Lesson 37 Learn from the Host Kid: I am a Control Freak

Isn't it funny how when you are trying to be quit everything sounds really loud?

He has the flu.  He had it a week before the doctor would test him.  He is sleeping the day off.  And The Brit and I are hammering and vacuuming and making curtains, activities that sounded a lot quieter in my head...

I guess I always new I was a control freak.

No I didn't.  That is a lie.  But everyone else new I suppose.

The realization started when I began to reflect on why I chose to send Finn to a different high school in our district rather than the one we fall under by our address.  (And by reflect I mean cuss silently to myself because I have to be on time every morning because someone else depends on me. Had I let him go to our neighborhood school, he could ride the bus.)

I chose to send him to a different school because of the opportunities it offered.  He would not be a celebrity in a school of over 2,000 students (as opposed to 500) with several foreign exchange students and even more whose English is not their first language.  He would be offered more classes, more sports.  More.

But as I reflect now, I am thinking it may have had something to do with the fact that I work at this high school.  It is not my home base, but it is one of the schools in which I work.  With him here, I can watch, protect... control.

The other heads up came this week when The Brit offered to take the host kid back to the doctor.  I was a nervous wreck (although appreciative that The Brit offered to help out, thanks babe!)  What if The Brit didn't tell the doctor the right thing? What if he couldn't get his prescription filled? What if he couldn't take care of our host son the way I could?!

This control stems from a few things: 1. I am the eldest of three girls.  I was responsible for a lot.  2. I am probably the most narcissistic person you will ever meet.

This is self-diagnosed.  Well, internet-diagnosed.  The Brit came home one day from work, early in our relationship, and announced that he had taken an online test but didn't want to tell me the results.

"It's a test to tell if you are a narcissist.  I think it's out of 30.  I got a 26."  Of course he told me.  We tell each other everything.  I immediately wanted to know where I ranked on the scale of loving oneself.

I took the test (which the easiest test I have ever taken) and when the score popped up, I quickly covered the screen with a yelp.  "What?" The Brit asked.

"The test is not out of 30," I answered.  How did I know?  I had scored a 36.  At the bottom it politely suggested that I seek professional help for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

I am a control freak because I think I can do it better than everyone else.

I went birthday shopping for my niece today who wanted nothing more than a big stuffed bear.  And a diary with a lock on it.  I picked one up and loved it so much, we had a selfie good time.

 

When I shared these pics with my sister and my mother and announced I had decided to keep the bear, my mother loving pointed out that I loved the bear so much because I finally had a friend I could control.  Ouch.

It can affect work, too, but I seriously try to keep it in check.  I am also the most self-aware person you will ever meet (either that or it's the NPD talking...)

My sister told me the other day she opened a tea bag or something and it asked her to think of the most selfless person she knew.  She told me that my face immediately popped into her head.  But then she said she also thought of me when asked the most selfish person she knew.  Weird...

So friends, The Brit, family, host kid, I am sorry I am so controlling.  It's not that I think you can't handle it.

(There are no pictures of the host kid because he is asleep and cannot approved pics, and I am tying to keep his trust.  Ok, earn it.  He read the Mom Lies and knows I am a big, fat liar.)

How to Get a Host Kid

I have always wanted a foreign exchange student.  Like I have always wanted to be a rally car driver. Or like I have always wanted to go to Spain.  It sounded like an adventure.  And I love adventure.

Getting a foreign exchange student is surprisingly easy.  

Step 1: Be part of a family that supports, nay, enables your neuroses.

Step 2: Have your family members be on the look out for things that will help you fulfill your dreams/neuroses (my sister sent me a pic of an ad in the paper for a program that was looking for host families)

Step 3: Involve your husband

Step 4: When your husband says no, wait about 2 weeks to make him think you have forgotten about it

Step 5: Bring it up again, reminding him that you are the best bonus mom ever to a child that is not yours that will live in your house until you die. Or are put in a really nice retirement/nursing home.

Step 6: Now that your husband is on board, fill out the necessary paperwork and invite the program's regional coordinators to your house to show that you can provide for a student and that you are not a psychopath (luckily they only ask you to provide food and a bed; had they asked for emotional stability or adult-like responsibility, we would have been denied.  But we have 2 refrigerators and an extra bed room.  Shwoo.)

Step 7: Pick your kid!  This part was the most stressful.  The program sends you profiles of students.  We had actually picked a kid from Finland right away, but it turned out he was allergic to cats. 

The Brit was excited about the prospect of getting rid of the cat, but I remind him (again) I do not try to get rid of his daughter... Alas, we were back to the profiles the program sent us (The Brit was concerned that I told Finn he was not our first choice.  I told him that Finn would be fine.  Besides, when we picked the Finland kid, we didn't have Finn's profile.  But then I told the Brit that I admitted to Finn that I wanted a student from a Spanish-speaking country.  I mean, I studied Spanish for 6 years.)

You get info about the kids' likes and dislikes, what they do in their free time, what their family is like.  All of the students do well in school and are trained in English.  It is funny now to look back and compare my student to his profile.  You get a letter from the kid and from the parent.  I remember his mom saying that he was responsible (he totally is, way more than The Brit and I) and that he will clean his room when you ask him to.  I didn't realize at the time it meant that he will ONLY clean his room if you ask him to.  When I politely and delicately approached him about this, he said, "Have you seen your office?" I reminded him, patiently and with care, that MY OFFICE was the ONLY PLACE that my husband, who is addicted to cleaning, is NOT allowed to touch.  My office is my sanctuary, my place of hiding, and yes, it is a HUGE mess.  Well played, host kid, well played.

The little darling also told me that I lie on my blog.  When I had reverently and thoroughly convinced him I did not, he recanted and said that I "spin things so that [you] are not the one embarrassed."  But today he ate only one Oreo from the package, therefore he cannot be trusted.  Who eats only ONE Oreo? (Unless it is the last Oreo, in which case you would be eating and crying.)

Step 8: Fall in love with the family.  After we chose Finn, he would email us, send us post cards and we Skyped his mom and brother (What's up Babsi and Jan!)  From then on we were like peas and carrots.

Step 9: Start a blog to chronicle your time together, pair it with embarrassing your host kid and family.

Step 10: Learn more about yourself, your culture, another's culture and your relationships than you could have ever predicted.

The host kid still previews all of the pictures that go in the blog, and today he tried to preview my blog post.  WRONG.  He also admitted he doesn't really read them anymore.  When I visibly became upset, he said, "First you don't want me to read your blog, then your feelings are hurt when I don't read." I think he's starting to get the hang of things.

If you want a host kid of your very own, I would highly recommend http://ie-usa.org because Emily is awesome!

A Mother's Revenge

You know what they say about Karma...

She's a beast.  

When I started dropping the host kid off at school, I would sit behind cars and watch as they would dispense a child and then... sit there.  I was confused (and irritated).  The kid is out of the car; go!  This ain't elementary school, he will make it in just fine.

And then Karma hit me Monday.

Finn woke up and wasn't feeling well.  He was already showered, dressed and packed when I found this out, so we headed off to school.  It seemed the closer we got to school, the worse he got.  He was quite literally retreating into his jacket, and when I asked him questions I could hardly understand his muffled replies.  I was worried.  I pulled up to the side of the school building, and as Finn opened the door, I reminded him to text me if he felt he needed to.  He said, "OK," grabbed his bag, and shut the door.

And I waited.

I watched him walk away, straightening his backpack, and I worried.  I worried he was really sick. I worried he would not text me.  I worried--

HONK!

My eyes shot from my host son to my rear view mirror.  A pick up truck was trying desperately to get around me because I had dropped my kid off and then... sat there.

I threw the car in first and peeled out of my spot.  I was ashamed.  Not because I had gotten caught staring after and worrying about my kid; I was kicking myself for being impatient with the parents from the week prior. (I quickly convinced myself that their children were not sick; they were just inconsiderate and/or lazy parents.)

As I told my mom this story, she smiled, "A mother's revenge. Do know how many times that same thing happened to me?!"

She has said the same thing when the I call complaining about the bonus daughter (Panty-gate and Apple-gate are two of my favorite stories.)

My mother and I then relived Finn's first day of school.  My stomach was in knots. "I felt the same way on your first day," my mother reminded me.  But there is no possible way.  On my first day of school I was eager and brilliant and not at all nervous!

But as I reflect, I realize Finn will probably remember his first day much the same way.

The stomach knots lasted three days.  The worry about him being sick didn't last long. He text me before the end of first period, threatening to throw up in class.

Children, remember: you may not decide to have children of your own, but revenge will find you.  Be good to your parents.  Parents, remember: revenge is a dish best served cold.  Whatever that means. 

Nicknames and Family Traditions

My family LOVES nicknames.  I think it comes from my dad's side. When I was little (who am I kidding, they still do), my parents called me Boo Boo.  I was Boo Boo, and Dad was my Yogi Bear.  When my sister Amber came along, she was frail and small and they called her Bambi.  Sarah, the youngest, was a ball of energy (and slightly evil) and was Bunny Foo Foo, Bunny for short.  These are names only our parents use.

But then we have nicknames for each other.  When I was younger, I could not say Amber and so she became Bers.  Sarah is Cici (because who wants to be called Aunt Sarah) and I am Kiki (because Emma couldn't say Katie).  They also call me Kato. And sometimes we call Amber Ace (that was Dani's doing).  Mom sometimes calls me Sis and we love to call each other Fatty because we are so full of love...

Dad didn't stop with the three of us.  When the grandchildren were born, it was Biscuit, Buz, Button, Bryck and Bily.  All Bs.  Why? No one knows.

Finn has a nickname of course.  But I cannot tell you.  Why?  Because it is ours.  It is the same reason that only my family can call me Kate.    We gave Finn a nickname before he came (we asked his permission to call him the nickname.  He said yes, but that was when he first got here and his English wasn't that good and I do not think he knew what he was getting himself into... TOO LATE!) and he has picked up another since then.

Nicknames are a sign of belonging in my family.  In fact, when one of my cousins gets a new boyfriend, we immediately give them a nickname.  Always a girls name.  Oh, that reminds me.  Finn has 3 nicknames...

The Brit, well that's one nickname, but my sister's also like to call him Simon.  I always call my husband The Brit unless I am talking to him.  Or his mother... then it is Steven.

Speaking of my cousins (it was like 2 paragraphs back), the host son got to meet them today.  All 6 of them.  And a husband, a wife, a boyfriend, and 4 babies.  And my aunt, and my grandmother.  Special occasion you ask?  Why, no.  It was:

Weyer Family Fun Day!

This is the day once a month when we get together with my dad's sister at my dad's mom's house and eat wonderful food prepared by my grandmother and play a game we made up.

This is not my grandmother's house but I couldn't get any shots today.  We love tradition and WFFD is a monthly tradition that has been going for 3 or 4 years now.  Besides ex-boyfriends and ex-husbands, the only missing party is my grandfather.  My grandfather died the summer before last.  It is a huge shame that he did not get to meet Finn.  German was my grandfather's first language and his parents emigrated from Germany.

Speaking of the boy and pictures (also 2 paragraphs ago), Finn would only let me post one today. He asks why I take such silly photos.  I tell him it's because I have to take them when he is not looking because he tries to block me!  Shots that did not make this weeks blog were of him picking black beans out of the chicken dish I made (why you want to show this?), of him ice skating last night with me and Lily (look at my hair!), and of him blocking the camera with his laptop (why you take this photo?!).  (Other photos that did not make it in were of him sampling froyo and of him chopping onions.  I know how paparazzi photographers feel.)  So here he is helping me put up curtains in his room because the sun comes up on that side of the house, and we didn't think of that until he started waking up early on Saturday mornings (do you see what a good host mom I am?!)

This also proof he is alive and somewhat entertained (you can't blink twice in a photo...)

The Game Changer

Children are game changers.  It doesn't matter how old they are when you get them or where they come from; they will change your life.

My sister Sarah tells me I talk about "getting" Finn and Lily as if they were pets.  And it's true.  Sort of. When people ask me about me bonus daughter, I say, "I got her when she was six."

Well, it's true.  She was six when we were introduced that day at the Zoo.  We were like peas and carrots after that.  If we are comparing her to a puppy, she was a stray that wondered into my life.  A stray that you fall immediately in love with (although, honestly, God makes children cute for the same reason puppies and kittens are cute: It makes it harder to get rid of them.  Staring into the eyes of a fully-grown dog or an overweight cat does not make you say AWWWEEEEE! the way a tiny kitten or a fluffy puppy does.  It's biology guys.)

I say I "got her" because that is the moment I took responsibility for making sure she turned into a healthy, emotionally-adjusted adult.

When people ask about Finn, I say, "We got him three weeks ago."  But Finn was not a stray.  Finn was a puppy I deliberately went to get.  I made the choice, as my husband pointed out this evening, "to complicate my life" with another child.

Let me say that Finn and I have a blast together.  Whether it's doing homework, putting up curtains, making dinner, or hanging out with Rinky (my mom took us to dinner tonight), we have fun.

The Brit (my hubby) is an only child.  So he is used to attention.  When Lily comes to stay on the weekends, it is a struggle for my attention between the two of them.  The Brit reverts and it is like having two children in the house.

Tonight it was three.

The Brit is asking questions, the host son is showing me videos and the bonus daughter is demanding that I sing karaoke with her on my iPhone (that game is WAY harder than it looks.)  This is all while I am trying to write thank you notes from my birthday a few weeks ago.

I know the Brit has been working long hours... but I feel like a single bonus-host mom.

And again, please do not misunderstanding me, and if you are a mom you know what I mean, it is just that I am understanding this for the first time in my life.  Kids change everything. Having two is not like having one.  We were not prepared for the change.

And it is totally worth it.  The memories I make with my bonus daughter and host son are the best.  I suppose it is because I am a kid at heart, but I laugh so much when I am with the two of them, together or separately.  And Finn is so good to Lily.  And they are both so good to me.  And good for me.

My husband will not read this.  Because there are no pictures and I will not announce it, Finn may not read it.  But my sisters (who are both mothers) will.  And Babsi (Finn's mother) will.  And my bestie, who is the best listener in the entire world and can relate to feeling responsible for ones that are not "yours" will.  And Vanessa might (shout out to Vanessa!)  To you woman, and all the other moms out there, with tears streaming, and appreciation flowing, I want to say bless you for bringing life into this world and allowing it to change yours.  You are strong and amazing and the world is a better place because of you.  And so are all the children you care for, yours and "not yours".

UPDATE: I forgot (in all of my self-pity) to mention my wonderful friend Jennifer who has not one, but TWO bonus daughters.  She is so good to those girls and not only a wonderful shoulder to learn on, but a great source of information and strategy, er--I mean parenting tips.  Love you, Jack!

Mom Lies

I want to give a shout out to Sophie, Finn's cousin and to her younger brother and sister.  What's up extended host family!

Source: Meetville

The host kid wants to know my age.  No one knows my age.  My own mother has forgotten the year of my birth and therefore cannot calculate it.  Why lie? Mostly because I do not want to get older.  I fear aging.  Not death.  Aging.  It helps that I act like I'm fourteen, and I moisturize, and eat well, and exercise, but I know it will come eventually.  But hey, you know what they say: You are only as old as you look.  And save me the lectures about growing old gracefully.  If I can't grow old like Gwyneth Paltrow or Blythe Danner (filthy, stinking rich with cooks, personal trainers and enough money to pay people to follow me around and slap food out of my hand), then I don't want to think about it.  Did you know they are mother and daughter?

So when the host kid asked how old I was when my birthday came two weeks ago, I smiled and proudly replied (unashamed of my age), "I'm turning 30!"

To which he replied, "If you are 30, I am 21."

He is, in fact, not 21.  Taken out of context it sounds really harsh, but that was exactly what I meant to do,. So mission accomplished. I'm the victim (she whispered).

I asked Finn how old his dad was.  Then I said, "Don't tell me how old your mom is."  He did without hesitation, but Babsi, your secret is safe with me!

This is not the only lie I tell (actually, if we are in Honest Town, I lie a lot).  But because I also believe in transparency and giving kids a fighting chance, I decided to confess to Mom Lies.

Now I have already told the bonus daughter about these lies.  Like when her mother told her if she brought home a fish she won at the fair, she would have to get ride of their dog.  Their Labra-doodle.  That they bought from a breeder.  Yeah, I call mom lie on that one. (I saved the fish she won, Golden Medallion.   We called him Sam for short.  He lived for 2 weeks). (Also, she called me on one when I told her I couldn't go outside and play because I had to help my mom with dinner.  After 20 seconds of awkward staring I yelled, "Ok, Fine! I'm not helping with dinner! I just think the outside smells bad.)  (I went to play because I am a sucker.)

Moms tell these lies because:
1. they think their children need to hear them
2. the mom benefits from the lie
3. the family benefits from the lie
4. the lie was told to them by their mothers

It is possible moms are telling Mom Lies right now and do not even realize they are doing it! Besides the age lie, here are other lies:

1. Oh, no.  I think it's broken
2. I can't go play with you right now, I have to (insert chore here that can be put off until later or that you weren't going to do anyway)
3. Don't read in the dark, you'll hurt your eyes (or watch TV too closely) (here's a whole list of eye myths)
4. Eat your crust; it will give you rosy cheeks (if eating the burnt part of the bread made me pretty, why don't we burn all of it?)
5. I don't remember...
6. I have never done anything illegal/immoral/shady
7. Because then I would have to give to/do for your brother(s)/sister(s)
8. I don't think we have that size battery
9. That store/restaurant is closed
10. Because that is how people get kidnapped (ok, that was might actually be true)

Kids, if you have been subjected to these lies, I am sorry.  They were told for your own good or for the betterment of a loved one.  Probably to preserve the sanity of your mother (bonus mom, host mom).

And one day, Lord willin', you will telling these same lies to your children.

We are all the same: An Education is Diversity

As I pointed out in my last blog post, blogs make you transparent.  And there are so many people (and I mean people I know, not like I am going viral) reading this that it is making is more difficult to be transparent. And by that I mean I feel bad for Finn.  I made a promise to my fans!  Still, a slight disclaimer: Although this blog is the whole truth, the whole truth is not this blog.

As I also pointed out in my last blog post, studying culture and diversity should be just as much about finding out what is the same as it is focusing on everything that is different.  I have been studying the host kid and have a list of things that are the same:

1. German students dress like American students (skinny jeans and visible underwear.  Will sagging ever go out of style? I mean, tight-rolling our jeans did, and that took skill)

2. I would like to take number 2 to point out that I made blog notes so I would remember all of my wonderful thoughts, but my husband is addicted to cleaning and now I cannot find those notes.  And although he read the last post, I think it was a fluke and he will not read this one.

3. They use your water pressure.  Sunday morning while the host kid slept, I had the privilege of taking a shower while no one else in the house was showering in other bathrooms.  I had forgotten what water pressure was.  It does make you appreciate the little things.

4. German students are addicted to social media.  The host kid is always on Facebook, WhatsApp, Snapchat (and I know what that is used for!)  I'm totally going to sound like a grownup when I say this but, it's wonder that iPhone hasn't grown into the skin on his palm and become a permanent fixture. (although when I brought this up he pointed out that I was ALWAYS on my iphone, texting, tweeting, pinning, and yes, I now have whatsapp.  I told him to mind his own business.  I AM A GROWNUP!  The irony was not lost on either of us.)

5. They love to watch and make silly videos.  Which is really something we can all bond over, especially if the videos involve stupid stunts, fire and no words.

So as you see, there are transverse similarities that cross an entire ocean (I just learned that transverse is an adjective.  Totally almost used it as a verb.)

The other big similarity is the responsibility and pride I feel. I mean, Finn is the first teenager I have had living in my house, but I did teach for a lot of years and I know that when my students failed, I felt responsible, and when my students succeeded, I was bursting at the seams with pride.

I am a perfectionist, especially when it comes to people.  Whether it is bonus daughter or host son, I want them to feel happy, healthy and as far away from negative feelings as possible.  I know that failure helps us grow; I just want to do the best possible job when it comes to the two of them.  Or any kid for that matter.  I want to provide the best opportunities in the best possible environment.  The 9 year old is easy.  She tells me what she wants even if I don't want to know.  But the 17 year old is more difficult to read, which is true of teenagers everywhere.  But teenagers are like toddlers in the fact that if they are hungry or tired, you can tell by their mood.  I have been a nervous wreck these last 2 weeks trying to make sure we are doing everything we can for the host kid.  I know sometimes I over do, but that is another similarity between moms and kids across continents.

But I can also tell you that when he came home with all As (and by come home I mean we logged into his account and looked up his grades.  It's 2015.  Kids don't "bring home" grades.  They leave them in the cloud), I was beaming with pride.  4 tests in one week? All As.  Doesn't really under the language?  Not a problem.  (The comparison of school systems in each country is another blog post...)

In conclusion, we are all the same: proud, annoyed, worried, annoyed, responsible... annoyed.  I will go over the top to be the best bonus mom and host mom.  With Google by my side, nothing can stop me.  Don't try to tell me to calm down or back down or relax.  Google and I know what is best for our children.  And the Brit, too.  He's there.  I mean here.  #parenting

UPDATE: I found my notes.  They were... I can't remember.  But German students also like Eminem and Oreos and say that like all foods but will quickly make you a list of foods they refuse to eat.  In my memory the notes were way better than that...

Diversity and Transparency

When I began to write this blog, it was just for me.  For me (and my bestie, who follows all of my blogs, s'up girl!) to remember what time was like in the different stages of my host mom experience. I mean I realize by nature this is not a diary, but with my mom, husband and host family out of the picture, I could be as candid as I wanted.  (My husband rarely reads my blogs). (UPDATE: he read this one...)

But then the kid asked to read it.

And then he wanted to send it to his best friend.  And his mother. (Shout out to Finn's bestie!  He does not tell me your name.  Only your title... and some of your secrets. Shout out to Finn's mom! Whose name is Babsi and we are pretty tight.)

At first I was sorry.  How can I be completely honest when Finn AND his friends AND his mother are reading my blog!

And then I realized it was Finn who would be sorry.  I am practicing transparency.  Honesty.  Pellucidity.  I will not hold back just because I may never be allowed to host another child in my house again! I am a risk-taker.

He punishes me by reading my blog in front of me and then sitting in judgment.

Let us switch gears.

A wise woman once told me that diversity is more about finding similarities in cultures than finding differences.  We are so focused on finding out how people are different, when the true value is finding out what is the same.  It's like that quote from Twitter: what binds us is stronger than what divides us.

So I have been trying to get to know my host kid's culture so I can find similarities.  But he says nothing is the same.  That is a direct quote:

Me: so what kinds of things are the same

Host Son: Nothing is the same...

Great. So to get to know things, we ask questions.  He ask questions like: Are you allowed to pass on the right? Are you allowed to text and drive? Why is the rate of teen pregnancy so high in the States?

So... yeah.  That talk has been... had.

I ask things like, "Do you want to walk?! What DO you eat?! Why don't you take naps?"

I still have not found what things are similar.  I know McDonald's is better in Germany, and so is pizza.  And that Taco Bell is awesome (Shout out to Jan! Finn's bro).

I will continue to badger--er, I mean question him to find out how things are similar.  He talks A LOT more now than when we first got him, so I think maybe I can learn more about similarities in our culture.

We also had a fantastic discussion about WWII and how schools in Germany teach that section of History.  Also Finn's grandfather (who is still alive) fought in the war. But I am keeping that conversation to myself, because I am not ready to share.

Have a fantastic night, reader.  Or morning if you are in Germany.  Or that one person is France who reads my blog.  Shout out to France!

Hutch out.

The Bonus Daughter: A Back Story

I do not know how long the Brit and I had been dating before he told me he had a daughter (I Googled him before our first date so it's possible I already knew plus he worked with my aunt and she told him my age so it's likely she also told me all of his secrets), but I do know we had been dating 6 months before Lily found out about me.  We met one Saturday in July (I had just come back from a few weeks in Ecuador) and went to the Zoo.  She was 6 and I was a mix of nervous and completely weirded-out.  Her dad introduced me as "a friend".

We had a fab time (#perpetualchild) and then next day went to the pool at her dad's condo.  It was there that her father asked if she wanted me to join them in Hilton Head.  For 9 days. (When we relive this story I always ask him what he would have done if she had said no, because he had already invited me.  He just says, "of course she was going to say yes.")

So the third time Lily and I ever saw each other, we were bound by a long car ride and a one and one-half bedroom condo on an Island.

Talk about Baptism by fire.  I went from only knowing one niece to living with a 6-year-old.  Honestly, I am not sure where my medal is.  It must have gotten lost in the mail...

I think Lily thought I was her friend so we played seahorse, played mini golf, made sandcastles, and I taught her to swim.

But there were ugly parts too.  Specifically every single day at around 2:00.  She was 6, so she no longer took naps, but something told me (ok, it was Google) that she still needed some afternoon down time.  That was all she needed, a movie and a coloring book around 2, and afternoon tantrums were a thing of the past.

From then on I trusted Google with all things parenting.

It was still a big adjustment.  The Brit and I have very different relationships with our parents (his are over sees, I see mine twice a week... at least).  Also, I do not like it when people touch my stuff.  Especially children.  So the first time I saw Lily stomping around in an 80$ pairs of zebra-print, leather, red-heeled, cork platform Jessica Simpsons, I ran to Google and then CALMLY set some boundaries.  I think they rhymed with "touch my stuff again and I will break your tiny arm", but it has been some years. (Actually she just did that AGAIN last weekend.  Her dad thought it was ADORABLE she had on my Steve Madden cowboy boots.  Until I told him how much I paid for them.  I mean "we" paid for them.)

These are actually a pair of Franco Sartos 

and I did not love them as much

I tell this story because Finn is not the first adjustment of someone else's kid coming into my house and causing me to Google how to be a grownup.  Although he does not parade around in my heels (but if he did, we would still love him), parenting him has required research.  Where Lily had tantrums and was afraid of thunder (and the dark, and storms, and dogs), Finn is quiet and unsure and (I know I overuse it) overwhelmed.

I chronicle this because just like the story of Lily and Hilton Head, soon Finn will be a normal addition and this stories of his early days (and mine) will only be memories.

Lily and I are like peas and carrots now, but I know that proving to a teenager that I know what I am talking about won't be as easy as convincing a 6-year-old.  But there is always Google.

How you know your teenager is settling in

Once again if you are just joining me, I decided not to have children.  I am a teacher and I love children, but I love the ones you can give back.  Like my students, my bonus daughter (step-daughter), my nieces and nephews, I can make a big impact in their lives.  However when it comes down to it, I cannot be blamed for how they turned out.

This is the same thinking that brought me to hosting a foreign exchange student.  I will have 5-6 months to make an impact on his life and provide opportunities for him, but in the end, I give him back.

It has been a week and a half, and I feel like we are all beginning to settle in.  Here is how you know your teenager is settling in and how to know you are settling in to your teenager.

1. You find yourself wanting to scream, "WHO IS GOD'S NAME ARE YOU TEXTING?" when the phone is buzzing early.  Or late.  Or often.

2. He tells you that he is hungry and then says, "No," every time you offer him something.

3. He will not eat leftovers.

4. It's a fight to keep the words "Shouldn't you be doing homework" from coming out of your mouth on week nights if he is doing anything except homework.

5. He makes fun of your narcissism, but flinches afterward.

6. You slam on the brakes while driving and baseballs fly forward, rolling out from under the seat.

7. He makes you smile when you are having a bad day because kids instinctively know when you need them.

8. The cat believes she is entitled to whatever he is eating (milk, cheese, turkey, ham, these are the things she has demanded)

Also, I know this was my idea, but I am pretty sure that when papers were signed, my husband's name was on them too.  Last night I got a lecture over the phone about how the kid needs Business because Art will never get him anywhere.  "You know," I replied, calmly (because I am ALWAYS CALM), "you can talk to him about it when you get home." Also, he has not taken him to school once.  Or picked him up.  But it's cool.  If we are ever robbed at gun point and Finn can only pick one of us to save, I am pretty confident it will be me.

(There are no pictures this post because Finn has started reading the blog. And I promised him no more pictures.  But my fingers were crossed, so this is a false show of faith.)

What was I thinking...

People tried to warn me, but I didn't listen.  After all, I taught middle school and high school, I knew what teenagers were like: self-sufficient.  They were not like babies, who had to be cleaned and fed and supervised.  Teenagers, generally speaking could feed themselves, handle their own hygiene and only needed minimum supervision.

Fine.  I will say it: I was wrong.

Between physicals and dentist appointments and baseball and homework and meals, there is hardly time for anything else.  I mean, what was I thinking?!

In the handbook, they tell you that you are only responsible for 3 meals a day and a place for the student to sleep, but it is so much more than that.  I feel like maybe I should do more research.  There are "things to help you and your student adjust" but I think I thought I wouldn't need that.  I know what kids need.  I take care of kids all the time!  Both my husband and I have been in foreign countries, so we can relate and support.

We did take him to Taco Bell, which he loves, so we are not complete failures.

Also, he hasn't said he wants to go home.  At least not to us.  And the regional coordinator met with him today and did not immediately remove him from our care, so we are doing something right.

There are other fun things.  He is starting to come out of his shell.  He has a great sense of humor.  He he a really hard worker and enjoys school.  He sleeps well and hangs out with us at dinner.

I do find myself saying "Don't repeat that" a lot.

But the other awesome thing is my family.  They have been so good to Finn.  I know he is completely overwhelmed by them (I have 2 sisters who each have a husband and 2 kids plus my mom and dad plus my bestie and my friend Jennifer) but they have been a huge help.  Sarah (the youngest sister) picked him up from school and both she and Amber (the middle) helped him with his DNA project.

The Brit (my hubby) also helped a lot and has taken care of entertaining Finn while my sisters and friends and I celebrated my birthday all week.

It's like prom, your wedding day, That was going to be all about how you build up to a moment and then it is over and you are left with a hole.  I felt like that the day I was writing this blog, but today was different.  That is another true statement: Every day is different.

Baptism by FIre

Allow me to remind (or inform) the reader that I do not have children of my own.  I mean, I have a beautiful feline that has been my baby since she was only a few months old, and I have a bonus daughter that I got when I got my husband.  She is 9, about to be ten, (the bonus daughter, not the cat.  the cat is much older) and I got Lily when she was 6.  I always thought it would be great to get a teenager; after all, I am a secondary teacher deep in my heart.

I did not know the anguish, stress and turmoil that came with owning, or rather leasing, a teenager.

Of course we want to give him every opportunity, so my sister got his a baseball glove and her husband began teaching him the game.  Throwing practice, batting cages, the works.

That was Sunday.

So much has happened since then,

It's almost as though I don't know where to start.  It's been the biggest adjustment of my life.  Bigger than the 30 day detox.  Bigger than the 16 mile hike.  I have to remind myself his adjustment is bigger.

Tonight there were tears, mine not his.  This week I have learned I am overwhelming, I cannot stop talking and I am a complete control freak.  What I will do with this information is yet to be seen.

He's Here

Finn is here.

This is my first blog post that will chronicle my time with our foreign exchange student.  He is from Germany and he has been with us for less than 3 hours.

Already I think he is overwhelmed.  Not by the language or the country or the travel.  I think my family and I have overwhelmed him.  Of course my sisters were there to receive him at the airport.  We had signs.  Everyone was excited.  I think I was the most excited.



This all started when my sister sent me a picture of an ad in the paper; they were looking for host families in the Charlestown area.  I was incredibly excited.  I have always wanted a host student!  But I was also extremely skeptical.  Why would they be looking for families in my home town?

Whatever the reason (which I have not found out), I brought the article to my husband, The Brit.  "No. Absolutely not" turned into "I am so excited we are going to be host parents!" in less than three weeks.

After that, everything happened very quickly.  They checked to see if we had criminal records and a place for Finn to sleep (one was wanted, the other was not), and then he was vetted and we were Skyping his family!.

The Brit and I spent time preparing Finn's room (it used to house my shoe collection.  I mean seriously, the things we give up for kids!) and Lily and I made signs for his arrival.

He is here and I am so nervous.

Tomorrow we take him to the grocery to make sure he doesn't starve.  And show him around school.  And maybe take him ice skating.  Whether or not he wants to go.  Because I am the parent.  And what I say goes (thanks Dad!).

Welcome Finn.  And I am sorry.  And you're welcome.