Earlier this month we took our now annual Glamping trip with our dear friends Erika and Susan and their twin girls. This is our second year, and we can only imagine a life where these trips happen yearly.
We are lucky to have found Erika and Susan. It’s an unusual to find friends who all gel. Who’s kids adore each other. Our parenting meshes so much that in one kid is having a hard time, any of the adults can step in. It’s a safe friendship for us all.
We stopped in a tiny town (that was having a rodeo) for a pee break. Davy spontaneously took Erika’s hand and held it. Erika (who knows everything that is going on). Looked back at me with a giant smile. She pointed to Davy holding her hand and gave me a giant thumbs up. Progress.
Later in that same trip, she hopped on Susan’s lap for a photo op. Progress.
Other moments feel like two steps back. We were playing with some friends. One of their older siblings had a shirt that Davy loved. Davy asked is she could have the shirt when she was done with it and the older girl explained that she wanted to give it to her younger sister. Davy had a giant wailing meltdown. Giant. Hitting and slapping me, biting. Sobbing. To the outside world it looks like davy is a spoiled brat- who throws a shit fit if she doesn’t get what she wants. I knew what was going on. She gets all of the twins hand-me-downs. Just that week Zara gave davy a pair of flip-flops that davy had been coveting. Not being considered for that t-shirt felt like a major rejection. Rejection or not being included is one of her triggers. I am guessing a lot of adopted kids feel this way. It felt like she didn’t count. It caused a tailspin.
We are in the process of teaching and coaching davy though her outbursts. Trying TRYING to get her to breath. We have a bubbler toy- one of those things with colored water and oil. Once the fit is over we can sit her down and have her play with that for a few minutes and it calms her down. It’s slow work. She hates taking deep breaths. She hates calming herself down. Sometimes she takes the bubbler and throws it across the room.
know I am not suppose to give a shit about what other parents think or say. Hell, I am 44 years old and this is as secure as I get. I actually don’t mind it when parents stare. I don’t care. I can say to them- she’s having a bad day. She is upset because XYZ. Trust me when i say we keep our inner circle very very close. The hardest thing is when other kids stare. Kid’s don’t get it. They don’t understand about trauma and grief. They just see things as they are. Sometimes I say “ Davy has really really big feelings and sometimes they get too big for her body”. Maybe they don’t understand, maybe they do. It’s those little eyes that get me every time.