Just Sunday

This week as been such a week. I was so lazy and didn't want to do anything – translate that into some depression and anxiety. I needed lots of naps. I need to take better care of myself. This challenge of doing my best for Julia and doing something towards getting an economic stream coming in gets to me. Today, I am moving but this last week, I was crawlin' still.

Some good things:

We can do attachment therapy with our chosen therapist! I got the letter yesterday. I have to make one insurance phone call which I hope is no big deal and I couldn't do it by the time I checked my mail box – Nice insurance hours – 9-4:30 (Can I have a job there?). I called the therapist, who I will not refer to as Marilyn – and left a jubilant message and hope we can schedule our first session very soon. I expect that we are in for months of hard work. I expect that it will get ugly at times, but oh, to work out and work on some of Julia's behaviors and tease out the cause. If any of her inattention, defiant, controlling, obstinate behavior is caused by attachment related issues, it would be such a blessing. LOL. Compared to autism, it would be a joy! The possibility, not a promise, of healing.

This is a bit optimistic, but isn't that a parent's job.

Not too long ago, MiaoMiao's mom emailed me and told me that after we visited last summer, MiaoMiao reacted differently for a few days. Her mom thought that MiaoMiao wanted to remember and enjoy Julia but that remembering Julia also meant remembering China. Facing China.

I have been reading and seeing movies about the Holocaust the past few weeks, most notably, Night, by Elie Wiesel. These stories mean more now. I filter what I read through what Julia has endured. I don't mean that Julia was in a concentration camp, but how people suffer and survive. How people suffer and remember. How people process their grief and move on to live. Just astounds me. I don't know if I could do it. She has done it.

Another thought about that is keeping the memory -- keeper of what the children only partially remember, the person who stores the pain and the reality, a person who knows the changes better even that the little one who came home after the trauma. I would like to be able to write something to validate the lives of these children who have to do so much healing before they can play. I cannot help but be angry at China and the awful system for caring for children. But anger isn't helpful – there is some action which needs to be taken.

More good things --

We met with our new speech therapist, Kimberly, on Friday. This woman read what our previous therapist had written and talked to our OT. She has a schedule up before we walked in and two of the activities were things that Julia had done with her last speech therapist. Julia loved it. I loved Kimberly. I can't wait to see how and what she does with Julia.

I went into Julia's class on Friday as I do every week and as the morning progressed, I was left in the classroom with Julia's main teacher and we chatted. She told me some of her feelings about Julia. There is no question but that her neediest kids capture her heart. She told me that sometimes she marvels at how far Julia has come, but that at other times, she feels so defeated when Julia hits or refuses to work. She wonders how she can do more for Julia and how she can fill her up with all that she missed in her earlier life. I told her that sometimes I think I will never do enough and I will never be able to fill Julia up. She said, I know.

Friday was Hmong Culture Day at school, and I was there for some of the demonstrations. Julia really loved the demonstration of making story cloths, those was the wonderful people-filled embroidery that the Hmong people use to record stories. It seems that up to 40 or 50 years ago, there were very new people back in the old country (Laos, Vietnam, China where the Hmong lived) who could write their language. The cloths were used to preserve old stories and family histories. Other clothes with only designs on them (we have pillows and two wall hangings of this kind from when I traveled to Vietnam) were used as messages during the War. The women explaining said only War but this was that we call the Vietnam War and the Vietnamese call the American War.

During the demonstration, Julia sat on Amy's lap. Amy was Julia's aide for last year who is no longer with her full time but who is in the classroom from time to time helping out with all of the SN kids. Julia and Amy have such a good relationship. Both of them can be irascible and the caring between them is palpable. I am grateful for the teachers that we now in Julia's life. Would that she could have had a nanny of the same ilk – what would have life have been?

Later, I sat with two classmates of Julia's who are Hmong. I asked them questions about the lovely costumes that we saw, if they had costumes and when they wore them. One of the the girls asked where Julia was born and asked if she could be Hmong. I said that I did not think so, and she said, "too bad that Julia was not Hmong." So very sweet.

The night tonight (and two nights ago also) is bright with the moon – not full, but shiny and bright, like a silver penny. The moon so bright that there are moon shadows of the tree limbs/ The icy snow piles lining the sidewalks glisten, twinkle in the moon glow. How magical, how frigid, how lovely this January winter night.