Us
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Don't Mess With Mama (Bear)
I like to think that I'm something of a quiet, gentle, people-pleasing sort of person. The kind of person who has more patience than most. One who counts carefully the cost of making trouble before making it. I try very hard not to use the "L" word (lawyer) flippantly. Honest!
I will put up with a great deal of abuse at the hands of the uncouth. But my friends, don't even think about messing with my kids. I will know. Some cosmic force in this otherwise unyielding universe has allowed mothers of all makes to have superhuman-I'm-going-to-permanently-maim-you-if-you-touch-my-kid focus and drive that overcomes me, like all healthy mothers. It's like the peripheral vision is lessened and destruction of the offensive object becomes the soul desire. I often yield.
I called the principal of the school last Friday and made my complaint known. My daughter, new to this grand country of ours is not given equal opportunity to learn in a system that is paid for in part by my (husband's) hard earned dollar! I would like (1) a student handbook in her language, (2) a translator for perhaps a week, to help her understand the culture and rules of the classroom and (3) a little more understanding of her situation by her teachers!
I checked school policy. The school district is obligated to provide a translator to parents to help them understand school policy, grades, and conferences. They are provided with a school handbook in their language to assist them in helping their child adjust. (I was given a handbook two weeks after my daughter began attending classes.)
The principal patiently heard my complaint. I thought I was exceedingly controlled under the circumstances. She promised she would call the district and see what could be done.
I received a call yesterday. She told me she voiced my complaint to the district, she was sorry they could not grant my request.
As my hero Bugs Bunny would say, "You know, this means war."
I asked for a name. She gave me one.
After the steam subsided from my ears and my face returned to its original God-created color, I called "Jorge." Once again, I forced myself to unheard of highs in personal control. My voice steady, I told him my problem and hopes to help my daughter who was being treated unkindly by a school district that I knew, had better standards.
He told me the principal of Ann's school had said I wanted a private tutor for her.
What?!
I said nothing of the sort. You can go back and read it for yourself. Its right up there in the second paragraph.
Now that odd remark implies a great deal. It could mean that the principal misunderstood me. That would be obvious. It could mean she was ashamed of her school and was trying to cover. Or it could mean she just wanted to blow me off. Or Jorge misunderstood her.
At any rate, Jorge was a dear. He was quiet and thoughtful for a time. Then he said, perhaps the school district could purchase a translator gadget (does anyone know of a good inexpensive one?), provide the handbook in her language and hire a translator (in person) for maybe part of a day.
"Lets keep in touch," he said. ""Are your other daughters doing well?"
"Yes, thank you."
The razor sharp claws involuntarily retracted.
Humph, we will see.
I will put up with a great deal of abuse at the hands of the uncouth. But my friends, don't even think about messing with my kids. I will know. Some cosmic force in this otherwise unyielding universe has allowed mothers of all makes to have superhuman-I'm-going-to-permanently-maim-you-if-you-touch-my-kid focus and drive that overcomes me, like all healthy mothers. It's like the peripheral vision is lessened and destruction of the offensive object becomes the soul desire. I often yield.
I called the principal of the school last Friday and made my complaint known. My daughter, new to this grand country of ours is not given equal opportunity to learn in a system that is paid for in part by my (husband's) hard earned dollar! I would like (1) a student handbook in her language, (2) a translator for perhaps a week, to help her understand the culture and rules of the classroom and (3) a little more understanding of her situation by her teachers!
I checked school policy. The school district is obligated to provide a translator to parents to help them understand school policy, grades, and conferences. They are provided with a school handbook in their language to assist them in helping their child adjust. (I was given a handbook two weeks after my daughter began attending classes.)
The principal patiently heard my complaint. I thought I was exceedingly controlled under the circumstances. She promised she would call the district and see what could be done.
I received a call yesterday. She told me she voiced my complaint to the district, she was sorry they could not grant my request.
As my hero Bugs Bunny would say, "You know, this means war."
I asked for a name. She gave me one.
After the steam subsided from my ears and my face returned to its original God-created color, I called "Jorge." Once again, I forced myself to unheard of highs in personal control. My voice steady, I told him my problem and hopes to help my daughter who was being treated unkindly by a school district that I knew, had better standards.
He told me the principal of Ann's school had said I wanted a private tutor for her.
What?!
I said nothing of the sort. You can go back and read it for yourself. Its right up there in the second paragraph.
Now that odd remark implies a great deal. It could mean that the principal misunderstood me. That would be obvious. It could mean she was ashamed of her school and was trying to cover. Or it could mean she just wanted to blow me off. Or Jorge misunderstood her.
At any rate, Jorge was a dear. He was quiet and thoughtful for a time. Then he said, perhaps the school district could purchase a translator gadget (does anyone know of a good inexpensive one?), provide the handbook in her language and hire a translator (in person) for maybe part of a day.
"Lets keep in touch," he said. ""Are your other daughters doing well?"
"Yes, thank you."
The razor sharp claws involuntarily retracted.
Humph, we will see.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Routine?
I don't think so. It still feels like fruit basket upset. 'Course its been only 2 1/2 weeks since we have been home . . .
Then Josh announced last weekend that he is getting married!!! OMG! We are so happy. We love Sarah and are looking forward to the wedding in July. I'll try and get a photo out soon. I had zero daughters in January, now I have 4!
The two younger girls are adjusting well to their classes with gentle and gracious teachers. Tanya (alias 'Ann') is having something akin to a nightmare amidst the "fairytale" she is experiencing here. She loves America and called it 'like a fairytale,' but her school is like a reformed school for thugs. They have made no effort to understand her incredible life change and are far more concerned with her minor rule infractions than with making her feel comfortable and encouraged. I haven't been asked about a way to communicate with her in her language (like google translation on line) but they become infuriated when she tries to call an interpreter for help. Ann has called home in tears on more than one occasion in frustration and she has only been there for two weeks! Even Anna and Sophia have not been treated this way and they have also been in error of not knowing and so breaking the rules. Have others found this to be true of other Newcomer schools? Hey, welcome to America. You must be completely uncultured, uneducated and a hardened criminal. Yes, I have some forgiving to do.
Needless to say, I'm aggressively looking into other options. Let me know if you are aware of any. So far I'm leaning heavily toward a private school.
Then Josh announced last weekend that he is getting married!!! OMG! We are so happy. We love Sarah and are looking forward to the wedding in July. I'll try and get a photo out soon. I had zero daughters in January, now I have 4!
The two younger girls are adjusting well to their classes with gentle and gracious teachers. Tanya (alias 'Ann') is having something akin to a nightmare amidst the "fairytale" she is experiencing here. She loves America and called it 'like a fairytale,' but her school is like a reformed school for thugs. They have made no effort to understand her incredible life change and are far more concerned with her minor rule infractions than with making her feel comfortable and encouraged. I haven't been asked about a way to communicate with her in her language (like google translation on line) but they become infuriated when she tries to call an interpreter for help. Ann has called home in tears on more than one occasion in frustration and she has only been there for two weeks! Even Anna and Sophia have not been treated this way and they have also been in error of not knowing and so breaking the rules. Have others found this to be true of other Newcomer schools? Hey, welcome to America. You must be completely uncultured, uneducated and a hardened criminal. Yes, I have some forgiving to do.
Needless to say, I'm aggressively looking into other options. Let me know if you are aware of any. So far I'm leaning heavily toward a private school.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Heading Toward Routine
We have been back in Colorado for a whole week.
What have we been doing?
And again, the girls teach me about my relationship with God. We had a big session, trying to enforce a timeout. Why was it so hard? Because we are taking away control. This part is speculation, but I assume that in an internot, if you do not look out for yourself, you won't get the things you want. If your parents were alcoholics, then you had to always be thinking about the next meal, and how to help your parents. And if your parents were abusive, you had to always be aware of the emotional situation. So being in control is the difference between life and death. Sure, adults can be trusted to a point, but not very far. And now, these new adults are trying to make you do something you don't want to do. You don't understand this stupid senseless rule about sitting in one spot for an extended time, so you try to get control back. Hitting, kicking, pinching, biting, screaming, anything to keep control. And this is a lot like me and God. Sure, God is trustworthy, but only in things that don't matter too much. Try to put me through things I don't like or understand, and I will do anything to "keep" control.
I love my girls so much.
What have we been doing?
- Going to school
- Learning English quickly
- Shopping at CostCo
- Buying food at supermarkets
- Swimming pools, twice!
- Uncounted phone calls back to Slovyansk (What's the rate? Not too high, I hope. Vonage soon.)
- Making friends with other adopted Ukrainian kids
- Getting enrolled with insurance
- Shopping at Kohls for 2+ hours
- Trying on every shoe at Famous Footwear
- Learning what it is like to be in a family
- Bedtime rituals (I LOVE it!)
- Reading Dr. Suess
- Cooking meals
And again, the girls teach me about my relationship with God. We had a big session, trying to enforce a timeout. Why was it so hard? Because we are taking away control. This part is speculation, but I assume that in an internot, if you do not look out for yourself, you won't get the things you want. If your parents were alcoholics, then you had to always be thinking about the next meal, and how to help your parents. And if your parents were abusive, you had to always be aware of the emotional situation. So being in control is the difference between life and death. Sure, adults can be trusted to a point, but not very far. And now, these new adults are trying to make you do something you don't want to do. You don't understand this stupid senseless rule about sitting in one spot for an extended time, so you try to get control back. Hitting, kicking, pinching, biting, screaming, anything to keep control. And this is a lot like me and God. Sure, God is trustworthy, but only in things that don't matter too much. Try to put me through things I don't like or understand, and I will do anything to "keep" control.
I love my girls so much.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Stretching Time
Last Thursday, when we were running from embassy to medical buildings to embassy, my faith was pushed to the limit. Beyond the limit. I had prayed earlier that week for Tanya's birth certificate to be done quickly. It did not happen. Instead of being able to get everything done in Donetsk in a day, we would have to find a hotel and continue the next day. On Thursday, we were running to the embassy, and I was sure we had to be there by 3:00 PM, and I was equally sure we could not do it. Things had been delayed enough that it looked like we would not complete our paper work that day, and so we would have to wait until Monday to finish a few small items.
I complained to God.
"This is too much. I no longer believe that you are capable of working in our favor. You have allowed enough delays that we will be further delayed. I'm sorry, God, but you, the God who likes to wait until the last minute, have waited too long for me. I wish I could trust you to get this done quickly, but you have not acted earlier this week when I asked, and I don't expect you to act now."
Of course, you know that we came home in record time.
So now I have another experience of a loving God who is trying to increase my faith in what he can do.
I think I did one thing right in this example. When the rich young ruler came to Jesus and asked what he needed to do, eventually Jesus told him to sell everything, give it to the poor, and follow Jesus. The ruler went away disappointed. That was the mistake. That was the mistake I avoided. I could have (not really) given up on trying to trust God. Just turned away with no intention of turning back. Instead, I wrestled with God. Like Abraham, over Sodom and Gomorrah. The rich young ruler should have argued with Jesus, or asked more questions, or anything else except turn away. I was able to tell God that he was asking more of me than I thought I could give. Maybe next time, I'll be able to believe that more is possible.
I complained to God.
"This is too much. I no longer believe that you are capable of working in our favor. You have allowed enough delays that we will be further delayed. I'm sorry, God, but you, the God who likes to wait until the last minute, have waited too long for me. I wish I could trust you to get this done quickly, but you have not acted earlier this week when I asked, and I don't expect you to act now."
Of course, you know that we came home in record time.
So now I have another experience of a loving God who is trying to increase my faith in what he can do.
I think I did one thing right in this example. When the rich young ruler came to Jesus and asked what he needed to do, eventually Jesus told him to sell everything, give it to the poor, and follow Jesus. The ruler went away disappointed. That was the mistake. That was the mistake I avoided. I could have (not really) given up on trying to trust God. Just turned away with no intention of turning back. Instead, I wrestled with God. Like Abraham, over Sodom and Gomorrah. The rich young ruler should have argued with Jesus, or asked more questions, or anything else except turn away. I was able to tell God that he was asking more of me than I thought I could give. Maybe next time, I'll be able to believe that more is possible.
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