Power of the Kazapalooza family

One of the founding principals in our ability as humans to access the higher regions of our brain and to be compassionate, empathetic, and complex, is that we must feel as though we belong to to a supportive community where we have a few deep connections with those around us. 

For those who know me well, I often feel way out of the loop in most circles.  I can seriously say on our big road trip to and from Alabama to Ohio, the one time that the outside world seemed at peace and calm and correct is when we found ourselves stuck in after church traffic in rural Amish country.  Watching the kids wave at each other from the back of their horse drawn buggies and seeing the hand made clothes on the line felt right to me.  But I digress from my original intent of writing this post. 

Not only am I a miss fit in that I am a granola, liberal, environmentalist, who loves health food, and chooses not to have a TV in Alabama, but, my family is not like other families.  As much as those in the adoptive community want to just go on about our lives now that our kids are home, we are different from the other 98% of families in the US.  For most of us we quietly tip toe around this differences in our daily life to not scare, or quite frankly deal with the other "normally formed" families opinions or judgments about our lives.  The differences are complicated.  Then when someone dares to question our differences we boldly stand up, puff up our chest and proudly defend and advocate for our children and our decisions. 

But, for one three day weekend a year, over 300 of us get together, we stop tip toeing, we stop defending and we just get to be normal in a crowd.  Granted, we do continue to advocate, because we all know, that the beings who are our children, could just as easily have been dammed by bureaucracy and chosen ambivalence.

Those of us who come to Kazapalooza are so very different (as could easily be said about the entire adoption community.)  We all have a wide variety of spiritual beliefs, political views, nationalities, we very in economic status, in blue collar and white collar jobs.  Our reasons for adopting are also extremely different.  And, for one three day weekend a year, none of that matters at all.  What matters is each family there took a huge leap, emotionally, physically, financially... to do something very few people are able to actually accomplish.  There are thousands of reasons why there are millions of orphans, but this weekend was about the thousands of reasons that we made a small dent in that number. 

There is something about this willingness and follow through of a Kazakh adoption that connects all of us, way beyond all of the things that society has advertised to us as important attributes in a community.  I found my own mind waking up, able to express deep empathy for those with similar struggles and sheer pride and adoration for those working through tough stuff. 

Each year, we question, should we go? Can we afford it?  What about our gardens?  What about the chickens chicken (we are getting more, so expect more stories for next year, but hopefully not so deadly)?  It is so far.  The time is to short, no one we traveled with will be there... And the list goes on. 

And, each year we get there and I see my boys with others like them (except poor Isaac is now realizing that almost all kids adopted from China are girls but more on that later) and I talk to fellow moms and dads that I keep up with via facebook for the year, and I belong somewhere, and it is worth it. 

So somehow we will figure out a way to make it to Texas next year to reconnect, recharge and be "normal" for a few days. 

Thanks for a great weekend planners, friends, fellow AP's and to all of our kids who we get to have the adventure of parenting.

What doesn't kill us...

I am sorry to have left you all with a very sour note of our existence.  It is really not all bad around here and I must say the day after the nightmare doctor's appointment we had a very successful visit to a wonderful dentist who did all of the sensitive caring things I wish the pediatrician had done.  I knew things were going to be OK when I saw the following question on his form "how do you think your child will react to this appointment and as a parent what do I think would make the visit go better?"  A simple question with huge results.  Isaac and Emerson were filled with loads of laughter and the appointment went wonderful. 

We are also going to see about getting a temporary extension on Isaac's vaccines and do them during his next ear surgery.  Considering he has had to have them replaced every 6 months I am sure we will have to do it again and this way he is already sedated.  What is ridiculous is that I came up with this idea after working on getting Finn (our new puppy) an appointment to get fixed.  That is what the vet does for dog's vaccines, why can't it be done for kids with PTSD. 

As far as Isaac in general, what doesn't kill you can make you stronger, or at least build up the level of trust to new heights.  I remember reading once that newly adopted kids sometimes feel like they have woken up in a dark room siting on a chair.  The first thing they do is learn about their surroundings by crawling around the room and feeling for walls.  Well imagine if the wall you reached out for fell when you pushed it.  I don't know about you, but I would go running back to my chair. 

While Isaac hit a tough wall as a result of the doctors appointment and a PTSD episode, the walls of his family and love did not back away or fall over.  We stood firm, we stood with him and it is clear that we have all come through it stronger, with a much deeper connection. 

The other wonderful thing is friends who are also adoptive parents who have gone through a lot with their daughter, heard our need for support.  They came with open ears and liquid comfort. It was nice on so many levels to feel understood, cared about and also to have people come over and love on our children when we ourselves needed a recharge.

For now we are enjoying the time as a family during the summer.  Because I am a teacher I have shifted into the role of primary caregiver and the boys seem to be into this.  John also loves it because he has a lot more time to spend with our business. 

On Thursday we will leave for Kazapalooza, unfortunately without Dad along, but with Mimi and Grandaddy.  It should be fun, but as always our trips need to have lots of talks about coming home and that a hotel does not necessarily mean another transfer of families.  We are looking forward to seeing our fellow adopt parents. 

I am sure the trip will provide loads of entertainment and a much needed change of scenery.  For those of you who will be at KP we can't wait to see you.

Boken Puzzle, Seeking Imagintive Fix Not another Label

 

Insufficient …. Information about his past

incomplete …. Pieces of your family puzzle

inadequate … records to make a sound decision

abnormal…. “your children are not like other ones I work with”

broken…. The way I physically and emotionally feel trying to go around playing normal like I/we fit in

defiant – the way my son is described as he reaches for the Dr. scope to check it out one too many times

hyperactive- the word used in the same sentence as medication

oppositional- why doesn’t he just listen the first time I tell him no?

impulsive- “He just can’t keep his hands off of things can he? This is going to be a big problem for him in school.”



Violent- the way my child and most will respond when they feel their life is in danger. That is why they survived and 1000s of kids that were in their same circumstances didn’t. To you it might be a flaw, but for them it was their ultimate key to survival.



Trauma- the deep wounds imprinted upon my child’s soul that are still so fresh he relives the event over and over again when something similar brings his traumatic memories back.

Neglect- an equally powerful form of torture to the soul. No touch, no talking, no love, little food.

Disassociate- the lesser of the two evils for how my child with PTSD can respond when threatened. In truth though it is only easier for everyone but him.

Pain- A physical sensation I experience every day that I am now unable to hide because of my gait, that allows others to look at me as less than, or weaker, someone to be pitty, look down upon, take advantage of, manipulate.

Suffering- physical and emotional pain that becomes part of who you are, we are and will become for better or worse.

Exclusion- the way one feels when their abnormalities are the focus of other’s labels

Isolation- what becomes of those of us who are ignored because our label isn’t “normal.”



These are all labels that I feel have been screamed out loudly at our family today and yesterday, and whispered for much longer. These labels make our differences less awkward for the person doing the categorizing. Labels that allow others to narrow their perception of us, rather than open their hearts and minds to the challenge of doing something different to help guide the suffering or lost to a better safer place.

.

It all started with the needs of this "civilized" world that we live in. John and I often joke around that this is the top of our civilized game. We are not good at conforming, or just doing things because everyone else is. For the most part this is good for our boys who are different, or for me who is labeled as broken, or John as scattered, or Emerson as impulsive or Isaac who is damaged. We don't feel the need to live life rigidly, nor bound by a set of arbitrary rules because they work for all of the “normal” families of suburbia.



But, alas right now we are choosing to go the civilized root because we feel it is what is best for our children. Stability, predictability, and family. Alabama society says that our boys need a complete round of a wide variety of vaccines before they start Kindergarten. For Emerson, this is not such a big deal. We have great records from his time in Kazakhstan. We had very understanding doctors in Oregon that recognized that an 11 lb. 9 month old needs to be on a different shot schedule than one who was on the charts, and he was up to date on everything but two shots.



Isaac on the other hand is much more complicated. We know nothing of his first few months. His Chinese records from several orphanages are full of holes, inconsistencies, and possible inaccuracies. Then he came to the US, seen by a variety of doctors under the care of a different family. Then he came to our family and to the pediatrician yesterday with labels like, SPD, PTSD, RAD, incomplete, missing, inadequate, unknown, unable...



This alone hurt for so many reasons, but I think the biggest was that I was questioned for quite a while about both boys from the Doctor who already had the long list of unknowns from my written paperwork. We had not seen this person before so he was trying to "learn" about them. Again, I came in without the boys a few days ago and answered all of these questions in writing. As I would describe something, he would cut me off, herd my words into a tidy corner, and write down a simple word/label, then push the conversation to the next blank on his form.



Fortunately or unfortunately modern pediatric conventional medicine does not come with a blank for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for five year olds. When I mentioned this about Isaac, I could see his smirk, and a new label attached to me. This is when I should have just left, because his next question was "what does PTSD look like for a 5 year old?" When I started to explain he cut me off and said, "so he panics with water, hunger and restraint. Sounds like a typical five year old." Remember folks, I parent two five year olds, only one I have mentioned PTSD. To have this downplayed by a doctor who does not know me or my child was beyond infuriating. What we live through is real hard stuff, and the last thing I need is to be mocked by an overpaid drug pusher.



Eventually we get to the real reason I am at the conventional doctor: vaccines and the much needed Blue Card to start kindergarten. The wonderful adoption friendly sensitive doctor does not do them at her clinic or else we would be there. Emerson's records are complete, he needs 2 shots. Isaac's are too difficult to interpret and he does not want to give him vaccines or run titers until he is able to get more information. This was probably the only good decision made on Isaac's behalf yesterday. At that point I ask the Dr. if there is somewhere else that Isaac can go while Emerson gets his shots. I explain that it will be very stressful for him to have to sit and watch. "No" was all he said.



I then ask the nurse. "Oh we don't do that sort of thing." Just before the nurse comes in I see that the exam room across the hall is empty. The Dr. is sitting in the hallway working on his lap top. I am about to just sit Isaac in that room while Emerson gets his shots, and the Dr. says this is not an option, because they just “don't have the personnel to babysit a child.” Again, I am not sure why I did not just walk out at this point. Maybe it is because I forgot how children who are getting shots are treated.



They sit Isaac in the corner, lay Emerson down on the table and want me to hold his hands down by his sides. Remember I am broken according to my label. This time I am glad to use it and I explain that I can't physically restrain him. So now they have the personnel for two nurses lay on Emerson while a third gives him his shots. Isaac slips ungracefully into his past in the corner, but now as a bystander of the restraint that causes a trigger to his PTSD (which I had mentioned as a trigger to the Dr. 20 minutes prior). As I look over to his corner, he is raging, thrashing against the wall, rocking, wailing, sobbing, inconsolable as he watches helpless, a forced witness to one of his biggest fears on his beloved brother.



The shots are over and Emerson is all done crying, but Isaac has only started. I can't get near him, he is not really there, he is somewhere else, but at the same time he is fighting for his life, and trying to put together how or why this is happening to his brother who is not part of that past. The nurses look at him and me and ask flippantly, "Why is he crying so hard, he did not even get a shot." For once I am speechless. I just needed to go, because words are too complicated for these people who want to gloss over the hard stuff, who don’t want to know what the world has done to children like mine.



I have to carry Isaac out, but he is not holding on because I was part of the violators, the restrainers. It is a long walk to the car. Unlike most trauma flashbacks for Isaac, restraint incidences do not fade once we change settings. For instance, water can trigger a trauma response, but once we leave the pool area, end the bath or put on dry clothes it is over, flipped off like a switch and he cannot even access the memory of the event.



This was not the case yesterday. He sobbed all the way home with a look of sheer terror in his eyes. His brother held his hand in the car and told him over and over again how much his whole family loves him and that he was Ok now. Once, home I managed to get him to fall asleep, but he did so, still whimpering as he finally dozed off in his bed. When I went to check on him 20 minutes later he was gone. Now it was my turn to start panicking. I could not find him anywhere. Finally after looking for 20 minutes I found him curled in the corner of his closest hiding for nap time. My heart split open, with my own rage, sadness, and anguish pouring out for my little boy. With all parenting there are unknowns, but this feels like too much for me at the time. I want to bring the Doctor over and say, “This is what PTSD looks like for a 5 year old. Atypical enough for you to wipe that smirk off of your face?”



When they get up I take them to their first Karate class. Both boys are excited. Isaac does wonderful in class, both with directions, and physically. It is now time for me to worry about Emerson. He must be reminded several 100 times to "sit like a black belt." He struggles with the moves. But, and this is a big but, the teacher never lost patience, never spoke in a different tone, no other student laughed when Emerson could not jump with both feet from square to square. It felt good to have my boys treated as equals, with high expectations, and yet to know that the instructors were looking for better than before.



We left in good spirits, and then were off to a friend’s birthday party. The party went well. Emerson focused on more electronic games with friends while Isaac focused on physical activities by himself. All was going well until it was time to go. When I told Isaac we needed to go, he ran away from me and was getting ready to charge into two people playing a game. I grabbed him to pull him back. Big mistake on my part. This normal parenting move was all it took to push him right back into trauma mode. He became violent. Kicking, clawing, and wrapping his hands around my neck. Once again I could not be near him. I had to clear the area like I would if a child was having a seizer. He needed to get rid of some of his angst before I could try to remove him from the situation. What is terrifying for me is looking into his eyes and not seeing him, but a creature that is primal, fighting for their life. This was not a tantrum. Finally he is worn down enough that I can pick him up and take him outside. He calms some, I

can get him in the car, but then the sobs start, he is banging his head as hard as he can against the car seat, I am holding on but barely. It takes us 20 minutes to get home and the crying never subsides. When I look back at him his frown his deep and the tears poor out and he cries out like a wounded animal.



Where do we go from here? Today he is doing great. He has been polite, extra courteous to me, extra helpful, almost working too hard to please, like he knows I need a break from his pain. How unfair for a five year old to negotiate such flaws of human nature and human rights. How do I tell him that I was wrong not to demand on his behalf, or refuse on his behalf? Now how do I deal with him upcoming need for vaccines knowing the traumatic reaction it will trigger. I want to shake the Dr. and scream, "What is wrong with you! Do you have any idea the level of pain and suffering you subjected my son due to your lack of imagination!" I want to scream at the school and say at what cost do you want your precious Blue Card? How much should I break my child's spirit before we have conformed enough for you to try and educate him?



I went into the appointment to try and play nice with the rules that have been set up for the norm, naively believing that my little family of four could be part of the norm. Now, once again I need to shout from the mountain tops the alternate labels for my family, educate those who leach large sums of money from our measly bank accounts about who we really are, if they would just take the time to listen, and imagine an different way forward.



Insufficient = puzzle pieces to discover

incomplete = mysterious

inadequate = how can I fill you up?

abnormal= unique

broken= looking for a mender, does things differently, adapts to life well despite

defiant= questioning

hyperactive = spirited, energetic, endurance

oppositional= problem solver, kinesthetic, creative

impulsive= willing to take risk, I am pretty sure most Nobel Peace prize winners would get this label.

violent= strong, survivor, fighting for what is right

trauma= victim, unjust, human rights violation, adults gone wrong

neglect= needs time to make up for loss, needs back parenting, needs adults to be present

disassociate= finding a happy place, finding peace in a stressful situation

pain= feelings, a symptom of something that needs to be mended or corrected

suffering= needs comfort and security, predictability, trust, consistency

exclusion= Find a community of acceptance

isolation= needs a loving family and unconditional love for no one deserves to be abandoned once, let alone again and again by those who are asked to play the role of healer.



Tell me my stories Mama.

One of the things I did for Emerson when we were adopting him, is I wrote a journal in letter from to him each day we were in Kazakhstan and a few weeks prior and a few weeks after we got home.  One way we celebrate, Emerson joining our family, is to to read him the letters on the same day I wrote them to him, but years later.  This is the first year that he has started to love hearing his stories.  He thinks it is funny that he was the baby who screeched the loudest when the bottles came out.  He also loves to hear about how when the caregiver would hand him to us for our visits, she would always say "now, don't shake him because he just ate."  Of course John would shake him, then hand him to me, and I would get spit up on.  Well Emerson loves this story. 

He also loves the one about our flight home.  On the last flight from LA to Seattle Emerson took a large stinky poo during landing.  When I reached for the last few diapers we had remaining after 2 days of flying, there were none to be found.  So we had to wrap his bottom in a bandanna and the first time he met his Grandma Carol, Papa Ed, Aunt Christie and Uncle Jeff he was a loaded weapon with the safety off.  Then, being the great parents we are, we unpacked one of our suitcases right then and there in the airport, and unwrapped the vodka that we had wrapped in diapers (talk about absorbent bubble wrap) to put a fresh diaper on our newly adopted son. 

Anyway, telling Emerson all of these stories has been very fun and filled with lots of laughter.  Unfortunately this has also brought up a deep need for Isaac, and quite frankly me.  Our time in Texas was very different from our time in Kazakhstan.  The information I was able to gather for Isaac is so minimal compared to Emerson.  When Isaac ask for his funny stories about joining the family, I find I am a bit speechless.  Sadly what floods my mind is all the things I don't know, and well the things I do know, were not so funny. 

How do you tell a 5 year old searching for pieces about starvation, neglect, parasites, drug addiction, night terrors, peeling wall paper off the walls, banging your head against the wall in a rage until loosing consciousness.  Granted, he knows this on a very basic cognitive level and he is emotionally tormented by it.   John and I have always vowed to be open and honest with our boys about their beginnings.  After all it is there history.  I just never realized how hard it would be for me to cope with not really knowing my son's birthday, or really why he was left the way he was left, or really anything about his first 5 months and only a slight bit more about his next three years. 

I guess the goal going forward is to make some funny memories so that next year when he wants to hear some, I can tell him about his past with us. 

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5 + 5 = 10

Or so the math goes.  Here John and I are on our 10th wedding anniversary with two five year olds.  Time has gone at many different speeds over the last 10 years.  Sometimes excruciatingly slow, like when we were waiting to for our LOI from Kazakhstan.  Sometimes very fast, the 10 days between finding out we were adopting Isaac until we traveled to Texas to meet him. One of the most puzzling things though about the last 10 years is the lack of liner logic. 

I think so much in our world is presented in chronological order, that for some reason (could it be logic) I expected some of life's major events to fall into a one step at a time routine.  But alas, I am learning that life is much more of an intricate web of people, places, events, learning opportunities, teachers, students, friends, adventures that are all intricately built upon each other to weave some amazing structure that shapes who we end up being. 

I look back at who I was 10 years ago, and how I envisioned my life would unfold.  Yes, the big ideas have all come true in one way or another.  But, how I imagined them coming to fruition was quite unimaginative given how the world has dolled out my gifts and blessings. 

Would I change the wild way our world has come together,  Nope, because I am learning with experience that the whole web of experiences has been built for me to be placed where I am supposed to be.  Life is not so much about what I get, or where I am, but rather how I got there. 

We had to work VERY hard to form our family.  Our boys did not come to us the way we had imagined, and as a result we are really to work really hard to show our boys what a family does for each other.  Raising kids with baggage is hard stuff at times (well raising kids at all is hard work.)  I got asked the week "why did you choose children with special needs?  Everyone I know picks the healthy ones!"  I replied by explaining that once we decided to adopt our boys their needs were a distant piece of information but not a deciding factor.  I am sure most biological parents would not walk away from their baby at the hospital if it had special needs, or God forbid if their child had an accident later in life causing that special need, they would still be loved beyond measure. 

I read a powerful quote the other day that said "life is not about arriving at death safely."  Boy, does that sum up a lot of our choices in one small powerful phrase. 

I have so much to share about the day to day goings of the boys, but for now it will need to wait as I need to organize my thoughts better. 

The perils of locking things

John and I have a bad track record when it comes to keys.  We just don't seem to be able to keep up with, keep them out of locked places, or use them in the proper way.  You would think after almost 10 years of marriage you would think we have gotten better, but nope the key monster struck again today. 

So here is a little history for those who have not known us that long, or even at all in real life. When we met John and I lived in old A frame cabins that OMSI (our employer) bought at auction from the old Rajneesh cult headquarters in Eastern Oregon. 

Not only did the cabins not even have locks on them, we actually left our keys in the our cars there in the ignition with all of our valuables in them.  Why?  You might ask if you live somewhere that resembles civilization...  We lived in wildfire country and we would spend weeks in the field and we were responsible for other people's children.  So if a fire came through, crews could move our cars easier than they could defend the property.  So logically we developed some odd habits. 

Now fast forward to our wedding.  After living in a little place with literally 18 people for almost two years, we were going to get married at another OMSI facility in Bend, Oregon.  Picture this:  The day before our wedding we decided rather than doing something wild and late nightish we took all of our friends down the Deschutes River for our bachelor/bacheloret party.  It was fun, yes very cold, but still lots of fun.  Because John can lift heavy boats and I can't, I was in charge of running the shuttle to get our pickup truck after the trip.  When I get there they keys are not in the standard hiding place.  Thank goodness I am able to find a back up set in a dry bag.  I use the backup after looking all over for the keys he "left" at the car that morning.  Meanwhile the delay has caused us all to miss the rehearsal for our wedding.  Oops.  Fortunately, we were smart enough to get our Moms massages and they were amazingly Ok with this fact.  I guess the assumed that we would not have payed much attention anyway. 

Now zoom into the next day.  We have a lovely June wedding in Bend, Oregon.  Our old black lab is the ring bearer, happily tromping through the snow to chase the squirrels.  Yes, Snow at our outdoor wedding in June.  Oh well we roll with it, and pass a bunch of smelly wool blankets and sleeping bags out to the guest so that they can stop chattering their teeth and we can get on with the wedding.  So it is lovely, we have a good time.  Then it comes time for us to leave the party and go to our whopping 2 day honey moon.  But, you know what the difference is between the Yiddish and the British is?  The British leave without saying goodbye and the Yiddish say goodbye without leaving.  We said goodbye for hours that night.  In fact, we were the last people to leave our wedding because the 2nd set of keys to the pick up were gone.  Vanished, no where to be found.  So, the first time I referred to John as my husband was to AAA explaining that "my husband's car has no keys!"

Fast forward to the next significant event of our life.  Buying a house.  We lived in a very tiny town in Eastern Oregon with a whopping 120 people.  Keys and locking were an abstract thing, and in fact the whole time we rented the house we did not even have a key for it.  This part of Oregon everyone has a gun or two.  This makes crime very personal there.  No one seems to commit random crime or theft because the risk is too great.  But, we had just bought the house and finally had keys.  We had actually been invited that weekend to go skiing with friends but when we got up at 4am the power was off.  No big surprise as this was a weekly thing when we first moved there.  We lit a bunch of candles, got ready, the sun rose, locked the door for the first time and we left. 

Then as we are on the ski lift John  has a horrible realization that he left candles burning in the house.  He became convinced that the house was going to burn down.  Seeing as we had only received keys to the house we had been living in for 6 months we had not given anyone in town a spare.  All our neighbor Tom could do was promise he would call the volunteer fire department the second he saw the house burst into flames.  I am pretty sure this was one of the last times we locked our house. 

The next major event was when I was working on my masters degree in LaGrand, OR.  That first summer John and I literally did not see each other for 1.5 months.  He worked Thursday-Monday and I went to school Monday-Friday.  We went back and forth taking care of the dog, but we needed our neighbor Tom (who is well into his 80's) to watch her on Thursday night and Friday morning until I got home.  Well, on my last Friday of school, I came home with my friend Marlene who was going to live with us for a while, and all of her stuff.  The instant we got all of her boxes in the house, we got a call to go to a party. The dog needed to stay, but she had been let out and had dinner.  Marleen, thinking she was doing a good thing locked the back door (the one Tom always used.)  I went out the front door and we were off.  We got home about 1am and the phone instantly rang.  It was Tom and he was upset.  "Where the Hell have you been and why are you moving out?  Oh and I broke down your back door, so don't call the cops, it was just me!"  See Tom got confused, and thought it was Thursday, heard the dog bark, thought he was going crazy, found the door locked, broke it down, found the boxes, panicked then ran back home and waited for a light to go on.  Little did he know the front door was left wide open. 

All of this makes today seem quite boring, but still ridiculous.  The other day John went to move my car into the shade.  He used his set of my car's keys to move it then left them on the seat.  I later went somewhere using my keys.  When I got to where I was going I saw the second set and I put them in the glove box, not wanting to leave them in site.  (We are clearly no longer living in Oregon.)  Well, today I needed to run some errands without the boys early this morning.  I made everyone breakfast and then I was ready to leave.  I head out to my car only to see that John's truck and trailer and in the middle of the driveway.  I explain that he must move it.  He eventually does, and then he decided he needs to turn my car around for me (I am sure he was thinking he was being helpful.)  At this point he leaves the keys in the ignition and closes the door.  Then my lovely little possessed car locks as he walks away.  With all of the keys in it. 

I think we were meant for a very different type of life that does not involve keys and locks.  Not sure of the complete message here, but there is some bigger life lesson or moral that I am sure will become unlocked for us eventualy.