17 April 2006
it's all context
Adaptive behavior--the kind "resilient" kids develop--is a funny thing. Sometimes "funny haha," sometimes "funny boohoo."
When Two arrived in the hotel room in China where her new life awaited her, she was a tiny skinny scared scowly tot, clutching a cardboard kaleidoscope that hung around her neck. The very nice woman who brought her in spoke soothingly to her and seemed to be pointing me out to her. Two shook her little bad-haircut head violently, and went straight over to my friend (who was manning the camera to record the touching event) and clambered into her lap, refusing to even look in my direction.
The woman who brought her started talking fast and rather loudly to Two. I gestured to her that it was OK, not to worry, and she left.
Two refused to acknowledge my presence for quite some time--days, in fact. I didn't know then what I know now--that this was perfectly normal behavior. All I had in my head for "help" was about half a dozen scary articles on Reactive Attachment Disorder, which I had never once, in reading, connected to my life and possibilities in any way whatsoever.
She refused to sleep in the bed, those first nights, preferring instead the very hard little sofa with the scratchy upholstery which I covered as well as I could. She lay flat on her back, arms straight at her sides, glaring at the ceiling till she fell asleep. She put her shoes carefully under her pillow each night next to the kaleidoscope (this turned out to be a parting gift from the SWI). Each morning when she waked up, the first thing she did was check to see if her shoes and the kaleidoscope were still there.
Fast forward ten years. Two is a sweet, happy, moody, helpful, snotty, goofy, smart, hard-working, slothful almost-teenager. She flings fits, yes, but like any other adolescent, not like the child I brought home who, in the first months, would throw flat-on-the-floor, out of control, shrieking, howling, temper tantrums twelve and fourteen times a day. I used to carry her into her room so I could close the door to muffle the volume; it was like carrying a two-by-four.
The other day I was in her room and noticed that her underwear drawer was stuffed so full it wouldn't close. I told her she'd have to fix that--get rid of some stuff, put it in other drawers, whatever it took.
She walked over to the dresser and pulled out 3 pillow cases she'd been hoarding.
Pillow cases?
Yes, she said, these are her favorites, so she hides them in her dresser.
Funny, haha.
With a small sweet scent of "funny, boohoo."
When Two arrived in the hotel room in China where her new life awaited her, she was a tiny skinny scared scowly tot, clutching a cardboard kaleidoscope that hung around her neck. The very nice woman who brought her in spoke soothingly to her and seemed to be pointing me out to her. Two shook her little bad-haircut head violently, and went straight over to my friend (who was manning the camera to record the touching event) and clambered into her lap, refusing to even look in my direction.
The woman who brought her started talking fast and rather loudly to Two. I gestured to her that it was OK, not to worry, and she left.
Two refused to acknowledge my presence for quite some time--days, in fact. I didn't know then what I know now--that this was perfectly normal behavior. All I had in my head for "help" was about half a dozen scary articles on Reactive Attachment Disorder, which I had never once, in reading, connected to my life and possibilities in any way whatsoever.
She refused to sleep in the bed, those first nights, preferring instead the very hard little sofa with the scratchy upholstery which I covered as well as I could. She lay flat on her back, arms straight at her sides, glaring at the ceiling till she fell asleep. She put her shoes carefully under her pillow each night next to the kaleidoscope (this turned out to be a parting gift from the SWI). Each morning when she waked up, the first thing she did was check to see if her shoes and the kaleidoscope were still there.
Fast forward ten years. Two is a sweet, happy, moody, helpful, snotty, goofy, smart, hard-working, slothful almost-teenager. She flings fits, yes, but like any other adolescent, not like the child I brought home who, in the first months, would throw flat-on-the-floor, out of control, shrieking, howling, temper tantrums twelve and fourteen times a day. I used to carry her into her room so I could close the door to muffle the volume; it was like carrying a two-by-four.
The other day I was in her room and noticed that her underwear drawer was stuffed so full it wouldn't close. I told her she'd have to fix that--get rid of some stuff, put it in other drawers, whatever it took.
She walked over to the dresser and pulled out 3 pillow cases she'd been hoarding.
Pillow cases?
Yes, she said, these are her favorites, so she hides them in her dresser.
Funny, haha.
With a small sweet scent of "funny, boohoo."
