I'm THAT Mom.
I'm the one who passive aggressively makes comments and suggestions for months before breaking down and triple slamming you to the floor with a 180, complete with my own private therpist reports, research, and demands.
I'm THAT Mom.
I'm the one who puts on the cheery face and signs messages with "Have a great day!" when we both know my actual thoughts go more along the line of "I wouldn't be sad if you quit and someone else worked with my child."
I'm THAT Mom.
I'm the one who, despite not having any formal education in your field of expertise, is writing her own IEP goals, demanding and justifying doubling my child's services. Who listens to what you say before dismissing it as incorrect and not fully-fleshed out. I'm the one who is saying you are wrong.
I'm THAT Mom because I am HIS Mom.
It's not your job, or anyone else's job, to move hell and high water for my son. It's not your job to fight for more and better and even more and even better for him. It's not your job to know everything about him, including his strengths and weaknesses. It's not your job to focus on those strengths and weaknesses and find anyway possible to enhance them. And I get that. I respect that. I don't actually hope you quit......
But as HIS Mom, I have to fight for him. I have to reach outside my comfort zone and challenge you when I know we're not on the same page. And as unpleasant as that might be for you, it is just as unpleasant for me. I don't like conflict, I don't like looking an educated, respected woman in the eye and saying "You are not doing the right thing and I know better than you." I don't relish calling you out, forcing you to justify yourself and your knowledge.
You see THAT Mom, but really, I am the Mom who spends hours agonizing over every word in those e-mails. I am the Mom who lays in bed at night tossing and turning over whether or not to rock the boat. I am the Mom who researches for hours just to make sure I can keep up with what I know you are already well versed in. I am the Mom who feels totally inadequate and out of her league when it comes to therapies and goals. I am the Mom who leaves those meetings and sits in her car and sobs....every.single.time.
I'm HIS Mom.
I simply need the very best I can physically get to help him reach his potential. I will spend any amount of my money and time and emotional capacity I need to in order to go to sleep at night knowing that today was a day that worked for him. It's a lonely, isolating, slightly scary, and very uncomfortable place to be sometimes, but I will do whatever I have to for him. That includes pushing you to give him the best and most accurate support that YOU can.
So yes, I am THAT Mom, and I won't apologize for it, but just so you know, it's harder on me than it is on you.
It's also a million trillion times more rewarding.
Showing posts with label advocate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advocate. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Language of Love
Right now, I'm his translator to the world. And while I wish for him that he didn't need one, I am proud to be his mouth when he needs one.
But something interesting has happened in the last month. Little Bro has learned to speak Little Bugese. Although Little Bro's language is superb and even likely advanced for only hearing English for 5 months, he seems to understand anything Little Bug says. He often repeats his brother, only in a more traditional English articulation, or will just continue on with their conversation without skipping a beat. To listen to them is like listening to two kids speaking different languages (and it becomes adorably comical when they both start speaking Korean on top of it all), but to them, it's normal.
They're bilingual. Trilingual? 1.5-lingual?
As these two have truly become brothers, their bond has extended to work around Little Bug's language delay. I've been worried for a while that it would impact Little Bro's own language or his ability to bond with his brother, but there is not a phrase Little Bug utters with regularity that Little Bro doesn't immediately understand. It's shocking and amazing and very, very cool.
Because now Little Bug has another person in his corner who can help him access others socially when he needs it. I imagine in the years to come (because this apraxia is something Little Bug is going to struggle with for a while yet) when my sons are playing with friends in a fort or playground and Little Bug excitedly exclaims something no one understands, his little brother will be there to back his big brother up.
His brother will have his back when his mama can't. Or, as Little Bug would and has said "wiw bha, ah boo bah?" Little Bro's translation: "Little Bro, aboobah?"
I fiercely love these two boys.
Friday, September 2, 2011
An Apology to My Little Bug
It's been a lonely couple of weeks for me.
Sometimes being a mom of a kid with special needs, especially behavioral special needs, just plain sucks. It's stressful, emotionally draining, depressing, and scary, which leads some (me) into periods of isolation as I try to swing our family pendulum back into sync with some serious sleep and diet modifications and a super low-key environment. Even as I took the boys on a 5-day vacation last week, I felt so off, a mirror to Little Bug's off mood (that was likely a bit of a cycle between the two of us by the end).
And that isolation extended to my writing, which I deliberately avoided, simply because the things I wanted to say were not things I actually wanted to say.
In fact, I just had about seven additional paragraphs to this post detailing my last couple weeks that I just deleted. Because it wasn't what I wanted to say.
Instead, I want to write about how amazing my Little Bug is and how humbled I am tonight to be his mother.
Little Bug came to us as a sweet, beautiful 10-month-old infant. He's always been so far behind in development that Appa and I just grew accustomed to parenting him at his delayed age. He was our first child, and our parenting experience has been entirely built upon ignoring all conventional parenting methods and milestones. What we have given as compassion, acceptance, and avocation have in some instances been nothing more than enabling or selfishness.
That has now been put into blessed clarity for us.
Little Bug is a couple months away from turning 4. Yet, he has never been formally sleep trained and has been cosleeping in a most unhealthy way since his first birthday. Why have we never bitten the bullet and kicked this habit? Oh, that would be because he couldn't be walk, then he couldn't stay in his big boy bed, then he couldn't fall asleep without us, then he needed his sleep and it was easier to put him to sleep in our bed, then we would be going on vacation, then he was getting a new room, then he got a new brother, then then then then then.
All excuses, every one of them. The real reasons were that Appa and I loved having him cuddle in our bed with us and that we simply didn't have enough faith in him to be able to go to sleep on his own and cognitively follow the rules.
In the last four days, he's almost completely sleep trained. We still have tears, but they are short. And most importantly, he understands the expectations and accepts them. Appa and I are ashamed to think of the YEARS of sleep deprivation we have imposed on our tough son simply because we underestimated him.
And we started potty training him today, too. Again, I didn't think this would work, at all. If anything, I thought Little Bro would potty train and help eventually with Little Bug's training. After only 4 hours, my son who has never peed on the potty in any intentional way was telling us, over and over during dinnertime, no less, that he needed to go potty. He kept his big boy pants dry for hours as he motored back and forth to put his business where it needed to be. (And he started taking the stairs without holding any railings.....another first for this super kid.)
In 3 days, I actually think he'll be potty trained. Officially. And it shocks me, to be honest. Both Appa and I are pretty incredulous.
And we're both a bit humbled and ashamed to have underestimated our son in such huge ways. In every challenge we've thrown his way, he's breezed through it. Not even really struggled, but just breezed through it. He's shown us time and time again that he's up for the challenge.
We just haven't been challenging him like we thought we were.
So although there are still a lot of challenges facing Little Bug that can't be fixed with a modified sleep training program or a 3-day miracle potty training program, there are a lot of little life lessons that Little Bug IS probably ready for. And that is going to force us to change how we parent him a bit, which includes me cutting out some of our isolation therapy. Which is probably going to make us all happier.
I know every mother thinks this of their child, but I just really feel deeply that there is something special about Little Bug and what his future holds. Of course I think Little Bro is very special, too, but I feel strongly that Little Bug was given his gifts of a fighting spirit, charming disposition, and joy of life to turn his challenges into something really amazing. He's going to inspire people in some way, some day; I know it. I know it. And someday, when he reads this note from his mother in the midst of all my random musings, I hope he knows that I, more than anyone else in this world, have been blessed beyond measure by him simply being who he is.
Sometimes being a mom of a kid with special needs, especially behavioral special needs, just plain sucks. It's stressful, emotionally draining, depressing, and scary, which leads some (me) into periods of isolation as I try to swing our family pendulum back into sync with some serious sleep and diet modifications and a super low-key environment. Even as I took the boys on a 5-day vacation last week, I felt so off, a mirror to Little Bug's off mood (that was likely a bit of a cycle between the two of us by the end).
And that isolation extended to my writing, which I deliberately avoided, simply because the things I wanted to say were not things I actually wanted to say.
In fact, I just had about seven additional paragraphs to this post detailing my last couple weeks that I just deleted. Because it wasn't what I wanted to say.
Instead, I want to write about how amazing my Little Bug is and how humbled I am tonight to be his mother.
Little Bug came to us as a sweet, beautiful 10-month-old infant. He's always been so far behind in development that Appa and I just grew accustomed to parenting him at his delayed age. He was our first child, and our parenting experience has been entirely built upon ignoring all conventional parenting methods and milestones. What we have given as compassion, acceptance, and avocation have in some instances been nothing more than enabling or selfishness.
That has now been put into blessed clarity for us.
Little Bug is a couple months away from turning 4. Yet, he has never been formally sleep trained and has been cosleeping in a most unhealthy way since his first birthday. Why have we never bitten the bullet and kicked this habit? Oh, that would be because he couldn't be walk, then he couldn't stay in his big boy bed, then he couldn't fall asleep without us, then he needed his sleep and it was easier to put him to sleep in our bed, then we would be going on vacation, then he was getting a new room, then he got a new brother, then then then then then.
All excuses, every one of them. The real reasons were that Appa and I loved having him cuddle in our bed with us and that we simply didn't have enough faith in him to be able to go to sleep on his own and cognitively follow the rules.
In the last four days, he's almost completely sleep trained. We still have tears, but they are short. And most importantly, he understands the expectations and accepts them. Appa and I are ashamed to think of the YEARS of sleep deprivation we have imposed on our tough son simply because we underestimated him.
And we started potty training him today, too. Again, I didn't think this would work, at all. If anything, I thought Little Bro would potty train and help eventually with Little Bug's training. After only 4 hours, my son who has never peed on the potty in any intentional way was telling us, over and over during dinnertime, no less, that he needed to go potty. He kept his big boy pants dry for hours as he motored back and forth to put his business where it needed to be. (And he started taking the stairs without holding any railings.....another first for this super kid.)
In 3 days, I actually think he'll be potty trained. Officially. And it shocks me, to be honest. Both Appa and I are pretty incredulous.
And we're both a bit humbled and ashamed to have underestimated our son in such huge ways. In every challenge we've thrown his way, he's breezed through it. Not even really struggled, but just breezed through it. He's shown us time and time again that he's up for the challenge.
We just haven't been challenging him like we thought we were.
So although there are still a lot of challenges facing Little Bug that can't be fixed with a modified sleep training program or a 3-day miracle potty training program, there are a lot of little life lessons that Little Bug IS probably ready for. And that is going to force us to change how we parent him a bit, which includes me cutting out some of our isolation therapy. Which is probably going to make us all happier.
I know every mother thinks this of their child, but I just really feel deeply that there is something special about Little Bug and what his future holds. Of course I think Little Bro is very special, too, but I feel strongly that Little Bug was given his gifts of a fighting spirit, charming disposition, and joy of life to turn his challenges into something really amazing. He's going to inspire people in some way, some day; I know it. I know it. And someday, when he reads this note from his mother in the midst of all my random musings, I hope he knows that I, more than anyone else in this world, have been blessed beyond measure by him simply being who he is.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Crying Over Spilled Lemonade
A few evenings ago, if you happened to meander in a forgotten corner of our local botanic gardens as you were listening to a very cool concert fill the entire space, the mom you saw sobbing as she crouched down near two little boys in their stroller would have been me.
Little Bug's behavioral needs are changing or maturing or increasing or whatever the official term for it would be, but the reality is things are becoming harder for him to control while his life becomes increasingly in need of self-control. As we try to expand his world and life responsibilities little by little, the blunt truth is that for a reason we might never get our hands fully around, he's just not capable of helping himself right now in the ways that he needs to at times. The baseline he needs to exercise and understand self-control isn't there for him in some instances, and these missing instances often encompass critical education and social skills.
He CAN learn, he CAN control, he CAN do damn near anything he wants to.
But not right now because we haven't figured out how to get him to that baseline he needs. And that is scary and frustrating and sad and is forcing us to go places we had hoped not to go. But he needs to be able to eat a treasured and earned reward doughnut in his car seat instead of impulsively throwing it over and over on the floor, only to sob that it was on the floor. He needs to be able to stand still for longer than 5 seconds to look at a color in his hand and match it to the color on the wall or sit for longer than 30 seconds at "circle time" at school or hold back from knocking down a friend's block tower any time he passes by, only to cry right along with his friend. He needs to be able to stand next to me in a parking lot or store without having his hand is a vice grip to stop him from dashing off with wild and often dangerous or unintentionally destructive abandon. He is almost 4; the time when others will start holding his accountable is coming soon.
And when we are enjoying a lovely evening in a forgotten corner of the botanic gardens while listening to a concert of bells and I buy him as a very special treat his very own bottled lemonade, he needs to be able to take a sip before reflexively throwing it like a water bomb all over myself and the ground. Because he doesn't WANT to do any of those things, but simply can't help himself right now.
So we will help him. Somehow. Any way we can. Even if it is a way that we didn't really want to help him. Even if it means sacrificing other things that are deeply important to us.
I am scared for my baby. I am scared that we won't be able to do enough for him and that we won't be able to help him reach the baseline he needs in order to start reaching his higher potential and enjoying life a little more stably. Lately a heavy weight has settled on my heart as the path is becoming more and more clear and unfun for all of us.
And it all came rushing to the surface a few evenings ago as I stood there in shock, soaked in what was meant to be a special treat for my special boy. No reason to punish him....he knew what he did was wrong and seemed equally shocked at what had happened. Instead I just bent down and sobbed over that spilled lemonade and the rough road ahead my little love must continue to tread.
And now that it is out of my system, we move on.
Little Bug's behavioral needs are changing or maturing or increasing or whatever the official term for it would be, but the reality is things are becoming harder for him to control while his life becomes increasingly in need of self-control. As we try to expand his world and life responsibilities little by little, the blunt truth is that for a reason we might never get our hands fully around, he's just not capable of helping himself right now in the ways that he needs to at times. The baseline he needs to exercise and understand self-control isn't there for him in some instances, and these missing instances often encompass critical education and social skills.
He CAN learn, he CAN control, he CAN do damn near anything he wants to.
But not right now because we haven't figured out how to get him to that baseline he needs. And that is scary and frustrating and sad and is forcing us to go places we had hoped not to go. But he needs to be able to eat a treasured and earned reward doughnut in his car seat instead of impulsively throwing it over and over on the floor, only to sob that it was on the floor. He needs to be able to stand still for longer than 5 seconds to look at a color in his hand and match it to the color on the wall or sit for longer than 30 seconds at "circle time" at school or hold back from knocking down a friend's block tower any time he passes by, only to cry right along with his friend. He needs to be able to stand next to me in a parking lot or store without having his hand is a vice grip to stop him from dashing off with wild and often dangerous or unintentionally destructive abandon. He is almost 4; the time when others will start holding his accountable is coming soon.
And when we are enjoying a lovely evening in a forgotten corner of the botanic gardens while listening to a concert of bells and I buy him as a very special treat his very own bottled lemonade, he needs to be able to take a sip before reflexively throwing it like a water bomb all over myself and the ground. Because he doesn't WANT to do any of those things, but simply can't help himself right now.
So we will help him. Somehow. Any way we can. Even if it is a way that we didn't really want to help him. Even if it means sacrificing other things that are deeply important to us.
I am scared for my baby. I am scared that we won't be able to do enough for him and that we won't be able to help him reach the baseline he needs in order to start reaching his higher potential and enjoying life a little more stably. Lately a heavy weight has settled on my heart as the path is becoming more and more clear and unfun for all of us.
And it all came rushing to the surface a few evenings ago as I stood there in shock, soaked in what was meant to be a special treat for my special boy. No reason to punish him....he knew what he did was wrong and seemed equally shocked at what had happened. Instead I just bent down and sobbed over that spilled lemonade and the rough road ahead my little love must continue to tread.
And now that it is out of my system, we move on.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Eye of the Tiger
Today is a day I have been dreading and preparing for during the last 2 years. Little Bug is set to lose all his therapists when he turns 3 next month and will be getting his services from our local school district (and we're lucky we had the foresight to move into a good district). I'm completely freaked about him losing his excellent ST and PT, but that is for a different day.
Today he gets evaluated by the schools for what services he qualifies for. Our hope and belief is that he should qualify for the excellent half day, language intensive preschool program where an ST and PT will see him during his time there. It's a good school, perfect for almost all his needs (minus the smaller focus on PT), and it fits with our schedule. He can do mornings there and they will bus him directly to his normal school for the afternoon.
However, based on his PT evaluation of 15-18 months (Little Bug is almost 3), as misleading as it is, they want to put him in this really intense one-on-one program for severely disabled children. I'm against that because I don't think that is what he needs, nor do I think removing his social and independent components would be beneficial. Plus, with the full day schedule (full school day, not full work day), we would have to pull him out completely from his normal school...and I would have to quit my job to be there in the mornings and afternoons.
If this is what he needed, I would be on board in a heartbeat. But as his mother, I know it is not. Last time I checked, the only one who has a PhD in Little Bug was me.
I've been going round and round with them because they only see this one number on his paperwork, not HIM. If they saw him, I know they would see he is not a child who needs these wonderful, but inappropriate resources. To help this process, Appa and I decided to set Little Bug up for complete success. We scheduled an early bedtime and canceled all his therapy today.
Because, did I mention, they scheduled the eval for smack dab in the middle of my schedule-oriented, sleep-loving child's nap time?
Of course, the best laid plans always go to hell. Little Bug was up from 11:30 pm to 3:30 am this morning. He spent most of it showing off his first real tune full song mastery ("Skip to My Lou"), but the fall out is he is going to this important eval with less than half the sleep he needs to function well and without a nap.
I did what I could to minimize the fall out. He is wearing his favorite train shirt and I have an entire bag of M&Ms to bribe him out of sleep and into some semblance of a decent mood. But the reality is that he doesn't do well on no sleep and this evaluation will not be his best foot forward.
Which is fine. I spoke to some of his trusted therapists today and they gave me some ammo to use if things start going in a direction we all know they shouldn't go. I'm prepared to get a little feisty if they take his sleepiness for apathy or inability.
They willingly tell you that their interest in therapy is focused on making sure the child can function in public school....not in life or society or in his best self. That's fine, too.
But my interest in therapy, my focus, is broader than that. This is my kid's life, the future of his therapy. Perhaps I won't have to advocate at all for Little Bug today. That would be awesome.
But I am preparing to, just in case. And they should prepare to because a mama bear hopped up on 2.5 bottles of DDP is nothing to shake a stick at.
Today he gets evaluated by the schools for what services he qualifies for. Our hope and belief is that he should qualify for the excellent half day, language intensive preschool program where an ST and PT will see him during his time there. It's a good school, perfect for almost all his needs (minus the smaller focus on PT), and it fits with our schedule. He can do mornings there and they will bus him directly to his normal school for the afternoon.
However, based on his PT evaluation of 15-18 months (Little Bug is almost 3), as misleading as it is, they want to put him in this really intense one-on-one program for severely disabled children. I'm against that because I don't think that is what he needs, nor do I think removing his social and independent components would be beneficial. Plus, with the full day schedule (full school day, not full work day), we would have to pull him out completely from his normal school...and I would have to quit my job to be there in the mornings and afternoons.
If this is what he needed, I would be on board in a heartbeat. But as his mother, I know it is not. Last time I checked, the only one who has a PhD in Little Bug was me.
I've been going round and round with them because they only see this one number on his paperwork, not HIM. If they saw him, I know they would see he is not a child who needs these wonderful, but inappropriate resources. To help this process, Appa and I decided to set Little Bug up for complete success. We scheduled an early bedtime and canceled all his therapy today.
Because, did I mention, they scheduled the eval for smack dab in the middle of my schedule-oriented, sleep-loving child's nap time?
Of course, the best laid plans always go to hell. Little Bug was up from 11:30 pm to 3:30 am this morning. He spent most of it showing off his first real tune full song mastery ("Skip to My Lou"), but the fall out is he is going to this important eval with less than half the sleep he needs to function well and without a nap.
I did what I could to minimize the fall out. He is wearing his favorite train shirt and I have an entire bag of M&Ms to bribe him out of sleep and into some semblance of a decent mood. But the reality is that he doesn't do well on no sleep and this evaluation will not be his best foot forward.
Which is fine. I spoke to some of his trusted therapists today and they gave me some ammo to use if things start going in a direction we all know they shouldn't go. I'm prepared to get a little feisty if they take his sleepiness for apathy or inability.
They willingly tell you that their interest in therapy is focused on making sure the child can function in public school....not in life or society or in his best self. That's fine, too.
But my interest in therapy, my focus, is broader than that. This is my kid's life, the future of his therapy. Perhaps I won't have to advocate at all for Little Bug today. That would be awesome.
But I am preparing to, just in case. And they should prepare to because a mama bear hopped up on 2.5 bottles of DDP is nothing to shake a stick at.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Bracing Myself
I'm not exactly sure if a recent realization makes me a monster or a saint....or perhaps just human, but the truth is, I'm slightly disappointed that Little Bug isn't going to be wearing leg braces anymore.He's been graduated out of them, which is an amazing accomplishment because our goal was to have him transition to smaller braces by kindergarten, so to have him transitioning (and skipping the mid-sized braces entirely for just a small insert into normal shoes) before age 3 is nothing short of a miracle.
I'm thrilled, of course. Proud, happy, relieved, etc. etc.
But honestly, there is a part of me that isn't all those things. I realized I have used those braces for a number of purposes.
1. I use them as a nonverbal cue to strangers that my kid has some special needs. People look at my kid all Forrest-Gumped-up and make allowances for him, allowances maybe they should or should not make. This used to annoy me, but now it honestly makes it easier when out in a larger group setting.
I'm not saying I'm all for kids who have special needs to have a label stamped on their forehead, but the reality is that it's easier to assimilate in a social setting if people know going in that there might be some extra care needed with my kid. Have the big braces do the introductions is a lot easier than me saying, "Hi, Little Bug has balance issues and might not play at the same level as your kid. Please make sure your child doesn't push mine over, because mine will hit yours in the face.....Nice to meet you." I'm pretty sure this isn't 100% morally okay to feel this way, but it's the truth.
2. I also realized that I look at Little Bug's braces as a badge of honor. I'm so tremendously proud of the hard work he endures daily to get where he is, and the braces are a visual manifestation of that. People can see that he has physical limitations, and yet, watch him chase after a goose or walk through the aisles of a store. I want people to be impressed with my kid, because I sure as hell am. I'm pretty sure that is not 100% okay, either.
Without the braces, I worry that strangers will see my big-for-his-age son and expect him to act like a normal 3 year old would. I worry they will make assumptions about him that I'm not comfortable with once they start interacting with him or see him wobble with his not-quite-all-there-yet balance. Even more, I worry about the reactions he'll get. The surprise or confusion on the face of a stranger playmate or parent at the children's museum or swimming pool when he trips over his own two feet or can't follow his new friend up a set of stairs. I worry about when he gets old enough to start feeling self conscious.
I know these concerns are contradictory, but the truth is Little Bug won't be the only one adjusting to a world without leg braces, and that makes me feel a little ridiculous. Or human.
I'm not sure.
Friday, August 27, 2010
From the Mouth of Someone's Babe
Tonight Appa and I took Little Bug to our local neighborhood park. Little Bug inevitably veered toward the sand area where two little girls were playing. After dumping sand on himself for a while, he noticed one of the girls, who I assumed was Korean and about 10 years old, was making mud with water from an old bubble container.
He went into the zone, chanting "bubbas, babbas, bubbas" as he went in for the steal. Me, being the responsible mama that I am, cut him off at the pass and tried to modify his plans to simply saying "hello."
The girl was sweet, but the following conversation threw me for a mini loop.
Her: "Is he Korean?"
Me: "Yes, he was born in Korea."
Her: "He must be stupid."
Me: "What?"
Her: "He must be stupid."
Me: "What? No, he's smart."
Her: "Stupid. 'Bubba' is Korean for stupid."
Me: "Oh, no. He doesn't know that Korean word....he wants your bubbles."
At this point, I am feeling a bit silly. Clearly I misheard her. I also deep down wish that I had known enough Korean to know what that word sounded like to her.
Her (contemplative, as if I have somehow confirmed something for her): "Are you his mom?"
Me: "Yes."
Her: "Oh....you don't look like him."
Me: "No, I don't. We adopted him from Korea."
Side note: I think it is silly when parents take offense to this question and having to say the word "adoption." Adoption isn't a four-letter word. I'm proud of it, and if asked in a respectful way, I have no problem confirming what is clearly obvious.
Her: "Was he abandoned?"
Whoa. I was not expecting the conversation to go there with this little girl. I consider myself pretty cool under pressure when I get probing or intrusive comments from adults, but looking at this young girl, with nothing but childlike curiosity in her question, I was left tongue-tied. I wanted so much to say something I would be proud for Little Bug to hear, even if he is too young now to understand my words and their implications. I saw no reason to brush this little girl off as I delicately answered the question.
Me: "No. His birth mom just could not take care of a baby. So we adopted him and are his mommy and daddy."
Her: "Why couldn't she take care of him? Did she not have enough money?"
Seriously, who is teaching this young lady critical thinking? If this was an adult who was still needling me, I would finally be telling her to politely shove it, but I couldn't do that to this young lady. How to explain the injustice of adoption while protecting my son's privacy while using age and socially appropriate words for a 10-year-old stranger making mud patties in the bocce ball court?
Me: "She just could not take care of a baby. So we are taking care of him now and are his parents. We love him very much."
With that, she simply nodded and unceremoniously got up and went to fill her bubble container with more water, and Little Bug wandered off to the swings.
And I'm left now mulling it over.
Because I have been preparing for years for these questions. I've fielded tons of them, quite literally from the moment we stepped on our front porch with Little Bug in our arms. I've defended and deflected and shared. And it always works out because ultimately, people know when to back off, and if they don't, I can write them off. Adults see and accept shades of gray in the world.
But children, their honesty and black and white lenses they view the world with is what Little Bug will face. The "why" is hard for me to answer....how will I even prepare him to answer it for himself when I'm not in the bocce ball court with him? When he hasn't had years to practice and can't even spell the words he's expected to say.
Maybe that's not even what has my heart constricting tonight. I feel like I can prepare him to the best of my ability. What I really am sad about is that ultimately, his own childlike curiosity won't be satisfied either. There is no answer good enough. I know how that lack of answer made me feel tonight, so I can't begin to imagine how it will one day make him feel.
When his heart is also asking "why?"
He went into the zone, chanting "bubbas, babbas, bubbas" as he went in for the steal. Me, being the responsible mama that I am, cut him off at the pass and tried to modify his plans to simply saying "hello."
The girl was sweet, but the following conversation threw me for a mini loop.
Her: "Is he Korean?"
Me: "Yes, he was born in Korea."
Her: "He must be stupid."
Me: "What?"
Her: "He must be stupid."
Me: "What? No, he's smart."
Her: "Stupid. 'Bubba' is Korean for stupid."
Me: "Oh, no. He doesn't know that Korean word....he wants your bubbles."
At this point, I am feeling a bit silly. Clearly I misheard her. I also deep down wish that I had known enough Korean to know what that word sounded like to her.
Her (contemplative, as if I have somehow confirmed something for her): "Are you his mom?"
Me: "Yes."
Her: "Oh....you don't look like him."
Me: "No, I don't. We adopted him from Korea."
Side note: I think it is silly when parents take offense to this question and having to say the word "adoption." Adoption isn't a four-letter word. I'm proud of it, and if asked in a respectful way, I have no problem confirming what is clearly obvious.
Her: "Was he abandoned?"
Whoa. I was not expecting the conversation to go there with this little girl. I consider myself pretty cool under pressure when I get probing or intrusive comments from adults, but looking at this young girl, with nothing but childlike curiosity in her question, I was left tongue-tied. I wanted so much to say something I would be proud for Little Bug to hear, even if he is too young now to understand my words and their implications. I saw no reason to brush this little girl off as I delicately answered the question.
Me: "No. His birth mom just could not take care of a baby. So we adopted him and are his mommy and daddy."
Her: "Why couldn't she take care of him? Did she not have enough money?"
Seriously, who is teaching this young lady critical thinking? If this was an adult who was still needling me, I would finally be telling her to politely shove it, but I couldn't do that to this young lady. How to explain the injustice of adoption while protecting my son's privacy while using age and socially appropriate words for a 10-year-old stranger making mud patties in the bocce ball court?
Me: "She just could not take care of a baby. So we are taking care of him now and are his parents. We love him very much."
With that, she simply nodded and unceremoniously got up and went to fill her bubble container with more water, and Little Bug wandered off to the swings.
And I'm left now mulling it over.
Because I have been preparing for years for these questions. I've fielded tons of them, quite literally from the moment we stepped on our front porch with Little Bug in our arms. I've defended and deflected and shared. And it always works out because ultimately, people know when to back off, and if they don't, I can write them off. Adults see and accept shades of gray in the world.
But children, their honesty and black and white lenses they view the world with is what Little Bug will face. The "why" is hard for me to answer....how will I even prepare him to answer it for himself when I'm not in the bocce ball court with him? When he hasn't had years to practice and can't even spell the words he's expected to say.
Maybe that's not even what has my heart constricting tonight. I feel like I can prepare him to the best of my ability. What I really am sad about is that ultimately, his own childlike curiosity won't be satisfied either. There is no answer good enough. I know how that lack of answer made me feel tonight, so I can't begin to imagine how it will one day make him feel.
When his heart is also asking "why?"
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Praying For His Buddies
When we announced Little Bro's referral, I was shocked when FOUR people contacted me to tell me they had been "looking" at his profile and even a few of them has requested his information after we had. One friend, in particular, told me that she had been praying specifically for our son to have his family find him.
Well, whaddya know, we did.
Of course, we weren't actually looking for him. It just sort of happened that we looked randomly and were given the strong feeling that we needed to "explore" his information more. We had NO business exploring a waiting child. We were close to a referral. We had paid all our money. We had no plans to adopt an "older child." But in the end, we listened to that little feeling that prompted us to just consider it.
And we found our son. Little Bro, Big Star, Two of Two loves of our lives. Our perfect, healthy, son and his referral that was not nearly as scary as we thought accepting a waiting child would be.
And since then, I check that photo listing at least once a day to see the other little babies and toddlers and kids who have not found their families yet. The majority are thriving and carry the label of their "special need" only on their profile...not in their daily lives. Just like my friend, I pray for these little ones now. I KNOW how perfect they most likely are, but I also KNOW how scary the label "waiting child" is for parents. I literally get giddy when a profile is highlighted as "Matched."
And I swore I would not do this again, but I feel so strongly today that I should share this link to my friend's blog who is publicly advocating for the little boy her son lived with in Korea. A little boy whose picture I gaze at each day on that list. A little boy who has a family and life ahead of him. A little boy who is just like my Little Bro and every other little kid in the world. Perfectly imperfect.
I will forever be shocked at Appa and my choice to pursue our son's referral. We lost money, time, and perceived process security, but we gained a son that I feel to the bottom of my soul is the one meant to be in our lives forever.
All because we looked and thought about it and took a chance. My gut was leading me there, whether I knew it or not. If yours is, you should follow it. When it says stop, stop. When it says go, go.
I try not to write posts to people other than myself and my kids on this blog. But, I feel strongly today to share this link, so I'm going with it.
Maybe this is not a link you will feel compelled to click.
Maybe this is just going to be a blog that you end up enjoying.
Maybe this is going to open your eyes to waiting child adoption and lead you to the photo listings? Or maybe help you lead someone else there? Maybe that won't lead you anywhere but to increased awareness, or maybe, like her blog did for me, it will lead you ultimately to your child?
Or maybe this is your son?
All of these options are okay and right. But you never know until you at least think about it.
Well, whaddya know, we did.
Of course, we weren't actually looking for him. It just sort of happened that we looked randomly and were given the strong feeling that we needed to "explore" his information more. We had NO business exploring a waiting child. We were close to a referral. We had paid all our money. We had no plans to adopt an "older child." But in the end, we listened to that little feeling that prompted us to just consider it.
And we found our son. Little Bro, Big Star, Two of Two loves of our lives. Our perfect, healthy, son and his referral that was not nearly as scary as we thought accepting a waiting child would be.
And since then, I check that photo listing at least once a day to see the other little babies and toddlers and kids who have not found their families yet. The majority are thriving and carry the label of their "special need" only on their profile...not in their daily lives. Just like my friend, I pray for these little ones now. I KNOW how perfect they most likely are, but I also KNOW how scary the label "waiting child" is for parents. I literally get giddy when a profile is highlighted as "Matched."
And I swore I would not do this again, but I feel so strongly today that I should share this link to my friend's blog who is publicly advocating for the little boy her son lived with in Korea. A little boy whose picture I gaze at each day on that list. A little boy who has a family and life ahead of him. A little boy who is just like my Little Bro and every other little kid in the world. Perfectly imperfect.
I will forever be shocked at Appa and my choice to pursue our son's referral. We lost money, time, and perceived process security, but we gained a son that I feel to the bottom of my soul is the one meant to be in our lives forever.
All because we looked and thought about it and took a chance. My gut was leading me there, whether I knew it or not. If yours is, you should follow it. When it says stop, stop. When it says go, go.
I try not to write posts to people other than myself and my kids on this blog. But, I feel strongly today to share this link, so I'm going with it.
Maybe this is not a link you will feel compelled to click.
Maybe this is just going to be a blog that you end up enjoying.
Maybe this is going to open your eyes to waiting child adoption and lead you to the photo listings? Or maybe help you lead someone else there? Maybe that won't lead you anywhere but to increased awareness, or maybe, like her blog did for me, it will lead you ultimately to your child?
Or maybe this is your son?
All of these options are okay and right. But you never know until you at least think about it.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
To the Batmobile
Appa and I have had a couple of days to wallow in self pity and stew in righteous indignation on behalf of our son, but after all that, we're still left with a whole lot of waiting. It's impossible for me to just stop everything until we get our approval, so we've come up with a plan that will work for our family to help us make it through the wait.
We're going to continue to create and send care packages over to Korea with videos and voice recordings and small tokens of appreciation. Little Bro's foster mother might not be able to get them yet, but when she does, she will see proof that we did not take these months of waiting lightly or that he was not being loved by his family. Who knows, maybe if we fill our Korean social worker's desk drawer so full of packages she will just slip some to the foster mother in an effort to get them out of her hair...
We're going to continue with our Korean lessons with a little extra vigor. Every time I recite the hard sounds of the Korean "alphabet," I'm mentally sticking it to a certain someone. That makes no sense, but I get such satisfaction out of the mental image.
Gi-yuk, ni-eun, di-guet, li-uel, mi-em, BI-UP!
(I'm picturing myself in some spandex superwoman outfit, complete with thigh high boots, a cape, and awesome high kick. Take THAT, M.D.)
Today marks 5 weeks of waiting for this approval. Next week, at the 6-week mark (and 3 weeks after we last went rounds asking for some advocacy), we will try again to see if we can even get a status check. Even though I can say with pride that all of my interactions with everyone involved have been polite and not crazy-mamaish, even in the worse of it, I think Appa might take this round of communications to give the tender relationships a little more breathing room.
We're going to revisit with our new agency the idea of traveling over early to visit Little Bro. Granted, we can't do this until we get approval, but it's been helpful to agree that this is something we are going to press for. It's doubtful we can make it work, since our new agency is against it always and the Korean agency has temporarily put a hold on the visits, but we are planning to shamelessly use his status as a "waiting child" to see what we can work out. Honestly, I only feel slightly guilty about label-dropping in this case.
And, most tangibly, because we've been through this process before and know what is expected of us, we are doing all the leg work we can ahead of time. We're getting our copies and letters and pictures together and filling out all the immigration forms. When that approval comes, my family will need only the time it takes to overnight something to the agency to be done on our end.
Does this whole situation suck? Hell yes, but we have to move on and can't continue to be sad and angry (me especially) all the time. Appa's sister is coming into town this weekend for a baby shower, and Little Bug is going to love performing for her. It's going to be super fun.
Light, sunshine, parties, paperwork, online shopping, ziplock bags, hangual, and first steps somewhere in Korea.....It's going to be a great weekend.
We're going to continue to create and send care packages over to Korea with videos and voice recordings and small tokens of appreciation. Little Bro's foster mother might not be able to get them yet, but when she does, she will see proof that we did not take these months of waiting lightly or that he was not being loved by his family. Who knows, maybe if we fill our Korean social worker's desk drawer so full of packages she will just slip some to the foster mother in an effort to get them out of her hair...
We're going to continue with our Korean lessons with a little extra vigor. Every time I recite the hard sounds of the Korean "alphabet," I'm mentally sticking it to a certain someone. That makes no sense, but I get such satisfaction out of the mental image.
Gi-yuk, ni-eun, di-guet, li-uel, mi-em, BI-UP!
(I'm picturing myself in some spandex superwoman outfit, complete with thigh high boots, a cape, and awesome high kick. Take THAT, M.D.)
Today marks 5 weeks of waiting for this approval. Next week, at the 6-week mark (and 3 weeks after we last went rounds asking for some advocacy), we will try again to see if we can even get a status check. Even though I can say with pride that all of my interactions with everyone involved have been polite and not crazy-mamaish, even in the worse of it, I think Appa might take this round of communications to give the tender relationships a little more breathing room.
We're going to revisit with our new agency the idea of traveling over early to visit Little Bro. Granted, we can't do this until we get approval, but it's been helpful to agree that this is something we are going to press for. It's doubtful we can make it work, since our new agency is against it always and the Korean agency has temporarily put a hold on the visits, but we are planning to shamelessly use his status as a "waiting child" to see what we can work out. Honestly, I only feel slightly guilty about label-dropping in this case.
And, most tangibly, because we've been through this process before and know what is expected of us, we are doing all the leg work we can ahead of time. We're getting our copies and letters and pictures together and filling out all the immigration forms. When that approval comes, my family will need only the time it takes to overnight something to the agency to be done on our end.
Does this whole situation suck? Hell yes, but we have to move on and can't continue to be sad and angry (me especially) all the time. Appa's sister is coming into town this weekend for a baby shower, and Little Bug is going to love performing for her. It's going to be super fun.
Light, sunshine, parties, paperwork, online shopping, ziplock bags, hangual, and first steps somewhere in Korea.....It's going to be a great weekend.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Putting on the Game Face
The last few days have been stressful for me. I'm slammed at work. Appa was out of town. I'm overly anxious for an expected update on Little Bro. Things are completely stalled with Little Bro's adoption paperwork and the implications of the stall (and the lack of support from those whose help we sought) are heartbreaking. Yesterday I sat at my desk and cried.
I'm not a crying at work sort of gal.
The one thing that keeps running through my head is to put on my game face. I don't really see any other choice.
I have to put on my game face at work. I can't ruin my reputation of being even-headed and calm and professional over personal stress. And yes, the amount of work that fell in my lap this week is unholy. But I can either turn it into an opportunity to show that I can handle the pressure or I can turn into the girl that cries at her desk when things get tough.
Game face.
I have to put on my game face for Little Bro. Amid my heartbreak and frustration and fear over the stall in his paperwork, and more recently, my hurt, confusion, and sadness over the growing fissure of a relationship I had counted on to advocate and support our family through this process, I have to stay calm and get my questions answered in respectful, yet satisfactory way. I owe it to my son to do whatever it takes to make sure he is not waiting longer than absolutely necessary. Tears and anger are not going to get me anywhere.
Game face.
Most of all, I have to put my game face on for Little Bug. He doesn't care about my work, nor does he care about his brother's paperwork. All he cares about is that his mama is there to play with him after being away all day. That she is there to laugh at his new dance moves, sing his favorite songs to him, and play our new favorite game, "silly eyes." Over the last few days, I've caught myself frowning as I mull over all the stressors I'm dealing with. I catch his eye and see him falter, confused as to why I'm unhappy with him. He's way too young to know anything of stress or to understand why I might be stressed. All he knows is what he senses and sees from me.
Game face.
I'm not a crying at work sort of gal.
The one thing that keeps running through my head is to put on my game face. I don't really see any other choice.
I have to put on my game face at work. I can't ruin my reputation of being even-headed and calm and professional over personal stress. And yes, the amount of work that fell in my lap this week is unholy. But I can either turn it into an opportunity to show that I can handle the pressure or I can turn into the girl that cries at her desk when things get tough.
Game face.
I have to put on my game face for Little Bro. Amid my heartbreak and frustration and fear over the stall in his paperwork, and more recently, my hurt, confusion, and sadness over the growing fissure of a relationship I had counted on to advocate and support our family through this process, I have to stay calm and get my questions answered in respectful, yet satisfactory way. I owe it to my son to do whatever it takes to make sure he is not waiting longer than absolutely necessary. Tears and anger are not going to get me anywhere.
Game face.
Most of all, I have to put my game face on for Little Bug. He doesn't care about my work, nor does he care about his brother's paperwork. All he cares about is that his mama is there to play with him after being away all day. That she is there to laugh at his new dance moves, sing his favorite songs to him, and play our new favorite game, "silly eyes." Over the last few days, I've caught myself frowning as I mull over all the stressors I'm dealing with. I catch his eye and see him falter, confused as to why I'm unhappy with him. He's way too young to know anything of stress or to understand why I might be stressed. All he knows is what he senses and sees from me.
Game face.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Everything I Need to Know I Learned From a Glee Cover of a Rolling Stones Song
"You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need."My little sister and I hated each other for probably the first 22+ years of our lives. Hate is perhaps a strong word, but strongly, strongly disliked is accurate. It wasn't until 2005 that my sister and I rediscovered each other as women and friends. Since then, we have continued to cultivate a really nice friendship as equals, and I love her dearly.
So, when my sister announced her pregnancy about a month before we announced our intentions to adopt, I was very happy for her. I watched her pregnancy and shared in her ups and downs. On the day she gave birth to her son, the first grandchild in our family, I spoke to her from the operating room. It was Thanksgiving Day 2007. All day long, I rejoiced from afar at the birth of this little boy, all the while thinking of my own little guy I would someday call my own.
Turns out, my little boy was being born…that very same day, just a few hours before my nephew. On the other side of the world.
The entire 9 months I had been watching my sister's pregnancy, I had also been watching my son's birth mother's. The irony of the whole thing is sometimes too much for me.
It soon became apparent that my little nephew faced a lot of challenges. One of his challenges was hypotonia. For months, I counseled my sister and watched her navigate through the unexpected world of special needs and therapies and the depression that sometimes comes with it. I was able to provide her with an objective counsel, as someone outside the situation, but who still cared deeply. She was, and still is, a great example to me of positivity and advocacy.
During this time, we received Little Bug's normal referral and marveled over the fact that our boys were born on the same day. "Delicious irony," I believe I liked to call it. My sister was worried that her son wouldn't be able to keep up with his cousins, and I swore to her that my son would always be a special buddy with his "birthday twin."
Then came the phone call that changed my life. My 10-month-old son was ready to travel home, but Oh, by the way, he actually had severe hypotonia and was 6 months delayed. They would understand if we wanted to back out…
Obviously shock and devastation were the main emotions, with a healthy dose of anger and fear. However, in the back of my mind, I wasn't surprised at all. Just as I had watched my sister's belly swell for both our babies, I had watched her face these special needs head on for 10 months. I could do this because I was already watching someone else do it. As we like to say now, "Hypotonia runs in our family." Little Bug was meant to come to us, and we were meant to parent him.
I like to think Appa and I rebounded quicker than most would, and we were on a plane within days, flying truly blind as to what we were facing. I had a feeling it would all be okay.
Of course, it was.
You can't always get what you want...
I did not want to deal with infertility. My sister did not want her son to have the additional challenges of special needs. I did not want my son to have the additional challenges of special needs. And like I said before, for a large portion of my life, I didn't want to have a sister 22 months younger and the polar opposite from me.
But, if you try sometimes, you just might find…
Infertility gave me an inner strength and life perspective I am very thankful for and lead us to have the courage to adopt. My sister jumped in head first into the world of therapies and doctors and neurologists and bared her soul to me in her darkest hours. Her perspective on life changed dramatically, but not for the bad. Appa and I took a leap of faith and got on that pretty teal colored plane.
You get what you need.
My sister is enjoying daily life with her son who is walking, loves peas, Elmo, and music, and is a joy to have. Little Bug is walking and talking and also loves peas, Elmo, and music (they are birthday twins, after all), and is the very best thing about my life. The two little boys have only met once, but they connected in a way that was almost errie. They truly are the special friend the other needed in their corner.
And my life is so blessed because I have a sister who I can talk honestly with on the days that "what you needed" is not always "what you wanted." Who understands almost intuitively that the tears are out of love. A sister who understands the magnitude of a 3 inch scoot on the floor or a new word. A sister who is walking this path next to me, not cheering me on from the sidelines.
And those precious, perfect birthday twins who have made my family so happy…my sister and I whisper sometimes that although neither of us would wish these needs on the other's son, we both maybe "needed" to have sons with hypotonia, for each other, for them, for ourselves.
Oh, Glee. You are so wise with your covers.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"How Are Things Now"
Today I had the chance to go to a day long adoption conference. I attended four sessions and a keynote. It was fantastic and my head and soul are overflowing tonight. In the next week, I will take a couple posts and summarize the sessions I went to for those who might be interested (and as a way for me to solidify my own comprehension).
However, the most significant thing that happened there today had nothing to do with any of the sessions I attended. I was shocked to find when I got to the conference this morning that Karen J. Foli would be speaking on her book, The Post Adoption Blues.
That book and her website were the two things that showed me 7 months after Little Bug came home what I was feeling and helped me make peace with myself and move past it. I seriously credit her brave work (because she herself wrote the book and did her research born from her own experiences) with giving me the tools and emotional frame of mind to move past my sometimes-debilitating post adoption blues.
I didn't know how or when, but I knew I needed to tell her that.
Turns out my chance came as she was on her way to the bathroom. In the hallway I stopped her and told her through my instant tears and lumped throat that her book changed.my.life. Her response was a gracious and sincere "thank you" and then she asked something that took me aback.
"How are things now?"
That might seem like a normal question, or perhaps it might seem overly personal. But in that moment we were two mothers who totally GOT each other, and I knew what she meant. She was not asking if everything was "cured" or "fixed," and she wasn't asking about Little Bug. She was asking about me, and how my attitude was.
My response was whispered but automatic.
"Wonderful."
And they are...the things in my life...they are wonderful. I had a very personal post I wrote yesterday in response to the outcomes of our big meeting, but I think I am going to hold off on pushing the publish button for a little while longer and chew it over more. Today put so much in perspective for me and gave me a refreshed look on life.
So yes, there are things in my life that are hard and a constant struggles and frustrating and will continue to be an uphill battle, but overall, where it matters, thing are wonderful.
Thank you for asking, Karen. Thank you.
However, the most significant thing that happened there today had nothing to do with any of the sessions I attended. I was shocked to find when I got to the conference this morning that Karen J. Foli would be speaking on her book, The Post Adoption Blues.
That book and her website were the two things that showed me 7 months after Little Bug came home what I was feeling and helped me make peace with myself and move past it. I seriously credit her brave work (because she herself wrote the book and did her research born from her own experiences) with giving me the tools and emotional frame of mind to move past my sometimes-debilitating post adoption blues.
I didn't know how or when, but I knew I needed to tell her that.
Turns out my chance came as she was on her way to the bathroom. In the hallway I stopped her and told her through my instant tears and lumped throat that her book changed.my.life. Her response was a gracious and sincere "thank you" and then she asked something that took me aback.
"How are things now?"
That might seem like a normal question, or perhaps it might seem overly personal. But in that moment we were two mothers who totally GOT each other, and I knew what she meant. She was not asking if everything was "cured" or "fixed," and she wasn't asking about Little Bug. She was asking about me, and how my attitude was.
My response was whispered but automatic.
"Wonderful."
And they are...the things in my life...they are wonderful. I had a very personal post I wrote yesterday in response to the outcomes of our big meeting, but I think I am going to hold off on pushing the publish button for a little while longer and chew it over more. Today put so much in perspective for me and gave me a refreshed look on life.
So yes, there are things in my life that are hard and a constant struggles and frustrating and will continue to be an uphill battle, but overall, where it matters, thing are wonderful.
Thank you for asking, Karen. Thank you.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Serious (monkey) Business
Today all four of Little Bug's therapists (and possible his new one(s) as well) and his caseworker are meeting with us for his annual official review and reassessment. For many people this is a critical assessment because it is legally used to apply for disability if your child is more than 50% behind.
Even if they assessed him there (which would have to be at 11 months overall, and that just isn't the case), we wouldn't apply for disability, so this is much more about advocacy and collaboration for Appa and I...
...with a little bit of throw-down in there.
Little Bug's old OT will be there, as will his caseworker, who is so inept at her position that she has spent the last 3 weeks avoiding my twice-a-day phone messages instead of trying to find a new OT. Little Bug's speech therapist will also be there....and even though it is not her job, she has been trying to find a good OT. Little Bug's physical and developmental therapists will also be there, and I am sure they will continue to "give it to us straight" while still championing all the progress Little Bug has made.
I'm learning each and every day how to be a better advocate for my child. These lessons will serve us all well in the years to come. Today will be, without a doubt, another learning experience for me.
This is actually a very serious event for us, but part of me is looking forward to it simply because not matter what they say, I know how far he has come. No number on an assessment form will change that. I'm so proud of my son.
Oh, and Little Bug is attending the meeting in a monkey costume. I DARE them to try to resist that charm!
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