Cry Me a River...

When I was younger, I hardly cried. Maybe I didn't have much to cry about? After I got married, my crying habits changed. I started crying like a baby. Without exception, I cry multiple times a week. This past week, I cried every day and multiple times a day. I cried so much that Rob started ignoring me.

Something about seeing my baby congested and struggling to breathe makes me want to cry. It kind of reminds me of my grandmother when she was dying of emphysema. Not cool.

In a moment of deep introspection, I realized that a lot of my crying comes from life being out of my control. I can't heal my baby. I can't speed up my adoption. I can't make my husband do things my way all the time, though I may try...

And once again, I am confronted with the reality that I don't trust God.

I choose to worry. I live in fear.

But, I have hope that I won't always be this way, and that I will learn to replace fear with faith and worry with trust.

Things we probably shouldn't do...

Exhibit A: Strap our son into a chair and place him in front of a tv


But, at least one of our kids can be hypnotized by the power of the television. This mama needs a break sometimes...

Comparisons and the Insecure Daddy

It's hard for me to watch people's reactions to Cosi. She's developmentally delayed- physically, mentally and emotionally. So when I see other parents reacting to her misbehavior, or when I see the concerned looks when she is obviously not acting like a 'normal' 4 year-old, I feel defensive.

April, too, feels defensive, but she feels defensive of Cosi, which is a lot better than what I tend to feel. I feel defensive of myself as a parent. Especially in East Asia, where I need to be the primary communicator for our family, I end up being quick to explain to everyone that Cosi is adopted, that she was in an orphanage for 3 years, that she has been in our home for only 9 months, and that she is really doing very well, considering all that she has going against her.

I want people to know that I really am a good parent and that when my daughter hits a child who gets too close to her, it's not because she's mean but because she's scared. She doesn't understand or answer most of the questions people ask her in English (let alone in East Asian) and that doesn't mean she's rude or stupid or that I'm slacking in teaching her. She's only been learning these languages for a few months! And usually she's just so happy to be around people that she can't focus on what they're saying. So I overexplain and try to justify my child, lest someone think less of me because of her.

And it is hard to watch other 4 year-olds (and even 3 year-olds) and notice the ways in which Cosi is delayed. Sometimes, though, the comparisons are helpful. I tend to blame all her problems on her history, but sometimes she's just being a normal 4 year-old! Four year-olds grab toys, disobey, refuse to eat, make messes, and act...well...childish. As April sometimes jokingly reminds me when I'm disciplining Cosi for something petty, "You're right Rob, how DARE she act like a little kid!"

*Sigh*

So it looks like I'm projecting my perfectionist tendencies onto my daughter. It looks like my struggles with grace and the gospel will continue to affect those I love. It looks like Cosi will suffer for my insecurities.

She really is doing well. Every day I need to pray again that God would enlarge my heart to accept and love her as she is, even if this is as far as her development goes. And day by day I'm encouraged by the growth we see, but afraid that this is as far as it will go. So the next step is to learn how to stop giving a hoot about what other people think of my daughter (and of me as a parent) and remember to show grace to my daughter...and to myself.

Redemption Works Slowly (Rob's Meditations)

I am touched and, honestly, a little surprised at the number of people who comment to me how they enjoy following Cosi's story and are encouraged by the beautiful picture of redemption that it paints. It's not that I don't think the story is beautiful or redemptive. The problem, I think, is that I'm still too deep in the story to see it for what it is. Most people are only exposed to the tidbits we find time to share on our blog or over email. A few people are close enough to us that they get a much fuller picture, and a few even join in Cosi's story themselves.

So while most people get to see the big picture and little else, I often struggle to see beyond the daily frustrations and disappointments. I seldom have time, especially these past few weeks, to consider the beauty of what is going on. I'm more consumed by failed efforts at potty training, figuring out how and when to discipline, and trying to dodge toys aimed at my head (or block the ones aimed for Trey). I daily (sometimes hourly) come face to face with her rebellion, stubbornness, and outright sinfulness so much that I'm blind to what it is all about. I feel like I'm missing the forest for the fleas. But really, that's not the case. The missteps, frustration and pain are an essential element of any redemptive story. It's not, "If I could just see past all these problems, I'd see the beauty." Rather, it's "When I see these problems for what they really are, only THEN do I see the beauty."

Now, as a father and theologian, I am in fact obligated to draw a parallel between this and the great story of the redemption of God's people. It's not that hard to do, though. I'm so caught up in my own daily frustrations, challenges, failures and difficulties that I fail to see how they're a part- a crucial part- of my redemption. What makes God's love for me so beautiful and shout-out-loud amazing is that it takes into account my missteps, tantrums, doubt, and rebellion. God's love knows that I am going to continue to live like an unloved orphan for a long time, that I won't immediately get used to being the beloved child of a Good Father. Redemption works slowly, and if it didn't, it wouldn't be as beautiful. But redemption also works inevitably, and if it didn't, we'd be hopeless.

So please, feel free to remind me that Cosi's story is beautiful. I need to hear it, maybe as much as I need an occasional babysitter and full night's sleep.

Sleep and the Sinful Daddy

I have mixed emotions about last night. Cosi slept through the night. But I think the cold medicine had a lot to do with it :-/

Each week, Cosi sleeps through the night about twice. Another 2 or so nights, she wakes up once or twice, but only long enough for me to put her back to bed. Then there are usually several nights a week where she wakes up every 20-30 minutes over the course of 3 hours. Often she is screaming, like she's having nightmares. Since nature hasn't equipped me to handle Trey's needs when he wakes up at night, I leave him to April, which means Cosi is my night-time responsibility.

I always pictured myself as the kind and sympathetic father, who at all hours would go and comfort my daughter, rocking her back to sleep. Sometimes, I am alike that. But sometimes, it is 3 a.m., I haven't slept yet that night, I know that her brother will be awake in 2 hours, and I'm grumpy. (I also have a theory that Cosi and Trey telepathically communicate to make sure that one of them is awake at all times...) That's when my sleepy, muddled mind justifies standing at her door and sternly telling my crying child to "Go back to sleep." Yeah, Rob, good one. Do you think she is standing there sniffling through tears thinking, "What am I supposed to do now? I'm sleepy, it's dark, there's my bed. What should I do? Won't some stern, unsympathetic voice please give me a command?"

[side note: For those who haven't had a toddler, you may be inclined to think, as I once did, that any child who is awake for much of the night is bound to make up for it by sleeping some during the day. You would be suffering from false hope if thought that. For Cosi, there is absolutely no correlation between sleepless nights and nap days.]

But then there are moments that remind me why I need to ignore that base desire to intimidate my child to sleep. The other night, sometime around 2 a.m., she was up for the dozenth time that night, and I was holding her in my lap, slowly rocking her until she stopped crying. I checked to see if her eyes were closed, and in the dim light from next room, I could see that her eyes were wide-open...and she was smiling. She looked up at me, pulled her thumb from her mouth, and whispered a happy "Hi!" She went to sleep not long after that...but then she woke up 20 minutes later- just long enough for me to get back in bed and start to doze off.

Later that same night/morning, she woke up crying and told me she wanted food. I have a big bag of individually wrapped bread rolls for just such an occasion. She asked me to unwrap the roll, and then, rather than eat it, she lay it in front of her on the bed, so she could look at it while she slept. Last night she did the same thing with a carrot stick. I've read that adopted children sometimes live in fear that they will not get their next meal. It helps to have food nearby, even if they're not hungry. How sinful and selfish do I need to be to try to bully a child like that into going back to bed quickly just so I can get to sleep?

Of course, I'm saying all this with the clarity of a full 6 hours of sleep behind me...

Trying to figure this “parenting thing” out

After jumping into parenting with an active 3-year-old, we find ourselves faced with new challenges on a daily basis. Sometimes it's hard to figure out the best response on the spur of the moment.

Example: Cosi really wanted to try some of my hot tea. (Her favorite drinks are always found in other people's cups.) I told her “no, it's hot,” though it was closer to warm. Then, I realized she doesn't know what hot is. So, I let her touch the outside of my cup to feel the warmth. She loved touching it and now she wants to touch my hot tea every morning. Of course, I've inadvertently taught her that “hot” means “warm and fun to touch.” Way to go me.

What should I do? I'm trying to use the words “too hot” for when my tea is first made. I make her wait and then tell her when it's okay, but I'm pretty sure my meaning isn't really conveyed. Then, there are other “hot” situations, like when I'm getting something out of the oven. I'm trying to say “danger” instead of “hot,” but the only meaning that seems to be conveyed is “my mom is yelling” or “mom really doesn't want me to touch this, I'll have to move faster to get it next time.”

Other current topics in our home:

-spitting is okay after brushing your teeth, but not all over the apartment

-we encourage creativity, but stop breaking all of your toys

-it may seem like fun to pee on the floor, but your parents don't enjoy cleaning it up

-kissing someone immediately after hitting them doesn't make it okay to hit

-no throwing things! except you should throw this frisbee (or ball) to that kid and he's going to throw it back at you, and that's okay...

-when Daddy said “crap,” it's probably good that you thought he said “crab” and then made pinching motions with your fingers

-speaking of pinching, yes, we're happy that you know what “cheek” means, but less is more when pinching them

-at present, all animals are dogs, except tigers and owls (which are cats), and lions (which are lions) and dogs which are either lions or dogs

-flashing your belly is not a socially acceptable greeting in this culture (or any culture that we're aware of), despite the fact that it makes everybody smile

So as you can see, we have a ways to go, and the learning curve is steep, but we're pretty sure we'll get it all figured out soon...maybe even before baby #2 shows up!

Plan B- keep winging it and hope no one catches on...

Rob's Confessions- Part 2 and 3

When hanging up my clothes, whenever possible I try to match the color of shirt with the color of the clothes-hanger. This presents some problems-
1) I have very few "metal-colored" shirts (solution: I hang black shirts on unpainted hangers, since black is the absence of color and a metal-colored hanger is unpainted)
2) One of our last hanger purchases was pastel colored hangers, and I have (almost) no pastel shirts.
3) I have more gray clothing than any person in the world should. Which leads to confession number 3:

When doing laundry, I have whites, colors, and grays. My wife (who ironically is maiden-named Gray) teases me about this. I just tell her gray is my favorite color...I felt so symbolic yesterday...

Rob's Confessions, part 1

We recently moved, and life is a bit crazy. We finally got internet hooked up, but there's so much else on our plates that blogging is not even on the back burner- it's in a box in a closet somewhere, along with most of my books and badminton rackets.
Anyway, I thought I'd share a few mildly humorous confessions- this one being the first:

I am so technologically challenged that when my internet is slow, I check the cord for kinks, because part of me still thinks of it like a water hose. I imagine a kink in the hose and a great big back-up of information filling the cord. Once I straighten it out, I'm just sure that everything will move faster...
Sometimes I think I make our I.T. guy cry...