I can't say that ALL the little things went wrong. There were some brilliant smiles from each kid in the pool, as they explored something they hadn't known they could do. The usual carrots are kind of woody and bitter until cooked, but this last market batch is sweet and crisp and I enjoyed watching all three kids munch them down at dinner (I enjoyed eating them myself, for that matter). It was really cute when I put cheese on my rice and offered it to the kids: Emerson said he would try some (cheese is one of the things he's suddenly picky about), so I cut him a tiny piece and he shook his head "no" that he didn't like it. Then I offered some to Buttercup to see if she liked it (the girls don't quite know what to think about cheese) and she ate it and shook her head... and grabbed at the chunk of cheese. She just thought she was supposed to shake her head after eating, like Emerson did! I served her some, and she gobbled it right up.
I enjoyed my snuggle time while I carried Buttercup in the wrap this afternoon; it was a nice combination of her being in a snuggly mood and the weather being enjoyably cool, when one was wearing clothes. She's starting to ask (subtly) to go up, and that time with her is so precious to me every day. And finally, Emerson kept his temper remarkably well, and he could have been much less helpful than he was. Oh, and none of our giant meltdowns was in public or in the middle of a street.
BUT.... it was one of those days. I had thought it would be nice to go for another swimming pool outing, and all kinds of little things kept going wrong. The kids took forever to get ready. The day was hot and muggy and depressing. We walked 20 or 30 minutes to catch the minibus, and luckily I stopped to get the kids some yogurt, because I realized I'd left my purse at home. So we walked back, the kids dilly dallies around for a long time more, and we walked out again. In the yucky heat. Which went away while we were en route, and the entire afternoon at the pool was cloudy and cool. So the kids played in the water, but they quickly got very cold. I brought plenty of towels, and kept warning them to not let the towels drop on the bricks, which were covered with water. So the very first time out of the pool, with me repeating this at least three times, Hibiscus just casually drops her towel on the ground and it's sopping wet, and soon Buttercup drags and end on the ground too. So now there is no way to warm up upon getting out of the pool for the rest of the long afternoon.... until at last Emerson went to get his clothes. He managed okay but dropped his underwear in a puddle. Hibiscus followed suit, but in overenthusiasm dropped her shirt in the puddle, and then leaned over to pick it up and dropped her skirt. She had already tried to warm herself with my skirt (which I like to leave on if I'm not in the water) and gotten water over half of it as well. Oh, and then finally we showered and I partially dried the clothes under the hand-dryer in the bathroom, and we went to collect our pool toys, and for some unexplained reason fully-dressed Hibiscus had to stick her foot in the water and promptly fell in. Luckily she landed on her feet, so she was only half sopping wet.
And that's just the water story. The kids ordered chicken sandwiches, but they brought us chicken salad sandwiches, and not even eat-everything Buttercup would touch that strange stuff all mixed together. I had three waiters explain to me that it wasn't a chicken salad sandwich, it was the chicken sandwich, and I should have ordered it with no vegetables and mayonnaise. Well, if the menu had implied that there were vegetables and mayonnaise involved, we might have done that! It specified "tuna salad;" wouldn't you think a "chicken sandwich" would just involve a piece of chicken in some way? They finally brought new sandwiches, but I was getting very annoyed, and the kids kept whining that they were hungry and trying to eat all of my lunch. (They had eaten a great deal of french fries, so I didn't think they were going to expire before the new sandwiches arrived.) And you can't have a proper going-wrong day without poop or vomit; we had the former today, in Buttercup's swimsuit --thankfully not in the water, but very messy.
And today the kid-pool was full of Ugandan families, instead of the mix of different expats and blended families and Indians and hotel guests and Ugandans. Which is fine in theory, but in practice the Ugandans (clarification: the wealthy Ugandans who come to the pool) bring children who are much older and don't supervise them very much, so the small pool was full of 12-year-olds doing belly flops all over the place, which made it harder for my little ones to play, and also our stuff (and me) on the side got more wet than it ever has. Including ruining a book the kids have been enjoying and Hibiscus really wanted to bring along and promised she would keep away from the water -- and she actually did.
And most of all, Hibiscus was just grumpy today. Too many of her interactions started out "leave me 'lone!" or "don' do dat!" or "me for first-y!" or "don' touch dat one!" It often turned out that the other person was just looking or in the process of handing it to her anyway or something like that, so they didn't escalate into a lot of fighting.... but man, it is exhausting to hear and feel that defensiveness all day long. And manners! Manners are tiny gestures, but amazingly important. Even when I know her lack of manners is because she doesn't have the English skills or know the American way, every single time it's grating and obnoxious to me. "Gimme dat" just makes my jaw tense every time, even when she says it calmly and is receptive to repeating it a better way. And a lot of times she isn't. Ugandans are incredibly polite, although of course some things are different, such as they don't appear to ask for things in the subjunctive which is what makes things sound courteous to us; they say "I want" instead of "I would like," in English or Luganda. So a great deal of her lack of manners is that no one has taught her manners at all, and it's even more obnoxious to all the local Ugandans than it is to me, so I am constantly apologizing or smoothing over her poor behavior, when actually it's driving me crazy inside. So at her best, her manners are not very good, but she was far from her best today. And of course, we had to end with a huge meltdown while getting ready for dinner and a big power struggle at dinner and then a gigantic enormous meltdown during bedtime. Because that's the way days end around here.
So today is finished. More or less, because Buttercup has been fussy and I've gotten up twice to soothe her while writing this, and she's back in the wrap on my chest, sleeping peacefully but not separately, as I write.
How do I do it? Why do I do it? I've gotten compliments that I must be an angel, and so many implications that the speaker coudln't handle it and I must be so amazing. I'm not. I'm not magic, and I'm not altruistic. This trip has been complicated in so many ways, but in some emotional ones quite simple: I thought this was the right thing to do, and that my skill set matched this job, and our family's needs matched these children's needs. And here I am.
And I don't have any magical powers or internal perfect mothering to make it through the days. I hear myself using a tense and frustrated voice way too often. I expect my six-year-old to act like a six-year-old (and sometimes my four-year-old to act like a six-year-old) even though I know perfectly well that she is not actually capable of it. It drives me absolutely crazy to repeat myself over and over and have them do the opposite, and to be constantly putting things back where they belong, even though I know they're just acting like kids. And then I tell them they should have known better.
I haven't been doing much playing with them or reading to them. When they're playing calmly, I cross my fingers and leave them alone, and when they're not we're all in crisis mode. If I were this wonderful adopted-kids mother-angel, I would sit on the floor and play farm animals with Buttercup while the older ones were outside, but instead I let her wander around vaguely, not really knowing how to play, feeling relieved that at least no one is grabbing and whining at me, and I try to get something else done.
I don't have all the answers -- instead, my days feel full of things that I don't know how to fix. I'm not sure letting Hibiscus scream her head off while I ignore her is the best approach, but I don't know a better one, and the other kids need me. I don't know how to deal with so many of the crisis they present me with. I don't feel like banning the girls from sleeping in my bed was the right thing to do, but the alternatives seemed worse at that moment. A million times a day, I feel guilty for each child because my hands are full of the other two and I don't take care of something.
My heart isn't this perfect angel heart, either. Sometimes I am really truly mad at my children, even though I know it's not fair to them. Sometimes, the thought flits through my head that this is crazy and I should just bring Hibiscus back. I don't like to admit it, and it's not something that I consider with any seriousness, but it does come up. Sometimes I feel really grumpy about being stuck here so far away from everyone and everything, waiting on this stupid system, and I wish I'd just flown home with Mark. Sometimes I zone out and ignore them, even though it's a moment that I would be perfectly capable of doing something meaningful with them. Sometimes I want Emerson to be "fixed" already so I can deal with these new kids, and I feel really resentful that after all this time and energy he is behaving so badly.
Meanwhile, I really ought to get to bed earlier and start Wilburger brushing with the older kids and call my Luganda teacher back.
I feel worn down and too aware of all the negatives, especially about my own self. So I'll try and notice the positives, just like I try to notice the positive moments in an awful day.
I don't have the answers, but at least I think about the problems and don't ignore them. I speak too often in an irritated voice, but I very rarely yell. I have made it this far without punishing in anger. Much of the time, I manage rules and consequences with outward calm. I think I am an incredibly consistent and boring disciplinarian. When I don't feel like a loving parent, I just act like I think a loving parent would be acting and make it through the evening. That fills the child's needs.
And Buttercup is back in her own bed, and we're one day closer to being farther along.
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