The Wilderness of the Brain

It is winter, and during winter, I teach my students about the human body.  Within the unit, I teach about the brain and how it works and how we acquire knowledge.  I often compare our newborn brains to a forest.  I say over and over again that the size of our brain is not as important as the paths that we build to lead us through the wilderness of our brain. 

I talk about how the places we go to most frequently in our brains are like interstates and the places we only go to once (or very infrequently) are like bushwhacking through the forest.  I talk about how it is not so great to have a bunch of buildings without the ability to get to them.  We discuss how as teens, they begin synaptic pruning to weed out the side roads that the brain does not deem necessary.  A chaotic but necessary quieting of all the information they have taken in so far.

With all this said, I am a lover of the wilderness and inelegance. Thus it has gotten me to thinking.  I must say, this year I have had a bit of an existential crisis as an educator, parent and homeschooling.  I love watching the mind grow and expand in function, problem solving, and innovation.  Yet, I despise noise, and facts, just for facts and noise sake.  I like peaceful and elegant. 

What does this mean then in regards to how we build roads into our brain.  A wilderness, no road area, is probably not the best.  But, on the flip side a criss cross of millions of pathways, roads, sidewalks, and interstates, is probably not the ideal either. 

So now, I am led to think about why we need wilderness and how we utilize civilization.  Wilderness provides clean water, clean air, natural resources, that when harvested sustainably, provide support for the society.  Wilderness provides a reprieve from the chaos of society.  It provides a template for much of modern inventions.  It provides a home for "the other" forms of life not so welcomed in day to day human life. 

So as a teacher and mother, how do I responsibly develop roads into such a pristine place. My students come to me as middle schoolers with a chaotic system of trails, roads, sidewalks leading inefficiently around the woods of their brain.  Do I make thousands of factual trails that a student's mind might go down one time for a test, only to have the trail grow over as soon as they never go down that path again.  Do I drill information in so that they have a super highway of basic facts.  Or, do I spend my time giving them the materials to build their roads, like curiosity, problem solving, experiences, passion... 

I am not naive enough to think it must be one or the other.  Kids do need to know basic math facts, grammar rules, basics about the human body, historical events, how the world works.  Yet, should facts be the focus, or the how to learn be the focus? 

The question I am left with is, how do I create an educational experience for my students that improves their knowledge and at the same time respects the wilderness of the brain and the quiet spaces that allow refuge from the constant hum of civilization?

Happy Valenties Day PTSD Style

It was simple... or so it seemed.  One child was unkind to another.  There was a consequence issued, a privilege lost.  No anger, no shame, just no movie time, because of a poor choice. 

The reaction was disproporte, to say the least. 

First, and swiftly, came the rage.
Like a wolf being penned against his will. 
Howling, thrashing, throwing, kicking. 
The intent to hurt anyone who dared come near.
physicaly, emotionaly...

The energy of the rage is too intense to last long, so the tone changed to sorrowful cries.  Not those of an 6 year old, but of an infant.  In sound, tone, desperation and primal. 

We got home, out of the car, the cries continued. 

We are in the rocking chair, one hour, two hours.  The cries become sobs. To talk is pointless.  He is not really there.  His eyes are barely open, but they look through me, not at me.  Words mean nothing to him in this stage.  He has gone back to a time where he did not hear, and was not spoken to.

We rock.  I kiss his head, I pray for him to find peace, I feel anger towards those who neglected him allowing the deep scars in his brain that refuse to heal. 

We rock, he sucks his thumb and flinches when I wipe the tears from his face.  I do it anyway.  I want to believe that maybe I can be with him during the flashbacks, then I can insert myself into his past somehow and rewrite his tragic beginnings. 

I feel desperate, hopeless.  Will he be OK? 

I tell my self, it has not happened in a while.  It is better than it was.  That is progress right?  Regardless, in the moment it feels just like it did the first time I saw him go into a PTSD state of mind.

The biggest difference, is now, we have years together.  There is intense love.  There is part of me that could not live without this son of mine.  My love is unconditional.  So on this Valentines day, that has lacked the fanfare of romanticism and holiday school parities, tonight I found myself sitting for hours, with love, with my love. 

Trying desperately to heal a child who's love void, has wounded him deeply
I hope with all of my heart he knows he is loved, and that someday his hurt will not be so great. 

I am sorry my little man that we did not find you sooner.  We searched for three years and we just could not find you.  We have loved you since we opened our hearts to finding you.  Regardless, I am sorry for so many years of you crying without someone coming to sit in the rocking chair with you and kiss you on the head. 

So my greatest gift was being present, with my present from the world. 

On Reason and Passion

There is a chapter in the book The Prophet the explores the balance of reason and passion in our life.  To summarise it basically states that life is like a sail boat and our passion is the wind in our sails and our reason is the rudder.  Without one, the other is a bit useless. 

I bring this up, because I feel like I am in a stage of my life where I am just hanging on in survival mode.  My sails are up, and if wind happens to fall into them, I hold on for deal life to the rudder and sail half hardly until the wind dies down.  Repeating this process over and over again. 

My life used to be filled with passion and reason that I intentionally sought out.  I sought out beautiful places to see, wilderness to explore, children to parent, lessons to inspire.  Now, though, I feel like I am constantly in search of an eddie on a circular river that starts on Monday and ends on Sunday.  The current seems to fast, but at the same time routine, mundane, like I am going through the motions of a well rehearsed play rather than living my life and actively making my dreams a reality. 

Right now, I can not even say I have had the energy or where with all to be brave enough to dream.  I consider a good day where Emerson does not meltdown, or Isaac does not regress, or John does not get worked up over some new issue.  It feels so avoidest (f that is even a word.) 

So there, I have named the reason for my withdraw from the world.  I am in prevention of damage mode.  But, my heart knows that this is not why I am here on this Earth.  Yes, survival is a worthwhile goal, but it should be on the list, not just the list.  Ultimately, I am passionate about my students, my family, my garden, and yet I am so very tired by the end of the day with just managing the ins and outs of day to day life, that I feel as though there is nothing left of me to branch out of this circular current of survival. 

Maybe I should be thankful, but unfortunately I just feel shallow, uninteresting and lost.  Maybe also I am just in a reset part of my life where I am bobbing while adjusting my sails, waiting for wind, while looking at the map to know where to steer. 

Searching for a lost chicken in the dark

The other night I found myself wondering around the woods with a flashlight searching.  For what you might ask?  Some things tangible and somethings not quite reachable.  Ultimately what brought me out from my cozy spot in front of the fire place, was the concern over the final chicken count in the coop.  See, now we are back up to 11 chickens.  We recently acquired 10 new ones, and for the most part they have been given a very limited area to explore.   This, supposedly, helps them grow attached to their roost and nest, so they will come back at night.  It just so happens though, that several of them managed to escape during the day.  I saw this as I was playing with the boys.  I watched them explore tentatively for a while, before I also noticed our resident hawk was also watching his dinner wonder into the woods. 

So, I did what any good chicken owner would do.  I grabbed some scratch, put it in a can, and shook it.  They came running, I put them back in the coop.  Job done.  Or so I thought. 

See, counting to 11 should not be that hard.  But we have one chicken that is a hold over from the previous flock.  While she spend almost a year as an only chicken, she now has 10 roommates, and let's just say she is not so thrilled about it.  We have (now had) one really big roust that was big enough for all the birds.  But, when any of the new birds come near it she goes on a hen pecking tissy.  Needless to say, counting moving birds that are viciously being pecked is not as easy as one might think. 

I took the boys to dinner, not thinking anything of the chickens, until I went to turn on their heat lamp and saw them all resting on their newly built roost (thanks John for keeping peace in the hen house.)  The only problem is there were only 10.  Counted again.  Yup one was missing. 

Logically this lead us to begin our search for either a bird in a tree or feathers.  There is something about searching for a lost animal on a cold night that makes you think about the dreams, troubles, wishes, relationships in your life in a different way.  At the moment of searching I could not help but feel as though I had let the bird down.  I am her human, just like I am in charge of my boys (all three of them), or of my students, or of the finances.  It began to feel all to overwhelming of a task.  I had seen the predator.  It was there.  I did what I should have done, but not good enough.

I feel the same in life.  I am with my boys, but in an exhausted warn out state.  I make just enough to keep our heads above water, I teach my students just enough, but constantly feel rushed wishing I could give them the depth they so crave.  Then there is the whole being married thing.  Oh, I need to find time and love and energy for him too?  Is it good enough to just save 10/11ths of the birds?  It sure didn't feel like that was an OK option going to bed that night.  After looking for an hour I did not find the bird, but I also did not find the carnage either.  One thing I do know (please don't ask how) is that chickens have a lot a feathers.  They do not just disappear. 

The next morning I awoke anxious to get out in the daylight and just find out what happened.  If I found feathers, I would at least know.  But, when I made my way out towards the coop, low and behold she had flown back into the fenced in area and was squawking away at her flock inside the coop.  She had made it safely through the night, and managed to get back to the best place she could have been all on her own. 

What is the moral?  For me it is that life is going to take care of itself.  Yes, a lot of people depend on me, and they deserve the best I have got.  Fortunately we had a safe place for her to go and she made it there unharmed.  I hope the same will hold true for all of the other things in my little world. 

Numbers that mean something

I awoke this morning with number swimming in my head.  Numbers like 147 Million orphans, two little black eyed boys, 100's of friends who have taken the leap to welcome these orphans into their souls and lives, 46 families (at least) who have finalized their Russian adoptions, but (at the present time) will not be able to bring them home.  I think of the Kygerstan 64 families that have fought for years to free their children or the 411 families that met their children in Nepal only to have bureaucracy and politics imprison their children in a flailing system of "care."  Or the families who never got to bring their kids home from Guatemala, or Vietnam, or the countless families in the US who fostered kids for months or years, only to have the US states decide over and over again that blood line is the best choice for kids. When truly, those who have worked closely with the kids who bounce back and forth from foster home to hospital, to biological families, back to foster care again know that blood is not always what is best for our most vulnerable among us. 

I am going to come out and say this loud and clear, even though I know many of my readers will disagree.  I do not believe in Hell as most do.  I don't believe that there is some sort of afterlife punishment for those who do not abide by one religion or another's set of prerequisites.  I do however know that the concept of eternal damnation is very real and here on Earth.  I don't need some threat of "do this or else."  I have seen it.  I have seen it in Central America in the eyes of a poor mother who's child died of starvation despite her best efforts and boundless love, I have seen it in the shame on the legless veterans face who begs for money.  I have seen it in the lost empty eyes of the children I left in the orphanages in Kazakhstan as I could only bring one home.  I see it when an adopted mother desperately tries to get her child dental care, but told "no" to anaesthesia for pulling 6 absest teeth because it is not medically necessary to prevent suffering.  There are 27 families in CT that know good and well what Hell feels like.  And now, the 700,000 + orphans in Russia who live life in Hell on Earth each and every day, will continue to live life in conditions that we preach might befall us in the afterlife. 

The news of Russia shutting down adoptions for Americans has hit me in so many ways.  On one hand it puts me back to remembering the day we found out Kazakhstan was closing.  The same day our paperwork made it to the Embassy, only to be returned.  For us it was heartbreaking, but I can see now, not nearly as heart braking as it must be for the 46 families that have gone to Russia met their children, gone to court, received birth certificates, and made a promise to their children of coming back to bring them into their forever families.  We spent almost three months in Kazakhstan adopting Emerson.  We refused to return to the US because I was terrified of something like this happening.  I can remember my father asking me when I would relax and believe he was really our son.  I replied "when I have him home." 

I can also see another side.  Imagine for a moment if we were to learn in the US that kids who were in our foster system and not adopted after 1 year of being available could be adopted by families in Russia or China.  We too might assume some of the things the Russian Parliament is thinking.  Yes, the individuals might be good, but when you lump all people into a mass category of a stereotypical culture you are playing a dangerous game of judgment.   

Then there is the undeniable truth that nags at me every day.  We as a society our lousy at taking care of the weakest.  We bemoan the EPA for killing jobs, rather than thanking them for keeping mercury out of our drinking water.  We tell people "the ONLY way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun."  We industrialize our schools to a point where our kids are numbers, statistics, chair sitters and our counselors are those who administer high stakes test.   We shun those who are mentally hurting, and label the alert child in an overstimulating environment as ADD, and wonder why they lash out.  We move the public health clinic for the poor to suburbs where there is no bus service, and yes, we let bureaucracy run the law of the land when it comes to the orphans on the world. 

I recognize that many of my readers are AP's but some are not and have never tried to navigate the system of truly trying to bring into your home a child who does not have a family.  It is a battle my friend.  And not one that ends, ever.  When we decided to adopt we fully thought it would be domestic.  We hear all the time (sometimes in front of our children)  why not just adopt a kid from the US.  There are so many who need homes.  To those I say, go ahead give you local DHR and call, then lets talk.  I know families who have waited years with open hears, minds and with rooms ready, only to be jerked around by the US system.  Yes, these kids do need homes, but we have got to revamp our system.  By the time an average kid in the US finds their forever family they have been in 18 placements.  Do you have any idea what that does to a child?  New born adoption in the US is equally as perilous.  It involves adopting a family because most adoptions are open.  This works great for some, not for others, and when it comes to adopting, you better go in with your eyes wide open, because nievitey does nothing for you at 3 am with a child who is unconsolable for the 3 hour in a row.  The other aspect is that a birth mother can changer her mind (rightly so) after she gives birth to the child.  For me I knew there were millions of kids already alive that needed a home so domestic infant adoption did not appeal to us.  For those who do form their families this way, I comend you for being there to guide a child as soon as possible.  Fortunately very few of these kids end up as "orphans." 

Now, lets think for a moment the reality of what happens to children who grow up without a family or foster family (which by the way, those in the US who are doing a good job at this, are the unsung heroes of taking care of our weakest.)  A large number of children don't survive the institutions/orphanages around the world. Illness, malnourishment, physical and sexual abuse is rampant.  In China, those that are weak are sent to the dying rooms, and the precious few resources that the orphanages have, are given to those who are "stronger."  Then lets think about what it means to be a toddler in an orphanage.  My son at 2.5 spent about 23 hours a day in a crib, head flattened, gross moter skills stunted.  My other son had never been outside until we took him out ourselves. 

Now lets just say you are one of the 25% that survives this emotional, nutritional, and stimulus void environment until you are school age.  Don't expect to get much schooling, or medical help, or dental care.  If you are strong, you might get to go work in a sweat shop and make a bunch of cheep plastic crap so Americans can go buy it at walmart or get a nice little toy with their "happy meal."  If you are a pretty girl, you can go work in the prostitution rings.  If you are disabled, deformed, defected, off to the permanent institutions for the disabled.  Hell on Earth.

If you live to 16, say goodbye to the comforts of your institutionalized Hell and you are off on your own with out a family, education, money, skills, love, nourishment.  The "options" are few for these kids.  Prostitution, slavery (yes it still exist), gangs, drugs, suicide, terrorist organizations ect. 

Then there are the few families in the world (1-5% of all families) who form through adoption.  We are the lucky ones (me not my kids.)  My kids are not lucky that they had to endure what they did.  Just today, I found out Emerson is going to need to have major dental surgery due to extreme malnutrition in-utero and during his first 12 months of life.  With Isaac he came to us as a 17 lb 3.5 year old.  He was labeled as autistic/schizophrenic mute child.  When really he was a child of trauma.  His first adoptive family could not take it despite their best intentions.  For the scars of neglect profoundly effect young children. 

I hear all the time "children are so resilient, they bounce back from everything so quick."  The problem is, this is just not true.  Early childhood neglect and trauma literally rewire and deform the most basic brain waves, functions and structures, causing all new memories and experiences to be built on a faulty platform.  So what happens when we get our children home after fighting sometimes years for the right and privilege to shrink that number of 147 million. 

We hold a child with night terrors for hours as they are inconsolable
We try to explain to the landlord why all the wall paper was ripped off the wall
We try to block the oncoming rock or toy train that is being throw at us from a child in a PTSD rage.
We sit through IEP meetings while some listen tearfully to the horrors of your child's experiences and other seemed inconvenienced by their different needs that don't fit the mold.
We fight with insurance companies about covering children that were adopted older.
We endure the stares of people as our child flails on the ground from over stimulation because for years they had none, and the world is still frighting to them. 
We face one more surgery or trip to Children's Hospital to try and undo the damage that was done while we waited for bureaucracy to run its course. 
We are treated with scepticism as "those crazy parents" by doctors, teachers, and principles when we try to explain how early childhood trauma and neglect has made my child different. 
Many of us them make a huge leap and homeschooling our children, to protect them from further slipping backwards in society.

And, with all that said, I would do it over and over again.  Unfortunately I am just a teacher and my husband is just a small business owner who also stays at home with our boys to give them the much needed back parenting they so desperately need as they move forward in this world.  What this means though is that according to US law we don't make enough money to bring more children into our family.  So, now we are fighting for a larger cause. 

There are a lot of outspoken pro-lifers out there.  Most of them believe and profess in an afterlife possibility of hell.  For those of you out there protesting abortion, stand up equally as loud for the 147 million kids that are hear on Earth, enduring a Hell that most in the US cannot even begin to imagine.  If you are in a position of power, look at the list above of what families face who do give fathers, and mothers to the orphans of the world, and see what you can do to change that. 

Vladimir Putin made a bold move today in the very wrong direction.  Are there enough of us out there, to offset this move through action, goodness and changing the conversation in both the US and the world on how we treat and care for the most vulnerable? 

The Grinch's Heart

Yesterday was our day out in the "real world."  Normal our Saturday's are activity filled.  We started off the day at the Art Museum's Christmas event.  The boys were so excited to run into old friends.  And like most of my plans to further their cultural endeavors, my boys managed to turn the art museum into another really cool playground. 

We managed to get them outside into the sculpture garden where the security guards would not be so nervous about four sprinting kids.  And thus, logically it seemed a great place to play hide and seek. They had a blast until one of the four declared a statue of a necked man was "base."  Then she ran to base, grabbed its but and said as the voice of reason "This base is kinda gross!" 

But, the highlight of the day for me was our next stop.  The boys were invited to a twin birthday party with a Grinch Stole Christmas theme.  At the end of the party, the game was for the boys to "pin the heart on the Grinch."  Each child was asked to fill the heart they had been given with something that would make the Grinch's heart grow.

Most of the other kids were waiting for something to write with, but not my little Isaac.  He still had his pencil in his pocket from the Art Museum scavenger hunt.  Then he very deliberately wrote on the heart "DAD" and drew a picture of his dad.  When I asked him about it he said, "I think the Grinch would have a much bigger heart if he had a Dad like mine." 

Proud Mama

I love my boys more than I knew it was possible to love something.  Being a parent to them has allowed my heart to grow in directions that I did not know were possible.  With that, I am also able to feel all of the other parenting emotions in great detail.  When they do something frustrating, it is maddening to me, or disappointment can become shame, and proud can become an intense form of pride. 

Emerson has always been easy to look at with adoration.  He can charm the pants off of just about everyone he meets.  He knows how to work a crowd and win over his mama's heart.  Isaac on the other hand, is more complex.  He is my visual learner who excels already in math in many ways.  Take for example the Law of attention for negatives and positives.  If a child does something positive they have between a 20-60% chance of getting attention for the action.  If a child does something negative they have a 95-100% chance of getting attention. 

So, needless to say, when your brother is an outgoing, charming attention hog, you gotta get some attention however you can, and with Isaac that tends to be with the negative.  But... and this is a big one.... Isaac and martial arts is all about being his best, because he loves it that much. 

I have always been clear about my goals for the boys with them taking karate.  I want Emerson to gain skills in following directions, and physical agility/coordination.  For Isaac I wanted him to have an outlet for his aggression, and confidence building sport and a place for him to excel physically. 

Yesterday, as I sat in the parent section, I could feel myself beaming. 

Emerson loves martial arts.  He practices all the time.  He pays attention there better than any other time.  He still struggles, but for him, he has his A game on when he goes to class.  It is a pleasure to watch him improve despite his struggles.

Isaac marched into class, bowed at the door, went to the wall and sat "like a black belt" and waited for class to start.  He watched his instructors intently.  When asked to come up, he confidently shouted a "yes sir!" and ran to attention.  He performed each skill to a level of impressive accuracy for a five year old, and his instructors and other parents noticed.  There was so much to smile about during the 45 min. class.  My boy was impressive, just because.  It wasn't just that he was better than he was before, or that people were patronizing him.  He was in his element and he did something wonderful because he was passionate about it, and he was good. 

Needless to say positive attention was abound on the car ride home, but no amount of praise said, could match the peace my heart felt in seeing that my little one has what it takes, and much more.