The bird

So I'm going through my writing, and came across this blurb I knew I had to throw on paper a few months back. This blog is my new attempt to chronicle our journey with Tieran, and though we are definitely past this stage now, I figure I should include it for perspective sake.... It actually helps for me to see that it wasn't that long ago he was calling me "Sarah" rather than mom. Just when I think we've gotten nowhere, I see that I used to hear him threatening to scalp people, and I realize we just need to measure progress differently than most!

"His tongue grasps the corner of his mouth as if he was concentrating on some minute detail in a drawing. His eyes are steely and wise, making him seem years older than barely four. It is taking him a great deal of effort, but he's plenty persistent. Every time he puts the pinky finger down, it goes shooting up again. I am standing there, astonished, as he finally holds down the last finger. Or at least the last he was attempting to fold over. There is one left upright. It is his short pudgy middle finger. Because he has to hold all the others down with his right hand, I find both his arms reaching toward me, making certain I see the assault with absolute clarity. He has been screaming these words silently and covertly for so long, I am almost grateful for the tangible display.

Within hours of flipping me off, more honesty comes seeping and sometimes springing out of him. "I don't like you...You do a bad mom-job and you're a really bad mom...I don't need you!" Not sure if I prefer the words or being flipped off better, I just know that each produces their own kind of pain. And I think of our Creator. Of how many times I concentrate on the task before me, content to be blissfully ignorant to all around me, and find myself holding up that finger. And as if it's not enough to hold it up, I stretch it out so it is placed squarely in God's face. And I proceed to say that SOMEBODY does not do a good enough job. That I could do much better if only He would let me. That if I were in charge, people wouldn't lose babies or endure abuse or have a mother's heart with no chance to mother. And rather I'm screaming the words or just flipping the finger, the message is the same. "I don't need you."

So here is the experiment I;m in the middle of in my home. My four year old foster son who we are in the process of adopting has said he wants no mom. Doesn't like 'em, need 'em, or want 'em. None of them thank you very much. And after nearly a year of fighting with him over every little thing and trying to build attachment with someone who is scared to death of trusting, I just finally said "ok." "Okay, Tieran. If I'm so bad at being a mom, than I'll stop doing the Mom-job for a while. You go ahead and do the mom-jobs for yourself. I'll keep you safe, and I'll drive you to preschool, but you're in charge of the rest." Of course I said these things thinking that within a matter of hours he would realize how much I do for him, and how well, and come crying with a new perspective of respect and understanding.

It's funny, it's only been a few days, but that is most definitely not happening. Instead he is enjoying the freedom from nagging, knowing that I will keep him safe but that he has just been handed a free ticket for chaos. He began coloring on the walls, just to see if I would step in and be the mom. He flashes evil glares and pushes just to the point where I feel I might explode and then goes gaily about his way of taking care of himself. His teeth may go brushed or unbrushed depending on his mood. He's taken one bath (though he couldn't keep the water in the tub), and the clothing choices have been surprisingly appropriate. He knows that he can pretty much manage the mundane tasks that have caused several small world wars in the past, but he also knows that not being parented leaves you pretty lonely. So he pretends to love the loneliness and sings songs about not needing anybody "not nobody"

I felt bad about the assortment of food that he could reach and open or make easily enough, so I casually left out a granola bar on the counter to supplement his breakfasts of bananas and yogurt or bread. The next morning, he saw it, was delighted, and started devouring it. We are mostly not talking during this little experiment, and so when he started to ask me a question I almost stopped him. But I couldn't. He had this super sweet face and his enormous blue eyes were almost kind; which I hadn't seen for a while, when he asked, "Sarah, did you put this there for me?" All I said was, "Yes, Tieran," but my heart was warming up to a wee little expectation of a minor breakthrough, a bit of thankfulness from him, a slight supermom moment. The delusion was quickly shattered when his eyes went hard again and he said, "Oh----pause--- I should say thank you, but-- I won't!"

And it dawns on me. There is Someone I often say those exact words to. I don't have the heart to admit it as honestly as my kiddo, but I often leave out those two monumental words. I say just that; "I should-- but I won't!" through my inaction every day. I have been hurt just enough to have a kind of attachment disorder very similar to the one my son suffers. Of course somewhere inside is a woman who craves to be known and understood and loved unconditionally, but she does not much like the idea of trusting in order to feel those things. It becomes a toss up. And most of the time, avoiding the fear of trusting seems like the smarter choice. She is terrified of being grateful for the small kindnesses that are casually left out on the counter, because that would be like admitting that she needs help and is out of control.

Only as I sat to write the simple story of my unbelievably audacious little one flipping me off did it occur to me how very much we have in common. I have a better social filter. I don't go screaming at folks in the grocery store that I would like to shoot or scalp them. I never bite the earthly hands that feed me. But I am sure that if I were to really stop and look, to watch some hidden camera footage of the quieter, more common days, I might see an image of a little girl fiercely hidden in a woman's body, holding up her pudgy middle finger to her Father and thinking she was pretty damn smart. And I'm even more certain that He will not respond as irresponsibly as I have to my own, for He will never hand over the job to someone who is incapable of doing it right. "