Letter to a 12 Year Old

 Dear Matthew,

For the life of me, I cannot find a letter for your 11th birthday and here you are turning 12. What happened? How did I fail at life so substantially? My only defense is that we came home from our trip to New York together and almost immediately the entire world fell apart with the Covid-19 pandemic. It's no excuse. But that's all I can come up with. Or Will. Will was A WHOLE HEAPING HELPING OF A LOT LAST WINTER. I was barely surviving all the therapy and all the hitting and screaming that he was throwing my way. Again, no excuse. I apologize with everything in me.

You're 12. And you're a transracially adopted 12 year old. There's a lot of growth and development and adoption processing and understanding happening in these days and moments. The truth is, I didn't see all of this when I held your shrieking newborn body in my arms. I knew it would be a journey but I had no idea. Walking with you down this path of pain and awareness has been an experience I carry with great honor. I say it to you all the time and I will say it here in print: your story is yours. Your life is yours. Love who you choose. Accept what you will. Disregard what you won't. I am here for all your big, huge feelings and I am here for your silence. Decide who belongs to you and who doesn't. The choice is yours. I promise to continue learning, to sit in the uncomfortable, and to broaden my shoulders to hold what they need to. I promise to seek first to understand. I promise to do whatever I need to do in order to be what you need.

But what I need you to hear--someday, when you read this--is that I love you. I love you no more or less than your older brother or your younger brother. I know you are not biologically related to me but neither is your dad and I love him something ridiculous. I know you're not always in a place to receive that. But I won't stop saying it.

There's a line in Dear Theodosia where Hamilton sings...

Oh Philip, when you smile I am undone
My son
Look at my son
Pride is not the word I'm looking for
There is so much more inside me now
Oh Philip, you outshine the morning sun
My son
When you smile, I fall apart
And I thought I was so smart

Those are my thoughts exactly. Except, well, your name isn't Philip. But, Matthew, pride doesn't begin to cover it. There is so much more inside me. There is so much love. And in the depth of your smile I am undone. It's the same smile you've had since you were four months old. It lights up the room. It lights up my heart. And I know that is so mushy and gross but it's completely true. I am ever so thankful that I have that smile in my life.

I can list all the ways you amaze me but it would take too long. You are so smart with your straight As and your advanced math. You are so strong with your self taught flipping and your 200 push ups. You are such an incredible brother. Truly. Oh you know how to push both their buttons and you do--as brothers do--but you are so often kind and caring, patient and self-sacrificing. You are creative, introspective, and always hilarious.

This year has been hard on everyone and you're no exception. I'm sorry for the isolation. Still, we did get to go to Tahoe and San Diego. We had a blast camping at the lake with our best good friends and visiting the family in southern California. We had fun in the creek over the summer and really enjoyed our first full Oregon summer--even if our options were limited. Beach trips and Silver Falls and a million walks helped break up the huge amount of time we spent stuck inside.

With all the isolation, you'd think it would be impossible to sustain injuries. But no. You got a probable concussion--running through the house with wet feet and falling flat on your back, a sprained wrist--before you were proficient at landing flips, and a sliced open foot--because your brother shoved you off a dock and you tried to stay on it. Between you and your brother, we were visiting urgent care constantly and it was OUT OF CONTROL. But I will tell you that as of this letter, it has been 176 days since we have entered the urgent care or the ER. How long can we go? 177 days, probably.

Your laugh is infectious. Your brain, a wealth of knowledge. And your body, way taller than your older brother's was at the same age. I predict that you'll tower over him in two years time. But we'll see. Watching you grow and develop into the amazing preteen that you are is one of my greatest joys. I pray peace upon your heart as you continue to change into the person you will become.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Mom

Interview with 12 Year Old Matthew

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? This is Us. 
2. What did you have for breakfast? Coco Puffs. (I do not buy Coco Puffs. The school puts it in their breakfast/lunch. JUST FOR CLARIFICATION.)
3. What do you want to name your future son? Ian. (You guys! I'm just waiting for the day when my kid makes up some name and I have to forever call my grandson Craydin or something--given the prevalence of terrible names lately. IAN IS SO NICE AND NORMAL. Yay!)
4. Favorite Food? Pizza. Wait no, not pizza. Escargot. (Okay. He had escargot on a cruise with my parents. He's 12. He likes to pretend buttery snails are his favorite food. Whatev.)
5. What food do you dislike? Cooked broccoli. 
6. What is your favorite color? Red.
7. Favorite lunch? Hot dogs and hamburgers.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Hang out with friends. Specifically my bestest friend in the whole wide world who can never be replaced, Ben. 
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Ireland. (He once saw this little warrior ninja girl on Britain's Got Talent. She was from Ireland. He wanted to marry her. This was back when he hadn't sworn off marriage forever. He became obsessed with Ireland. The end.)
10. Favorite sport? Soccer.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? I wouldn't be having a daughter but...Megan. ("I wouldn't be having a daughter. 😂😂😂" Oh. Okay. Noted. BUT AGAIN WITH THE NORMAL NAMED CHILDREN. YAY!)
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? I'm definitely a night person. (His exact words from last year.)
13. Pets? Dog. Two frogs.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Um. No. I don't know. I don't have any exciting news. I'm turning 12. That's exciting news.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? An actor.
16. What is your favorite candy? Reese's.
**17. (New question this year. This used to be "Farthest place you've ever been from home?" which has been Israel ever since he was 4 and, since Israel is PRETTY far, it might be awhile before the answer changes so...new question.) Where do you want to live when you grow up? Well. I've thought about it. Ireland. (The obsession is deep.)
18. What is your favorite book? Wings of Fire.
19. What are you most proud of? Me being able to do a flip successfully.
20. What is your favorite movie? All the Star Wars movies.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken. The egg had to be fertilized. (Exact same thing he said last year. He's no dummy.)

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Matthew.
2. What is your least favorite word? Jerk.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Sports.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") School. (For the record, he earned straight As again so I don't really see the problem...)
5. What sound or noise do you love? The sound of going to the zoo and hearing all the birds chirping in the background. Or the sound at the beach with the waves and the seagulls. (I had no idea he enjoyed bird sounds so much.)
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Styrofoam. (He doesn't even like to touch Styrofoam he hates it so much.)

7. What is your favorite curse word? Stupid. (I told him he could say any word. Any word at all and I wouldn't be upset. He said, "I know but I don't want to say those other words so...Stupid. Okay.)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Professional Baseball Player. (Interesting...)
9. What profession would you not like to do? Tennis player. (Apparently we're all about the sports right now.)

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Welcome to Heaven.

Slaying the Giant of Perfectionism

I was born a perfectionist and raised in a structured home. We were taught how to behave and we didn't really challenge that. We fell into line. It worked and so I raised my first two children with the same parameters. I'm not going to lie, there were times when I thought I was crushing the parenting thing. (I was humble enough to know that parenting is a long job and something can happen at any time but I thought structure, clear expectations, and love were all it took.) 

My older children and I are neurotypical. My youngest son is not. (Structure, clear expectations, and love are NOT all it takes for A LOT of kids.) 

 My perfectionism is not good. It tied my stomach in knots for more school tests than I can count. It has kept me from taking chances and trying new things--what if I don't succeed? Its expectations for myself are impossible. In my perfectionism are a million comparisons beginning with everyone else's success and ending with my failure. 

And so, my youngest son-the one who is instantly overstimulated in any environment other than our home-struggles and it feels, to this perfectionist, like I haven't done enough. I want to tell everyone, "He is TRYING. I promise he has come so far already! And I am TRYING. Every minute, I am trying."

I have wished my perfectionism dead for a very long time. Perhaps this one boy, who is brilliant and coordinated and funny and tender and uniquely different, will be used to heal me. Perhaps, in practicing radical acceptance of his circumstances, I will learn to let go of this plague of perfectionism. I'm not saying all these things in search of compliments of any kind. I know I'm trying and that is enough. I'm sharing because I cannot tell you the amount of people who have reached out to me since I began opening up about our journey. You are not alone in your struggle. Fred Rogers said, "Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable." 

 Every moment with my nontypical guy is an opportunity to shed rigidity and replace it with compassion. Every moment is a chance for me to see another struggling parent and know that it may very well have nothing to do with how hard she's trying. I wish I learned this sooner. The Lord has quite the way of growing humility in us.