Okay, I think I’m ready to talk about it… the Easter Egg Hunt…I think I can. I think I can. Please know this one of those things that I’m not happy about reliving anytime soon.

Bria was stoked and ready to go. Jack…not so much.

We weren’t exactly off to a great start when I caught him being naughty from the moment he got to the party. He had apparently planted some wheat grass in a styrofoam cup. His teachers had placed an egg holder on the grass with a little egg he had died. With his name on the front, it was the cutest little place setting. Shortly after he sat down, Jack started ripping the grass out of the cup and throwing it everywhere. Not how I wanted to get this party started. I told him no. I know when his schedule changes he’s thrown off a bit, but… I can’t let him be destructive. This was the reaction I got… Nice. It didn’t stop either. He managed to keep it up until he saw food and a juice box…

 

 

He’s pretty darn pitiful, huh? Unfortunately for Jack, pouts don’t work with this Mama. I tried to cheer him up… There’s also Bria at the party. I needed to go back and forth between them.This was not how I envisioned Jack’s first Easter experience…

 

 

 

 

Lucky for me, Bria is a fairly independent child. The people at the school saw Jack and helped me out with Bria. She was good to go!

 

 

 

 

 

Bria and Jack are not in the same class but the three-year old group, where Jack is, and the four-year old group, where Bria is, do activities together. This was a big old huge relief for me. I got to take them outside together for the Egg Hunt. Here they are ready to go…

You can see at this point Jack was a bit happier. He was caring his basket like a champ. The promise of going outside is always exciting.

 

 

 

 

We got outside. I told Bria she could go ahead of Jack. I knew he wouldn’t be as fast as the others and I didn’t want her to miss out on her number of eggs. Running ahead is what Bria does best. I got Jack to the far corner of the egg hunt so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by kids. I showed him the first egg. He was not going to pick it up. This was the start of my frustration. Jack is all boy. It’s nothing for him to pick up a piece of nasty trash and handle it, smell it, stop him from trying to taste it. He didn’t want to pick up the egg. He WOULD NOT pick up the egg. I picked it up and flicked it in his basket yelling, “Yeah Jack!” Next egg. He wasn’t about to pick it up. I picked it up again. I tried to hand it to him. He didn’t want it. I didn’t want to go home with Bria having a bushel of candy that she WILL NOT want to share and Jack with nothing. “Look Jack!” I hold the egg out. He’s not buying it. I open it and show him the candy. At this point he’s too far gone to care. I tried to hand it to him again. That’s when the screaming commenced and didn’t stop.

Pretty much this…

It was awful. See how hit fists are knotted up? He stayed like that for about an hour. He wouldn’t hold my hand. He wouldn’t hold his basket or anything else. If he wasn’t screaming in pure terror, he was crying very loudly. Everyone at the school loves Jack. They only wanted to make it better. Jack was out of control and there wasn’t much I could do. I stopped asking him to hold eggs, held him and his basket and tried to get some pictures of Bria.

 

 

 

Bria, unlike Jack, still seemed to have a fabulous time. We went inside. I took Jack to the bathroom hoping a time out would be just what he needed. Nope. We had to leave. I gathered what I could. Miss Tawana was a huge help! I got Bria and Jack to the car. I finally got Jack to loosen his grip a little and eat some candy but he was still one very unhappy camper. At this point, I was a pretty unhappy Mama.

 

 

 

Jack makes me step out of my comfort zone. Just when I think he is feeling safe and secure, he shows me that he’s not. I was handing him something benign…a plastic egg that might as well be a toy. He apparently thought that I would think nothing of making him hold a scorpion or a rattle snake. I am not exaggerating. I might as well have been asking him to hold a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. In my selfishness, it irritates me. I forget about compassion for the orphan and get wrapped around the axil because I think he’s ruining a precious moment. Apparently the moment wasn’t so precious for him. No worries, I’m not treating Jack any differently than I am the rest of my kids. I was just as irritated with Arleigh when she didn’t want to ride anything at Disney, with Hanan when she had a little fit in the van on a long road trip and with Bria not that long ago for acting up on one of Arleigh’s special days. When I have high expectations for an event, I apparently expect all my children to step it up and create a wonderful memory. Where is all the compassion I had for the orphan now that he’s home? I can’t seem to find it.

I can tell you all this now because Jack is currently counting plastic eggs as his places them in his basket. As Bria would say, “Holy Hotdogs Batman!” Why didn’t someone tell me to introduce some of those eggs as toys before I told him to run out and grab them. He’s had an egg in his hand all morning. He also took one to church last night.

Someone said to me as he was flipping out, it must be frustrating always trying to figure out what the problem is. Yes, a little when you have no idea what it is. I’ve noticed now that some of his fits are because he doesn’t think he’s being treated fairly. In some ways, he’s already starting to act like an American. There is something I find more frustrating and the rub is, Jack doesn’t understand enough to be able to do anything about it. We met him through pictures long before he met us. We jumped through every hoop imaginable to get him home not knowing what would be wrong but hoping against hope for the best. We prepared a room, bought clothes, all these things out of love. I guess I expect to get some sort of love back or recognition of security. Love involves trust. Jack, I think is attaching but he still doesn’t trust us. He doesn’t trust me to always be kind. (Good thing too because I’m not always.) He doesn’t trust that I will always be there. He doesn’t trust that I’ll protect him. He doesn’t trust that I would never do anything to purposefully hurt him. When I see him looking at me like I’m this crazy person who only wants to do harm to him, that hurts me to the core. That hurts more and is far more frustrating than trying to figure out if he needs to potty, if he’s hungry or thirsty or he just wants his sister’s toy.

And this was the dry run. All the kiddos will go to an egg hunt this weekend, with games and prizes and lots and lots of those dreaded brightly colored eggs. Here’s to hoping Jack and I both make it through the next one a bit better…