I have a coworker who already has Christmas trees bought, in her house and decorated. (You know who you are.) She is now planning to decorate her office (which, incidentally, is directly below my office), so that all who drive by will see the lights shining so brightly in her window and will wonder why the window of the scrooge upstairs is so dark and spiritless. Bah humbug.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm about decorating, I'm excited about the holidays this year, I really am. Especially when I remember my holiday mood last year. By last Thanksgiving 2011 we had been matched with our Pacman for six months. We knew that he was struggling in the orphanage and we knew that there was absolutely nothing we could do about it. Others, who had been matched December 2010, were FINALLY getting their approval papers, but on our end all was silent. Fears that our paperwork had been lost, that the country might shut down adoptions, that Pacman needed help were very real and oh, so painful. (Waiting parents, I KNOW the angst you're feeling; that desire to trust in God's timing, in the country's process, in your agency conflicting with the parents' heart that needs to love, protect, cherish your child. I know. You are in my prayers.)
This Christmas he's with us! And I want to shout and sing and dance and bake cookies and buy gazoodles of presents and have parties and shower him with all the Collier-Thompson Christmas merriment that he's missed in his six years.
But I want to do so oh, so quietly and calmly because anticipation and anxiety about anything that deviates from our regularly scheduled programming puts all his systems on red alert. (And, oddly enough, I'm not at my best parenting potential when little man is bouncing off the walls at 4:45 a.m. because SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT TODAY wahoo.)
It has already started, this processing of holiday emotions, with Operation Christmas Child. In April, for Easter, while still at the orphanage, Paul received a Christmas Shoebox from Team Hope. (I know, Christmas for Easter, sometimes these things take time.)
With the build up to Operation Christmas Child at his school, and the showing of pictures and videos of kids with his similar history receiving shoeboxes, he had a lot of mixed emotions to work through. He remembers his shoebox of gifts very well, and the excitement that surrounded it. But he also remembers that the big boys took the little kids' candy. So when we packed his shoebox he insisted on hiding the candy in the gloves. And he remembers that he and his friends got toys, but then those toys went missing, too. So while we packed a shoebox for another boy somewhere around the world, he worried how the boy would keep the toys safe. And so we prayed for the safety of the boy and the safety of the toys. And "Why crying, Mommy? Why sad?" Sad tears for the ones still waiting; grateful tears for the one now home, now safe.
The giving of the shoeboxes in the CAL chapel parade was filled with excitement on his part and a fair amount of emotional detachment on my part (to keep from completely breaking down. Yes, dear, the guidance counselor is crying. Again.)
Not coincidentally, I think, the evening after OCC chapel and all the next morning, Mr. Control Freak reared his bossy little head. It's a coping mechanism, I get it, the anxiety and trauma that makes a six year old believe that he will truly die if he's not the boss of his world, but disciplining through it can suck the holiday joy right out of a person. I become robot-parent. Do not engage the crazy. Do not engage the crazy. All systems stuck on neutral. Unphased by drama. I am robot-parent. "No hurts." Repeat, "No hurts. It's OK to be mad, it's not OK to hurt." Do not engage the crazy. Eventually calm returned, the litter box got cleaned (another blog post, our is-this-healing-is-this-helping-Mama-needs-some-peace-RIGHT-NOW attachment discipline strategy) and family fun returned.
Next up, Thanksgiving school program complete with Indian costume and field trip to sing at nursing home. (Just hit me that I forgot to request a personal day the day of field trip and am not available to chaperone. Um, good luck with that.) We've been counting the sleeps and I may or may not have been fudging a little. "Still a lot of sleeps away. A lot. No worries. Everything is JUST THE SAME for a lot a lot of sleeps."
Then a trip to Grandma's for Thanksgiving. Which requires packing. He's usually great once we arrive at a place, family intact, but just kill me now with the packing. Trust takes time. Healing takes time. Packing=drama.
Then Christmas with all its hoopla and build up and anticipation. Dear friends, please just humor my indulgent fantasy about centering this entire month on the fact that it's Jesus's birthday and therefore we're very calmly and peacefully and THERE IS NOTHING DIFFERENT focusing on Him; about waking up late (say, 6:30 am) on Christmas morning wandering downstairs, and noticing, very low key, that, well lookit, there's a couple of presents left about for Jesus's birthday. Whaddya know and who woulda thunk it? Keep calm and carry on. 'Cuz this Christmas, we're family.
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| Christmas 2011, when I so desperately wanted him home. |
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