Fake It Til You Make It

Tomorrow marks our one month anniversary of having Paul. Three weeks in southern African and one-and-a-half weeks at home. One month! He, and we, have come so far since the day we met him at MIS orphanage. He was so scared and overwhelmed. Imagine if three very strange, very pale, very tall people speaking an entirely different language swooped into your life and carried you away from everything that was familiar to a whole new world, with rules that you didn't know about living in a family and sharing and obeying, with so many sights, sounds and sensations that it felt like your head was spinning. He's processed so much during this month. He's amazing. So loving and helpful and funny and energetic! God has big plans for this little guy.

In spite of, or perhaps because of, the one month mark, today was difficult. Not Paul's fault - he's doing GREAT. No tantrums in several days and very little whining. No, today was difficult because of me. I have a confession to make. Some days I don't FEEL especially loving. If you are one of those people who always has warm and fuzzy feelings toward everyone in your life, even those people who wake you up at five am demanding love and attention and nurturing discipline, and if you never have the urge to hide in the bathroom and lock the door for ten minutes just to have a shred of peace and quiet, then I don't believe you and I probably wouldn't like you very much that's just goody for you. Because sometimes I struggle with that JUST A TINY BIT!

Paul immediately remembered that something was fishy about the interaction with Samantha last night, and he asked for her right away upon awakening. (Did I mention that this was at five o'clock IN THE MORNING?) I told him she was bapala Katie - playing with Katie - and would be home for lunch. But at five in the morning, lunch is still seven hours away! Paul was not happy about this. First Daddy goes away for two sleeps, now Sam disappears. He said Sam's name 5,257 times. Give or take. We worked on some English pages and played and rode bicycles and watched the ducks and slid and played in the fort and played cars and looked at pictures and went to Paul's fruit market to buy apples and try samples of all the fruit. (Paul loves every kind of fruit. Every kind. Today he ate one banana, four peaches, two apples, one orange, seven strawberries and two clusters of grapes.) And after all that it's still only 9:30 in the morning and I know that Sam and Katie are still sleeping.

I was just tired. He's a wonderful, loving, funny kid. I prayed for him and I love him and I am committed to pouring into him the care and attention that he desperately needs to heal his wounded heart. But honestly? This morning it took every ounce of effort I had to wrap his solid, 50 pound frame, in yet another hug, lift him off the ground and dance. Every bit of wherewithal to show him, ever so kindly, that Mom likes gentle kisses on the cheek, NOT giant tongue swipes across the mouth. (This recent development, which he thinks is hysterical, is just grossing me out.) Every bit of patience to teach him that whining and jumping and grabbing Mom's shirt is not a good way to get positive attention from Mom.

I needed a diversion. I needed friends. So, a friend was taking her kids to the zoo, and I thought, "Why not? He ended up loving the zoo in Johannesburg. Let's try it." So we picked up Sam and went to the zoo.

Ooops.

I think every single person in the city of Louisville was at the zoo today. People everywhere. Noise, chaos, ultra-overstimulation. Paul shut down almost immediately. Sometimes we can ease into situations and he'll adjust and start to enjoy himself after ten or fifteen minutes, but no way we were easing into that mess. We scooted home without seeing our friends.

Paul, obviously relieved to be home, with Sam, released all that pent up anxiety with some hyperactive jumping on the couch (and on Sam and on me). I fought the urge to lock myself in my bedroom and cry. Instead we went in the basement and jumped on the mini-tramp and flipped and did some heavy lifting. "Mama strong!" may be my very favorite Paul-ism. He eventually settled and strung beads with Sam - calm enough that I could go upstairs and make dinner and cry a little bit. Better now. Sometimes I just have to fake it 'til I make it.

Paul is not ready for outings to other people's homes or the park or the pool or - gah! - the zoo. But I am losing my mind without adult interaction. I'm even on a break from editing manuscripts (and how in the world I'm going to find time to work on manuscripts when I start up again I have no idea). Facebook is my only outlet, and that is grabbed in snatches during the day. So, seriously, if you need to go to the Summit or Northeast Christian, swing by and visit us. The house is a mess and I may or may not have showered, but we are keeping lots of fruit in the house so I can offer you a strawberry if Paul doesn't snatch it first.