Most days, Turner and Quinn are two peas in a pod. Frick and Frack. Oil and Water?
Quinn has been experiencing some misplaced anger. (I have responded in turn. Not some of my finer moments.)
Wednesday night we invited Steve's work team over for dinner. 15 people for dinner. No big deal. After 13 of the guests had arrived, Turner and Quinn went from Ninja moves to full out war. I was not in the room (since I was preparing to serve dinner to 15 people) when I heard *the scream*. Not the "I'm mad at you and I'm telling" scream but the "I'm bleeding from my face because you just knocked my tooth out of my face" kind of scream.
Tables were turned and instead of Turner knocking the snot out of Quinn, Quinn had knocked a tooth out of Turner with a Nerf gun. Nothing says, "Welcome to our house. C'mon in and relax" like a quart of blood and a tooth on the floor.
If you have kids close in age (or not close in age because perhaps age does not matter) you've probably spent time as a referee rather than parent. It's just hard to know how to sort out behaviors and emotions with an adopted child.
There are other particular things going on that make me say, "*HELP*. I am in deep waters here." It's nothing that screams emergency but a few things do say... "Lady... get yourself some help here!" Yesterday, I put in an email to the Dr. that helped us out at the International Adoption department at Cincinnati Children's Hospital when Q first came home. I'm hoping she can direct us to someone who specializes in talking to kids (or maybe more importantly, parents) about their feelings/behaviors. I can't imagine the deep wounds consciously or unconsciously swirling around.
We have much to be thankful for. There is lots of hope in our future. We just need to call in some re-enforcements because Mama doesn't know what the heck to do next.