring comments racked up quickly. 

Then, I realized, it was all wrong.

This is what Evan has taught me over the past few weeks. 

Over the last month, Evan has been ornery – both at school and at home.  His teachers reported that he was pushing at all the boundaries, testing all of the rules. He came home with a sad face on his behavior log for hitting another child.  I asked him, “Why did you hit?”  Evan looked at me, sad, and signed, “He had the guitar.”  I asked, “Did you want the guitar?” Evan looked sad and just nodded.  I signed that we would have to ask Santa for a guitar.  This pleased Evan greatly and he smiled.

At home, I have seen behaviors resurface that I had not seen since the early weeks of China.  Hitting.  Seething at me.  Spitting on the floor.  In the house.    Yep.  The urge to sugar coat here is palpable.  I don’t want to turn anyone off considering adoption – particularly the adoption of an older child.  I like writing about the inspirational side of this process, leaving everyone with the warm fuzzies.  But, I suspect it would not surprise anyone in Evan’s fan-base to discover that there are plenty of difficult days. 

Most children have difficulty expressing themselves.  Even adults can’t always readily define what is bothering them.  Evan’s lack of speech and hearing exponentially exacerbates this.  Clearly, something has been bothering him.  I would like to report that I was understanding and saintly-nurturing through this, but mostly I was disappointed and frustrated. 

Evan wasn’t all that pleased with me, either. One evening, he sat at the dining room table and drew a grid to represent a calendar.  There were numbers in every square. The icons for Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas were clear.  In one square, Evan drew a jack-o-lantern.  Several squares down the line was a turkey.  Then, more numbers and a Christmas tree.

  I thought instantly: calendar.  It turns out this was my report card.

 (This is where I must confess my failing.  Halloween has never been a big deal for us.  Ben doesn’t like costumes, so we have always passed on this.  I bought Evan a costume so he could participate with his class.  I also bought a big, beautiful pumpkin for the house.  Unfortunately, I never got around to carving that pumpkin.  After helping Ben through tons of homework nightly, making dinner, and taking care of a million other things, it never seemed convenient to get elbow deep in pumpkin guts.  The pumpkin stood in the kitchen- refusing to rot- like a great orange albatross, a monument to my shortcomings as a mother and a human being.  I couldn’t throw it away because I kept thinking, “I am going to make this right.”  I never did. Evan would point at it a couple of times a week, make the sign for 'knife', and gesture at me with a look of absolute disgust.)   

Now, Evan looked up from his calendar, pointed to the jack-o-lantern square, jabbed the air towards me, and pen-in-hand emphatically X’d out the square.  Not just once, but over and over to underline his disappointment.   I pointed to the turkey, hoping for leniency. I signed that I did cook a turkey for Thanksgiving.  Evan glared at me, flipped the paper over, and drew a GIANT sad face, mimicking the daily report from his teacher. This was what I earned.  Shame on me.   

The pumpkin finally got put out as I prepared for our Christmas visit to my Mom’s.  It was still firm and orange, mocking me, and I couldn’t bear to toss it in the trash.  I quietly left it on my neighbor’s stairs as we loaded the car to go to the airport. 

The trip to RI was mostly uneventful.  But when we arrived, Evan’s behavior continued to be challenging.  I do realize that the quality of children’s behavior has an inverse relationship with the proximity of Christmas, but this seemed to be more. Other mothers confided that this regression and re-testing is not abnormal.  Kids sometimes need to push to make sure you are still there to push back.  It just so happens that Evan’s “pushing” draws from a deeper, more difficult place. 

Threats of landing on the naughty list did not work.  The day before Christmas, in an attempt to help both Ben and Evan burn off some pre-Christmas energy, I took them both to the park near my mother’s house.  On our walk back, up a steep hill, Evan ran ahead.  Clearly, he thought he was winning some kind of race and looked backwards to taunt us.  Ben and I continued to walk at a casual pace. 

Three-quarters of the way up the hill, I took a step and felt a sickening, painful POP in the back of my calf.  Something had snapped. I fell to the ground, one leg useless.  Ben reached down, “Mommy, are you ok???”  He asked with deep concern.  As I explained that something was wrong with my leg, I looked up and saw Evan looking at us from half a block away.  He pointed at us and laughed at me.  The hare to my defeated tortoise.  He ran on ahead to my mother’s house, ran inside, and stripped to his underwear - the victor. 

Ben helped me hobble home, offering himself as a human crutch.  I made a mental note to make sure to specify that this child will be the one to make decisions about my elder-care. 

Evan ran back out into the yard to watch our arrival.  As he danced in the December air in nothing but his Ninjago underwear, he was oblivious to the cold and my pain.  I hobbled indoors and made arrangements for a ride to the ER. Ben hovered.  Evan played in the living room.  I told Evan I was going to the doctor. He waved his hands at me dismissively, “Go.” 

When I returned, hours later, on crutches, Evan seemed unfazed.  Ben asked if I was going to be ok.  I reassured him that this was just a temporary condition and he seemed relieved.  The day wound down and we went to bed in full anticipation of Santa’s arrival. 

On Christmas morning, Ben woke first at 6 a.m. wanted to run down stairs.  Evan was still sleeping.  Remarkably, it took several minutes to wake him up. He is new to this whole Santa-concept, so I don’t know if he forgot – or if he just wasn’t sure how it all worked.  The difficulty is that I had to get him to open his eyes so I could sign to him that Santa came and there were presents under the tree.  Finally, after shaking him and practically lifting his eyelids myself, Evan looked at me.  I told him “Santa came!”  He got up – but not with the excitement you would imagine. I figured he would rev up once he saw the stacks of presents under the tree. 

We all walked downstairs.  Ben may have flown – I don’t think his feet touched the floor.  I expected an explosion of excitement when Evan saw the tree.  He approached with caution.  Certainly not the unbridled child-reaction I expected.  I showed Evan his name on the gifts.  He looked at me and signed, “Guitar?”   I told him to open the presents and see.  The smaller gifts on top were met with lukewarm enthusiasm.  Finally, he got to the bottom box, somewhat triangular in shape.  Evan’s eyes lit up! He tore it open. Inside was a child-sized acoustic guitar painted blue with orange flames.  He opened the box and took it out and kissed it.  I got a “thumbs-up” with a big grin.

Evan danced around with that guitar demonstrating moves that he had clearly picked up from watching music videos somewhere.  At one point, he hopped across the living room on one leg, strumming ala Chuck Berry.  This was Evan’s Christmas dream, and I (Santa) had not messed it up.  Evan will be the first deaf rock star, I have no doubt. 

Since Christmas, Evan carries his guitar with him everywhere.  He sleeps with it.  He insisted on taking it to the Laundromat and grocery store because, he mimed to me, he will sing for people and wave at them.  Evan is still Evan – occasionally he forgets it is a guitar and he holds it over his head like a weapon to whack someone with.  I’ve had to take the guitar from him a couple of times.  Evan always apologizes and promises to do better. 

Overall, Evan’s behavior seems to be improving again.  I’m sure the challenges will continue.  As I review the past month, I wonder if Evan had to “return to China” to see if I would still choose him – or to see if he would still choose me!  Maybe, he was afraid deep-down that Christmas would fail to meet his expectations like Halloween.  I can only wonder.  January will mark 6 months of epic changes for this little guy. 

Perhaps he will need to regress occasionally to confirm where he came from and feel in control of where he is going.  Maybe we all do.  The success of sites like Facebook is literally built on our desire to look back – to connect our past with our present, and link it to our future.   Looking back helps us to be successful today and to make hopefully better decisions tomorrow. 

 When I tell people that Evan’s most prized Santa-gift was a guitar, it is met with bewilderment.  It is, I’m told, the LAST thing they would think that a deaf child would want.  I could have dismissed Evan’s request and deferred to my own beliefs about what he would enjoy more. But I remembered my own childhood and my mother telling me I could be anything I wanted.  Despite being on the lower rungs economically, she encouraged all my dreams.  When I wanted to go to a private high school, she told me I could go anywhere I wanted if I worked to pay for it.  Because she believed in me, I now see all obstacles as things to be circumnavigated.  There are no walls.  Looking back, I can see the power that has given me in my life.  This is the gift I want most to give my children year after year.  This year, for Evan, it is painted blue and shaped like a guitar.

Gobble, Gobble.

Originally, we were supposed to travel to see friends for this Thanksgiving holiday. Plans were cancelled because the time was just not enough for the long drive.   I explained to another friend of mine that we were staying home after all. He expressed his opinion that this was the right thing to do.

           “You are the mother of two boys now. You shouldn’t be driving all over the country on the holiday.”

          Taken aback, I responded, “I was taking them with me, you know.”

  He forced me to look at this from another perspective: “That’s what I am talking about. You should be making dinner at home. These are the things they will remember when they grow up.”

            Hmmm.  Maybe he was right.  Maybe my gypsy tendencies were depriving my children of the memories of holiday traditions at home.  Every Christmas we leave and go to my mother’s in RI.  I remembered the epiphany I had (the shame I felt!) when Ben, here only for 2 years, asked, “Mommy, what’s a Christmas tree?” To be fair, he was actually being coy.  He knew what a tree was.  It was what we had at Nanei’s house.  It was what we saw decorated in stores and other people’s homes.  It was one of the details of the holiday that I had decided we didn’t need to trouble ourselves with since we wouldn’t be in our house when Santa came, anyway.  My annoying pragmatism was robbing my son of childhood memories.  I remembered decorating the tree every year growing up.  Why didn’t it occur to me that Ben would want those same experiences?  We went out that night and bought a small artificial tree that we decorate every year. 

          I never felt that level of guilt about Thanksgiving.  There were school Thanksgiving events. Sometimes we would go to a friend’s house to join their feast.  Ben has never been interested in food and it would have been crazy to make a dinner for just us. But now we have Evan.  Evan has food eccentricities, too, but he will eat chicken drumsticks and is a little more adventuresome than his big brother when it comes to eating.  I had to stop and consider my friend’s advice. 

           Evan has been learning all about Thanksgiving at school.  Last week, I was not all that surprised when he insisted I buy a turkey at the market.  He wouldn’t allow me to put it into the main basket of the buggy.  He insisted that he hold the frozen bird on his lap throughout the shopping trip. Evan asked me every morning leading up to today if I was going to cook the turkey.  Every day, I pointed to Thursday on the calendar and told him that we were waiting for Thanksgiving. 

          This morning I got up early and prepared the turkey.  I was glad the boys were not there to see me pull out the neck and the other parts. There was already little chance of getting Ben to try some.  I asked him a couple of days ago, “Ben, will you eat some turkey?  You eat turkey lunch meat…” I implored.

           Ben said, “That depends, will it be shaped like a bird?” 

          “Yes, until I cut it,” I answered.

          “Then, no.  No thank you, but thank you for asking, Mom.”

   Great.

          I still had Evan, though.  He was eagerly waiting for turkey day.  Evan came in the kitchen and looked on with curiosity as I rubbed some spices on the outside of the bird.  It was only a 12 pounder, but still quite impressive for our little family.  I lowered it into the oven.  Periodically, Evan ran out to the kitchen to ask when the turkey was coming.  I signed that it was a big bird and we had to wait.  As the time drew near, Evan came out just as I was basting the bird.  He licked his lips and applauded.  I thought about how abundant and luxurious it must seem to him to have such a large piece of meat all to ourselves.  I beamed.  I was glad I hadn’t “cheated” and gone out to eat, or bought a rotisserie chicken.  My son would long remember this first Thanksgiving.  Heck, he was like a Pilgrim himself – a stranger in a strange land – thankful that he had landed in a new life where a small boy could have a big bird on the middle of his dining room table. 

          I was quite caught up in this euphoric feeling as I put a cloth tablecloth on the table and cleared my work files from the area. We were going to have a real holiday.  I set the table with the nice dishes.  I started to wish that I had gone all out and made fresh biscuits and some traditional side dishes, but I reined myself in.  Ben only eats corn from a can.  He will ask, too.  “Mom, is this from a can?”  The answer had better be yes.  I heated up canned corn and some French style green beans that Evan likes.  Neither child likes bread. 

          I pulled the turkey from the oven.  It was beautiful.  I set it on top of the stove and left it to settle.  I realized all at once that I was still in my sweatpants and no makeup.  Well, this would not do. I caught a momentary glimpse of what Evan’s memory would play like when he was a 20 year old young man.  I couldn’t have my son’s first Thanksgiving dinner served by his mother in her sweatpants and bed head.  The boys were playing in the living room.  I jumped in the shower. I put on jeans, a sweater – fixed my hair and put on some make up.  As I emerged from my room, Evan asked me when the turkey was coming.  “Right now,” I responded. 

          I put the turkey on the table along with the corn and green beans.  I had a sweet potato. I offered some to the boys, but they refused.  I cut into the bird and put the first slice on Evan’s plate.  He looked thrilled.  I offered a piece to Ben.  He rejected it at first until I begged him to at least try it. Ben held a small fragment to his mouth and then declared, “No.  But at least I tried it.  Can I have some corn?” I filled his plate with corn. 

          I scooped corn and green beans on Evan’s plate.  The two dug in.  Evan ate a bite of turkey.  He didn’t complain.  But he didn’t eat anymore, either.  Ben and Evan enthusiastically shoveled canned corn and green beans into their mouths. Ben looked at the turkey and asked, “Are those its legs?”  “Yes,” I answered.  “Oh my God,” he laughed, “Then that must be its…!! I can’t believe I am looking at that!” Ben giggled peels of laughter.    I sat in front of my 12 pound bird. With a sinking feeling, I realized it was indeed MY 12 pound bird. 

          Then, I realized I had forgotten something very important!! (Cue the trumpets!)  The STUFFING!!  How could I forget!! All was not lost.  We fought over the stuffing when I was a kid.  It was more popular than the turkey.  I stood up and motioned for them to look as I took the large serving spoon.  With some ceremony, I inserted the spoon into the cavity of the bird.

A look of sheer horror crossed Evan’s face!  As I pulled out a scoop of stuffing, he released a blood curdling scream.  I realized all at once that he thought I was scooping out whatever a 6 year old imagines fills the inside of a huge bird.  Ben exclaimed, “It looks like trash!” Evan leaned over to Ben, and held his hand up to his mouth to shield his words from me as he conferred with Ben; Evan babbled something as he pointed at me and then the bird with disgust.   I burst out laughing so hard I dropped the spoon.  I gave up.  They finished the last of the canned vegetables and ran back to watch cartoons.   I finished my turkey dinner and tried to think of ways to use leftovers.   

           I tried so hard to stage just the right memory for my children. Sometimes I feel like the purveyor of American tradition and I worry that I am not doing all that I can and should.  In the end, they were the ones who gave me a memory I will never forget.  There is something delightful about never being normal again.  It is one of the blessings of parenting, for which I am ever thankful. 

Tap into your Inner Evanator!

I often try to imagine what this strange new world looks like to Evan.  Hardly a day passes when he doesn’t encounter something new.   A few nights ago, I was tired and didn’t want to cook.  I asked the boys if they wanted pizza.  Naturally, that met with approval.  Evan went to get his sweatshirt, ready to go jump in the car.  I told him to wait. I went online and ordered delivery.  Evan was rather upset with me for offering pizza and then sitting around doing nothing about it!  I could see that he was growing frustrated, so I called him to my computer and showed him the pizza website.  Then I signed to him that they would drive the pizza to our house.  Evan cocked his head sideways and raised one eyebrow. I didn’t need any sign language to figure out that he thought I was nuts.

Thirty minutes later, the pizza guy showed up.  Evan was thrilled. I’m sure he thinks I’m a sorceress.

This weekend was the second annual Rock and Roll Marathon in Savannah. We are directly on the race route which means our road closes down. By 8:15 in the morning thousands of runners are going right past our front door!  Last year Ben and I had a blast cheering for the runners and looking at some of the costumes people were running in.  

I was curious to see what reaction Evan would have when he saw hundreds of people jogging the wrong way down our one-way street.   I called Evan over and signed for him to look out the glass in the front door.  Our neighbors already had their lawn chairs set up on the curb.  Evan got very excited and wanted to go outside, too.  The boys put their sneakers on, still in their long jammies.  (Ben was wearing dinosaur pj’s and Evan had the Incredible Hulk.)

I opened the front door and we stepped out.  My neighbors called out, “We were wondering when you were coming out!”  I turned to answer them and heard Evan make a battle cry...  I turned back just in time to see my boy take off running!  I reached for him and missed. He was a blur...a skinny body in green and a head full of black hair.  Evan lept from the sidewalk and jumped into the middle of the pack!  I called back to Ben, “Stay there!  Mommy will be right back!” and took off running. 

So there I was -thankfully in my jeans and not my jammies - running at full speed after the Evanator. He passed many runners in his Incredible Hulk pajamas.   I saw runners dodging to miss him.  I made grabs for him as I came close and came up with handfuls of air.   Evan was laughing his butt off the whole time.  I am not exaggerating when I tell you it took more than a city block for me to catch him.  I don’t know how we didn’t end up on the evening news.

Evan and I walked back to the house.  Ben was waiting with the neighbors on the sidelines, always the dutiful son.  Evan was not happy when I explained to him that you had to have a race number to run.  

As we stood with our neighbors watching the runners, Evan scolded me for bringing him back. It occurred to me: Evan has no intention of ever being on the sidelines.  A few weeks ago he dove into the middle of an adult basketball game, and now the marathon.  There are no boundaries in Evan’s mind. 

People often remark that Evan is lucky to join our family.  That luck flows both ways.  I am the eternal pragmatist and Ben never takes a step without measuring the possible risks.  When I told Ben it was time to lose the training wheels on his bike, he complained, “No, then I will fall down!”  And now we have Evan... A 6 year old who fears nothing.  Never doubts himself.  Races headlong into the fray.  Life is for doing – not watching.  Wouldn’t we all benefit from uncorking our inner-Evanator?  What could we accomplish if we didn’t stop to worry about success or failure, whether we belonged, or what we were dressed like?  I dare you …..I dare me!

Red Face and the White Flag

I spent 6 idyllic years as the Uber Parent.  Complete strangers would cross the room in a restaurant or retail establishment and say, “Your son is so well behaved. I just had to come over and tell you that.”    I would beam with pride. I knew I had very little to do with it. To be fair, this was a little like moving into a beautifully landscaped house and posing outside with pruning shears.

Ben’s good temperament is legendary. Never a tantrum.  Almost never whines. Does what I ask of him 95% of the time – the first time I ask.  When people would offer praise, I would sometimes say, “Oh no, it’s not me; he came to me that way. He’s just a great kid.”  But this would trigger the reinforcement compliment: “Parenting must have something to do with it, too.”  Well, who was I to question their sound judgment? 

Recently, I brought Ben and Evan to the movies.  At the entrance to the theater there are arcade style games.  When the movie ended, Evan ran from me all the way to the games.  I ran behind him.  Ben ran behind me.  Evan tucked himself behind the video game to hide.  I caught a glimpse just as the last sliver of Evan disappeared, so I pulled him out and signed to him, “Don’t run from me!”  Evan signed back, “Sorry,” which is his favorite sign lately.  He thinks it is just like a magic eraser that grants you a do-over when adults are upset with you. 

I looked up and a handsome man in my age group was looking at me, amused.  I tried to wipe the frazzled look from my face and smile. 

“I wondered if anyone was going to find him back there,” he offered.   I explained to him that I am quite adept at chasing him and it is Evan’s way of being funny.  The boys played on the games (just the preview screens since I refuse to drop a quarter in them).  I chatted with the man. He was waiting for his teen children to emerge from a movie. 

Evan spied a teenage girl dancing on one of those electronic match-the-moves games.  He decided she needed a dance partner and darted onto the platform with her.  I ran over, snatched Evan off and decided it was time to go.  Then the fun began. 

Evan did not want to go. He ran from me and kept jumping on and off different machines.  Poor Ben thought, “If he’s still playing, I’m going to play.”  While chasing Evan like a greased pig, I was calling back to Ben, “Don’t play – If you do it, he will think he can, too.”  Ben looked dismayed.  I looked like an idiot.  The nice man got a glazed, faraway look and decided to move several feet out of the arcade area to wait for his children. 

I finally got a grip on Evan and started out of the theater.  I turned to say, “Have a good evening,” to the gentleman in a feeble attempt to restore some appearance that everything was normal and I had this under control.  Evan broke away from me and darted out the door. I ran after him, uselessly shouting, “Evan!”  Ben trailed after us with a pained look on his face. 

Because the cosmos could see that I still had a remnant of dignity left, we ran right past an acquaintance, who upon seeing my predicament, felt necessary to offer: “Wow, you really have your hands full!” 

So that’s it.  I have traded spontaneous accolades for wonderful parenting and a perfect child for, “You really have your hands full!”  This is always accompanied by a head shake and faint, but still perceptible recoil – as if the condition might be contagious. 

I have adjusted to this.  I have waved the white flag.  I have resigned myself to the reality that for the next couple of years I will be publically embarrassed on a regular basis.  People will look on with a mixture of pity and judgment.  I will take this as karmic retribution for every time I have observed another parent with an out of control child and smugly thought, “They need to get it together.”  It’s ok.  I can take it.

In reality, Evan’s behavior has improved greatly. He came home last week with a happy face on his behavior chart every day – an enormous accomplishment.  The child who is running around the house in his underwear right now - carrying a blanket and pretending to be Dracula - bears little resemblance to the surly stranger I brought back from China about 3 months ago. 

Three months ago, we went toe-to-toe about everything.  He is still stubborn, but there are far fewer battles.   Three months ago, when I would reprimand Evan, he would glare at me like a hardened teenager.  Now, Evan gets teary eyed and signs, “Sorry.” 

Perhaps the biggest difference I have noticed lately is his laughter.  It is hard to put into words the change that I have noticed.  In our first weeks together, Evan rarely laughed.  Oh, he would laugh at people.  He would misbehave and then pose like a superhero, hands on hips, and give a canned laugh.  But now, Evan laughs.  He squeals, he giggles, his laughter bubbles up and spills over the top like a 6 year old's  ought to.  His face lights up. This, to me, is worth every red-faced moment I can endure. 

Rumble in the Jungle (Gym) -well, almost!

We were leaving the grocery store about a week ago and Evan was riding in the buggy –(that’s a shopping cart to my Northern friends.)   Somehow, when we arrived at the car, he had lost one flip flop.  I knew it had to be between the car and the entrance of the store, so I locked both boys in the car and went back to retrieve it.

As I returned to the car, in a matter of seconds, this is what I witnessed:

Evan reached up to turn the dome light on.

Ben reached up to turn it off. 

Evan turned it on.

Ben turned it off.  (Ben knows this wears the battery down. Being the ever-conscientious worry-wart kid that he is, Ben considered this a mission of the utmost importance.)

Evan pushed at Ben.  Ben pushed at Evan.

Evan balled up his fist and socked Ben square in the eye. 

Needless to say, Evan was punished. Ben received an icepack.  This little interaction made me aware of

 #1. Evan still has a long way to go in developing social skills. and

 #2. The kid throws a punch like a professional boxer.  He has definitely done this before.

All of this was fresh in my mind when we visited beautiful Forsyth Park last weekend.  There were many children playing and Ben and Evan ran joyfully to the playground equipment.  I hovered, as I usually do, to make sure Evan is “playing nice.” 

Evan brought a new toy, a plastic action-figure/robot with him.  He climbed to the top platform from which all slides descended.   Several kids were up there, going up and sliding down.  Evan sat at the top of a slide, toy in hand.

 An older child, with curly hair and a very annoying (yes, I said it!) personality, reached over to Evan and tried to snatch the toy from him.  With manners that conveyed a “No one ever says no to me” mentality, the child simultaneously asked/demanded, “Hey, can I play with that?”   I watched with mixed fascination and trepidation.  He had no idea he was messing with the Evanator!

Evan yanked his toy back and waved his scolding finger at the child imitating angry speech noises. 

I walked over and said, “He can’t hear what you’re asking him.  He's deaf.”

Annoying boy: “Well, how do you say it in Spanish?”

Me:  “It won’t matter what language you ask him in, HE CAN’T HEAR YOU.” 

A/B: “Well, how do you talk to him, then?  I want to play with that.” 

(Obviously, the possibility that he would not get to play with the toy was not even in his realm of thought.)

Me: (thinking of the Evanator): “I think it’s better for you if you just forget that you ever saw that toy and keep it moving.”

Naturally, the A/B was bewildered, but this seemed to be the end of it.  A little while later, Evan asked me to hold his toy.  The A/B witnessed this and then asked me if he could play with it.   I told him that Evan had just gotten the toy recently and he wasn’t interested in sharing right now. 

I breathed a sigh of relief thinking we had avoided a social “faux pas.” I was proud of Evan that he hadn’t resorted to physical aggression.  PC or not, I couldn’t help but think that A/B was going to find himself perilously close to danger many more times in his youth unless he developed better social skills.

 Now that the toy was “off the table” I was pretty sure this kid would lose interest in Evan. I was wrong. 

Evan was happily darting up and down the ramps and slides, making his warrior cries.  You would think witnessing this force of nature would be enough to deter anyone from messing with him.  Most kids get out of the way when they see Evan coming. But not that kid.

 Evan had paused on a walkway when - like a moth to a flame - A/B walks up to Evan again.  I watched in amazement as the boy stood in front of Evan and started SWATTING Evan on the chest REPEATEDLY saying over and over: “Tag, you’re it. Tag you’re it. Tag you’re it. Tag you’re it.”

 Evan stared at him in total amazement.  One eyebrow arched up.  The famous Evanator sneer came across his face.  I thought, “Here it comes.”   I held my breath.  I didn’t move to stop him.  Part of me – that primal mother-bear part of me – wanted to see the winds of karma do its thing. 

Evan released a barrage of what I’m sure were not very nice words in this boy’s face.  But Evan did not raise a hand.   I was proud of him, (and not so proud of myself!)  I told the boy again, “He can’t understand what you are saying.”  The child seemed annoyed and ran off.   Evan went about his business.  A short while later, I saw Evan chasing Annoying Boy through the ramps and slapping him on the back.  The A/B was yelling, “Hey, leave me alone!  Leave me alone!!” 

“That’s my boy!”  I laughed to myself.  The Evanator always wins J

Sleep is for mere mortals....

I once heard that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing, the same way, and expecting a different result.  I don’t doubt it.  This past week, Evan decided he did not want to go to bed.  I don’t mean just at 8:00 – I mean at all.  It was his master plan to just skip the whole sleep-nonsense-thingy in its totality.  

Allow me to backtrack.  Evan sleeps in the bottom bunk; Ben in the top. Ben graciously gave up the bottom “because it is bigger, and you (Mommy) can lay down with Evan like you did with me so he won’t be afraid.”  Our bedtime ritual has been that we brush our teeth, enjoy a book, and go to sleep.  This past week, Evan blew that train right off the track. 

Why sleep?  We would get to the point of lying down, and then Evan would launch an escalating campaign of blended harassment and deceit.

  “Ooh, Mommy is falling asleep…what will happen if I blow in Mommy’s face? How about if I touch her nose?  Stick my finger in her ear?  Wow, she does not look happy. Look – she’s falling asleep again…I will sneak out of bed and get that toy.  Darn, I didn’t know that toy made noise! Uh, oh! ….”

This went on Monday, and Tuesday…by Wednesday night I was so sleep deprived I told Ben to ‘get his pop-tarts out from under the table.’  The problem is I meant to say flip-flops.   I could not take it anymore.  Wednesday night the blitzkrieg persisted… 9:00 – 9:30 – 10:30…. I began to understand why parents flip out and snap…  I yanked Evan out of bed and gave him a time-out in the hallway…back to bed.  No effect.  I lay in the bed stewing, thinking of all the work I had to do and how tired I was.  I thought, “This kid has no idea of what I do all day, every day.”

Then, a stroke of genius (or so I thought) lit upon me.  I will put his energy to use.  “Ah hah, I thought -- you want to stay up and you are not sleepy? I will show you what it’s like to be an adult.” I pulled him out of the bed and into the kitchen.  I was angry. Evan looked scared.    I pulled the step stool over to the sink where I had left a pile of dishes for the morning.  I hate doing dishes.  I signed to Evan to start washing. I wanted to see shock. I wanted to see reluctance.  I wanted to see pouting.  Evan broke  into a huge grin. 

We stood in my kitchen as the clock approached 11:30 and Evan washed every dish, pan, and piece of silverware.  I watched (hoped) for a sign of fatigue.  Nope.  I was torn between a silly-joy of not having to face those dishes in the morning, and indignation that my “punishment” backfired and I was no closer to solving our sleep dilemma. I was not yet willing to accept the fact that my psychological trick was not having the desired effect. Still trying to be the “mean task master” I pointed to the mop and bucket and told him when he was finished, I was going to make him mop the floors. Evan looked thrilled, showed me his muscles, and I felt like a Giant Idiot-of-Parenting.  Sure, my house would be cleaner, but I did want to go to bed at some point. 

We did not mop the floors.  When the dishes were done, I told Evan he had to go to bed.  He was not happy – like I had broken a promise.  I was exhausted. 

The next morning I decided I had reached the point of absurdity and I needed to wave the white flag.  I told Ben  I would not lie down in their room that night.  I needed my sleep.  If Evan wanted to stay up all night, so be it.  I didn’t want Ben to suffer as Evan bounced around their room, so I told him if Evan didn’t settle down, he could come and sleep in my bed. 

That night, we repeated our usual bedtime ritual. When it came time to lay down with Evan, I kissed him on the forehead and said, “Good night.”  He looked puzzled.  I point towards my room and told him Mommy was tired and since he didn’t want to go to sleep, I was going to sleep in my room.  I turned out the light.  Five minutes passed.  Ben walked in my room with his pillow.  Moments later, Evan followed and I told him to go back to his room.  I told him we were tired and wanted to sleep.   Evan looked bewildered, then intrigued. I’m sure the word “FREEDOM” blinked in big neon letters in his brain.

I laid awake for a short time, listening to the sounds of Evan playing.  Around 10:30, I woke briefly and could tell he was still going.  (Mind you, this was a school night!)  After midnight, I heard sounds coming from the living room.  I walked down the hallway and found Evan, still awake, hands folded behind his head, watching some black-and-white movie on T.V. I was over it.   Off went the T.V.  Evan gave me a surly look; I snatched him up, and let him know, “Enough was enough.”  I put him back in his bed, told him to go to sleep, and turned the light out.  Evan must have passed out then, because I didn’t hear anymore from him. 

As it usually does, morning came.  Six o’clock is early for most children, especially for those who choose to party half the night.  I woke Evan. His eyes were red.  I dragged him out of bed and pulled a uniform shirt over his head.  He tried to go back in the bed.  I smiled.  Vindicated.

When Evan was fully dressed, I sat him at the dining room table in front of his breakfast.  He put his head on the table.  I told him, “See what happens when you don’t go to sleep?”  He nodded.  He sat in my lap and put his head against me as we waited for the bus. 

Evan survived the school day.  I felt better than I had all week since I had gotten a full night’s sleep.  Bedtime came.  I went to kiss Evan’s forehead and he looked at me and patted the bed next to him.  I signed, “Are you going to go to sleep?”  He nodded.  I didn’t really believe him, but I got in the bed anyway.  Evan fidgeted for a few minutes.  “Here we go, I thought.”  I looked at him and signed, “Sleep.”  Seconds later, Evan snuggled close to me and hooked his arm around my neck as if to say, “You’re staying right here.”    We fell asleep like that. 

Extras:

I have discovered the hard way that a slow drain in the bathroom sink and a deaf kid are not a good match.  Evan cannot hear the water running, so he sometimes forgets to turn it off after he washes his hands or brushes his teeth.  This has resulted in a flooded bathroom twice.  Now, Ben or I will check behind Evan to make sure he has turned the water off.

Evan is doing well in school.  Behavior is still a challenge, but he is having more good days than bad.  Straight-faces and sad-faces on the behavior chart means no T.V. at home, so Evan tries to do the right thing.

Our communication is improving.  Evan’s signing vocabulary is passing mine now, so I have to catch up!  We can now have small conversations.  Evan has been pulling out his photo album from the orphanage in China and telling me about his friends.  Apparently, one boy scratched the side of Evan’s head, and Evan is still pissed at him! LOL. 

My big shock for the week is that I discovered just yesterday that Evan knows some MULTIPLICATION.  We were working in my classroom and he was on the computer.  Ben said, “Mom, look, Evan’s doing multiplication.”  I said, “No, he’s not.”  I walked over to see Evan moving an 18 over to a box that said 6 x 3 = ?    and the 15 over to the 5 x 3 = ?.  I could not believe what I was seeing. I couldn’t get him to show me more.  At home, I tried to get him to do it again on my computer, and he showed a solid understanding of the zero and ones table.  Beyond that, it looked like guessing, but I am going to look into this further.  Sometimes, I think the only thing about Evan that is 6 years old is his teeth.  He looks like Leon Spinks lately – all his front teeth are coming out.

Oh, and by the way, Evan has been doing the dishes now every day!  :)

The effect of time....

In my early twenties, in a moment of whimsy and idiocy, I got a puppy.  Gigi was a Boston Terrier.  I thought she would be like the sweet, funny, well behaved Boston Terrier I had left with my mother back in Rhode Island.  I made two amateur mistakes: assuming the puppies would have similar personalities, and thinking that somehow with my busy social life and erratic work schedule I could train a puppy to be as well behaved as my mother had.

 I was very wrong on both accounts.  Gigi was Nuts.  If there was doggy-Ritalin, I would have given it to her.  Of course, my schedule did not aid the poor little girl in developing nice behavior or bathroom habits.  I would come home from working all day and find ‘treasures’ she would leave me.  I wanted to sleep after staying out half the night.  Gigi wanted to run outside.  As a compromise, while I tried to sleep, she would dance on my head. 

Shortly into our ill-paired union, I decided that Gigi had to go.  I place an ad in the local paper.  If I were honest, it should have read:  “Superball that sh*ts.”   Instead, I lied.  I claimed I had to move and couldn’t bring the dear, sweet puppy with me.  Free - to a good home.  A woman answered the ad.  She had other Bostons.  I brought Gigi for a visit.  I feigned deep regret that I couldn’t keep the little darling.  The woman didn’t look like a hoarder or a mass murderer, and her animals seemed well cared for.  I gave Gigi a pat on the head and got the heck out of there.  As I drove away, relief washed over me.  I quietly wished the lady luck, and hoped I wouldn’t receive any “come-get-her” phone calls. 

Now, I am not comparing children to dogs directly, but I will admit now that the first weeks with Evan unnerved me.  I had many, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?” moments. I cried.  More than once.  I wistfully looked at pictures of my model-child Ben when he was small.   Remember the story of Adam and Eve? Walking around in Paradise …couldn’t leave well-enough alone ... just had to bite that apple?  That was how I felt; booted out of Paradise, never to return – or so I thought. 

The first day of school has come and gone.  I am posting a picture of the brothers on their first day.  Evan was extremely pleased with his reflection in the crisp white polo and navy blue slacks.  He couldn’t take his eyes off himself while he brushed his teeth.  He looked in the mirror smiling and nodded his head with approval.  Then he turned to me and hugged me tight.

Fast forward. Evan and Ben have just completed their 2nd week of school.  Ben is doing great and loves his new teacher.  He is adjusting to the homework load of 4^th grade.  I am so proud of the way he takes responsibility for his homework and tries his best.  He told me he made a new friend – a boy named Wyatt.

Ben said, “He has longer hair, but not like a Bison.  He doesn’t shed in the summer and grow it thicker in the winter.”  I wonder if Ben has shared this observation with Wyatt. 

Evan’s teacher also reported that Evan has a new friend – and they are trying to get Evan to stop hitting him.   

The past two weeks have been marked by an expected flurry of emails back-and-forth between me and Evan’s teachers.  The unexpected, wonderful part is that Evan’s teachers are reporting remarkable improvements in just two weeks!  I received this email yesterday from the deaf/hard of hearing instructor:

“Did you send the same child to school this week????  I CANNOT believe how much Evan has changed/grown/learned in one week!!!  I introduced 10 brand new signs (basic vocab) last Thursday, then checked to see what he remembered on Tuesday – 10/10.  Introduced 10 new words (more basic vocab) on Wednesday and checked to see what he remembered Thursday 10/10!! His behavior has also improved.  There are still a couple little things we are working on, but a HUGE change from last week.  I am so impressed!  Can’t imagine where he will be a month from now.”

This brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.  I feel as if I am witnessing a miracle in progress.  I have known from the first day that Evan was extremely smart.  But his behavior was atrocious.  And that is the undoing of many smart children (and adults.) 

Evan is still Evan.  He is rambunctious, funny, and loves to annoy Ben.  He still does things that baffle me and remind me he has only been with us for 2 months.  Just yesterday, Ben happened to look behind the couch and gasped, “Mom!!!  LOOK!!!”

Evan had been discarding trash of all sorts – cellophane wrappers from drink straws, a juice box, clementine peels, even a yogurt cup! – over the back of the sofa instead of walking them to the trash can.  I had Evan clean it up, and he signed to me, “Sorry.”  Now we have a ban on eating in the living room. 

I have set up a calendar on the refrigerator with pictures on it representing school/work on the weekdays with an 8:00 p.m. bedtime.  The weekend has pictures of T.V. and a church on Sunday.  Evan tells me every day that he doesn’t want to go to school and points at the T.V.    I tell him every day that he has to go, and Mom has to work.  Evan doesn’t fight it after that, and he seems to like school.  Everyday, he comes home and puts all new work on the refrigerator.  I have set up a folder for him to put his work into when he decides to swap out masterpieces.  I am quite impressed with the quality of Evan’s art work.  I am in my 7^th year of teaching and I have never seen a six year old who can draw like this. Evan draws with rapid, confident strokes which mirror his personality and defy his age.  I am posting pictures of a couple of pieces.

A very dear friend Leo, who passed away many years ago, shared some wisdom with me. It has been applicable so many times in my life I can never forget it – and I still hear it in his voice in my head: 

“Allow for the effect of time, over time.” 

I am in awe of this child.  Evan James Lamb is more than a survivor.  Evan has the ability, cunning and desire to make the absolute most of his environment. It was true in the depraved conditions in Xin Xiang, and it is true in the pristine surroundings of his elementary school.  God and life have big plans for Evan.  How exciting that we all get to watch! 

Ben and Evan on the 1st day of school.  The next 3 are Evan's drawings.  The  level of detail is remarkable at his age - look at the leaves and branches on the tree!  The 2nd a 3rd drawing are the playground at school and our house.  He did both drawings on a rainy day.