Just Call Me "Joan"

I've been surprising myself. I'm surprised by how much I have been cracking under pressure. In front of Noemi. At Noemi. I'm not that mom--or at least I never wanted to be.

The reality is that things are far more in control than they were months ago--we are sleeping more, night terrors are infrequent, Noemi is better regulated overall and her mood is far more stable. She is not triggered into hysterics at the same rate or with the same level of intensity. Most days she is genuinely happy--and fun--and silly. I KNOW things are better--I FEEL things are better. Then why am I cracking now?

At least one of us in the Witmer household has descended into the mood-trough more times than I can count in recent weeks. Crocodile tears. Disrupted sleep. Triple the rate of the tantrums and throw some extra-yummy intensity sprinkles on top. You'd think that I would be able to tell my now better-rested self, Julie--this has happened before--there is an end--she'll be on the other side soon. Peace will return. But we're both fried. Again.

I've realized it is the blood-curdling screaming that triggers my blood pressure to rise and feelings of helplessness. We all have things from our own childhood that effect us as adults, and screaming is one of the prizes in my goodie-bag. I can't stand screaming. I know--who likes screaming? But really, I crumble with screaming. Not yelling, not crying, not tantrums, but screaming. It turns me into a little girl.

Noemi has been a screamer since the day we met her. My girl has pipes. And she doesn't have a whole lot between 1 and 10--she moves through 2 to 9 pretty quickly. Is this her temperament? You betcha--and I adore her passion. But I can tell the difference between when she is exerting her strong will and when her hyper-vigilance turns on and she is panicked. And screaming is her mode of communication in those moments.

Here is where I walk you down my road of shame...

I screamed back at Noemi twice last week. And I may or may not have "told" her to shut up at 4am during the two-hour scream fest just before slamming a door. sigh. I know, all parents crack. All parents lose their cool. But I'm now, regrettably, a card carrying member of the Mommie Dearest Club (sans the wire hanger).
I'll put a plug in for Dr. Lark Eshelman here...if you don't know her and your family needs help with attachment/trauma issues, seek her out. Today. This woman has helped our family in more ways than I can say. And though she is no longer at the Institute for Children and Families, as they have closed their doors, she does independent consultations via the phone or Skype. So I now can get therapy in my home--in my jammies--while drinking clear liquids. Sweet Jiminy Cricket, that's therapy for therapy. I digress...check her out.

So yeah, I'm worn down to a thin piece of soggy cheese. I'm like the left over bread at the bottom of a bowl of French onion soup.

BUT. This is what makes it worth it...

I mean, honestly, when Noemi is present in her own skin, the results are pure magik. I am renewed by her humor daily. We are getting plenty of these days thrown into the mix, too...lest I not emphasize that enough.

Donovan and I decided a break from these forsaken Pennsylvania winters was in order, so we will all head to Florida to celebrate our upcoming 35th and 36th birthdays (dum dum dum duuuuuuum). Nothing beats sun, sand and seagulls to wash the loonies away. We will be keeping our fingers and toes crossed that the non-stop water play will help keep Noemi regulated during this routine-buster. Are we crazy? Perhaps. But staying here might just may turn me into the dark side of Joan Crawford.

Lessons on the Good Life

"Jesus reminds us that the good life combines the toughness of the serpent and the tenderness of the dove. To have serpent-like qualities devoid of dove-like qualities is to be passionless, mean and selfish. To have dove-like without serpent-like qualities is to be sentimental, anemic and aimless. We must combine strongly marked antithesis. "
-Martin Luther King, Jr. from Strength to Love

I'm thinking that my girl may already be cultivating the perfect combination of part serpent, part dove. THIS is something I can be mindful of as I continue to watch her grow into her beautiful self. You go, girl. Go on being a member of the good life. And thanks to Dr. King for challenging me, again, to see things with new eyes.

Cat in the Hat

Things are getting zooey in this here part of town. Even the unsuspecting cat is in on the action.

So much for Santa...

First off...Woah. I am happily overwhelmed by the many comments and emails I have gotten from you, my out-of-the-closet readers! I hope that we have started a trend and that you now feel comfortable commenting when the mood strikes. I'm thrilled to learn some of your stories. Thank you all for kind words that have encouraged me to continue being honest (even on the days when things suck) and for crying and laughing along side of me. I'm glad to have heard from each of you, learn your stories, and I hope to someday personally be in touch.

The Coming of the Magi

Unknown Ethiopian Artist

Welp, today is Christmas in Ethiopia--January 7th. It is widely understood that one of the magi who visited Jesus in Bethlehem, Balthasar, was Ethiopian. Bathalsar was thought to have presented Jesus with frankincence. In celebration of Ganna, we kept the 3 magi, along with the star from atop our Christmas tree, on our mantel. All of the other Christmas decorations were taken down last week but we decided it would be a nice tradition to keep the wise men up for Ganna. Well--that's not exactly what happened...I'm lying a little bit....

Actually, my beloved nativity took a mysterious plunge off of the mantle a few days after Christmas, beheading the holy trio--baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Ouch. I'm not sentimental about too many things, but Donovan got me this nativity the first year we were married and it has been the one thing I have gotten out for Christmas all of the years that we didn't decorate. Remember this post from last year when I thought Santa's beard would cushion a fall? Thanks to you, lazy Santa, Jesus shattered on the tile. I had a moment--ahem-- then decided we could turn the remaining pieces of this nativity, the three magi and two cows, into our Ganna trimmings. So there you go--a new tradition has been born in our house.

Melikam Ganna to all!

who the hoots are you?

the birdie who started it all

So I've been doing this blog thing for over two years now. Gulp. That's a long time to put oneself on the public vulnerability chopping block. My purpose for having ever started this thing was to keep folks up-to-date on the happenings of the adoption while we were in-process, as well as serving as a journal for me and (eventually) for Noemi. Though I am an extrovert, this forum was never intended to be a bloggy community for me--it wasn't necessarily about me engaging with others.

But (BIG but)--that is what this blog has turned into, in part.

I've made friends--I feel supported--I have allies. I have folks on my team who don't chuckle at the struggles or give me condescending pats on the back...because they get it. They know to celebrate the little things and they understand the seriousness of what some others have dismissed as "overly sensitive". Mind you, these A+ folks have made themselves known to me through comments and personal emails. Had they never chirped, I wouldn't have the honor of knowing them (cue Air supply song here) and be a part of their lives in return.

So here is my new year request. I'd love to know who is reading this--who cares--who relates--who needs support. Who is waiting--and waiting--and waiting for a child. Who is connected to Ethiopia. And who just checks in for the cute kid pics (I get it). Why do people read this thing? Whatever brings you here, I'd love to know what you're thinking. I have been unable to contact many of you who have commented--I usually try to do so. So I don't really know who you are. And I see that I have all of these "followers" and that sometimes hundreds of people log on to this site in a day. But I usually only hear from a handful. If you are unable to comment, it would be great to hear from you via email (julie at robertswitmer.com). But it's up to you--I'm not creeped out by the anonymous stalkers, just curious. And I now see the value of being a chirping birdie.