I Told You So

Ok, I admit it.  I judge my sisters harshly because they are stay at home moms.  They went to college and got Bachelor Degrees and then chose to stay home and raise children.  It's totally cool.  And totally not my thing.

They tried to warn me about getting a teenager, but I told them they were crazy.  I mean, he can feed and bath himself, what's the big deal?

One of the reasons this post has taken me so long is because I wanted to make sure I was telling the truth.  You see, more than one person at work have told me that I am successful because I do not have children.  This struck me horribly wrong.  But having a teenager the last 2 months has taught me so much.

Today, my sister asked if I like having Finn around.  I answered, honestly, "Yeah... most of the time." "What did you expect," she asked, "it's a kid."

But that's it: time.  That's what I wasn't expecting.

The other day Finn asked me what I expected a host kid would be like.  I told him, honestly, that the things I was worried about was not at all what I should have been worried about.  And I did not realize how much attention a kid would need.

I know, I know. If you are a parent (or bonus parent) you are laughing right now.  Of course they take time! Finn expects to eat EVERY DAY.  Also, there is homework.  And keeping him entertained. And making sure he is happy and healthy. But on top of that I work full time and so does my husband and we have his daughter every other weekend and Finn has soccer and my sisters have birthdays and I have yoga and we go to my parents once a week and then I have my friends.

I know I probably go overboard.  I am a slight perfectionist.

So my sisters were right.  Having a kid will change your life, even if it is a teenager.  THERE! I SAID IT!

But here is what I say to the people at work:  It's all time.  Everyone has the same 24 hours.  Not having kids doesn't give me more time, but having one has sure changed how I spend it.  I have tried to be very self aware.  I will not say I did not have time to post in the last 3 weeks (although I really want to), because I did have time.  I just chose to do something else.

Admitting this is like granting forgiveness; it takes so much weight off.  Yesterday the boy and the Brit and I played Rock Band for 4 hours.  That was a choice I made.  Tomorrow it's school, meetings. helping my Godmother/Godfather with their computer woes and then being back at home in time to meet the foreign exchange people (they have to come to make sure we are taking care of the kid.  Although it's more like he takes care of us.) And then cooking dinner.  Again.  I mean seriously, it's like every night!

But it's also an amazing pay off.  My sisters are already missing Finn.  And the Brit and I are, too.  The memories we make (sledding, go karts, Rock Band,) are worth more than the fact that it's harder to keep up at work and I have gained 6 pounds because eating healthy and working out require time that I have traded.

So be honest with yourself.  You have the time; own how you choose to spend it.  And maybe invest in some freezer meals.

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.