"You're not my Mommy"

She had said this in the context of a discussion we were having about material things and deprivation. But for me, it was of a piece of things that have developed since Maia's presentation of her timeline.

The presentation had gone very well.

Her teacher had told us that she had delivered her presentation in a strong voice and tha the children had been interested in her story. They had given her high marks for her presentation (the children got to grade each other), and she had been proud of her performance. We had taken her out to eat that tonight to celebrate the achivement--Buca di Bepo, her favorite restaurant.

Maia's attitude towards us had changed after the presentation. Kristina said that it was as though the presentation had broken the ice. She talked more about Kazakhstan and having been adopted.

But you could see that she was dealing emotionally with it.

"I love you more than my other parents," she said to each of us from time to time in the days after the presentation.

I finally said, "You don't have to say that, Maia. They love you, too."

Christmas was good. We had David, Kalei and Alex over, along with a neighbor. It had been a pleasant evening. But Maia has some acquisitiveness about material things that rubs Kristina the wrong way. I don't know how much of that is just being a kid and how much of it comes from feelings of deprivation from being orphaned. I know that when I was about 9, my mother had set up a surprise birthday party for me and had gotten very angry with me for just tearing mindlessly into the presents.

Kalei had forgotten one of Maia's presents and today she brought it over. It was a top in pink with the word "love" on the front in glittery stuff that was glued to the material.

Maia had expressed the wish that it was purple.

In reaction to Kristina's look, Maia said, "It's too pink."

Later, Kristina had wanted to talk about material things. She talked about how fortunate we were and she was to have enough money to buy the things we want to buy, and how the important thing about a gift isn't the material thing and the sentiment that goes with it.

"Lots of children don't have things," she said.

"I wish I had a Mommy," Maia said.

"What about me?" Kristina said.

"You're not my Mommy," Maia said. There wasn't any rebellion in the way she said this.

Kristina let it go.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Just kidding," Maia said. "You're my best parents. You're my best friend," Maia said.

And I think all of that was really true for her, too.

A little earlier in the morning, Maia had been running after a nerf ball she'd gotten for Christmas. She tripped over the cuff in the pants she was wearing--a pair of Kristina's--and had spilled headlong onto the marble kitchen floor, bruising her hip. She had cried, and I had held her for a long time, soothing her in the way my Mom used to soothe us when we had hurt ourselves. Kristina had come in and kissed her head, and Maia had stood up to be hugged by her, too.

The one thing I have learned about this process is that there's nothing in it that is reducible to simplistic conclusions.

John, Saturday, December 26, 2009