Once, Twice, Three Times a Mommy

I would make a terrible single mother

2009-07-26T20:13:00.001-04:00

Husband is out of town for a few days for work. And I am doing the same stupid things I do every time I have a stretch of two or three or four days with just me and the kids.

Mealtime? Is when someone starts complaining they're hungry and I realize that it's two hours past a reasonable time for that meal.

Actual meals? Not nearly as balanced as when Husband's around. Tonight? They asked for "breakfast dinner" and got it: scrambled eggs and cold cereal.

Dishes? Don't get done on a regular basis.

Bedtime? Slides around for the kids. The routine (dinner, cleanup, bath, brush teeth, story, tuck in) goes completely out the window.

Bedtime? I stay up way too late watching dumb movies or reading fluffy books or playing addictive computer games.

Errands? Mostly don't get done, unless they are urgent, like we-are-out-of-dog-food-and-must-buy-some-or-the-dog-will-starve.

Disciple? Spotty, at best.

And then when he gets back I complain about HOW HARD it is to be ALONE WITH ALL the KIDS, ALL the TIME.

Apparently, when I don't have another adult around to see it, I'm a pretty bad parent.

Rhyme Time

2009-07-17T19:51:00.002-04:00

Youngest: "Penis is a pmphumn."

Me: "What was that?"

Youngest: "I said, Penis is a planet."

Pause while I control the urge to laugh hysterically and compose myself.

Me: "Well, actually, VENUS is a planet. Venus and penis do sound a lot alike though, don't they?"

Daughter: "What's a penis?"

Heavenly Being OR Cause of Infections Diseases?

2009-05-21T13:47:00.003-04:00

Daughter:

"I have an Invisible Friend. His name is God. He lives here, in my heart. He's invisible because you can't see Him."

Thoughtful Pause.

"Kind of like Germs."

Decisive Nod.

How?

2009-04-28T20:32:00.005-04:00

I dread returning to the workforce. Really. Dread it more and more with each passing month that brings me closer to the fearsome day when Youngest enters kindergarten and my SAHM-time becomes no longer a zero-sum cost effective decision.

It's not that I'm all warm and fuzzy about spending my days with cuddly little people or that I feel that I'll "miss" all that much. When I do go back to work I will almost certainly work part-time.

But I honestly don't know how working moms do it. Not in any self-congratulatory, smug way. It's not "how do they leave their precious ones with a stranger!" It's more "how the heck would I fit a job into this day?"

Take the morning, for instance. Husband and I and the two older children all get up at 6am. Youngest is usually up between 6 and 6:30am, but that's up to him. Husband immediately gets in the shower and generally is only concerned with getting himself off to work. I make sure Oldest and Daughter get out of bed and get them breakfast. While they eat, I assemble three or four lunches: leftovers for Husband, and 2-3 lunchboxes for the kids (depending on the day of the week as Youngest only has lunch at school on Thursdays). I also make sure that backpacks have everything an adult is responsible for: Did the daily calendar get initialed? Is the field trip form signed and in the folder? Any notes I need to send in to the teacher? Snack? and Lunch? On a good day, I empty the dishwasher or start a load of laundry. (On a really on top of things day, I might do both!) I chivvy Daughter through getting dressed in the clothes chosen the night before. Daughter's Asperger's means that it is really hard to "hurry her up," especially in the mornings. (Trust me, I've tried "just backing off." But I'm not willing to drive her to school if she misses the bus and even less willing to have her miss school for missing the bus. I can't let her go without breakfast because she needs the calories (underweight, remember?). She doesn't care what she wears to school and is not deterred by someone having to dress her for her.) I verify that Oldest's clothes don't actually clash and are weather appropriate. If Youngest is done with breakfast in time, I make sure he gets dressed too. Husband leaves for work. I throw on some clothes and walk up to the bus-stop with all three kids. I bring back one of them. If Youngest isn't dressed yet, I make sure that gets rectified. Then I might take a quick shower before taking Youngest to school or out to run errands. (If the plan for the day includes something that's likely to make me all sweaty and nasty anyway, like exercise while Youngest is a school, I'll skip the shower til after.)

And that's just the first hour of every day. So, if I had to be at work somewhere by, say 8am? How the heck does this get done?

OK, so maybe Husband has to step up and take charge of being responsible for more than just himself in the morning. Maybe we make lunches and pack backpacks the night before. Maybe Oldest is capable of getting his own breakfast. Oldest is already responsible for making sure his homework and school books are in his backpack.

How does all this laundry get washed if no one is here all day? I honestly do, on average, one or two loads of laundry every day. EVERY DAY. Does this all have to happen in the evenings?

Husband already does half or more of the housecleaning, so I expect that would simply continue as is.

I cook dinner pretty much every night. Lazy dinner night means a pizza from the freezer or spaghetti. I foresee a portion of my new salary being dedicated to quick "pick-up" meals on a regular basis.

I struggle constantly with keeping up the juggle of this doctor's appointment and that school play and the other church choir performance. How does a job fit into that?

Really. I want to know. How does anyone do all this?

"Sign" of the Times?

2009-03-18T13:06:00.002-04:00

It was a moment that made me wish I carried a camera in the car.

On the way home from preschool with Youngest, I always pass a large open space that has been for sale for some time. By the roadside is a huge white sign with red lettering; "FOR SALE 4.5 Acres"

Yesterday, perched on top of the sign?

Two vultures.

Look out! I'm DANGEROUS!

2009-03-13T13:47:00.002-04:00

The other day, Daughter ran ahead of me down the sidewalk to the bus stop. She was calling out to the other kids already waiting, which included both of her brothers.

"Look out!"

"My Mommy is coming!"

"And she is DANGEROUS!"

I'm dangerous?

"DANGEROUS! She'll . . . um . . . she'll . . . make you . . . do homework that you didn't do at school!" And with that, she tossed a grin over her shoulder at me and cackled gleefully all the way to the corner.

Watch out, out there! I might make you FINISH YOUR WORK.

Hi! Still here!

2009-03-12T16:50:00.005-04:00

Wow, it's been over a month? Hmm.

Well, umm.

Been kinda busy with a lot of stuff, and . . .

OK, here it is. Daughter has a new diagnosis.

And I haven't wanted to write or talk about it much.

So far, in fact, the only people I've talked to are: the diagnosing doctor (duh!), the school system, Husband (of course), and the few friends and family that I feel the most comfortable sharing with. Specifically, my parents (but in-laws have not yet been told) and my one friend with a close family member with the same diagnosis.

So . . . it's still hard for me to say. Or write.

But I suppose the practice is good for me. Right?

Daughter has Asperger's.

There. Said it. Asperger's.

And I know, in my gut, that this is right. Because Husband and I had, essentially, the same reaction.

Oh! Well. That explains a lot.

This is not the reaction we had to the ADD diagnosis. That was more of a: Hmm. I guess I can see that.

My mother had a similar reaction, from which she immediately back-pedaled, realizing as she spoke that I might feel differently: That's a relief.

This is why I can't talk about this yet. I am not ready to hear words of condolence or pity. I am not devastated. I am not "mourning the child I thought I would have." I am . . . relieved.

Because what "Daughter has Asperger's" means is this. There is a reason for all those little odd behaviors. There are social skills she needs to learn that she cannot "just pick up", but that she most likely can be taught. And the school system can, will, and must help her with all of it. They have already started.

Did I say once that there is never a resolution?

Angry and Scared

2009-01-28T07:46:00.005-05:00

I never wanted to say these words to any of my children. I especially never wanted to say them to my daughter.

Yesterday, Daughter came home from school and told me she was sorry she didn't eat her lunch again. This is the 4th day in a row her lunch has come home completely untouched.

I asked her why she didn't eat it, thinking: You chose what kind of sandwich you wanted. I included one of Swistle's pumpkin spice muffins, which you love, but you didn't even eat that! You didn't even PUT the STRAW in YOUR DRINK??!

She said she wasn't hungry.

And that's when I said the words that I never wanted to say to her, because I never wanted her to feel this way about food. Because I never wanted her to have to unlearn this lesson.

I said: "You have to eat lunch at lunchtime, even if you aren't hungry yet."

I am angry that I had to say these words, but I did HAVE to say them.

Because Daughter has a weight problem. It's not the kind of weight problem that people who have never seen her think of when they hear the words "weight problem." Over the last year and a half, she has gained a grand total of 1 pound, net. (I say net, because she did put on 3 pounds this summer, but then lost them again when school started.) She is not growing, because she is not taking in enough food (we think -- further testing is still pending).

I am angry at her school, which expects her to eat lunch at 10:30 AM. That's TEN-THIRTY! Who eats lunch at TEN-THIRTY?

I am angry at doctors who can't figure out if there's more to this than just her not taking in enough.

I am angry at whatever anti-obesity program her school runs that she came home mis-quoting as "Move more, eat less."

I am angry at the insurance company, which has suddenly decided that this might be considered a "developmental delay" and therefore her last few visits were not covered.

I am angry at all the other mothers out there who laugh off my concerns by not understanding that it is just as terrifying to have a child who doesn't weigh enough as it is to have a child with some unspecified illness. I am angry at everyone who tries to tell me that "she'll eat when she's hungry" or "she won't starve herself, you know."

I am angry at the nutritionist who, after telling me to add this and that and those other things to her diet and to be sure that she eats this much of these items, casually told me to be also sure I wasn't "battling" with her over food.

I am angry at God for putting my daughter, who believes in Him and loves Him with all her heart, through this myriad of tests, through this battery of doctors visits, through this constant scrutiny of everything that goes in her mouth.

I am angry, but under that? I am scared.

I am scared that there is something seriously wrong with my little girl and we just can't find it.

I am scared that finding something conclusive is going to be delayed because the insurance is beginning to refuse payment and the cost of procedures is going to have be counted.

I am scared that I am training her to ignore her body's signals. That this will cause her other problems longer term, like eating disorders or other weight issues, but I don't know how to avoid that.

I am scared that her relationship with me or with her father are going to suffer if we are always focused on how much she eats.

I am scared that if we don't focus on how much she eats, she will continue to not eat enough and that there will be other health problems.

I am angry and scared and I don't know how to help her. I don't even know how to end this post, because there is no resolution. There is never a resolution to Daughter's health issues. And just when I think I've come to terms with that, we get hit by something else and it knocks be back to being scared and angry and having no resolution.

Why I Love My Husband

2009-01-17T17:59:00.004-05:00

Reason # 9, 741:

I'm sick. Not deathly ill, or even must-take-to-my-bed, just sick. It's a cold. But it's kicking my butt with the headache that won't go away and the cough that makes my throat raw and the general not being able to get comfortable and the congestion that makes my head feel like it sloshes when I move it too fast.

I started feeling sick on Thursday. And I commented idly to Husband that I was losing a battle with a cold.

Friday, I started feeling like crap. So I did as little as possible, which may or may not have included allowing Youngest to play video games for 4 hours straight.

I also spent Friday afternoon building myself up to be angry and frustrated with Husband. When he's sick, I told myself indignantly, I baby him. I wait on him hand and foot and I keep the kids quiet so he can rest and I generally treat him like royalty. Just watch. He's going to get home and he'll be all grumpy when I ask him to make dinner. He's going to be all: "well, what do we have?" and then when I suggest some things that are easy, he'll say "mac and cheese again? They just had that!" or "Do you know how much pizza I've eaten this week?" And then he's going to be all snappish with the kids when they don't do exactly what he tells them to when they get ready for bed, even though he's doing it differently than I would and that's throwing them off. And I'm SICK and I HATE being SICK.

So, when Husband called me Friday to tell me he was on his way home, I warned him that I felt awful. I confessed that I had done as little as I could all day and the house was a wreck. I even confessed that I wasn't all that sick. If I had to function, I could . . . but I figured if I didn't have to, it would be better to rest. Maybe I'd get better faster.

He totally rose to the occasion. So much so that I am deeply ashamed of the angry inner monologue I was having at his expense before he'd even had a chance to shine.

WHen he got home from work, he went up to change clothes. He came downstairs to the sound of the microwave going and asked me what I thought I was doing. When I said I was making myself some tea, he said, "Good! I was afraid you were cooking dinner! Out! Out of the kitchen!" He served up a dinner made up of cleaning out the leftovers in the fridge (double points!). He asked me what I wanted and then let me make my own chicken soup when I said I wanted to. He scolded me out of the kitchen again when I started to help clean up. He was goofy and silly and made the children cackle gleefully as they got ready for bed. He asked me if I wanted to read bedtime stories (which I usually do), but followed up immediately with the reminder that I didn't HAVE to. Then he read to them with silly voices and word changes.

This morning? He offered to bring me breakfast in bed. He fed the children breakfast and reminded them that "Mommy is sick. Her head hurts, so you need to not be too loud!" And he spent the whole day making sure the kids were leaving me alone and letting me rest.

How long can I milk this?

Respect

2009-01-12T09:53:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about respect. It's a concept that Husband and I try hard to teach our kids . . . and sometimes I feel that the rest of the world thinks it's archaic.

But we try to teach our children that respecting others is important. That we can respect people we don't agree with. (Lots of teachable moments on this one in the last election campaign!) That how you behave is related to how much respect you deserve. That respect is earned, but that everyone starts out with an assumption of deserving it.

I think we do it pretty well.

And I think the biggest thing we do -- even bigger than everything we say to the children about respect -- is to model it, especially in how we behave to each other.

This was triggered lately when I read a post on a parenting message board where a mother was asking how to teach her 8-year old daughter to respect her belongings. The mother said the daughter breaks things and doesn't care, and she didn't understand how to make her care, since she was already refusing to replace broken things and it wasn't having an impact. The responding posters asked about how respect for other people was going in their household. The mother responded that it was pretty good, except for her daughter's relationship with herself. At one point in her response, she commented that if the daughter spoke dis-respectfully to the father, she (the mother) would jump in and tell her not to speak to her father that way. There was no parallel statement made about the father defending the mother, even when posters asked about it.

It made me think.

Husband and I both come down hard on rude attitudes towards the other one. I think we both react more strongly on each others behave than we do on our own. And that's teaching our kids a huge, huge lesson.

I did not respond to the poster on the message board, because I never post there. But here's what I wanted to say.

Your husband has to start jumping in for you when he's present and your daughter is being rude. When he doesn't, it's tacit permission from him for her to treat you that way. Ask him this: "When she's a grown up, and married, and someone speaks rudely to her, how do you expect her husband to behave? Do you want him to let it go? Or do you want him to be angry on her behalf, to jump in to defend her? What do you want her to expect of him?" The way the two of you behave is teaching her what to expect. Right now, she's learning that she's on her own. Yes, she may be learning that Daddy's got her back, but she's also learning not to expect much from her future husband.

My boys are growing up with a great role model. He is showing them, by his actions, that their wife should come first in their lives. That she is his world, the center of the universe, and she deserves respect.

My daughter is growing up with a high expectation set for her future spouse. He is showing her, by his actions, that her husband should be someone she can depend on to back her up and to support her when she needs it.

There is nothing belittling or demeaning about this, because it works both ways.

My daughter is also growing up with a great role model. I am showing her, by my actions, that my husband comes first. That he is my world and deserves respect. That I can count on him to support me in any activity I attempt and that we enjoy each other.

My sons are growing up with an expectation of equal returns. She may be his world, but he should come first for her. That she will laugh with him and love with him and support him, but that she will be still her her own entity, her own being with her own pleasures and identity.

The Biblical passage from Genesis is so apt: "a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife." Not "have dominion over his wife" not "be served by his wife." "Be united."

Respect each other. Respecting your spouse is the first and most important part of teaching your children how to expect respect and how to earn it. Behave in a way that demands respect, not by aggression and argument, but by simple confidence in your own well-being. What better role model could we be for our daughters and sons, than to be the sort of people who respect others, respect ourselves and expect respect from our loved ones?

Update

2009-01-05T12:51:00.002-05:00

Quick post to let anyone who was wondering about Christmas know that no violent acts took place in my home.

It was eerily cordial. BIL and soon-to-be-ex-SIL gave an excellent impression of a reasonably happy couple, including disrupting my carefully tactful seating arrangement in order to sit next to each other at the table!

MIL made the mistake of following them out to their car when they left and, I suspect, saying something about how happy they seemed to be. She came in all teary-eyed and informed me and Husband that BIL had told her through gritted teeth that it "really is over," "this is the last Christmas," and he hoped she "enjoyed the show."

Other than that moment,(which I am confident MIL invited because she is not capable of leaving well enough alone), it was quite possibly the most pleasant Christmas we have ever had with them.

Hurry up, Dec 26th!

2008-12-23T08:16:00.001-05:00

My brother-in-law and his wife are getting divorced. They have two children (ages 6 and 2) and apparently it is over. BIL has told his mother this, but she had been instructed not to tell Husband.

Husband called his mother to ask about her Thanksgiving and she broke down in tears and told him. However, BIL still thinks we don't know.

BIL declared that he is coming to our house for Christmas dinner. They are local (as are Husband's parents), so there are no overnight guests involved her. But, apparently they are all coming here.

ALL OF THEM.

BIL, who is a gloomy soul when life is good, who has reason to be gloomy this Christmas, but is under the impression that we think all is hunky-dory in his marriage.
Niece, who at age 6, thinks she rules the world.
Nephew, who is 2. 'Nough said.
Soon-to-be-ex-SIL, who is divorcing BIL, but apparently is going to pretend everything is OK and show up at my house for Christmas?
Mother-in-law, who is an emotional drama queen. Who now hates soon-to-be-ex-SIL. Who has declared that if anything goes wrong, she will not hesitate to tell stbEx-SIL where to go.
Father-in-law, who wants to keep the peace, because he is desperately afraid that pissing off stbEx-SIL will cause him to lose access to his grandchildren.

It's the most wonderful time . . . of the year!

Pray for us, please.

Santa Wars

2008-12-22T16:04:00.004-05:00

I haven't been posting lately, but I have been reading a lot of blogs and apparently I've missed the latest (or maybe not so latest?) version of the my-child-rearing-decisions-are-better-than-yours battle.

We had medicated birth vs non-medicated birth.

We had breast vs bottle.

We had "sleep training" via crying it out vs attachment parenting vs whatever all the other options are called.

We had the family bed vs the everybody sleeps in their own rooms plan.

We had spanking vs . . . not.

We had working outside the home vs working from home vs stay-at-home parenting.

We had daycare vs nanny vs "in-home" childcare.

We had paci-givers vs thumb suckers vs my-child-doesn't-need-that-kind-of-oral-gratification-and-yours-shouldn't-either.

I'm sure we had others that I have blocked out of my memory for the moment.

But, apparently? That wasn't enough. Now, we moms are fighting over WHETHER TO HAVE A SANTA IN OUR CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS OR NOT.

Seriously? Santa? Is our biggest issue right now?

I get the logic behind the arguments against. Especially the "I don't want my kids to think that they aren't as "good" as the kid from school whose family can afford better gifts." one. I really do get it.

But I am totally in the Santa camp.

I love Santa. I love the concept that gifts come from mysterious sources. I love the air of magic that surrounds him. I even love the silly traditions that people build up.

However . . . we keep Santa very low-key around here.

We do not go to the mall to visit Santa and sit on his lap. We don't even write him a letter, though we do talk about what we're asking for for Christmas. And we do not have -- will not have -- I will kill anyone who gives us one! -- any sort of ELF in our HOUSE.

No elf on the shelf watching you and reporting back to Santa nightly. (Umm? Guess who has to remember to move the elf every night?)

Certainly no crazy elf that eats jellybeans, then does "something crazy" (guess who has to come up with something new and different every night?), then goes back with Santa on the sleigh, causing the child to wake up Christmas morning to the loss of a favorite toy?! Honestly? What sadist came up with this idea?

Santa comes, eats the cookies, fills the stockings, drops off the toys, then goes home. That's it.

I guess my answer to the folks who say I'm lying to my children! is the same as I heard someone else give the other day. "They've never asked me if I'm Santa."

Mommy #4 -- AKA Lisa

2008-11-26T15:16:00.000-05:00

OK, doing good here, Lis. Hair is ready, makeup on, just gotta change out of this robe and get the girls ready. We’ve got plenty of time. I know Becky’s going to be freaking out about this first group meeting, so I really want to be on time for her. If no one’s there on time, she’ll get all worried and panicky.
“Hilary! Let’s get you dress—oh! You did it all yourself, what a big girl!” Pink polka dot dress and lime green leggings aren’t what I would pick, but whatever. “Let’s do your hair.”
“Purple sparkle hair, Momma! Peese?”
Why not? Nothings going to match that outfit anyway. “Ok, honey, come on over here.”
Lisa brushed Hilary’s hair into sleek lines behind her ears and slid a sparkly purple barrette on each side. She glanced over her shoulder at the baby in the high chair and gasped.
“Sarah Marie! We’re gonna have to get you a bath before we go play. Look at your silly sister, Hil-lil. She’s spiked up her hair.”
“She made a mess, Momma.”
Sarah Marie grinned her delight at the sticky syrup holding her usually wispy hair in stiff peaks. She pressed her hands into the oozy mess of half-eaten waffles, butter, and syrup on the high chair tray and, eyeing her mother, slowly slid them through her hair again, rearranging the spikes into different sections and cementing them even further.
Good thing I didn’t get dressed yet

Mommy # 3 -- AKA Becky

2008-11-19T18:13:00.000-05:00

We’re supposed to start at 10:00, so I’ll want to be there by 9:50, so everyone gets to see a familiar face when they get there and I can welcome everyone to the group’s first meeting. Man, I hope they all like this place as much as I do. It’ll take us 20 minutes to get there, so we need to leave by 9:30. It’s 9:00 now, so . . .
“Liam! We’re leaving for The Park in 15 minutes! I’m just going to finish cleaning up from breakfast and then we’ll get you dressed.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes – Remember, we’re going to meet Katie and Ben and some new friends to play! Finish up your puzzle and we’ll get ready.”
“I get dressed!”
“Well. . . “let him do things himself, the ped says. We don’t have time for this! “I’ll just help you pick something to wear.”
“Thomas! Wanna wear my Thomas shirt!”
Again? You’re going to wear that shirt to death. But at least it’s clean “OK! Here, let’s see . . . oh, here it is! And you can wear these jeans with it.” Win-win! He picked shirt, I make sure it matches!
“No!”
“No?” What’s wrong with jeans?
“Wanna wear my rainbow pants!”
No. No way in hell are we going out in public like that. Blue Thomas shirt and red, black, green and yellow plaid pants. No. Just . . . No. “Well, those don’t go together.” Fashion lesson time. “You can wear the jeans with the Thomas shirt or you can wear the rainbow pants with this yellow shirt. See?”
“NO! Don’t WANNA wear yellow shirt! Want THOMAS!”
“Then wear the jeans.”
“NO! WANT RAINBOW!”
“Liam!” I am the parent here. This is a ridiculous argument “We don’t have time for this! Thomas and Jeans OR Yellow and Rainbow. I am going to get our stuff in the car. If you want to dress yourself, you have until I am done to do so.”
Becky stalked downstairs, head high, certain she had spoken with authority and her 3-year old would comply. She made sure that her bag contained all the necessary items – Liam’s spare set of clothes, a bottle of water, her cell phone, notepad and pens. She raised the garage door, placed the bag and her purse on the passenger seat, ready to laugh with her friends about Liam’s “rainbow pants” and stopped with a gasp on the threshold.
“I dressed myself! See? Thomas and rainbow! Don’t I look bootiful?”

Mommy # 2

2008-11-12T13:11:00.000-05:00

“OK, Emily, Mommy’s almost ready . . . thanks for being such a big, patient girl . . . I just have to pack up your bag and we-- “
Beep-beep-beep
Aw, fuck. Now, Dave? Really?
“Mommy? We go now?”
“Um… sorry, sweetie, I just have to make a real quick phone call . . .” Because Mommy’s boss is an idiot who doesn’t understand Mommy doesn’t work today . . . “Dave? Angie here, what’s - - ok, just hang on a minute. Calm down. What isn’t there? . . . The meeting is Friday, right? . . . so, that’s three days from now, and it’ll be … “No, you do not need it today. And you are not getting it today. “I’m just on my way out the door. . . No, of course I want to keep my job, but the deadline is . . . Ok. Ok. Ok, Dave. It’ll be in your email in the morning. I promise. Yes. OK.”Maybe if I get to the meeting first, I can get some work done before the others get there. And if not, it’ll be another late night for me if Rob can’t make it home early to give me a break.
“Mommy? I get in the car now?”
Sigh. “Yes, Emily, I just have to grab my laptop…”
“Mommy!”
“Hmm?”
“No laptop. You promisted. No work for Mommy today. Is Tuesday!”
“I know, Em. I’m just “ going to lie to you “bringing it in case the other mommies aren’t there and you’re too busy to play with me. Then I can play on the computer. But I’m not going to work.” She flashed a big smile at the scowling tot, willing her to swallow the line.
Emily pondered. “No working?”
“No working.”
“Then why you need those papers?”
Dammit, she saw that. “I don’t need them. I’m just putting them in the case for later. When I will need them, I’ll be able to find them.”
“Where are we going?”

Reality Check

2008-11-09T21:10:00.001-05:00

Today is one of those days when I am extremely grateful that we own a washer and dryer.

Youngest threw up right before bed last night. Got him cleaned up, cleaned his carpet, washed up his clothes, stuffed dog, etc. (Hooray for in-home washer/dryer!) Put him to bed with a towel laid out next to his bed.

6 am this morning, Husband and I awake to odd crying sound. I go to check it out and discover Youngest standing in the bathroom, pyjama pants and pull-up down around his ankles. Pull-up has some diarrhea in it and the toilet is full of it. Youngest is standing there, sobbing, "I almost made it!" I reassure him. As I am getting him into clean pants, I notice there's something on his shirt sleeve. I ask him if he threw up again and he starts crying again. "It's all over my blanket that I sleep under!"

Clean PJ's, clean pull-up, clean sheets, clean pillowcase. Wash up pyjamas, sheets, pillowcase, blanket, stuffed lamb, and towel which was by the bed and also got vomited on. (Hooray for in-home washer/dryer!) Tuck him back into bed, reassuring him again that it's OK that there was some poop in the pull-up. Return stuffed dog that was washed last night (Hooray for in-home washer/dryer!) Lay out another clean towel, and point out that on the towel would be the best place to throw up, if he needs to.

Youngest goes back to sleep, but by now Husband and I can't. We discuss the plan for the day and settle on Husband will take Oldest and Daughter to church, giving me a quiet house for sick Youngest. Just before they leave around 8:30am, Youngest gets up. Eats toast and sips Gatorade. I set up the portable TV in his room, in an attempt to keep him quarantined. (This is HUGE in our house. The portable TV is only ever used in the car on trips lasting over 6 hours. It has never before been brought into a bedroom. The kids only watch TV in the family room.) This works well for most of the morning. Around 10:15, I hear cough-y noises, followed by calling. I go to check on Youngest and he has thrown up again. On the plus side, he has thrown up on the towel. When I ask him if it's all on the towel, he says yes, "because that's where I'm supposed to throw up."

Lay out another clean towel. Wash towel that has been thrown up on (Hooray for in-house washer/dryer!). Allow gradually larger sips of Gatorade for the next few hours and toast for lunch. After lunch, Youngest begins to resist being cooped up in his room, but is talked into it. Around 4pm, I go to check on him and offer more Gatorade, He is sound asleep in the middle of the bedroom floor. I let him sleep.

The rest of us eat dinner at our usual time, and I warm up some chicken noodle soup. Opening the door to his room lets the light in from the hallway and he looks up from the floor, blinking. He does not want to get up, but he has peed in his pants. In the process of changing his clothes, he wakes up a little bit and I tell him about the soup. "Don't like soup." We go downstairs, and I convince him to taste the soup, pointing out that even people who don't like soup sometimes think it tastes really good when they've been sick. He puts a few molecules on his tongue. "Hmmm! I like it!" He begins scooping soup into his mouth with gusto. I wash the wet pants. (Hooray for in-house washer/dryer!)

Days like this are not fun. I hope that we successfully prevented the spread, but only time will tell. (And if we haven't, it will SUCK! Husband and I are supposed to have a grown-up weekend away this weekend. My mother is coming to baby-sit and will go from her to visit her 100+ year old mother. If there is ANY chance that this stomach bug is still in the house, I can't have mom come here and risk her taking it to Grandma.) But what keeps me calmly going through the steps of cleaning up is focusing on the positives. And the best positive on a day like this? Say it with me:

Hooray for in-house washer/dryer!

Mommy #1

2008-11-06T15:08:00.001-05:00

Directions, phone, keys, purse, diaper bag . . . anything else? “Katie? Are you done in there?” Diapers in the bag for Joseph, sippie cups are full ”Ok, Jo-jo, let’s get you in the car, here we g-ugh!”

“Mommy?”

“Just a minute Katie—Joseph needs a diaper”

“Mommy! I tee-teed!”

“Good job, Katie! Just let me finish here . . . wow—too many raisins, Jo-Jo! Let me just wipe – wait, no don’t reach there – Oh, Jo-seph!”

“Mo-mee!”

“Katherine Grace! Just . . . just . . . wait! Your brother has poop all over his shirt and I’ll have to change his clothes. We’re going to be late, and . . . “

“Jo-jo pooped?”

“Yes, Katie, it’s a mess, so just . . . “

“Me, too!”

You, too? Umm. . . think positive? ”You pooped in the potty?” Yes? Please, yes?

“No. I pooped on de floor.”

Doing some other writing these days

2008-11-05T15:28:00.002-05:00

Wow.

I knew I hadn't posted in a while, but I hadn't quite realized I let the whole month of October slide by.

I am not going to vow to increase things right now, because I don't think I could keep that promise. I am working on some other things that are just taking up so much time.

For some time I have been doing some paid part-time work as a mystery shopper. There may still be stories to come out of that, but right now it's just keeping me busy.

At the urging of my husband, I am jumping of the deep end with my fiction writing and really trying to complete a novel that I have had swirling around in my head for some time. I may post some excerpts, but mostly will be doing this writing in complete privacy, at least until the book is finished.

Let's just promise that I'll try not to let whole months go again, ok?

Four

2008-09-24T08:49:00.003-04:00

Dear Youngest,

Today you are four.

Today you move one step further away from being my baby, one step further away from being that bright-eyed toddler, one step further away from being the energetic preschooler you still are.

Today you move one step closer to "big kid school," one step closer to independence, one step closer to really being able to do all that you think you can.

You are a bundle of energy, always in motion. Sometimes, you talk and talk and talk until I want to beg you to be quiet. Sometimes, in the car, when I realize you aren't talking, I have to look in the mirror to be sure you're still there. (Usually, that means you're asleep.) I hope you keep that energy, but learn to harness it.

You are sweet and affectionate. The most exuberantly loving of all my children, you give running attack hugs and sloppy kisses with abandon. You exclaim to the world with abandon your love for me, for your brother, for your sister, for your father, for your favorite things. I hope you keep that loving manner and that willingness to express yourself.

You want to do it all. And you believe you can. Sometimes, you surprise me with what you really can do. Sometimes, I forget you're only ~~three~~ four and need more help than you think you do. I hope you keep your self-confidence and your willingness to try new things

Today you are four. There is so much left for you to do and learn and you are raring to go. I hope you never know just how hard it is for me to let you go, to let you stretch yourself, to let you fall flat on your face when you need to.

Feeling Incompetent

2008-09-17T18:25:00.002-04:00

It has been a really bad day. A day in which I behaved in ways of which I am ashamed. A day of yelling at my children. In front of their friends. A day of snapping, a day of feeling out of control of myself, a day of punishing all 3 for the transgressions of one or two. A bad day.

It has been a day that has been a long time in coming, I think. They are all, in their own different ways, a constantly building source of stress. And I have been unable to find ways to release that in any constructive way for any length of time.

Youngest is nearly four. He is constantly pushing the boundaries. Constantly testing to see if I mean what I say. Constantly in motion. Constantly trying out his new skills and his new abilities. Constantly learning. Constantly watching what others around him do and say. Constantly expecting me to catch him when he falls. Constantly depending on my love and support. Constantly struggling to be a "big kid." Constantly, constantly, constantly exhausting me.

Daughter has her own set of issues. For her, I am perpetually in fear. Perpetually watching her. Perpetually trying not to fight the battles she can fight. Perpetually fighting the battles she can't. Perpetually agonizing over which is which. Perpetually answering "why" and explaining the same things over and over. Perpetually asking her to focus, to leave her hair alone, to eat, to finish her task. Perpetually marvelling at her inquisitive, challenging mind. Perpetually on a see-saw of fear and pride, of love and frustration, of disappointment and anger.

Oldest is the most variable. He is teetering on the brink of maturity. So much so that I sometimes expect too much. He is sometimes selfish, sometimes empathetic and giving. Sometimes hardworking, sometimes lazy. Sometimes thinks so clearly about how his actions affect others, sometimes . . . not. He is sometimes brave and adventurous, sometimes shy and fearful. Sometimes he is big kid, independent, self-monitoring, and self motivated. But sometimes, he is still a little boy, needing Mommy to keep him on the right path. And today I forgot that and trusted him too far and then lost my temper when he failed.

Husband works hard and passionately to support this family. Right now, his sport is in season and he is rarely home when the kids are awake. So, for this time of year, I feel on my own. And the stress is beginning to wear on me.

Today, I failed them.

Tomorrow . . . please God, tomorrow, I will do better.

Progress Reports

2008-09-09T09:29:00.000-04:00

Last week, Daughter and Oldest got progress reports from school. (These come home half-way through the grading period and tell you what the child's current grade is, while there is still time for the child to do something about it if it isn't what you're expecting.)

It was a very exciting day in our house.

Daughter has an N (Needs Improvement) in Handwriting, which we expected. She has S's (Satisfactory) in Art, P.E., and Music. And she has O's (Outstanding--the highest grade at this level!) in everything else! Woo-hoo!

Oldest, in 3rd grade, is having his first year with traditional letter grades. He has A's in all but one subject. The one is "language arts" (which is somehow a separate subject than "reading" and "spelling"?) in which he currently has an 81 (B-) because there are only 3 grades and one of them he got a 60. (Eek!) So, we had a little chat about making sure he did his best to pull that up and also a little fun with applied math where we figured out how many more assignments he will have to get A's on to get his average up. And then Daddy came home and put the icing on the cake. He told Oldest that if he gets all A's when the real report card comes home, the whole family will go out to dinner and Oldest can pick where we eat. So, Oldest is now much more motivated than by my little pep talk about how much he's capable of. :)

And Husband totally stole that going out to eat idea from my family, anyway.

Another PRO for Vyvanse

2008-09-08T16:59:00.003-04:00

Daughter had a piano lesson today.

At the end of it, her teacher walked out to me and told me that this was the best lesson Daughter had had in a while.

"She just seemed so much more focused today! Really able to concentrate!"

Note: Piano teacher does not know about her ADD.

Teacher conference

2008-09-08T09:13:00.005-04:00

So, I had a conference with Daughter's teacher to talk about how things were going.

First off, Daughter's teacher, hereafter known as Ms F, is wonderful.

She had created two template charts where she (Ms F) could track specific actions on a daily basis and provide them to me. The two versions were different in terms of one being a Good-Bad-Indifferent kind of scale and the other being a tally mark list. She said she was happy to use whichever I thought would be more useful and I chose tally marks. So, she is now keeping discreet notes on how many times she has to remind Daughter to get out her materials, ask her to turn in her homework, etc. Daughter's doctor was thrilled and impressed at this plan, agreeing that it will make tracking how well the medication his helping her so much easier.

Ms F has been allowing Daughter to take her spelling test orally, because "I hate for her spelling grade to suffer for the handwriting skill." She also had some tips to help me work with Daughter on handwriting, but was adamant that she wanted to keep those struggles separate from her grades on academic tasks. (Note: last week's spelling test came back without a note that it had been done orally, and was legible, so this may have been a short-term deal, already over.)

Ms F was full of subtle coping strategies and structure that she is willing to implement in the classroom to help Daughter thrive. This is huge. It feels so good to know that we, yet again, have a teacher who wants to work with Daughter to build on her strengths and is willing to take a few extra steps for her. I keep reading horror stories of ADD kids whose teachers are difficult to work with, but have so far had no experience like that with my daughter and her school.

Ms F did say that once Daughter got started on an activity, she always knows what to do and does it. She also said that it's the 2nd or 3rd step of the morning routine where Daughter gets off track (which is an improvement over last year, when Daughter frequently forget to even hang up her backpack) and that she's now printed out a list of those activities and posted it by the door. She was also concerned that Daughter doesn't talk to her.

I had an appointment scheduled later that same week with the doctor and we talked about all that, and also about the high emotional level Daughter seemed to be operating on while on the 30 mg dose of Vyvanse. Daughter also has been complaining of headaches, which the doctor found very worrisome. The verdict: try a lower dose.

So, now she's on 20mg (which wasn't available when we started Vyvanse or I think we would have started with it). She seems a little less focused on weekends, and has still commented a couple times that she has a headache, but it's the teacher's feedback I'm really counting on to tell me whether this is the right dose or not.

All in all, I'm feeling pretty good about how things are looking for Daughter in 1st grade.

Question

2008-08-22T12:47:00.002-04:00

Today, I found myself car-dancing to a phonics CD. Head bobbing, shoulder bouncing, knee jiggling, the whole deal. To the stylin' tunes of "A, A, Alligator." A . . . A . . . Alligator, B . . . B . . . Bumblebee . . .

So, this make me either:

A) A super mom. (She's involved in what her kids are into! She thinks learning is fun!)

or

b) Truly pathetic. (No parenthetical description necessary.)

Alone in the Crowd

2008-08-20T21:01:00.003-04:00

Tonight was parent orientation at Youngest's new preschool.

This is the first time I have sent a child to a preschool when we were not attending that church.

I didn't want it this way. But things fell apart at our previous church -- and his previous school -- so rapidly and with such poor timing that we felt we had to change church homes this summer and withdraw him from that preschool. And there was a waiting list for 3-year olds at the church we have decided to attend for now. So, he was on several other waiting lists and the preschool I went to tonight was the first one with an opening.

I am sure it is an excellent preschool. I am sure that he will learn lots. I am sure that he will make new friends. I am sure that his teachers will love him and teach him and train him in good ways. In short, I am sure that everything will be fine.

But this preschool . . . this church . . . is in a wealthy neighborhood and is huge. So, as I sat in the gigantic, gorgeous sanctuary, I was surrounded by well-dressed, well-groomed, perfectly styled parents. Some couples, lots of women. And I was acutely aware that I was wearing no makeup. That my hairstyle, though easy and the same one I have worn for years, is not fashionable. That my shoes came from Payless. That my shorts are made from jersey material and came from BJ's. And that the 4 pounds I have lost since school started -- the 4 pounds I have been so proud of -- are a tiny dent in the over 60 pounds that I really need to lose. And that I knew no one.

All that combined to give me an odd combination of feelings. I felt invisible, and yet I felt gigantic. I felt conspicuously alone, and yet I felt no one noticed my presence. I felt grubby and grungy and unkempt . . . though no one seemed to be glancing my way disapprovingly.

I still feel a little uncomfortable. I'm the new girl. And the new school is high class, wealthy, full of well-dressed kids. And I feel like I don't fit in. Which flashed me right back to high school, although I was never the new girl and my high school was full of a wide variety of kids. I still felt that high school alone-ness. That sense that who you are is of no importance to anyone.

And I hated it.

I am trying not to hate the school for making me feel this way. It is not the school's fault. No one was rude. Or catty. Or anything but welcoming. But no one went out of their way to befriend the new mom, either. Probably because I wasn't really the only new mom. It just felt that way.

2 full weeks of school on Vyvanse

2008-08-19T11:40:00.002-04:00

Well, as far as I can tell the Vyvanse may finally be the right thing for Daughter.

She seems to be getting all her work done at school -- PRO

But, I'm having to take her word for it, so not quite sure it's correct -- ??

She is able to complete her homework most days without a struggle -- PRO

The other days? I think she's just tired. We all have bad days, right? Her having a bad day does not necessarily mean the medicine isn't working -- ??

There have been a few anxiety issues -- CON -- but they're still at the we-can-talk-them-out stage. No screaming in terror or pacing nervously for hours. -- WASH?

The big question will come in the next week or so.

Next Tuesday night (1 week from today) is Parent Orientation, where I get to go to school in the evening (with all the other class parents) and learn about the classroom structure, the curriculum, the rules, etc. My mother has volunteered to come stay with the kids that night, since Husband has to work, and I really don't want Daughter there (or Youngest, for different reasons). So, that night, I will ask the teacher how Daughter is doing. Do we need to conference? Or can you give me a quick yea-nay right here?

Until then, I'm walking on eggshells. I think this is better, but I won't know without the teacher's feedback.

Prince Charming

2008-08-17T17:04:00.000-04:00

Youngest has an uncanny ability to detect when I am about to throttle him and invariably manages to turn on the sweetness and light, preventing me from said throttling. It's an excellent survival skill.

An example.

We spent all day Saturday at a volleyball tournament, cheering on the high school team that Husband coaches.

Youngest was up and down the bleachers. He climbed up to the top. He walked down the stairs. He teetered on the bottom step, staring up at me to make sure I was watching him almost flout the Do-Not-Leave-The-Stands-Without-Mommy rule. He ate. He drank. He walked in front of people trying to watch a volleyball game. Occasionally, he cheered for the team.

And just when I had about had it. Just when I was beginning to wonder if it was time to call it a day and take the kids home, although the tournament was just approaching its most exciting point. He ran up to me, threw his arms around me, squeezed and exclaimed: "You're the best person in the whole world, Mommy!"

Awwww.

He will get a way with murder, this one.

The New Spelling

2008-08-14T16:47:00.004-04:00

Me: OK, Daughter, your homework for today is just to study for your spelling test. So, let's get some paper and a pencil . . . I'll read these words aloud and you can write them down.

Daughter: Why?

Me (managing not to clench teeth): To study for your spelling test.

Daughter: How about if I read the words and you write them down?

Me: Well, sweetie, that's not how you practice for a spelling test.

Daughter (eyes welling with tears): But . . . I'm a good reader!

Me(controlling hands from rising up and tightening around her neck: Yes, you are a good reader. But this is a spelling test, not a reading test. You have to be able to write down the words on the test tomorrow.

Daughter: Why can't you write them down?

I think I've already blocked from memory exactly what came next.

Brain Cells?

2008-08-13T15:13:00.002-04:00

Youngest recently discovered an audiotape.

He wanted to know what it was, so I explained that these things played music, just like on CD's.

He wanted to listen to it today, so I popped it in . . .

and discovered what my brain cells are occupied with.

It was a "mix tape" as we used to call them, where some friends and I got together and made up a tape of some of our favorite songs. This particular one was from a summer camp I attended in 1990.

Trying not to do the math and realize how long ago that was.

And my brain cells are occupied with still remembering all the words.

Let's do the Time Warp, again . . . !

I'm a little scared

2008-08-10T13:19:00.003-04:00

We've been visiting a new church all summer and are pretty well determined to join it. The last several weeks have been a little nutty, and we haven't all 5 been at church, so we haven't actually joined yet, but at this point it's kind of a formality.

The last two Sundays, there was a note in the bulletin asking for a volunteer to change the church sign every Thursday afternoon.

Youngest will be in preschool on Thursdays, so I'll be in that area (and childless) just about every Thursday for the next school year, so I decided to offer to do it. I called the minister and left her a message saying that if they still needed someone to change the sign to call me back and I would do it.

It's a little disturbing how delighted she was when she called me back.

When she asked if I could start "right away" and I said I could, she was even more enthusiastic.

All I have to do is change the lettering each week to show the title the sermon and which preacher will be preaching. It doesn't sound that hard. But her glee at my having volunteered frightens me a little bit.

Have I gotten myself into something I'm going to regret?

Why?

2008-08-08T15:48:00.003-04:00

Oldest and Daughter both have alarms set for 6am, so they can be ready for the school bus.

Husband's alarm is set for 5:45am, so he can be on his way out of the neighborhood to work before the school bus.

My alarm is set for 5:45am, so I can spend a few minutes in denial, then get up and take my thyroid medication, and still be in the kitchen before Oldest and Daughter get there for breakfast.

Youngest is the only one that does not have to get up at 6am on a weekday.

So, why, why, why is he always the first one up?

Heart-rate . . . returning . . . to normal . . .

2008-08-07T15:47:00.003-04:00

Today, when it's time for the bus home from school to arrive, we are having a "severe" thunderstorm. It's a mild storm as "severe" thunderstorms go, but does involve pouring rain, rumbles of thunder, and the occasional flash of lighting, so I put Youngest in the car and drive the fraction of a tenth of a mile to the bus stop in order to avoid having two drowned rats show up at my door.

The bus is 15 minutes late. No biggie. It's the first week of school, so the bus is frequently late. And rain like this makes everybody take longer to get anywhere. And Youngest and I are in the car, comfortably dry. I am revelling in my cleverness to drive to the bus stop, since if we had walked up with umbrellas, I would now be trying to keep Youngest under an umbrella.

The bus arrives, and Oldest comes running up to the car and climbs in. Daughter does not appear. She is generally the last one off, and is a dawdler, so I climb out of the car to hurry her along, a little irked at her willingness to get sopping wet. I reach the sidewalk only to see the bus driver close the door and begin to drive off. And no Daughter.

I run back to the car and demand of Oldest whether his sister was on the bus. His response? "I don't know!"

Thanks a bunch. I turn the car off and begin hurrying down the street to the next bus stop, thinking that the driver didn't let Daughter off for some reason, maybe because she didn't see me. Before I get there, though, the bus pulls away from that stop as well, and heads out of the neighborhood.

I run back to the car (slipping around in my wet backless sandals, nearly twisting an ankle). Youngest is shoeless, but I'm not going home just for that. I make sure everyone is belted in and head for the school. As we reach the neighborhood entrance, we see the bus turning out of the neighborhood . . . in the opposite direction from the elementary school.

I am trying to be rational. I am trying to be calm. I am trying to prevent myself from screaming at someone the second I get to the school . . .or screaming at Daughter before I know how this happened.

I am trying to assure myself that she is at the school. Where else could she be? If she disappeared before school let out, the school would have known, right? They would have called me, right? But, why haven't they called me now? She's supposed to have been on the bus; if she wasn't on the bus, she must be somewhere else. Why hasn't that somewhere else realized they have an extra child -- one wearing a sticker with a bus number on it! -- and called me to tell me to come get her. WHERE IS SHE?

It's a five minute drive from my house to the school. It felt like an hour. I spent the whole time waiting to hear my cell phone ring.

I arrive at the school, carry Youngest through the wet parking lot and reach the main lobby. Just as I am about to walk over to the office to ask them WHERE THE HELL MY DAUGHTER IS AND WHY WASN'T SHE ON THE BUS LIKE SHE'S SUPPOSED TO BE, Oldest says, "There she is!" And I turn towards the cafeteria to see Daughter walking towards me with a staff member.

The staff member explains that a group of students going to the after-school program was in one line and the students heading to the bus were in another and they crossed paths and Daughter ended up in the wrong line. They got the ASP kids into the cafeteria for a snack and did a head count and had one too many! And they were headed to the office to call me when I arrived.

Everybody is OK. Mix-ups happen. She wasn't really lost and if I lived further away, they probably would have called me before I had time to panic. But it was scary. For a few minutes there, I saw all sorts of terrifying visions--her curled up in a bus seat riding around for hours, pedophiles finding ways into the bus line, someone kidnapping her off the playground.

Oh, and to the school's credit? While I was writing this, her teacher called to explain what had happened and why it wouldn't happen again.

Duty

2008-08-07T10:50:00.002-04:00

"She had looked her duty courageously in the face and found it a friend -- as duty ever is when we meet it frankly." Anne of Green Gables

I need to hear this every now and then. Duty is an old-fashioned concept, I think. And modern parents (especially stay-at-home moms and dad) don't tend to think in those terms anymore.

But I do believe that I have a duty to my children. A duty to be the best mom I can be to them. A duty to teach them how to be the best people they can. A duty to model all the things I want them to be; to show them the actions of love, compassion, faith, responsibility, and yes, duty.

The message of that quote is that duty needn't be a burden. Doing one's duty can be fulfilling. Doing one's duty can be fun. Doing one's duty can be something that you look back on and realize just how important it really was.

So much of the day to day life of a SAHM is duty. I don't clean the toilets because it's fun. I didn't play Cootie six times this morning because I wanted to. I won't cook dinner tonight because I find it spiritually fulfilling. I do all those things because they need to be done. And because they are a part of my duty as the full-time at home parent of this household of five.

But when I approach those duties with a cheerful heart, when I focus my energy on seeing the positives, when I "meet that duty frankly" . . . that is when they become actions bigger than cleaning, cooking, playing boring board games. That is when they become actions that show my family how much they are loved and cared for. And show me how important my duty really is.

Traditional words

2008-08-06T11:41:00.004-04:00

Today, thanks to Swistle, I happened upon this blog entry where a bride-to-be writes eloquently about planning the important details of her wedding ceremony. (The important part being the words being spoken and the actions being taken, not the colors or the flowers or who said what about which bridesmaid.)

The rest of this post will make more sense if you read that first, so go ahead and follow the link.

It's what she says about using the traditional vows that got to me. I love traditional words. Not just because they "already said it," but simply because they are traditional.

Before I got married, one of my cousins did. (OK, lots of my cousins did, but I'm focusing on one particular wedding here.) When they got to the part where they exchange rings, the celebrant held up the rings and said: "This ring is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual bond."

And my father, sitting next to me, leaned over to me, held up his left hand, wiggled his own wedding band and whispered, "This ring is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual bond, too."

That is the power of traditional words. My parents had been married for over 25 years, and hearing the same words repeated over another couple's set of wedding bands had triggered a recollection for my father of the moment when he and my mother started their lives as a family of their own.

And every time I go to a wedding that uses that phrase -- "an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual bond" -- I remember both that moment with my father and my own wedding. I've never asked, but I like to imagine that hearing those words at my wedding meant a lot to him.

Jenn, I don't know you and you don't know me. But thanks for triggering that memory again. I know your post was more about what words you're changing, and I think changing a word here and there so that your vows will say something you really mean is a terrific idea . . . I just wanted to share my own memory of words that we didn't change and how they have resonated over the years and generations.

Vyvanse--Halfway through 1st week of school

2008-08-06T06:26:00.002-04:00

So, Daughter is at her 3rd days of school on the higher dose of Vyvanse.

Plus: She says she's doing "all her work" at school, and the teacher hasn't sent anything home contradicting it.

Minus: On Day 2, she forgot to bring home her daily folder, so I wouldn't know about it if the teacher did send something home.

Minus: On Day 2, she ate almost nothing. Snack is still in her backpack, the only thing she ate at lunch is a few bites of sandwich.

Contributing Factor: On Day 2, she checked in part way through the morning, because of a doctor's appointment, where they re-checked her height and weight. (She gained 3 pounds this summer! Yay!)

Plus: The mornings have gone very smoothly, getting ready to go out the door on time.

Contributing Factor: I created a morning "schedule" for her and posted it both in her room (above her clock) and in the kitchen. She's stayed "on schedule" so far this week.

Plus: I haven't noticed any anxiety issues on this medication.

Equals???

Who knows. I guess I continue to wait it out and see what happens.

This morning I reminded her to eat her lunch (???) and to bring home her folder.

Vyvanse--starting day 3

2008-08-01T09:24:00.003-04:00

Last night, Daughter ate no dinner, claiming her stomach hurt. When she agreed readily to going straight to bed, I believed in the stomach pain.

Half an hour later, while getting Oldest ready for bed, I checked on her. She was sweating and clammy and looked at me with teary eyes as she pleaded with me to "brush her teeth." Umm. OK?

So, I brushed her teeth and tucked her back into bed. When I went to bed several hours later, she was sound asleep and cool to the touch. This morning she says she's fine.

Today was a mini-decision day for the Vyvanse. We were to do a half dose for "2-3 days," then increase to the full dose if I felt that there wasn't enough of a change in her ADD. Who does a half a pill for 3 days? That will leave me with an extra half a pill. We're talking about medicine that costs about $5 a pill, here.

So, day 3 is today. Half a pill requires opening a capsule, dumping about half the contents into a 1/4 cup of water and getting her to drink it. Unfortunately, she does not agree with the manufacturer that this tastes "sweet." On the other hand, she'll swallow a pill without blinking.

So, trying to rule out the ease of administration from the calculation. Does she need a higher dose? School starts Monday. As in in 4 more days. So, if I don't go up today, I have to make this decision again on Sunday, the day before the first day of 1st grade.

Trying to rule out the external factors from the calculation. Does she need a higher dose? She was better at following instructions the last two days . . . but she hasn't really had to do much that she didn't want to do. She seemed down yesterday afternoon--more anxiety issues? -- but then felt sick at dinner time. Is that a side effect?

I DON'T KNOW! I'M STUMBLING AROUND IN THE DARK TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE HECK MY CHILD NEEDS, WHAT WILL HELP HER, WHAT HURTS HER MORE THAN HELPS, AND WHAT THE BEST TIMING FOR EVERYTHING IS!

Are you surprised that I didn't sleep well last night?

I increased the dosage today. I'm trying to convince myself that I just want have a few days to be sure that the higher dose isn't too high before school starts and that I really think she probably needs more than she had . . . unless two days wasn't enough time to tell. And if unacceptable side effects show up on the higher dose, I can go back down to the half dose. And I rather have the side effects show up when I can see them . . . before school starts. Oh, but I was supposed to exclude the timing issue from my decision. Well, I can't. I can't ignore the fact that school starts Monday. I can't pretend it doesn't matter and I can't let the first day be colored by dosage issues. If I can help it.

Good sign: As I was writing this, she came downstairs. On her own initiative, she got fully dressed in a new outfit, and just asked if she can go out front with her brother to play.

Vyvanse--pros and cons

2008-07-31T13:03:00.004-04:00

Daughter has started a new ADD med.

The last one (Concerta) gave her anxiety attacks that were truly disturbing for all concerned. (Watching one's 6-year-old fearless daughter run screaming/sobbing off the beach saying she's afraid of crabs is scary. Even worse is watching her refuse to eat anything after asking in a whisper if "this" has "intestines" or "roots" in it. Even after being told the item is intestine and root free, she won't touch it. Because the intestines might turn her into poop and the roots might "bite" her?)

So, today we are on day 2 of Vyvanse. And I am trying to track improvements/side effects. We are taking a half dose for a few days, and are to increase to a full dose if I feel she needs it. School starts Monday, so I kinda need to decide soon if she needs to go up to the full dose, because I don't want to be changing her dosage on those first few days of school.

Day 1 (yesterday):

improved ability to follow through on instruction
diet unchanged
no noticeable increase in anxiety
still in constant motion
some self-stimming

Day 2 (today):

some improvement on follow through (still easily distracted by computer/TV)
diet unchanged
some anxiety (but met 1st grade teacher today, so prob unrelated to med. Not panic attack, just a little "worried" about teacher liking her)
less constant motion
No self-stim noticed so far.

Dirty Percy

2008-07-30T14:47:00.000-04:00

My boys are Thomas the Train fans.

Oldest is in the closet about it these days, having learned the hard way that 8 is considered too old for Thomas. Luckily for him, his brother is 3 and he can claim to be playing "with Youngest" or making elaborate track designs for "Youngest."

Anyway, these means we have had over 5 years straight of Thomas movies, Thomas trains, Thomas T-shirts, Thomas night-lights, Thomas shoes.....and there's no end in sight.

One of their favorite movie is "Percy's Chocolate Crunch," which includes a story where Percy gets covered in chocolate while working on the Island of Sodor. The cover picture is Percy covered in chocolate. We also have "Best of Percy," which has a cover picture of Percy all neat and clean. So, we've always called the chocolate movie "dirty Percy."

Husband says this gives him images of a bad gay porn movie, featuring the British "dirty Percy" cavorting on the Island of Sodomy.

Oh, that's how you do it!

2008-07-28T11:17:00.004-04:00

Scene: Dinner nearly complete, all still at table.

Daughter: Mommy, are we having dessert tonight?

Me: Umm. I'm not sure. Let me think about that.

(short pause)

Daughter: Are you thinking, Mommy?

Daughter (whisper): Use your brain!

Bribery Works

2008-07-27T14:50:00.000-04:00

All three children are taking swimming lessons this summer. My goal is to get them all to the point where they can "not drown." I don't particularly care about their form or their speed. I just want to them to be able to enjoy the pool without having to hold on to someone the whole time. And I want to be able to take all three of them to the pool by myself. And not have anyone drown.

Oldest is there. He's learning actual stokes in his lessons. He could have skipped the current second round, but he enjoys it and we're still looking for a sport he might what to pursue long term, so I signed him up again. If he wants to join a swim team later on, that'll be great. If not, he's just that much better at swimming. No biggie.

Youngest is getting there. He jumps in with glee and can float on his back on command. He can kick along on a kickboard on his own. By the end of this round of lessons, I will probably be comfortable letting go of him in the pool.

Daughter. Daughter thinks too much. She had several lessons of her screaming "No!" while holding on to the wall for dear life, followed by her throttling her instructors to ensure that they don't let go of her. After each one, we talked about how she couldn't do that. She had to jump in when they told her to. She had to let go of Miss H. Every time, she said she would do it the next lesson. And every time, she didn't. Finally, I asked her what she was scared of. I'm afraid I'll drown. I can't swim, so if I jump in, I'll drown.

Well. When you put it like that, the child has a point. It didn't help when I argued that Miss H was standing right there and would not let her drown. She said it helped, but it didn't.

We started another round of lessons, with a different teacher. I thought maybe she would trust Miss J. But the first lesson was a near repeat of the previous session. When it was over, she asked if she could get something from the vending machine. No, it's time to go home and have lunch. Could we go out to lunch? No.

Later that night I made her a deal. I explained (again) that she was too surrounded by other people to drown. And that the whole point of swimming lessons was to learn how to keep herself from drowning. And that she couldn't learn that without letting go of the teacher. And then I promised her that if she jumped in when the told her to and let go when they told her to she could get something from the vending machine. And that if she did it twice we would go out to lunch.

Two lessons later, we went to IHOP for lunch.

Long delay in writing

2008-07-25T17:49:00.002-04:00

I have hardly written on here at all this summer, though I have a couple half-finished posts in the archives.

I suppose I can blame it on the kids being out of school--someone home all day everyday tends to sap my energy level. I certainly don't write during the day, and I'm uncomfortable writing when Husband is home.

If that's the case, then I should be posting semi-regularly again in a few weeks, as Oldest and Daughter start school August 4th.

I don't really know what my purpose in starting this blog really is or whether I should have thought that through better before jumping in.

I wanted to write about the things that I do and see everyday--little kid moments that make me laugh or cry or just stick in my brain. This is the closest I will every get to keeping a baby book.

I wanted to write about the things that I can't (or won't?) talk about with real life people. To vent, to whine, to get things off my chest. Because I am so very lucky in so many ways and yet I am human and I have days where I want to rip through walls but I can't because I'm Mommy and I am always so "serene."

I wanted to write the fiction that I have swirling in my head to see if I really can ever pull it together into a coherent story. I wanted that fiction to be read by others and judged, so I could know what I might be doing well and what I might be failing to communicate.

And yet, I have done very little to encourage readers to come to my blog and am hesitant to do more. I can't quite decide whether I want feedback or not. But if I don't, why write on the Internet?

Tonight, I am scared for Daughter's health, for Husband's career, for Youngest's academic future, for my own future re-entry into the workforce. I'm not too scared for Oldest, oddly.

Memory Lane

2008-05-28T10:06:00.003-04:00

Husband and I spent the weekend cleaning out the garage. It desperately needed it -- to be cleaned, especially -- and in the process we were able to reorganize the space and weed out some things we didn't need anymore.

We found 2 boxes that I was supposed to go through when we moved 2 years ago, that I obviously never did.

I went through one Sunday evening and Monday night and discovered . . . flashes of the past. There was a box full of old photographs, some of which made me laugh (Me at Girl Scout camp! Me and my brother in Halloween costumes!), some of which made me a little sad (College graduation pictures with my favorite professor, who has since died. Middle school and High school friends whose names I don't even remember). But the box that really took me back was full of letters.

E-mail didn't come along (at least as a widespread form of communication) until I was in college. And I spent many a summer week at various sleep-away camps, making friends who lived nowhere nearby but whose interests and abilities closer matched my own than many of my friends at home did. So, we wrote letters.

I had long-term (we're talking years here) correspondence relationships with a number of people, but there were 2 in the box that really brought back memories. Oddly, they were both with guys.

Damon was an almost romantic relationship that had never quite formed. I have letters from the year after we met (just before our freshman years of high school), to the following year when we met again and it all exploded. That year, we were both so conscious of the silliness of considering ourselves to be "together" across the borders of states, that we wrote to each other just as we would to a friend, never really admitting that we hoped for more. (The relationship exploded the following summer because I was so busy trying not to seem too eager that he thought I wasn't interested. I had written with more abandon and honesty than I ever spoke to him in person. What can I say? I was 16.) Reading over his letters from that year, I was reminded of how excited I was to get one, how I would curl up with it and read it over and over and how much I enjoyed writing him. His letters are worn at the folds from being opened so many times. Some of the things he wrote make me wince (probably would give him a shudder now, too!), while others make me smile. I remember writing him again just before I went to college, seeking closure, and it sparking another correspondence. That one, unfortunately, was mostly done over email and I have no record of it.

Robert was a friend, pure and simple, and the letters were comfortably affectionate in a way that I have never had with anyone else. We had spent the summer in a class at Oxford, living at a college and reading poetry and plays with an Oxford don who had a horror of pretension. Then Robert went back to Canada and I went home to Alabama. His letters are fat, full of well written, detailed description of his life, his thoughts, his feelings. They still make me smile, and I can still picture him (as he looked then). I don't know exactly how or when the letters died off; I remember inviting him to my wedding, but I think the regular correspondence had already stopped by then.

I sat on the couch and read all the letters through. Part of me wished I had the letters I had written them to see the whole conversation, but I suspect that would make me cringe even more. In high school, I was so enthusiastic, so sure of myself, so full of goals and dreams. The future was sometimes terrifyingly vast, but always shining, always potentially glorious, always "out there." And these boys were equally certain that we had the world at our fingertips and just had to determine the ways we would go.

Reading over all the letters again made we wonder where these two men are now. Married? Children? Careers?

Part of me wants to search them out, but I suspect I never will. Because I don't want my images of them--as young men on the brink of finding everything they dreamed off--altered by reality. And because I hope they have a similar rose-colored memory of me, and I can't bear to imagine that they might be disappointed to find I am Mommy, with no plans or lofty ambitions for what I will do when I return to the workforce.

And I hate that I feel that way. Because I want being Mommy to be enough. It should be enough. It was a decision I made gladly, happily, to be the parent at home. And sometimes, it is worth it. But when I read back over these letters written to me as a teenager, I realize that I thought I would do more.

Storm Stories

2008-05-21T08:17:00.002-04:00

Oldest was playing a game on the computer and Daughter and Youngest were watching. Husband was on his way home from work, and I had dinner cooking in the crock-pot (mac-n-cheese!), when the weather radio alarm went off. It goes of for "Severe Thunderstorm Warnings" as well as tornadoes, so I went to check it to see what the alert was. It's in our bedroom, because it doesn't pick up a signal anywhere downstairs and this way if it goes off in the night, we can check it before getting out of bed.

Tornado Warning

I switched off the alarm on the radio, called to Oldest to turn the computer off and come downstairs. We don't have a basement, but I grew up in the South so tornado safety is instinctive. The radio will go off if there's a tornado anywhere in our county or the county that is ten miles south of us. Keeping my voice as calm as I could, I told Youngest and Daughter to head downstairs and hurried Oldest along. As we all trooped down the flight of stairs, my cell phone began to ring.

Husband was calling. He was just outside the neighborhood, and could hear tornado sirens going off. I turned on the local television channel to see where the tornado was, and it looked like it was going to head just north of us.

With every thunderclap, Oldest jumped and shrieked. He was trembling, cowering by the wall. Daughter was holding a hardback book on her head, calmly stating that she was supposed to do this to keep her head from getting hurt. (Must have picked that one up at school--I've never learned it.) Youngest wasn't sure whether to be scared or not.

I told Oldest everything was going to be fine -- see, it looks like it's going to miss us -- and hurried out to get Dog in the house. The television began talking about 3.5" hail. Oldest stared at me, wide-eyed, then asked what "diameter" meant.

Husband got home.

The satellite began to lose the signal, and we heard the wind picking up. Still in the family room, watching the storm through the windows, Husband called his parents (an hour away) on his cell phone as I herded the children into the downstairs bathroom. (It's a completely interior room, surrounded other small-ish rooms and a hallway.) I heard Husband gasp, then hurry into join the rest of us. With the children sitting in the bathtub, Husband on the toilet seat, and me on the floor, we waited out the worst of the storm.

We heard a crash, then what sounded like rain loud enough to be raining in the house. Husband and I exchanged looks, both certain that a window had broken or a wall torn through. We did not speak however, because the children were already scared. Oldest trembled and cried. Daughter held her book on her head again. Youngest began to look teary, caught up in Oldest's fear. I held Oldest's hand, leaned close to him and talked softly.

It's OK. We're going to be fine. I need to to calm down and be brave--you're scaring your brother. We're all here together, in the safest place to be. It's going to be OK.

As he calmed, I smiled at Daughter and Youngest, then glanced at the closed door. I expected to see water begin to trickle under it, but it remained try. The sound of rain began to taper off. Husband spoke to his father on the cell phone, who confirmed that the worst of the storm should be past us. Tentatively, we opened the door. Husband walked out to the kitchen and said, "Oh, my Lord!"

I hurried behind him, expecting to see the sliding glass door in shards, the chimney torn off, a wall missing. The house was intact, the yard full of leaves, small branches, and hail, the grill lying on its side. The crash had been the grill falling over, the rain noise had been the hail pounding the house.

We got the children out of the bathtub, and showed them the hail in the grass. Husband checked the windows throughout the house, while I dished up dinner from the crock-pot. Nothing was damaged.

This morning, Husband left for work as I got the children fed, dressed, ready for school. Just as I was about to leave for the bus stop, Husband called. The elementary school has become command central for the clean-up effort and trees were down all over the area. There is no school today.

From what I can tell, no one was hurt. Houses are damaged, roads are blocked, power is out. But no lives lost, no injuries.

Too Much Chaos

2008-05-15T08:40:00.004-04:00

I don't like change. I never have.

There are too many changes or might be changes floating around and I am struggling to cope. Too much to worry about.

Daughter
There are so many things about Daughter to cause stress and fear and desperate, heart-wrenching terror.
She is too small.
She is too weak.
She struggles with fine motor control--her coloring and writing skills are far, far behind where they should be.
She drifts off into her own little world when she is supposed to be focusing on classwork, or homework, or chores around the house.
And yet she is so very, very smart. So quick to pick up on new topics. So eager to learn new things. And that is terrifying on its own level, because I do not want that love of learning, that delight in knowledge, that joy of discovery, to be squelched.

Me
It has now been a week since the ultrasound on my enlarged thyroid and I have not heard anything.
Today, I will call the doctor's office and ask for results.
Do I just continue to take Synthroid, get my levels correct, and everything will be OK?
Or is there a tumor? What is the next step?

Husband
Just yesterday, Husband learned that the Powers That Be have decided that his role at the school should no longer be salaried, but instead he should be considered "non-exempt."
This means that he should expect to work a set number of hours per week and must request approval for overtime, for which he will be paid extra.
For 5 years, he has worn 4 different hats a time at that school, but it is only his primary role that is being reclassified--the others will all continue to be "supplements." But now, if he takes time out of his primary job to do one of these others (say, teach a class), he must then stay late that amount of time to "make up" the time he did not spend on his primary role.
He has always accomplished everything that was asked of him in all his variable positions. He worked for 7 hours on Mother's Day in order to ensure that his responsibility for this week was done and done well.
And they want to take this dedicated professional, this man who will do whatever is necessary to get the job done right, and turn him into a clock watcher.
His principal is fighting the change (it affects other roles in the school as well), but ultimately it is those On High who will make this decision. And they do not see how hard Husband works, how much of his heart and soul goes into this job, and how desperately hurt he his.
If they do this, he may leave the school. But he cannot do that until another academic year has passed, because it is too late in the hiring season to expect openings anywhere he would want to be.
This job, this wearing of many hats, has been his dream job. Although it has not paid as well as we would love to have (we still dip in to our savings for living expenses more regularly than we would like), it has been fulfilling for him. It has allowed him to do all the things he loves to do in a academic setting. It has has allowed him to do so many different things, serve the school in so many different ways, that it keeps him fresh and excited about his work. And some bureaucrat downtown wants to take that fulfillment away from him for reasons that I cannot understand.

Church
Husband and I are Christian and are raising our children in the church. Two years ago, we moved. Not far, about half-an-hour. Closer to Husband's work (which now may not continue to be his workplace), but too far from our church to continue attending any time but Sunday morning. Since we don't want to be Sunday-only-Christians, we found a new church near our new home.
The new church is smaller, and I was a little nervous about the number of children when we joined a year and half ago. In that time, it has imploded. For reasons that are all hearsay and gossip, many leaders within the church are leaving, stating that they cannot continue to support this church. The hearsay and gossip swirls around viscous, un-Christian behavior by our minister. The church leadership requested that the council remove our minister and assign us a different one....and they did not. And so, slowly, what few children there were are slipping away, and the youth minister has taken a pay cut in order to leave.
It is time for us to go, as well. I cannot continue to bring my children to a church that has no other children there age. Husband has lost all respect for the minister--because we hear the same distressing things from too many different people to hold onto a belief that he is truly innocent of these charges. Too many people claim that he has told them not to return; too many people claim that he has requested that they not call him for any reason; too many people feeling that they cannot turn to their pastor for spiritual support or counseling because they do not trust his judgement.
So our friends in the church and our children's friends are scattering and we must start over, trying to find a better church home. And we had found one that we thought might be the right solution. It is a little further away from our home than we liked, but we thought that was OK because it is only about 5 minutes from Husband's school. And now, that feels like less of a comfort.

I am trying so hard to move forward with what I can control and let go of what I can't. But I feel as though everything in our lives may be changing, again, and I can't stand it. Yet, when I try to pray for help and guidance and answers, my prayers always resolve into the same old refrain, which in itself reminds me what I must do.

Thy will be done.

I know that they only answer is to let go and do my best. To trust that God will bring us through this as he as brought to this point. But it is so very hard to sit back and watch Daughter and Husband struggle, to try to answer Oldest's questions about our church, to see Youngest's best friends disappear from his life. I want to fix it. But I can't.

Update on Daughter

2008-05-14T08:48:00.003-04:00

Still, all tests come back normal. (Although the stool sample test results are taking a long time, and are still not back yet. Those will tell us if there's something wrong with her stomach or intestines that might cause her not to absorb what she eats, if there's inflammation in her intestinal lining, or if she has some kind of parasite. Yuck.)

The nutritionist had some suggestions on adding calories to her day. She is to drink Carnation Instant Breakfast at snack time, and eat less fruit and more junk food. Yep, basically my instincts were all off on this one. She fills up on high fiber, low calorie food (like oranges and carrots), and doesn't get enough calories in her day. Instead of sending a fruit cup in her lunch with her sandwich, I am to send pudding. Or Cheetos.

We'll have another weight check in a month.

I Am Blessed

2008-05-14T08:42:00.003-04:00

Whenever I fill out a medical information form, I always reach this point. When i get to the question, "How many Pregnancies?", followed immediately by "how many live births?", I wince. I have been lucky enough to be able to put the same number in both of those little blanks. 3 Pregancies, 3 Live Births. So the wince is . . . just a wince. Just a recognition that there are so many women out there for whom those two numbers are not the same. Women who have to explain to every doctor, every visit, about some terrible, heartbreaking loss and relive that pain that is too great for me to even imagine.

Today, I am crabby. I did not sleep well, I've been stressing over Daughter's health and attention issues, and the patience level is very very low. Taking some "me" time, I followed a link to a blog I had never read before. It's a blog written by a woman who has just suffered 2 back-to-back miscarriages. And it reminded me, again, of why I wince.

And as I was reading it, Youngest came wandering in the room. He cuddled up to me and said quietly: "I like you, Mommy."

I am so very blessed every day. And I think I needed that reminder this morning.

Can We Have an Answer, Please?

2008-05-09T12:08:00.003-04:00

Daughter has a history of health issues that turn out to be not that big a deal.

She has seen, in her 6 shorts years of life, at least 10 different medical professionals.

Here we go again.

She weighs 33 pounds at age 6, as I posted before.

Bloodwork has all come back normal. Stool sample is still being tested. Next week, we meet with a nutritionist. For that meeting, I am to keep a food diary of everything she eats for 3 days, so the nutritionist can tell me if she's getting enough calories. If not, the nutritionist will give me suggestions of "high calorie" foods I can feed her.

If history repeats itself, all will come back normal. The end result will be, "Oh, I guess she's just small!"

Meanwhile she is weak. She has no muscle strength and is struggling with writing in school because holding the pencil firmly and using it to write clearly is so very hard for her.

I have reached the point where I want something to show up on a test. I'm so tired of "She's fine, she'll catch up." She's not fine. Something is wrong and no one every seems to be able to find it.

And meanwhile, her time is running shorter--Kindergarten is almost over, and although she reads like a 3rd grader and can do math with her classmates, she cannot write a legible sentence. And in 1st grade, that will be even more of a problem than it is now.

Could I just have an answer, please? Could someone just give me a diagnosis of some sort, so we can begin moving forward to fix the problem or learn to work around it? Can't I have a support group to join?

Froggy Boots Because I Said So

2008-04-28T07:39:00.005-04:00

It rained last night. (Hallelujah!) So, when we left for the bus stop this morning, the walk was full of puddles and streamlets and dripping trees.

I helped Youngest put on his froggy rainboots. The alternative was to walk through that lovely wet constantly reminding him to stay out of all those delightful places to splash, since he once again has new shoes (Didn't I just buy him NEW SHOES? Those are too small, now, already, and these new ones LIGHT UP!). So, he wore his froggy rainboots and splashed to his heart's content.

On the way home from the bus stop, Youngest walked along in the rivulet of water running down the gutter, stomping every few feet to watch the water splash up. Halfway down the hill, he began stopping at every mailbox to read the street numbers. "Five-Zero-Nine!"

When we got the bottom of the hill, and reached our own house, Youngest wanted to go back up to get all the houses he missed on the other side of the street.

I didn't want to go. All I had had for breakfast so far was 5 sips of Diet Coke and a spoonful of cranberry jam. But the Mommy-voice (I can't call it a little voice; it wasn't little.) screamed at me: He will only enjoy walking in the puddles with me for so long. He's practicing his numbers! It'll do you good to walk a little further.

So, we went back up the hill. As we approached the top, I said that we would read this last house, and then we needed to go home so Mommy could have breakfast. We reached the top -- "Five-Zero-Zero!" -- and he made a sharp U-turn and started back down the hill.

"Now we go home, because you said so."

UNDERweight, Part II

2008-04-24T13:44:00.005-04:00

A month ago, I posted about how Daughter (age 6.5) weighs 33 pounds and her pediatrician was running blood tests.

All those tests came back normal, with the exception of an iron level on "the low end of the normal range."

So, today, we went back to recheck her weight and her iron levels, having made certain she was taking her vitamin (which includes iron) every morning.

She has lost about half a pound.

More tests are being run, I'm to collect a stool sample which will be tested to ensure that she's absorbing all the nutrients from her food, and she's being referred to a nutritionist and a GI specialist.

Her Kindergarten teacher wants to meet with me and Husband, with a guidance counselor, to discuss how Daughter is doing. Because although she's above grade level in reading and on grade level in math, her writing is behind where it should be and she still has trouble staying on task and finishing her work. But how much of that is related to whatever health problem is causing her to lose weight?

This on the heels of ongoing drama from our church which seems to be doing its best to crumble from within.

And I have just personally been diagnosed as hypothyroid and have an appointment to see an endocrinologist next week. Which is probably what I get for having those fantasies.

I am overwhelmed. I am exhausted. I cannot cope with all these things all at the same time. There are too many things going wrong in too many different places for me to even begin to process how to move forward, except to continue to haltingly struggle through one immediate crisis at a time.

Who Da Man?

2008-04-18T08:22:00.003-04:00

The following dinner table conversation was triggered by Husband placing on his head a ribbon that had been left on the kitchen table.

Daughter: You're silly, Daddy!

Husband: Why?

Daughter: Because that bow doesn't belong on your head!

Husband: It doesn't? Why not?

Oldest: Because you're not a present.

Husband: Yes, I am!

Oldest: No, I said PRESENT, P-R-E-S. . .

Husband, grandly: I know what you said. I happen to think I am a present to this family.

Daughter: NO, you're the MAN!

Fantasies

2008-04-16T17:42:00.003-04:00

I have this recurring fantasy which crops up whenever I'm feeling particularly overwhelmed.

I explained it to Husband once and he looked at me like I was insane.

I fantasize about being seriously ill. Nothing terminal, of course. But we're not talking just a cold or a stomach flu here. I fantasize about being so ill that I have to be hospitalized.

Just for a few days. Just long enough for all those 'to do's to become 'too late's, without having to feel like I just didn't get them done.

And I know exactly why.

I fantasize about this because it seems like the only reason for it to be OK to drop all the balls. It will be OK that my house isn't clean, that I didn't get that invitation send out for the class party, that I didn't respond to the church group's request for headcounts at the meeting, that I haven't made that dentist appointment yet, that I didn't exercise today, that we're running out of groceries. It will all be OK to have not done those things, because, hey, I'm in the hospital! What do you people expect!

I also realize that this means I never really have been that ill. Because if I had, I'd probably know that I never want to do it again. But in my little, nothing-has-really-ever-been-all-that-bad universe....I'd love to have a nice peaceful hospital stay. Complete with a really awesome reason not to have done all the things that I really need to do and don't feel like I'm going to get done.

And like most fantasies, it will most likely never come true. And if it did, it would be a disappointment. Nothing like I'm expecting.

Mommies Don't Escape

2008-04-16T07:37:00.002-04:00

The other day, Daughter and Youngest were recounting an episode of Curious George for Husband. In the episode, George accidentally released the baby bunnies. Youngest said, "but the Mommy Bunny didn't escape."

Daughter confirmed and elaborated. "Yeah, cause Mommies don't escape. They stay at home, so they're always there. And you don't get lost. Mommies never escape."

Husband and I cracked up, because the alternative (for me at least) was to burst into tears.

Mommies Never Escape.

I'm trying to positive spin this in my head. Daughter has confidence that I will always be there for her! I will always be ready to look after her!

But it happened to have been a rough day, spent cooped up in the house with a crabby 3-year-old. (He's got a cold and it's made him grouchy and clingy and snotty. Lovely combination.) So, I had spent all day with a desperate need to escape and Daughter's matter of fact statement felt like a pronouncement of doom.

Mommies Never Escape. You will be here forever.

Ah, To Pee in Private!

2008-04-14T17:33:00.004-04:00

Youngest is nearly potty trained.

This means that diaper-less days are in sight, hooray! It also means, I thought, that I can finally reclaim that most basic of privacies: the right to use the toilet alone.

When you have a baby, privacy completely goes out the window. The baby doesn't care how badly you need to pee. If the baby wants something, the baby will scream and cry until the baby's needs are met. You, Mommy, have no needs, as far as the baby is concerned, except possibly for a need to serve the baby.

When the baby becomes a toddler, you begin thinking about teaching them to use the toilet. To that end, you actually encourage them to join you in the bathroom to see how it's done. (Husband once told co-workers the he knew his life had changed when he said, in the same tone you would use to invite someone to a lavish expensive vacation in Hawaii at no expense to themselves, "Hey, wanna watch Daddy pee?!")

As the toddler becomes a preschooler and begins to get they hang of it, they are eager to join you, delighting in the role-reversal. "Are you pooping, Mommy? Did you get it all out? Are you done? Yay, Mommy! You did it! Don't forget to wipe, Mommy!"

And now, Youngest pretty much has it. We are on our 6th day of no accidents, after several 3-4 day stretches each broken with one minor accident. So, I thought, no more need for him to have role model.

I heard him coming as I walked towards the bathroom. I spoke calmly. "Mommy's going to go potty, I'll be out in a minute," and I gently closed the door behind me.

There was a puzzled pause, and then that sweet little innocent three-year old voice spoke. "But, Mommy . . . I thought you liked me!"

UNDERweight

2008-03-26T08:38:00.002-04:00

I took Daughter to the pediatrician this week. She was overdue for her 6 year well-child visit.

She has gained ONE pound in the past year. Since she has always been at the very bottom of the growth chart in both height and weight, this knocked her off the weight growth chart altogether. Not good.

So, the pediatrician is doing a metabolic screening, checking her blood work, and will call me with the results in a few days. Being an Internet mommy, I decided to do some research into what I might need to worry about. What causes a child that is not neglected, a child that is offered healthy meal choices, a child that is encouraged to eat until she is no longer hungry . . . what causes such a child to be underweight? What is the pediatrician looking for in Daughter's blood?

I can't find anything useful.

WebMD gives me a whole bunch of info about overweight children.

Google gives me links to some articles about "helping your underweight child," which all simply tell me to encourage her to eat more. Eat more calories in a healthy diet. Offer her peanut butter, and carbohydrates. Well, that's what she eats now!

She's not a meat eater. She never has been. I require her to eat a protein source at every lunch and dinner. She loves fruit and vegetables, but has never had a large appetite at all. I have not wanted to train her to eat when she isn't hungry or to turn meals into a power struggle.

Now that she's in kindergarten, I can't let her spend an hour over each meal. Breakfast has to be eaten in time to get out the door. She gets 30 minutes at school to eat lunch. (30 minutes is usually what it takes her to eat a fruit cup and a small sandwich or 6-pack of peanut butter crackers.) I offer a snack after school, but when I require that it be not "junk food," she usually declines. At dinner, I server her plate with what seems to me to be an appropriate serving size and I do require her to finish it.

What more am I supposed to do? My 6 year old weighs 33 pounds.

I guess I just wait for the doctor's office to call me and tell me if they found anything and then research that. I just feel so helpless, so stuck. I don't even know exactly what to panic about.

Mommy Guilt

2008-03-22T17:10:00.002-04:00

No matter what we do, Mommies have guilt. All those choices? The ones that were supposed to make it better for women to find the life path that made them happy? More guilt opportunities.

I'm a stay-at-home mom, so I have SAHM Guilt.

SAHM Guilt consists of several categories. The big over-arching one is the question about whether SAH-ing was the right decision. I have this expensive college degree the Guilt tells you. What a waste to spend my time on diaper changes! Why am I discussing potty training and trying to get a child to eat right? I used to discuss literature....art.....politics! That Guilt is occasionally beat back by the rational argument that you really are serving a useful purpose by raising your own children and that going back to work would simply replace that guilt with Working Mommy Guilt.

(Working Mommy Guilt demands to know whether this is what's best for your kids. You are scarring your child for life by putting her in daycare! The baby likes the nanny better than you! You're a failure as a woman for not being happy to stay at home with your kids! It's wrong, too, of course.)

The SAHM Guilt that's been rearing its head for me lately, though, is related to the sacrifice required to give up my paycheck. Oldest just turned 8. Planning birthday parties always brings up the money guilt. Because the big thing around here lately is these inflatable parties. You go to an indoor building full of inflatable slides and bounce houses and the kids play for 1.5 hours, then you all go into a private room and have cake. The problem is, they cost about $500. We will never do an inflatable party. Because $500 is never going to be in the budget for a birthday party for an elementary school child. (Sweet 16? Maybe. 18? Possible.) When I'm rational, I know that I wouldn't spend it, even if we had it. But the SAHM Guilt whispers to me that it's my child whose sacrificing; don't I want him to have what the other kids have?

When I planned Oldest's first birthday party with friends, it was the year he turned 4. We invited all the kids in his preschool class, and I stressed and agonized and worried myself to death. At one point, Husband tried to recall me to rationality by commenting that "no one is going to judge you based on this party, you know." At the time, I claimed to agree with him. It still shows me, though, just how much he did not get how my life changed when I stayed home. Because, really, they were judging me. What else did they have to judge me by? And I was only about 2 years out of a working job where I was "judged" annually to determine my raise. The party was my performance review with my peers!

Oldest had a birthday party -- 10 kids at the local mini-golf course. We had a blast -- they played golf, they played games, we had pizza and cake and Oldest opened his presents. And it all cost about $120. And really, I think he and his friends had just as much fun as they would have for 4 times as much money. I know Oldest loved every minute of it. No Mommy Guilt needed. I think I aced this year's evaluation.

Schoolhouse Rock

2008-03-19T12:33:00.003-04:00

If you were a child in the 70s, you probably remember Schoolhouse Rock.

Conjunction Junction, what's your function?

I'm just a Bill, oh, I'm only a Bill, and I'm sittin' here on Capitol Hill . . .

Three is a Magic Number . . .

My hero, Zero . . .

A long time ago, (in the days B. C. *) I bought a CD called Schoolhouse Rock Rocks! It's the Schoolhouse Rock songs, but they're sung by artists who were, well, popular at the time the CD was made. (So, it's got folks like Blind Melon on it.) When I bought it, I was disappointed because I was a college student and remembered the original songs too well and thought these versions were too rock-music-y.

About a year ago, Oldest discovered the CD and asked if we could listen to it. (I suspect he wanted to hear it because the CD case is bright yellow. And yellow is Oldest's favorite color.) It is now his favorite CD, and Youngest loves it as well.

The songs keep getting stuck in my head. (Mr. Morton is the subject of my sentence, and what the predicate says, he does.) And I hope that they are getting stuck in my kids heads as well. Because the first song on the CD is the original theme song. Even if none of my children retain the grammar, history, or civics lesson included in these catchy, bouncy songs, I hope there's always a little voice in their heads with that theme song: "It's great to learn . . . because knowledge is power!"

*B. C. = Before Children

A Plea for Wives to treat their Husbands like people...

2008-03-12T10:29:00.003-04:00

Somewhere, I think during the feminist movement, it became OK to bash men in public. Specific men. Men the speaker supposedly loves and cares about. And what really bothers me, is that this doesn't go both ways.

I hate being in a group of women and one of them starts bad-mouthing her husband. I mean, really bad-mouthing him. Saying really, down-right nasty, mean and ugly things. The sort of things that make you think, "and you're still married to him...why?"

We've all been there. One woman starts it, and usually everyone else chimes in with their own story; a horrible I've-got-a-worse-spouse-than-you game of I-can-top-that.

M: "Hubby's so selfish. He won't even watch the kids for an hour so I can get my grocery shopping done in peace, but then he takes off for the weekend with his hunting buddies without so much as a thanks for my hard work on my own with 2 kids all that time!"
B: "Oh, I know what you mean. I can't believe how much I do around the house that Spouse doesn't even notice! And you'd think he could wash his own dishes for a change, just to give me a break."
L: "You two have it easy. At least yours leaves during the day and gives me a chance to get the house clean again! With Baby out of work now, he just sits around all day waiting for calls. It's driving me nuts! I really wish he'd get off his fat butt and get a job."

To an extent, we do all do it. We need to vent the little stuff that we're trying not to sweat. And I think the little stuff is OK. I can handle being with moms who complain once in a while about how Daddy never changes the diapers or gives the baths. Especially when Mommy also complains (with that little smile that says she doesn't really mind that much) about how Daddy does all the fun stuff, like playing with Baby while Mommy gets dinner ready.

But we need to be careful. I've noticed something, personally, that I suspect holds true for others. When I spend my time thinking and speaking negative thoughts about my husband, it hurts my relationship. If I devote my energy to negative thoughts . . . . Thinking about how he works too much and lets me too all the childcare; how he expects so much from the children and leaves it to me to follow through on the consequences for their not meeting those expectations; even about how he hasn't done some random sweet gesture lately. It saps the love I feel for him. When all I think are negative thoughts, I start slipping up on my own random sweet gestures, and . . . . well, maybe he starts missing them too. And starts thinking negative thoughts of his own. And down the relationship spirals.

But if I devote my energy to positive thoughts. . . .oh, my, what a payoff. If I spend my time thinking how lucky I am that he works so hard so I can be home with my kids. Thinking how much he loves our kids and how much he wants for them. Thinking about the last sweet gesture he made, even something as small as offering to bring home dinner or put the kids to bed or sending home an email about a joke or story he thought I would be interested by. When I think of all the good things about him, the little stuff really does fall into perspective and become little stuff. Who really cares who changes the diapers or who took the trash out last week? Why keep score? And then, the relationship spirals back up again, up to love and passion and overwhelming gratitude for the loving, hard-working husband I really do have, imperfections and all.

After all, I'm not perfect either. And I sure wouldn't want to think he was chatting with his friends over lunch complaining about all the things that wrong with me!

Love takes work. Marriage takes work. And some of that work is purely mental. You've got to "accentuate the positive."

Selective memory

2008-02-13T08:47:00.003-05:00

Youngest was singing bits and pieces of song on the way home from preschool last week. Then he would giggle and talk about how it was a funny song. As best I can tell, it's a song about taking a bath in the washing machine.

I told him I don't know that one. Did he learn it from Miss J, the preschool music teacher? And could he sing it for me?

"I only know it in Miss J's room. Not in cars." You could almost hear his eye-roll.

Counter Productive

2008-02-13T08:44:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, while driving down a busy 4-lane road, I was distracted.

I was distracted by a large sign in the median -- one of those electronic signs with orange lettering. The kind the department of transportation puts out to warn you about road closings or construction ahead.

So, I was distracted, trying to read it, trying to tell if I need to change my route to avoid a closed road.

It read: "If you're on your cell . . . you might get a wake-up call."

Good. Distract me while driving. with a message telling me to . . . avoid distractions while driving. Thanks.

All You Need is Sorry . . . when you're 3

2008-02-11T08:58:00.000-05:00

Youngest is 3. This means his life is a tremendous emotional roller coaster, and it amazes me both how quickly he can melt down and how quickly he can bounce back. This morning is a case in point.

-------------------------------------

Running late for the bus. Youngest is over the moon because he has NEW SHOES! And the NEW SHOES have Velcro straps, so he can PUT THEM ON HIMSELF.

While he's doing that, I send Daughter out the door, telling her to stay on the sidewalk and go "fast as she can" to the bus stop.

Oldest is dawdling over tying his shoes. I tell him I am not waiting for him, and get my shoes on and put Youngest's coat on. By now, Oldest has his shoes tied and is ready for me to do the double knots.

Oldest and Youngest run down the driveway together. Youngest is giggling, "I wanna be first!"

Cross the cul de sac, Oldest passes Youngest. Daughter is nearly at the top of the hill, jogging along.

Youngest comes to a dead stop, sobbing. He wanted to keep up with Oldest, but Oldest is nearly 8 with long legs and running full out. I can't tell Oldest to wait for Youngest because if he does, Oldest might miss the bus.

Youngest pokes along up the hill with me trying to encourage him. Finally, I remind him of his NEW SHOES, and all is well again!

We reach the corner, and see Oldest passing Daughter halfway to the bus stop. She stops running, but it is too far for me to tell if she is upset. When we are about a third of the way to the stop, Oldest and Daughter are at the stop. All the children at the corner begin hollering "Bus!" to hurry up those who are still coming up the street.

Youngest begins to run, wanting to show everyone his NEW SHOES before they get on the bus. Halfway there, he trips and falls. When he gets up, the bus has arrived and kids are beginning to board.

The world ends again. We will never make it to the stop before the bus is loaded and pulling away. It's OK, really -- Oldest and Daughter are boarding the bus; although I would like to send them off with a good word, a smile, and a wave, it's not going to happen today.

I pick up Youngest and begin walking back to our house while he sobs.

"Would you like some more breakfast?"

"No!" Pouting.

"Do you want to play a game?"

A pause. "I - sob -- want to play -- big breath -- Sorry. And Doggy wants to play too." He waves the stuffed dog at me to show Doggy's desire to play a board game.

"OK. Let's go home and play Sorry."

"Yeah!"

I put him down and he trots off home happily. All is right in the world again.

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I just wish it were that easy to make grown-ups forget what made them angry or unhappy. Just a game of Sorry with your stuffed animal and your mommy.

Don't...Wanna...Get...Up

2008-01-29T07:55:00.000-05:00

This morning, Husband's alarm went off. We lay there.

Then, my alarm went off. We lay there.

Then, they both went off together.

Me: Our alarms are in agreement.

Husband: I hate our alarm clocks.

We lay there. Husband farted.

Husband: My butt agrees with our alarm clocks.

Me: So, do you hate your butt?

Husband: Yes.

You Tell 'Em, Daughter

2008-01-28T15:09:00.001-05:00

Remember this guy?

Well, today, he drove to the bus stop with the toddler seated in the pickup.... and his daughter climbed in the bed to ride home.

Daughter, age 6, was appalled. "Hey!" she hollered at this girl who's twice her age. "That's not a safe place to ride! You should get in the seat!"

My favorite comment of Daughter's, though, was her final argument: "The policeman's going to come and give your Daddy a ticket!"

Guess daughter forgot. That girl's Daddy, the one driving his children in the bed of his pickup, is a policeman.

Product Review -- Schick Intuition Razor

2008-01-28T08:23:00.000-05:00

OK, I tried this new razor because a lady at the grocery store handed me one and said, "Try this. It's free."

Who can argue with that?

And it's a wonderful concept. See, there's the razor part, but then they've put a block of some kind of solid soapy thing around it, so it soaps your legs for you as you shave and that works great.

As long as you don't drop it in the shower.

Because when you drop it? It might land on the solid soapy part. And then the solid soapy part has a not-so-solid part where it hit the floor of your shower. But it still works pretty well.

As long as you don't drop it again.

Because dropping it again? Causes the solid soapy part to fall off completely. And now, it's just another razor.

So...if you happen to shave, say, sitting down in a bathtub, this is probably a great choice. Except that then, it's not such a big deal to have to use some kind of separate shaving cream or soap. Or, if you happen to be able to shave standing in a shower without ever dropping your razor, it's ideal.

I just don't appear to be capable of doing that.

2008-01-24T16:56:00.000-05:00

As a parent, you are forever comparing yourself to others, usually to your detriment. That other mom is so much better than I am; her child is reading/playing violin/swimming/solving differential equations... And even in the things where no one's really trying to one up you.

Hmmm, look at that lovely artwork their child did. I should really do more craft projects.

Wow, my child sure enjoys playing with that musical toy. I should really look into getting her into some kind of music lesson.

My house is a mess.

My laundry isn't done.

My child isn't potty trained yet.

It goes on and on.

But, sometimes? Sometimes, you realize that you could be worse. Today, I had one of those moments.

The bus stop is not far from my house, about 7 houses away. But that involves going up a hill and around a corner, so the bus stop is not visible from my street. So, I always walk to the bus stop to meet the bus with my 2nd grader and kindergartner. If it's raining, I will drive to the bus stop to drop them off or pick them up. If the youngest happened to fall asleep on the way home to meet the bus, I might pick them up then, too. When I do this -- pick them up at the bus stop and drive them home -- I don't make them put on their seat belts for the seven-house-long drive home.

I always feel guilty about this.

I should make them buckle up, says my inner Paranoid Mom. I'm setting a bad example. They should always wear those seat belts. But...

I'm driving, like, 2 miles an hour. Around the corner, down the hill and into the driveway. They'll be fine! argues my inner Laid-Back Mom.

Some ridiculous number of accidents happen really close to home! Remember that statistic?! And, and, inner Paranoid Mom retorts, and it's the precedent we're setting here!

Before inner Laid-Back Mom can reply, we're home and the question is tabled for a few weeks until the next rainy bus pickup time.

Today, however, Laid-Back Mom got to show Paranoid Mom just how worse it can get.

Today was not rainy. It was cold and windy. Youngest and I bundled up and walked to the bus stop anyway. But a man drove to the bus stop to pick up his kids. He drove from a few houses further than I walked....with his 3-Year-Old riding in the bed of his pickup truck.

I feel like Mom of the Year.

Also? Nothing Scares Daddy.

2008-01-23T12:34:00.000-05:00

Last night at dinner, Oldest declared another rule: Nothing Scares Daddy.

Oldest is scared of many things. Pain, loud noises, strangers that might climb in his 2nd story window at night and carry him off . . . . Oldest is also gullible. So when Daddy says, "Hey, what's that?" Oldest always looks. And then Daddy throws something at him. Or disappears.

But Nothing Scares Daddy.

Husband disagrees, but we are united in hiding this from the children. Just as we hide from the children that Husband dislikes vegetables of all kinds and only eats them at dinner to "set a good example."

Shh. Don't tell the children.

They'll grow up and find out the truth soon enough.

Mommies Know Stuff

2008-01-22T17:21:00.000-05:00

Daughter, age 6, has an Inquiring Mind. She is full of questions about the why, the how, the what of everything imaginable.

Some of these questions are hard to answer, not because the concepts are complicated, but because they simply are.

"Why is it raining?"

Well, Daughter, the clouds up there are made up of water. And when the water gets too heavy, it all starts to fall down and then it's raining.

"Oh. Why are the clouds made of water?"

Ummm...

And she gets very upset with me when I can't answer such a question. I've tried the trick the books all talk about. You know, turn the question back to them?

"Why?"

I don't know, daughter. What do you think?

"I don't know, Mommy. I'm asking you. "

"Well, I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Mommies know stuff."

There it is. I am supposed to know everything because I AM MOMMY. And Mommies know stuff. At least they do when you're 6.

Fun, fun, fun -- Sunday at the ER

2008-01-22T14:09:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I took Oldest for his first trip to a non-pediatric emergency room. (He's almost 8, after all.)

Truly, it really wasn't that big a deal. No blood, nothing really life-threatening. Just vomit that wouldn't stop. And no body fat, which means dehydration very quickly.

And they took great care of my little wimp.

7 a.m. Snoozing peacefully, I am awakened by the sound of the bedroom door opening. I play possum, thinking grumpily that the children know they are not to away Mommy and Daddy unless it's an emergency. I sense a presence by the side of the bed, and Husband says, gruffly, "What's the problem, Oldest?" "I threw up in the toilet."

7:02 am I am out of bed, standing next to the kids bathroom toilet.

7:07 am I provide Oldest with some Gatorade, and discuss the morning plan with Husband. Which one of us will stay home with Oldest while the other takes Daughter and Youngest to church?

7:10 am Oldest claims to feel better. I give Oldest some dry toast. He takes 2 tiny bites, then just sits there.

7:12 am Oldest throws up again.

7:30 am Oldest is settled on the coach with a movie and a bowl. He will throw up 4 times in the next hour and half. Husband and I decide everyone will stay home.

10:15 am Oldest has a sip of Gatorade.

10:30 am Oldest has a sip of Gatorade.

10:45 am Oldest has a sip of Gatorade.

11:00 am Oldest has a sip of Gatorade.

11:20 am I get lunch ready for Daughter and Youngest. Oldest approaches the table as though he expects lunch, too. I offer him a popsicle, of which he eats about half, until . . .

11:45 am . . . when he runs to the bathroom. He has diarrhea, then vomits up everything he as drunk. He spends the next 45 minutes on the toilet, with it "running out both ends," as a friend's mom used to put it.

12:30 pm I dress him and Husband and I help him into the car. Husband cleverly gives me some packets of peanut butter crackers, because he (unlike I) remembers that I have not eaten yet today.

1 pm We're at the emergency room of a hospital I have never been to, but is the closest to my house. (The nearest pediatric hospital is an hour away.) Oldest throws up in the parking lot.

1:45pm Oldest is in a bed in the ER, looking very pale and lethargic. Very nice nurse is explaining that he will need an IV to rehydrate him and does he think he can hold his arm still while the nurse inserts it. Oldest is not answering questions, so I, standing out of sight of oldest, shake my head. I know my son.

2:15pm Nurse wraps tourniquet around Oldest's wrist to check for a vein. Oldest screams and cries that "it hurts." Nurse wisely decides to get help holding Oldest still before actually trying to insert a needle for IV.

2:30 pm Nurse returns, accompanied by Nurse2. Nurse2 covers Oldest's eyes and kneels at his head, holding his shoulders and arm still. I stand at Oldest's side, holding his had. When Oldest flinches at the tourniquet again, Nurse2 mouths to me to lean on Oldest's legs when Nurse actually sticks him. Nurse and Nurse2 talk Oldest through the entire process and Nurse hits the vein on the first try. Hooray!

5:30 pm Finally, leaving the hospital. Oldest is now chattering away to me and walking much more briskly. He is to be on a liquid diet for 24 hours. I have a prescription for suppository anti-nausea medication, in case we need it.

6:00 pm Home. Husband has made dinner for Daughter and Youngest and Lysoled everything Oldest touched. I make Oldest some chicken broth, which he does not drink.

7:00 pm All children in bed. Husband goes out and picks up a pizza for us to eat for dinner, while I find a 24 hour pharmacy at which to get the prescription filled and Lysol the car.

8:00 pm I go back out to get the prescription filled.

In the end, the whole experience had its pros and cons. Hey, I see a list coming!

The Pros:

Oldest actually got out of bed Sunday morning feeling nauseous, but got all the way to the bathroom to throw up in the toilet. (Note: This is the first time any of my children has done that. Usually, it's all over the bed, carpet, clothes, whatever. Now, there's a milestone that wasn't in any of my parenting books!)
Oldest then came quietly into Mommy and Daddy's room and woke us up, by calmly stating that he had thrown up in the toilet.
All of Oldest's subsequent vomit went directly into the bowl provided by Mommy.
The non-pediatric nurse was very calm and patient with Oldest, who has no pain tolerance and is a complete and total wimp. (Seriously. The blood pressure cuff scared him.)
This ER was a 15 minute drive from our house. Oldest managed not to throw up in the car.
It was Sunday. This meant Husband was home, and Daughter and Youngest could stay with him while I took Oldest to the hospital.

The Cons:

Umm, did I mention we were in the Emergency Room? For 6 hours?
Youngest is in the midst of potty-training and had 4 accidents while I was gone.

Sometimes, I wish I were 3

2008-01-22T13:37:00.000-05:00

Youngest is 3. He spends two mornings a week at a preschool with about 12 other Just-Turned-Three-Year-Olds, led by two teachers, Brave and Intrepid. The school calls this "Older 2's", but now that it's January, they're all pretty much 3.

Brave and Intrepid are trying desperately to mold these little people into socially acceptable beings. Youngest is learning things like how to take turns, how to sit quietly at circle time, and, most importantly, he is learning that just because Youngest wants to play with that train does not mean he can take it away from the child that is currently playing with it.

Every day, when I pick Youngest up from school, I ask him what he did that day. Last week, both days, the answer was the same. "I builded a block tower with T. And P knocked it down. That's not nice. Ms. Intrepid told P that's not nice!"

Today, however, things were different! Today, "P didn't knock over any towers!" It is still unclear, however, whether Ms Intrepid has successfully gotten through to P that he cannot knock over the towers other children have built. There may have been no towers to knock over today. In fact, P may not have even been present at school today. My source is silent on those points.

When we were nearly home, however, Youngest remembered one other important event of the day. "It was B's birthday today. Someone brought cupcakes, and I ate-ed one!" [note: Someone. Not B's mom or dad or other adult somehow related to the birthday child. Some random person showed up with cupcakes! How cool! Don't you wish total strangers would bring cupcakes for your birthday?] "I ate-ed the white part and it was yummy. The white part had sprinkles. I ate-ed them and they're in my tummy." At this point, Youngest tried his best to peer down at his stomach (in spite of the 5-point harness strapping on his car seat) as though it might have a window through which he could see the sprinkles.

2008-01-18T15:05:00.001-05:00

Daughter, age 6, was recently diagnosed with ADD. She is in kindergarten.

She is not the stereotypical, hyperactive, can't sit still, ADHD child. She simply has a very hard time focusing on any task that she does not particularly wish to do. She also has poor fine motor skills and struggles with controlling a pencil to write.

It is difficult sometimes to tell whether she really can't stay focused on a task to completion or whether she simply doesn't want to. She is currently on a very low dosage of medication. I see a dramatic improvement at home -- where there are fewer distractions. Her teacher sees a less dramatic improvement in the classroom, and clearly would like me to up her dosage.

I like and respect her teacher, Mrs. P. Mrs. P is women with decades of teaching experience who clearly cares about each and every one of her students. She works with them as individually as possible and is very patient with some of the more active, disruptive members of the class. I volunteer in there once a week and can see exactly where the teacher is coming from. The teacher can tell Daughter to do something, sit right beside her, and Daughter will stare off into space and not complete the assignment.

The struggle for me? How much of this is truly an illness? How much is simply immaturity? How much is simply a willful spirit not wanting to do a difficult task?

I don't know. I know Daughter is capable of more than is reflected in her classwork; Mrs. P feels the same way.

I just don't know the best way to help my little girl show the world how smart she really is.

A post from the 3 year old

2008-01-18T08:49:00.000-05:00

matthew

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

mommy

matthew

SAHM vs WOHM mom

2008-01-18T08:34:00.000-05:00

I have a college degree from an excellent university, and was valedictorian of my high school class. For the last 6 years, I have been a stay at home mom.

Some time ago, I went to the wedding of a high school friend. That evening, four or five other high school friends and I went out to dinner to "catch up." As we ate, we talked over what we were doing now. Several were still in school, still struggling to determining exactly what subject they wanted to spend their life working in. Some were working jobs that they did not foresee remaining in long term. I was a stay at home mom -- the only parent, the only married member of our once tight-knit group for friends. The groom, one of my best friends high school, laughed and said, "Wow. Remember, we were supposed to have done great things by now!"

I bit my tongue. I wanted to tell him never to imply to a stay at home mom that she is not doing great things.

I am a stay at home mom by choice. I passionately believe this is the best thing for me to do right now for myself, for my children, for my family, and for the world at large. I am spending my time, my energy, my above average intelligence to raise 3 children into (hopefully) contributing members of society. I spend my days teaching them how to be kind, how to be generous, how to be loving, how to think critically, and how to function as an individual. One of the best compliments I have ever received as a parent was when a total stranger approached my family in a restaurant and commented on how well behaved my children where...and then later reappeared to give each child a bowl of ice cream.

But sometimes, the insecurity takes over. Did my parents really spend $100,000 for my education so I can change diapers, play with Play-dough, and sing "I'm a little teapot?" Wasn't I supposed to be doing "great things" by now?

When I'm rational, I can remind myself that those 3 little people are "great things." That changing diapers keeps them healthy (and won't be needed much longer!), playing with play-dough builds their finger muscles and their imaginations and that the giggles that accompany "I'm a little teapot" are just as important to my 3-year-old as any fancy vacation. Also, I remind myself how lucky I am even to have that choice. Because I know that it would kill me to hear about the little milestones from a paid childcare worker. And I know that so many families out there don't have this choice available to them.

Fiction -- New Mommy

2008-01-17T14:35:00.001-05:00

Elena pushed Andrew in the Graco stroller along the sidewalk while Anna walked in the street beside her, pushing 2-year old Angela in her Peg Perego. Looking at Angela, it was hard to believe that Drew would be that big and that talkative in about a year and a half.

"Mommy! Red!"

"Yes, sweetie, that car is red. Do you see anything else red?" Anna responded, hardly missing a beat in the conversation she'd been having with Elena. "So, is he sleeping better?"

"Oh! Yes, I suppose so. He was up a couple times last night, but most of the time he sleeps through now." Elena pushed the memory of Drew's silent departure out of her mind. What had he expected? The baby needed her....

"So, are you going to that big company dinner with Drew? Isn't it next week?"

"Oh, no. I told him to just go by himself. I'm not ready to leave little Andrew with a sitter."

There was a pause. "Boo, Mommy!"

"Yes, Angela, that's a blue flag on that house." Anna waited another beat, then spoke quickly, "Elena, he's 6 months now, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"And eating cereal? And Drew's mother said she'd come stay with him?"

"I'm just not ready."

"Elena....I'm going to be blunt, because we've been friends a long time. Are you and Drew OK? You know, with each other? Is Drew ready to leave Andy with a sitter?"

Elena didn't answer immediately. She couldn't bring herself to lie and claim everything was perfect. When Anna opened her mouth, Elena spoke first, "Drew doesn't understand. He's not the one with Andy all the time."

"Elena!"

"Drew's not -- "

"Elena. Listen to me. If the dinner is too big a deal, too long, too late, whatever, that's fine. But please -- for the sake of your marriage -- meet Drew halfway."

"Anna, I don't think --"

"No, I will not drop it. Elena, I love you. We've been best friends for 10 years. But you have got to remember that Drew was the love of your life first. I was in your wedding, Elena. I saw it. And I have been where you are.

"Mommy! Hungy!"

"Here's your crackers, sweetie." Anna slipped a snack on the stroller tray and continued, "'The baby needs you, and it takes all you have.' Please, trust me. I'm the voice of experience here."

"You think I should just go off and leave my baby alone for hours!?"

"I think you should remember that you and Drew were a couple first and you will be a couple in years to come when 'your baby' is grown up and off having a life of his own. (Angela, eat the crackers, don't throw them.) And you won't be leaving him alone. You'll be leaving him with a loving grandmother. But, like I said, if the dinner is too long a deal, take baby steps. Offer Drew an hour alone with you, away from baby interruptions. You might be surprised at how much you enjoy it."

Things you never thought you'd say....

2008-01-17T14:12:00.000-05:00

When I was expecting my first child, I heard all about how it would change my life. I heard about how eating out would be a production, how going to a movie would be expensive and stressful, how I'd be amazed at my ability to love another human being so completely and utterly....even when they were driving me up the wall.

It was all true.

But I didn't hear about so many other things that were true as well. I never heard that I would soon find myself uttering statements that, out of context, were ludicrous. Or horrible. So, here's the first list of things I never thought I'd hear myself say:

You may not have any more fruit until you finish your hot dog.
Stop petting your sister.
Want to come watch me pee?
Your sheets are not toys! Please leave them on the bed.
Can Mommy have a turn with the vacuum now?

And those are just things I say to the kids and can remember off the top of my head.....