Posted this on Facebook

and then this happened

This two-and-a-half stuff might just kill me.

I sent my father this video of Davy playing her new drum set

His response made me laugh

I had no idea who Gene Krupa is (thanks to wikipedia now i know)

My reaction was “Oh my Gawd my dad is OLD.”
I am sure Davy will say the same thing to me when I say “wow your a regular Roger Taylor”

Since Georgia died there has been a change in Bella. At first her grief was palpable. Painful. Bella has always been a younger pup and with out her older and grumpier sister to boss her around she has been lost. We have tried herbal remedies, walks, extra attention and thunder shirts. All which worked to some extent.

Bella has always suffered from a lot of anxiety. She has pretty extreme separation anxiety and still (at age 8) can’t be left alone in the house with out being put in a small space. We usually put her in Davy’s playroom. About 3 out of 10 times she poops in the room. It sucks, but at this point we (well I) have come to accept is. Davy always is the first to point out “Bella’s Poop” because we have a poop obsessed toddler. Seriously there is so much poop in my life.

February is actually a nice month in Portland. There is a beautiful dog part near Davy’s preschool. It’s a wonderful place, huge giant Doug Firs, hawks, rolling hills. Bella and I spent many hours here when we first moved to Portland. It is what helped me fall in love with the beauty of this place.

Due to our schedule and my just feeling overwhelmed in general, Bella hasn’t been getting to go to the dog park as much as I would like. This was a huge mistake on my behalf because its EXACTLY what she needs. Really it only takes about 30 minutes until she is totally warn out (my dog is part quarter horse, she has a short but enormous spirt of energy but zero endurance.)

These trips to the park make her happy and in turn I get to reconnect with my joy of seeing her run like a maniac. I am glad we are back on track.

The curse of the adoptive parent is alway wondering if your kid is going to have adoption-related issues. The curse of being a neurotic Jew is that you are always going to wonder when- and wait for these adoption related issues to pop up. When is going to happen? Now? Is that meltdown really over not wanting to pick up her toy that she threw down in anger (anger oh my god- is she angry?) or is it some deep-rooted adoption issue?

Because I tend to be neurotic I surround myself with people who are pretty sane. I don’t like my neurosis to become a giant echo chamber. My brother married a woman who is as-or more- neurotic than he is, and it’s um, no good. Andy is my un-neurotic echo chamber. When Andy gets worried or worked up – its always about very real problems. He doesn’t waste his time thinking about what could be. It makes us a pretty good match. I worry enough to get things done- he is laid back enough to stop me from spinning out of control.

About a month ago I went out of town for 36- hours. We talked to Davy about how I was leaving town. How we would Facetime every night. How dad will be there to take her to her parties. How Baba (what she calls my mom) would hang out with her. I came back from her trip and she was mad at me for a whole week.

One week of toddler cold shoulder. One week of no cuddles. One week of constant attitude. Ouch. I finally asked her if she was made at me for leaving her and she said – with downcast eyes “yes momma”. I hugged her. Told her I was glad that she could tell me. She can have her feelings, its okay. I still and will always love her.

The rational side of me knows this is normal. My friend said that when she goes out of town her kids are made at her for two weeks and “they came out of my vagina. I know, I was there”.

Here is the curse of the neurotic parent. It totally threw me for a loop. MAYBE she has abandonment issues. MAYBE she has attachment disorder. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Some people in the adoption community believe that ALL kids have some sort of abandonment issues. Some profound primal wound. I actually don’t believe that. I think in our case, Davy was loved in-utero, loved by the people who took care of her for the first 7 months of her life and loved by us. Davy walks into a room and thinks “why the hell wouldn’t you love me- I am Davy Beach”. That is our Davy.

The calm and rational side of me knows that Davy is as adjusted as other 28-month old kids. She loves her momma. She loves her Daddy. We have never been separated for more then a few hours. She was pissed I left her. I realized the curse and the thing that I have to fight against is the assumption that every problem we might have stems from her adoption. b She might in the future have adoption-related issues, but she might not. If I attribute EVERY issue she ever has to the fact that she is adopted- well then, FOR SURE she will have A LOT of adoption-related issues.

Every time I sit down to blog I get overwhelmed by two many posts.Too much is going on. I wanted to do a blog post about my trip to Dallas and how Davy was mad at me for leaving her. She stayed mad for a full week. It was no fun. It made me question everything from my parenting style, to attachment issues. I was assured by everyone it just means she is fine and was really pissed at me leaving her for 72 hours.

I was going to do a blog post about how much I am totally in love with my dear friend Marie who I visited when I was in Dallas. Marie is the best mother to the most well-adjusted teenager I know. She is raising a liberal-minded, artistic kid in suburban Texas- its not easy for either of them. I spent a lot of time with them when we all lived in Brooklyn moons and moons ago. It’s funny to say that 8 year old Madeline is exactly the same as 16- year old Madeline, but in her own way she is exactly the same. Just much much much much much taller. I am so proud of both of them. I love them. It makes my heart burst just talking about them. Also on March 6 Marie is going to give birth to a little boy. Her world is coming full circle. I can’t wait to meet Max. Also Madeline is now driving me around. Craziness.

I was going to do a blog post about how prolific my crafting has been and how proud of myself I am to have gotten a few big projects off my plate.

I finished a quilt for Baby Max

I made a leather bag

I made a bag out of a coffee sack

finished some random knitting

Made some napkins for my friend

I made some crayons for Davy (she calls them her cookies)

I also made these crayon guys in a little tin for her

Davy did some crafts too

And finally I was going to do a blog post about Davy’s hair. How much fun both of us are having with adding beads and braids to it. When I first started to knit, I had the fervent need to learn everything about how to knit. I feel the same way about Davy’s hair. It blends my love of crafts, fiber and MY DAUGHTER. Holy shit. I might have to open a salon, but first I have to learn how to braid under-handed. Apparently there is a difference between braiding overhanded (which is how I learned) and underhanded which is somehow totally different and yet completely the same. You need to do underhanded braiding to do cornrows. I even made my self a fake hair practice board. I have lost my mind.

Davy’s hair practice board (I call it “Still Davy”)

Also we have all been sick. Today was the first day we left our house and it was to go next door for our neighbors birthday party. Please note- boogers and cupcakes

Davy is 27-months. We are potty training to some success (yay). Apparently bribery totally works

We are navigating temper tantrums and emotional highs and lows Davy’s new nickname is Sybil. Sybil with fabulous hair.

Also after 4 years I got my Oregon Drivers License (don’t I look really happy) and a new car. So yeah. It’s been busy.

So this week we were at our weekly trip to the Playground Gym, or as I like to call it “land of aggressive boys”. This was our last week in that particular class. We have changed classes, I am excited about this because Davy gets to be in class with her buddy Max.

So one of the mean boys, actually the prototype mean boy pulled on Davy’s beads. Davy is SO proud of her beads- she loves them. Davy was totally freaked out and was literally cowering from him. I tapped him on the back and gave him my best angry mom face. DON’T TOUCH MY KID. His equally shithead grandmother was AWAL.

After class I had the first of many many conversations about how she gets to protect her body. How its totally okay to say “no” to people who are poking her or pulling on her hair. It’s her body and she owns it. She gets to say what happens to it. I know this is a sophisticated conversation for a 2- year old, but it’s better to start now.

She totally got the gist of it because the next day I was changing her diaper and she was wiggling around. I said “Davy sit still so I can change this”. She said “No Mommy, its MY body, No Diaper”.

Shit.