I’m a Little Pothead


We have become so integrated in this house, caught up in the daily grind, and sometimes I forget that we came from different paths. I don’t sit around thinking about the fact that the little ones I adopted have been through some serious things in their little lifetimes. But the second I’m sure we’ve all crossed over into NORMAL, something always happens that reminds me of just how normal we’re not. The other day my adventures came from a little girl singing “I”m a little Pothead, I’m a pothead, I’m a pothead” over and over again.

Tiny DancerI could hear her from the hallway where I was sorting a pile of laundry, and I knew some kind of make-believe was accompaniment to her little song. I was afraid to look! I had an instant flashback to the first weeks I had them. I got off work on a Friday afternoon and went to pick them up from daycare. I walked in to see them all sitting at a table playing together, and at first I thought it was so cute, until I realized, they were separated from everyone else.

Just then, the daycare director spotted me and invited me to her office for a little chat. Who knew you could go the principal in nursery school? Apparently, the kids were having a lovely afternoon until their game of pretend caught the attention of every grown-up in the center when the oldest of my little group said “it’s payday, let’s go buy a bag of weed and party.” To which one of his little brothers replied “yeah, let’s get a big bag of weed” and the other one said “I’ll smoke it all up!” Followed by little sister saying “no, me! Me!!”

It was only the first of many moments in which I have found myself shaking my head, saying “I don’t even know what to do here…” Did they learn that from a movie? A song? An experience? Do I need to call our caseworker, our therapist? Do I just apologize and pray they don’t think we’re living in a “Friday” movie reenactment? In a perfect world I could hit rewind and go back and change the many things those kids should have never seen, never known, never witnessed, never gone through, but I can’t. I can only hope that as they grown those memories are replaced with lots of silly moments, laughter, pictures of a better world, scenes from Sesame Street, embarrassing snapshots of boys in tutu’s, anything but the darker days.

The other day my little Princess got in trouble at school, another side effect of the life they led before this home. The kids struggle to maintain self-control, to function in a classroom, because boundaries weren’t there from the beginning. But we’re working on it. So after she served her time-out for misbehaving at school she was in the kitchen when all of the sudden I heard her little song and I dropped my laundry, truthfully, I was ready to send her straight to bed. In my mind I was thinking “I thought we were past all of this weed nonsense” when I came around the corner to find her cleaning out the dishwasher!

She had a pan on top of her head like a hat, and she was singing “I’m a pot head, I’m a pothead.” What a fitting reminder that sometimes life isn’t full of hidden meanings and deep dark secrets that require psychoanalysis and years of therapy! Sometimes it is what it is, and that day, she was just a little pot head!




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