End of the Day

I'm writing this in the back yard, sitting on a plastic lawn chair. M is out here too, in his black and blue rash-guard shirt & bathing suit and black Keen sandals. He is into black lately, saying it's a "cool boy color." He also loves pink, which gets him into conflict with his sister.

M is picking and throwing grass whenever I look at him. He grins. Sometimes he splashes in our sprinkler-fed wading pool that looks like a pirate ship. Sometimes he chases butterflies. Sometimes he shows me how high he can swing on the swing set. He also catches toads and caterpillars, hunts for ants, and brings me pieces of interesting stuff that show up in the dirt. He had a full day of camp, which included a nap, at a local farm, so he has the energy to do some of these favorite things.

K spent the day at the same camp but in an older group which doesn't get a nap. She's pooped. She is indoors watching an ancient Disney movie, The Fox and the Hound. I chose it one day last week while it was pouring out, to keep on hand for the kids to watch while sipping ginger tea after getting caught in a thunderstorm. I'd never seen this film. I have now seen only the beginning, a key conflict in the middle, and the ending. I picked it out because Peter and I are interested in exposing M and K to as many adoption-related narratives as possible. In this film, the fox cub's mom leaves him in a safe place because she knows she's going to be shot; then a kind owl fosters him briefly and finds him a permanent home with a human. We all cried. Anyway, K, who is rather sensitive to heat, is inside in the cool watching without me. I strongly prefer not to let the kids watch TV alone, but for safety reasons I am out here while M plays in the water. I am leaving K alone for exactly 20 minutes; then I will herd M inside and we'll do the make-lunch-and-take-baths routine so they can be ready for camp tomorrow.

For this two-week stint at the farm camp, Peter and I are coaching M and K to be responsible for more self-care than they used to be. Every evening, I set up what we call The Lunch Factory and help them put together their lunches from a variety of healthy choices. Every morning, each kid runs down a check-list of activities to get him- or herself ready for the day, including loading his or backpack with a list of necessary items. We leave the house at 8:05 AM, ready or not. So far, they've been ready.

K loves this control over her own care, especially making her own lunch. As befits someone afraid of food scarcity, she puts too much in her lunchbox and doesn't eat it all. We don't criticize. She dresses properly for the weather most of the time, doesn't blame others when vanity causes her to make a regrettable error (e.g. puts clips in her hair, then loses them). Her counselors tell me they like her "great attitude." I have seen her play with both boys and girls, cool and uncool.

M packs his lunch until he gets bored, so he sometimes goes a little hungry. Nonetheless, he struts around feeling very grown-up and proud of himself for being one of the more competent kids in his camp group. He is a favorite among the counselors.

The moral of the story: We know all kids like and need as much control as they can have. We believe it's even more important for adopted and foster kids to have control, since they have at times been bounced around like ping-pong balls. Our kids are thriving. When they misbehave, it is never because of a power struggle.

Time to go inside. While I've been writing, M has joined K indoors. I have to get dinner going, get both kids bathed, and set up The Lunch Factory.