Do It Yourself...or Not

So I'm a cheapskate frugal. I don't like to spend money (except on certain odd things. Like books. And local organic food. And Qdoba.) If I can figure out a way to make it myself or or fix it myself or get it at Goodwill I am all about it. I can't remember the last time I bought clothing for myself at an actual retail store. Much to my daughter's chagrine. But that's another blog post.

I'd been wanting a weighted blanket for Paul. Weighted blankets have proven effective in calming anxiety and helping with self-regulation. So I started looking online to discover that weighted blankets are EXPENSIVE. Seriously, over $100 for two pieces of fabric with poly-bead filling that I could totally make myself. Ah...hah! How hard could it be, really? Order some weighted poly-beads, buy two 62" by 48" pieces of fabric (that I can totally customize to Paul's taste and to room coordination.) Do a little stitching, weighing and measuring to get the weight just right. Easy enough.

Here's where my methodology starts to break down. I'm a genius at the inspiration and planning stages of do it yourself. It's the actual do-it-yourself part that gives me trouble. Because, funny thing, weighted blankets are heavy. So holding one end of an almost seven pound blanket while stitching closed the other end without all the beads falling out is quite a feat. And then in the midst of the project I remembered that I don't really like to sew. I like the idea of sewing, but the actuality of stitching two pieces of fabric together while hunched for hours over a sewing maching that keeps jamming for no discernible reason and when it finally unjams for a stitch or two the needle breaks isn't as much fun.

And it wasn't even that much cheaper because Paul liked the $8.99 yard fabric much better than the $2.99 yard of fabric. Because of course he did. And also I decided to buy 25 pounds of weighted poly-pellets because it was a bit cheaper per pound in bulk and perhaps I'd like a blanket for myself some day. So now I have 18 pounds of weighted poly-pellets left over with absolutely no desire to sew ever again.

But Paul loves it. He calls it his "special blanket". I don't know that it helps him sleep better - it doesn't help him sleep any LATER - but he does love to cuddle in for storytime with the weighted blanket over him. So it seems soothing. And I left a couple of channels open so - theoretically - I can add more weight to the blanket as he grows.

Note the very cool race car fabric which was $6.00 yard more than the not-quite-as-cool nautical fabric.

Then there's the pond. Oh sweet therapy on the pond. For a couple of summers when Sam was in elementary her friend hung out with us during the day while her mom worked. So we had a little camp. And I thought it would be a great hands-on science experiment to install a pond in the backyard. Did you know the local pond place charges upwards of $2000 to install a pond? What is THAT about when I could totally do it myself for a tenth of that!

Turns out rocks are really, really heavy. And eleven year olds get bored after about two minutes of manual labor. And the science of pond size and pump rate and water flow and bio-mechanical filtration and oxygenation gets a bit complicated. But we did get three cute goldfish from the pet store named Bubbles, Peaches and Bait. And they lived! For awhile.

The first summer the DIY filter broke, which required a total pond revamp. The second summer the waterfall leaked. Ditto. The third summer a heron ate Bubbles, Peaches and Bait. And also the new fish friend, Captain Rainwater. And then I decided to revamp the waterfall. Again. Last summer the pump died. And Paul tried to catch and eat the new goldfish, Sushi .Then this winter Paul and friend tried to ice skate on the pond. And went wading. And broke the tubing.

The man hours I've spent on this pond far exceed the $2000 I would've been charged to have someone else do it right the first time. I've exercised more hauling rocks around this pond than I have at our fancy new YMCA. So this spring I sent Sushi to a pond in the country where he can swim free, filled in half of the existing pond and turned the rest into a bubbler. Which I love. This is my happy place. My very expensive, very heavy, very time consuming happy place.

I'll probably redo it again next summer, but right now I'm DONE!

Often I'm grumpy when I must call in reinforcements, but grateful after the fact. Case in point - leaky shower faucet. Certainly this is a task I can figure out on my own, right, and save that plumber's fee? Um...no. After the plumber spent the morning grunting and sweating and swearing at an ancient coupler nut, I was more than happy to write the check for a leak-free, high-pressure, hot water, working shower.

Fortunately, parenting is not a do-it-yourself activity. I'm so thankful for the community that supports our endeavors in parenting Sam and especially those who support us in parenting Paul. Because it's a tricky thing, this parenting. We're entrusted with a lot when we take on the task of guiding another human being to responsible adulthood. The world will benefit from, or suffer under, the result of our efforts. And parenting a child with a difficult past adds another layer of complexity to the mix. Suddenly there are attachment breaks and unseen needs and a brain that triggers into freeze, fight, flight with the most innocuous of stressors.

I'm lucky to live in a city with a large population of adoptive families, with several support groups and counselors trained in understanding trauma and attachment and nurturing-structured parenting. I'm grateful I can call on them as reinforcements and don't mind spending money for their insight because it's oh, so worth it. I'm thankful for the doctors and brain researchers and healers and parents whose in-the-trenches groundbreaking work with hurting children in the '70's, '80's, '90's and '00's has born fruit so that today we can see through the lens of science and experience what works, what helps, what heals. I'm thankful to have a mom and a dad who drive three hours round trip every week to give me a break while loving on Paul, who are willing to read and research and dialogue and discuss best practices and what should I do and how can we support each other in pouring love into him. I'm thankful for his teacher who understands his triggers and who gives him clear structure with caring grace so he can calm and learn. I'm thankful to have several friends who are walking the journey with me, friends who provide a listening ear when I need to vent, who give advice and encouragement and prayer when I need help, and who even offer wise counsel and alternative suggestions when they lovingly surmise that another strategy may be more helpful.

Do this myself? No way.

Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisors they succeed. Proverbs 15:22

The First Year of Forever

One year. We have known him for one year. How much we have all changed in one year.

We saw him, on our second trip to the orphanage (because no one remembered that this was his day and sent him to school), walk shyly around the corner. It was such a scary day. We were nervous, yes, but he was terrified. Everything he had known and loved for the last three years was being yanked away with the arrival of these three, tall white people. We knew that he would be loved and tickled, read to and wrestled with; that he would be fed abundant food and tucked cozy into bed each night. We knew he would learn and grow, would make new friends, would be surrounded by a close, caring community.

But he didn't know any of that. Oh, how brave he was.

Okay, everyone, this is your new family. So, um, smile!

He had such impeccable manners those first days. I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy it, but I worried for him. Six year old boys aren't meant to sit prim and proper, frozen by fear into acquiescence. We won't leave you if you spill your milk, I wanted to say. It's okay to ask for more, there's plenty. But we didn't have the words.

Of course, good table manners were quite helpful considering the teeny, tiny size of our little bistro table.

So much has happened in that one year. He has grown and changed so much I can hardly believe it looking back on our first days and weeks and months. Last May the size four pants we packed for Africa needed cuffed at the bottoms and cinched at the waist. Last week the size six uniform shorts I bought were too small. "I'm seven, Mum!" he reminded me. "I need seven clothes."

Double to the fence. I love to watch him run.

Last summer we struggled to learn shapes and colors and the alphabet. We visited school every week, trying to calm his panic at the sight of classrooms, kids. The closer August loomed, the more we dialogued and debated. He's not ready. Is he ready? What should we do? Should I quit my job and stay home with him? What's best for him? What's best for us? This week he bounced into his classroom, prince of the place. "Mrs. Wagganah, can I read to Mum?" He pulled out his brand new book and read the first two pages with nary a hesitation. 

When reading to Grandma becomes more important than eating lunch.

Nowadays his manners aren't quite as pristine. Sometimes he's sassy and disobedient. On purpose. Sometimes he gets on yellow light at school for talking too much. He doesn't sit huddled on my lap at softball games anymore but instead mooches rides on Coach Rice's tractor and climbs the fence for foul balls. He runs in and out of the house with a posse of little boys and they track in mud and eat all the popsicles and forget to close the door.

He's still so brave. And he's oh, so loved. The first year of forever.

This is your family. What an amazing smile!