(no subject)
So this morning, after breakfast, Lisha asked if she could call her mother for Mother's Day. Kim tried to dissuade her, saying, what do you want to call for? she don't want us, she threw us away. But Lisha was insistent: it's Mother's Day, I want to call Momma and wish her a Happy Mother's Day. So Harry and I... well, we didn't want to tell her she couldn't call her mother, but we could sense disaster looming, so we stayed close by the phone, just in case.
So Lisha dialed her old home. We heard her say, tentatively, "Momma?" And then, clear as day, the CLICK through the phone as the bitch hung up on her. Lisha hung up the phone - and then burst into inconsolable, heartbroken tears.
We hugged her and hugged her and kissed her and told her, over and over, that she's a good girl, a special girl, a smart, pretty, wonderful girl, that she is wanted and cherished and loved, and she clung to us and cried and cried. We held her and comforted her until her tears stopped, then rinsed her face with cool water and hugged her lots more. Harry's got her in his arms in the easy chair now, watching cartoons on TV together while she hugs her doll Amy. Trying to ease her hurt. Meanwhile, here's Kim, with her arms folded and looking angry, muttering, I told her, I told her so -- and I gave her a big hug and told her the same things we told Lisha, that she's beautiful and special and wanted and loved. Where Lisha cries, Kim gets angry, but the underlying feeling is, I think, the same.
We're still planning on going out to an early dinner at 4 - not to celebrate Mother's Day per se, but to celebrate our girls, "because you two may grow up to be mothers someday," as I explained to them yesterday, and because exploring new things like "exotic meats" is a worthy goal under any circumstances. Lisha seems calm now - though there's no telling what's going on inside her head - that sweet little smile of hers is far from view, but she's at least stopped crying. I've made us all a little plate of nibblies - some cheese and leftover kebabs from last night, finger foods we can munch so as not to be overhungry for dinner. Kim's painting her nails again, working on placing little jewels and designs atop the champagne-gold color that matches her evening dress, using a pin to poke the jewels and strands of metallic thread into place atop their bed of clear polish - she's got steady hands, but I can see her growing frustration at the fiddly task. And Lisha's in Harry's lap, with her doll cradled in her arms, half-watching the cartoons and working on knotting a friendship bracelet - I think this one's for Harry, it seems to be the colors he picked out. Like Kim, I think the repetitive activity helps calm her and distance her from emotion. Which is maybe just what she needs right now.
But I think we'll need to fast-track getting the girls (and ourselves) into therapy. Lisha especially has had more ups and downs in her life than anyone so young should have to bear. It'll be good for her to have some help coping with that, I think. And Kim, too. And us.
So Lisha dialed her old home. We heard her say, tentatively, "Momma?" And then, clear as day, the CLICK through the phone as the bitch hung up on her. Lisha hung up the phone - and then burst into inconsolable, heartbroken tears.
We hugged her and hugged her and kissed her and told her, over and over, that she's a good girl, a special girl, a smart, pretty, wonderful girl, that she is wanted and cherished and loved, and she clung to us and cried and cried. We held her and comforted her until her tears stopped, then rinsed her face with cool water and hugged her lots more. Harry's got her in his arms in the easy chair now, watching cartoons on TV together while she hugs her doll Amy. Trying to ease her hurt. Meanwhile, here's Kim, with her arms folded and looking angry, muttering, I told her, I told her so -- and I gave her a big hug and told her the same things we told Lisha, that she's beautiful and special and wanted and loved. Where Lisha cries, Kim gets angry, but the underlying feeling is, I think, the same.
We're still planning on going out to an early dinner at 4 - not to celebrate Mother's Day per se, but to celebrate our girls, "because you two may grow up to be mothers someday," as I explained to them yesterday, and because exploring new things like "exotic meats" is a worthy goal under any circumstances. Lisha seems calm now - though there's no telling what's going on inside her head - that sweet little smile of hers is far from view, but she's at least stopped crying. I've made us all a little plate of nibblies - some cheese and leftover kebabs from last night, finger foods we can munch so as not to be overhungry for dinner. Kim's painting her nails again, working on placing little jewels and designs atop the champagne-gold color that matches her evening dress, using a pin to poke the jewels and strands of metallic thread into place atop their bed of clear polish - she's got steady hands, but I can see her growing frustration at the fiddly task. And Lisha's in Harry's lap, with her doll cradled in her arms, half-watching the cartoons and working on knotting a friendship bracelet - I think this one's for Harry, it seems to be the colors he picked out. Like Kim, I think the repetitive activity helps calm her and distance her from emotion. Which is maybe just what she needs right now.
But I think we'll need to fast-track getting the girls (and ourselves) into therapy. Lisha especially has had more ups and downs in her life than anyone so young should have to bear. It'll be good for her to have some help coping with that, I think. And Kim, too. And us.