Talks of home

I can remember when he walked off the plane.  He was smaller than he is now, though perhaps imperceptibly.  He was so quiet.  How much he has changed.  Slightly taller, I think.  Larger shoe size.  Not so quiet now.  There are talks of going home.  Plans have changed and I am not allowed to say when, but we will be losing him.  It's amazing how much he has become part of our family.  From soccer to track, my sisters and parents follow him as if he were their own.  Even in the rain.

I have not written in a while.  Partly because I do not make time (see my blog post about being "busy".  And yes, the view from atop my high horse is fantastic), partly because the last time I posted the host kid and I got in a fight.  He says I do not tell things truthfully.  He is wrong.  I tell them exactly how I remember them; it just might not be that I remember them exactly how they happened.

That's why I started this blog.  To remember.  I wanted to be able to look back and experience all over again the feelings, events, hardships and triumphs of partially adopting a teenager.  I got much more than I bargained for.  But every time I sat down to write, I was afraid of not writing the truth.  It's kind of the same reason I have not blogged on my teacher blog in a while.  Afraid of failure.

But I am a trigger-puller.  I make decisions fast and finally.  So even though I am supposed to be working, I decided to sit down and write.  I was on the phone with my mother, getting advice about an upcoming interview, and we were trying to schedule track meets and soccer games and things we still want to do with Finn while he is here (Huber's, Claudia Sanders, there was another but I can't remember, hopefully she wrote it down.)  We started talking about the time we have left.

Don't let me fool you; part of me wants my life back, the life before the teenager (but the brochure I got from the exchange program said that was totally normal to feel that way.)  But a bigger part of me wonders what we will do without him.

I will not tell him I blogged today, but he will find it.  And when he does I hope he knows how much he has changed our lives forever.  He and his family.  Our family has grown and will never be the same.

Angry and

My therapist says that there is always another emotion present when you feel anger.  You are never just angry; you are angry AND.  Angry and disappointed. Angry and frustrated.  Angry and sad.

"Are you angry with me?"  My host son asks this question.  Not frequently, but enough.  Probably because I am extremely excitable and overly emotional.

"No," I answer. I don't know if I was lying.  I lie so much (see previous posts) that I don't even stop to think about whether or not I am telling the truth.  My brain is just trained to come up with the best answer.

"Have you ever been angry with me?"  That's the thing about this kid; he's too smart.  It's always easier to deal with people (and children) who are not as smart.  But he is smart.

He wanted an honest answer, so I stopped to think.  There are a lot of emotions that swirl around when I think about the past eight weeks, but anger was not one of them.  Fear, anxiety, disappointment, but not anger.

I have been angry with The Brit.  Angry and disappointed, angry and sad, angry and hurt.  I do not know why on God's green earth people would ever, ever, EVER have a baby to save a marriage. Children are hard on a marriage.  The Brit and I always argue more when Lily is with us.

Once Finn got here and was here all the time, every day, not just on the weekends and holidays, the Brit and I fought A LOT.  But this constant state of parenting, as opposed to the weekend parent I have become, helped me realize it was because we were raised differently and have much different relationships with our parents.  Of course that will cause problems when making decisions for and regarding children.  Also, he forgot momentarily that I am always right.

But we worked it out, and are better people having learned from it.

I asked Finn today how long he had been here. "Two months and two weeks.  It is halftime." I was off by a couple weeks.

I can't believe it's half over. We have a lot more memories to make.  The Hutchinson-Host Kid clan is just getting started.

(My sister says I need my edit my blog, no thank you.  The host kid said the last blog post was full of lies, duh.  #fulldisclosure)

A Culture of Differences: Our First Fight

This actually happened several weeks ago.  Or at least it seems.  At first I didn't write because it was fresh.  Then because I got busy.  Then because I forgot.  Lucky for me (and Finn) I leave Post-Its all over.

Kids are way more forgiving than adults.  This is a lesson I learned going from teaching students to teaching teachers.  Kids may get angry or upset over little things (my 2 year old nephew got mad at me because HE headbutted ME.  But he sure got over it quickly), but they can easily forgive (especially when candy is involved) and move on.

I realize that different cultures view time differently.  There are cultures who believe all times are suggestions.  Then there are cultures that believe if you are on time, you are late.

My family and I fall in the middle. And by the middle I mean on-time is a Unicorn that we know exists, even if we haven't experienced it.

The title incident happened one Saturday.  (I really think at this point he should have known my times were suggestions).  I had an itinerary set for the day which included Yoga, lunch, Go Karting, outlet shopping and dinner.  The problem started when I forgot my friend Jennifer would be over to finish the flooring in the basement that has been unfinished for longer than it has been finished.  She knows me and when it snowed texted me to tell me to leave 15 minutes early for yoga.  It took way longer than I thought which put us leaving a LOT later than I had planned.  The Brit and I were disagreeing a lot then (we have worked it out) and so he was in a bad mood and Finn was in a bad mood and everybody was in a bad mood.

I forget.  I forget he is in a different country with a different set of rules and expectations.  I forget that sometimes, it's the littlest things that remind us of, make us miss, and make us appreciate home.

In the end, we had a great time.  And I learned about his need for schedules.  He learned my need for adventure over-rides schedules.  Unless I get overwhelmed.  Then I need a schedule.

He still asks me for an hourly itinerary every weekend and most days.  We are very busy people (last weekend we threw a small party Friday night, did yoga, cleaning, Skyping, shopping, errands and dinner Saturday, then went to my mom and dads for birthday party Sunday. (Oh, and my cousin called with last minute tickets to Meghan Trainor and I TOTALLY WENT TO THAT.) On weekends we have Lily, a lot of time is spent crafting and creating.

I tried to explain that 7:00 means 7-ish.  I thought we had both learned our lesson.  But then last week, he was late to school. And it was all my fault.  From this he learned I am not an adult.  I need count downs every morning.  I may never grow out of this.  He will never grow out of being on time.  Not that I want him too.

In the end, he forgave me, for messing up the itinerary and for making him late to school.  It will happen again (there's an over-under for how many times it will happen again if you want in.)

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.