In Self-Defense

So, my son posted the following on his own blog this morning.  You should probably take a couple of minutes to read it before we go any further.

http://matthewspearson.wordpress.com/2013/01/31/gettin-all-up-in-their-bness/

He dared suggest that I did an abundance of questioning during his (and his sisters') teenage years.  Those of you who know me best can probably give your own testimonials about being put on the witness stand by the Queen of Questions.  And all the while, I just thought I was being politely interested and curious.  :)  I STILL feel that way.  Why share space with another human being without learning something about what makes them tick?

First, I'll have to say that if I am the Queen of Questions, then my dear mother was most certainly The Queen Mother of Questions.  Long before there were mute or pause buttons on TV remotes, she was well-known to be her most talkative and inquisitive when the rest of the family was glued to the set watching a program (also before the days of the DVR).  It was said of her that she could "carry on a conversation with a signpost."  And those descriptive words were said in the most affectionate way possible.  My Mom was friendly . . and she was curious . . . she was a verbal communicator . . .and she loved people.  One of her favorite social activities was going to the grocery store because she HOPED she would run into a friend or acquaintance and get caught up on their news.  So, my first line of defense is that it was modeled for me from birth, and I am genetically-predisposed to be this way.

Secondly, I was given permission to be this way by a person I trusted thoroughly when my children were growing up -- their pediatrician, Dr. William Walker in Decatur, AL.  Oh my!  What a wonderful doctor.  Such a wise man.  Every family should have someone like Dr. Walker.  I can't count the number of times he looked over his glasses at me to "tell it to me straight" when he thought I needed to adjust something in the way I was handling the upbringing of my children.  I usually made it to the car before I dissolved into tears, but I took his advice to heart, and everything he said proved to be correct.  Ultimately, we all benefited from his knowledge and frankness.  Once, when I had firstborn Laura in his office for her yearly check-up, she stepped out for a couple of minutes to be weighed, measured and probably given her hated inoculations.  I mentioned to Dr. Walker that Laura was very quiet.  She would come in from school in the afternoons, go up to her room, and we wouldn't hear a peep out of her until suppertime.  I remember saying, "Is that all right?  Should I leave her alone like that?"  His response -- looking directly at me, once again over his glasses -- "Do whatever you have to do to stay in her world."  Now, I admit that I had to think about that for awhile.  At that point in Laura's life, she didn't WANT me to "stay in her world."  She wanted to be left alone, but in my heart, I knew it wasn't best for her to internalize so much without learning to share her concerns and problems.  I started by going upstairs, knocking on her door, and going in to sit on her bed with her for a few minutes in the afternoons just skimming the surface of events from that day.  She didn't always act like she enjoyed my little visits, but deep down I think the few minutes of individual attention started to grow on her.  She was never a behavior problem in school, and her grades were always at the top.  It was more a matter of what was in her heart.  With Dr. Walker's urging coupled with my already-curious nature, I felt like I had my marching orders to plunge ahead.  My other two children were easier and more talkative than Laura, but they each posed their own challenges in terms of getting inside their heads.  I really had to become a student of my children.

In Matt's blog post, he spends a good bit of time talking about the internet as both a threat and an information-gathering device.  When my children were teens, our "NET" consisted of the network of parents we had with our children's friends -- at school, at church, on sports teams.  It was critical for me to know who my children's friends "belonged to."  In other words, who was their Momma?  Who was their Daddy?  Where did they go to church?  Where did they work?  What kind of lifestyle did they live?  I REALLY wanted to know a lot before my children were allowed to spend significant time in their homes.  I had the very good fortune to get a job teaching chorus at Hartselle Junior High the very year that my oldest child entered Junior High.  I was there for all but the last year that Pearson kids were in that school.  What a great resource that was as a parent.  I could observe all of their friends, their behaviors, and their reputations.  I could chaperone school events, and I got to know parents that weren't in our same church or neighborhood.  I realize that not everyone gets to have such a Front Row Seat, but I have seen numerous parents who have become valuable volunteers at the schools where I've worked or they have even been substitute teachers.  That has given them the same kind of "eyes and ears" regarding their children and the friends they were choosing.

In addition to my genetic make-up and Dr. Walker's permission, I felt that I also had a "word from The Word" regarding the importance of finding out what was in the heart of my children.  Proverbs 20:5 says, "A plan in the heart of a man is like deep water, but a man of understanding draws it out."  I wanted to be a woman of understanding.  Maybe I should have been a psychiatrist or a counselor, but instead I was a Momma (and wife and friend and teacher) who wanted to understand.  I sincerely hope that somewhere along the line while asking all of these hundreds, even thousands, of questions, that just maybe I have also become a discerning listener.  After all, why ask a question if you're not going to be still long enough to hear the answer?  Right?

Parents, Matt raises some very good points about knowing all you can possibly know about what your child is learning/viewing/typing/sharing/texting on the internet or with cellphones.  I agree with him.  Our children are our responsibilities and our great gifts from God.  If it's THEIR business, then it's certainly OUR business.  They will be adults soon enough.  The curiosity, love and interest can remain, but at that point there really is a lot that is JUST their business.  Until then, I'll say to you what Dr. Walker said to me:  Do whatever you have to do to stay in your child's world. 

I'd love to hear from some of you parents about how you managed to stay connected to your children while they were living in your home.  What worked?  What didn't work?  What do you wish you had done differently?  And parents who right this minute have children living at home with cellphones and internet access, how are you managing this monster in your midst?  Please share your wisdom.

Gaining Perspective from a Little Girl's African hair

After praying for the Ethiopian child of God's choosing in God's timing for over two years, we finally met Birti -- officially, Birtukan Elizabeth Pearson -- at the Little Rock airport on Sunday afternoon, July 29, 2012, when she stepped off the plane with her new parents, Matt and Katie, and into the greetings and smiles of dozens of happy welcomers.  She probably knew less than a dozen words of English on that day and had an understandably dazed look on her face as she met her brothers and grandparents for the very first time.  Our meeting was brief.  We knew she really had no idea who we were -- or would become to her.  That didn't matter.  She was safely with her new family, and the process of making her a Pearson -- in every sense of the word -- was underway.

I wish I could say that the transition was smooth and problem-free, but that would be a huge mistake.  Birti's adjustment took (and continues to take) a ton of work, primarily on the part of our dear daughter-in-law Katie but, of course, for her Daddy and brothers as well.  Katie was/is consistent, firm, loving, involved, disciplined, informed and very focused.  When we went to El Dorado for a short visit about a month later, the work and progress were already evident and amazing.  With the combination of a few Amharic words, a lot of hand motions and facial expressions, plus some English, Birti was understanding MOST of what was being said to her.  We didn't try to force ourselves on her.  We just made our presence known and tried to establish a connection.

We didn't see Birti or her family again until December 27, 2012 -- almost four months later.  We had a lot of questions in our minds about how things would be with Birti -- in our home for the first time, around her cousins for the first time, calling us Grandmomma and Granddaddy for the first time, etc.  And, in a wonderful twist of events, Matt and Katie wanted to go away for a couple of days to celebrate their anniversary, and asked if we'd keep the three children during that time.  We were thrilled to have the bonding time . . . but a little apprehensive, too.

Another case where praying would have been sufficient and all the worrying was futile and unnecessary.  Birti's first experience as a Pearson was at her Aunt Julie's house, complete with her Aunt Laura, 7 new cousins and 2 uncles.

No problems.  She joined right in as if she were saying, "Don't you see the family resemblance?"  The cousins loved her, and she loved them.  Big sigh of relief and renewed anticipation for this year's Cousins Camp.

Then, it was time to finally go to Grandmomma and Granddaddy's house.  You would have thought she'd been here dozens of times before.  She walked in as if she owned the place and already knew where her room was.  Of course, it helped that there were a few gifts under the tree with her name on them.  :)

There were some sights I just had to chuckle about, such as seeing this little brown person sneaking into my pantry for a few clandestine Wheat Thins, opening the fridge to see what was available, trying out the piano, and generally just making herself right at home.

Before Matt and Katie left for their short trip, Katie gave me some very detailed and necessary instructions about the care of Birti's skin and hair.  After all, Katie had spent five grueling months by now trying to learn how to help Birti overcome the effects of living in an orphanage -- a good one by many standards -- but still somewhat lacking in basic hygiene and sanitation, or individual attention.  After a bath, for instance, Birti needed to be rubbed down with Vaseline to help with her skin's dryness.  That wasn't too surprising or hard to do, but her hair was another matter entirely.  Katie had been extremely diligent to turn a dry, tangled mass into something still massive but now soft, supple, brushable and combable (Is there such a word as comb-able? If so, how do you spell it?).  In the morning and again at night, Birti's hair needed to be brushed with several oils and lotions applied, worked in, combed through, and then put up in a bun or ponytail.  It was astounding just how much hair Birti had and how thick it was.  Birti stood there like a trooper, unwincing and trusting.  She even seemed to enjoy the process.  She obviously liked how she smelled and looked after that kind of care and nurturing.  I wasn't able to do anything fancy with her hair, but I could at least follow Katie's basic instructions.  Maybe in time we'll experiment a little more.

I immediately began to remember the horrible hair experiences I had when we were living in Ecuador.  Finally, during our 4th year there, I found a hairdresser who was from the U.S. and had married an Ecuadorian.  She knew how to deal with my gringa (prissy Southern lady hair).  Ecuadorian hair is generally coarse and straight.  Mine is very thin with a little natural curl in it.  After my first 5 or 6 haircuts in the country, Steve would just look at me and say, "Where's your hat?"  I can't blame those cosmetologists.  My hair was as foreign to them as Birti's was to me.  I was motivated to learn.  They probably weren't.

Other than the hair, Birti was remarkably easy.  She knew exactly what she liked and didn't like to eat or drink and knew the words to communicate those likes and dislikes.  Ketchup, anyone?

How about some Coke?  Maybe some grilled chicken and fries?

She also talked a blue streak when she got the opportunity, using the words she knew and staying in control of the conversation.  Was the sentence structure always perfect?  Of course not.  Is her vocabulary vast?  Not yet, but it's growing by leaps and bounds.  Is she curious?  Is she soaking up her culture easily and happily?  Absolutely.  Birti is going to be fine.  She has come to believe that she is loved here and that she can trust those who are caring for her.  A gigantic step in the right direction.

How I wish I had been less resistant and more easily-adaptable when I was in the Ecuadorian culture.  How I wish I could be more trusting and moldable in my relationship with God on a daily basis.  My head knows that He only has my good in mind with His plans for me, but I have to constantly remind my heart of that when I'm tempted to question and second-guess His every move.  God loves me.  I can trust Him.  When I'm tempted to strain and resist, I'm sure a certain little brown face will come to my mind.  Thank you, Birti.  I'm so glad you're in our family.