This week I'm contemplating how and why my family has so much stuff. It seems that the things in our house are growing like mold spores. How does it all multiply?
A few days back, the thin layer of toys and junk which coat our floors and counters no longer seemed to be just another element of life with kids. Instead it struck me as an affront to my sensibilities.
I kind of freaked out.
Why did we let it get to a point where, even when the house was "clean," there were cluttered drawers, messy closets, and endlessly migrating piles of things surrounding us, one might ask. I've always tended toward rigorous tidiness; what happened to me and my organized cleanliness?
I'll tell you what happened. I delivered my fourth son. With the swelling of our family size, came an unwelcome troll of a houseguest: perpetual junk everywhere and less time to deal with it.
So I sent my jewel of a husband off to Grandma's house with our brood, and I spent a heavenly evening relentlessly pitching out, cleaning deep, and bagging up loads of STUFF that is taking up too much of my mental and physical energy.
Eight giant bags went to goodwill and I filled an entire garbage can. Half of the toys now live in storage--they can entertain the boys some winter day when we are all clawing at the walls--and they won't be recreationally dumped out constantly in the meantime.
So very, very cathartic.
With birthday season (for some boys) approaching, and the Christmas season hot on its heels, I believe my mantra for gifts will be this: it had better be useful. And also this: keep it simple. I may include this as well: if the thought of Jack dragging it through the house and either a) launching it off the deck, or b) hurling it into the window well spurs feelings of rage, DO NOT BRING IT HOME.
There it is. We may now proceed.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Sane Expectations
I am in no fit state for writing, yet here I am. These days I feel I am swimming against a current of poop. Two boys are doggedly waging the war of the human refuse. It's them against me.
As a matter of principle, I am honestly disinterested in participating in most forms of competition. However, I totally WILL NOT let these two stinkers win this war.
They may have taken some of the battles, but this momma will not complicitly allow her seriously stubborn offspring to steal her sanity. Especially not over poop, for Pete's sake.
I will win.
In the meantime, let's talk about something else. These things are happening:
Charlie has developed an affinity for Dr. Pepper, which he calls Dr. Pepperoni.
Baby started crawling.
Jack digs taking trips to the dollar store during therapy once a week to stock up on fun sensory play items. You never can have too many sparkly tinsely wigs or tiny plastic award trophies, you know.
Henry went to an exciting college football game with his two best friends. They were quintessential ten-year-olds: rowdy and silly. Jeff overheard this gem of a post-game conversation, "If a vampire sucked my blood and then sucked your blood, we would be blood friends."
When Jack ripped a page out of my hymn book on the piano during family night this evening, I spontaneously exclaimed, "What the hell?!" Nice.
Henry pointed out that swearing probably wouldn't help much in the above situation. Touché, my son.
Jeff and I are now completely up-to-date on Downton Abbey, and can't wait for season three to cross the pond. Like now, already.
I am reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, and finding that it is not the odious chore it was in high school. Rather, it is funny, intuitive, effortlessly eloquent, and surprisingly addictive. Time to indulge.
As a matter of principle, I am honestly disinterested in participating in most forms of competition. However, I totally WILL NOT let these two stinkers win this war.
They may have taken some of the battles, but this momma will not complicitly allow her seriously stubborn offspring to steal her sanity. Especially not over poop, for Pete's sake.
I will win.
In the meantime, let's talk about something else. These things are happening:
Charlie has developed an affinity for Dr. Pepper, which he calls Dr. Pepperoni.
Baby started crawling.
Jack digs taking trips to the dollar store during therapy once a week to stock up on fun sensory play items. You never can have too many sparkly tinsely wigs or tiny plastic award trophies, you know.
Henry went to an exciting college football game with his two best friends. They were quintessential ten-year-olds: rowdy and silly. Jeff overheard this gem of a post-game conversation, "If a vampire sucked my blood and then sucked your blood, we would be blood friends."
When Jack ripped a page out of my hymn book on the piano during family night this evening, I spontaneously exclaimed, "What the hell?!" Nice.
Henry pointed out that swearing probably wouldn't help much in the above situation. Touché, my son.
Jeff and I are now completely up-to-date on Downton Abbey, and can't wait for season three to cross the pond. Like now, already.
I am reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, and finding that it is not the odious chore it was in high school. Rather, it is funny, intuitive, effortlessly eloquent, and surprisingly addictive. Time to indulge.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The Power of the Home Depot
Since my last post, the bulk of my time has been spent addressing Jack's untreatable eight-day completely nasty gastrointestinal virus, as well as my own stomach flu. My illness, while horrific, was merely a blip on the family radar. Jacky's disease was epic, explosive, and completely all-consuming. And it lasted for soooooo long.
It's over now, thankfully, and tomorrow Doris and Missy can once again bus my redhead to school. I can start recuperating.
Jack's icky bowel trouble kept him from coming to the cabin for a fall harvest-y weekend with cousins and pumpkins. He stayed home with Jeff and played with the electric train and the shop vac, and went on an outing to the Home Depot.
Who knew that Jack would love the Home Depot so much? Certainly not Jeff, who gambled on Jack behaving himself during a new and unknown-type of outing. Turns out, the Home Depot is a complete wonderland for a boy who loves ceiling fans, light fixtures, and shopping carts.
It must have seemed like one ginormous garage, with it's endless cache of power tools and extension cords, stacked lawn furniture and bags of fertilizer. Jack can't ever get enough of messing things up in our garage. Jeff reported that Jack was quite exuberant.
He was loud enough and vocal enough that apparently Jack garnered some strange and questioning looks--the kind which used to wither a piece of my soul, but which now scarcely register on my inner dialogue of "do I care what a few clueless dolts think about my sweet Jacky's boisterous excitement at going someplace fun? No I don't."
Jack was greeted heartily by an older employee, who didn't understand why Jack wasn't responding to his questions. When Jeff mentioned Jack's cognitive disability, the man seemed a little embarrassed, probably, I'm guessing, because he felt he shouldn't have been asking a disabled child questions. Not sure. Anyway, he needn't have felt embarrassed. But he could have followed up with a high five or a fist bump, or a "bye," which are all really basic social gestures which Jack has mastered.
I like that when Jack goes out in public, he is an ambassador of sorts for people with special needs. He just is. I used to put specialty stickers hand-crafted by my sis (who could probably find a comfortable niche selling such wares on Etsy, I'm suddenly envisioning) on the back of his shirts. They said "I have autism." When he wore them, we no longer got the stink-eye from other people, and we certainly no longer got the "you should learn how to be a parent" comments which are burned in our memories.
Back at the home improvement store, Jeff said that as they checked out and headed for the car, they were nearly struck by a cart being pushed gleefully by a boy with Down's syndrome, whose dad was doling out advice on how NOT to run into people while driving the shopping cart.
Jeff felt a moment of flickering kinship with the dad of the happy cart-pushing boy. Just a couple of special kids scoping out the Home Depot with their dads on a Saturday afternoon.
I'm struggling to verbalize exactly why this warms my heart so, but it really really does.
It's over now, thankfully, and tomorrow Doris and Missy can once again bus my redhead to school. I can start recuperating.
Jack's icky bowel trouble kept him from coming to the cabin for a fall harvest-y weekend with cousins and pumpkins. He stayed home with Jeff and played with the electric train and the shop vac, and went on an outing to the Home Depot.
Who knew that Jack would love the Home Depot so much? Certainly not Jeff, who gambled on Jack behaving himself during a new and unknown-type of outing. Turns out, the Home Depot is a complete wonderland for a boy who loves ceiling fans, light fixtures, and shopping carts.
It must have seemed like one ginormous garage, with it's endless cache of power tools and extension cords, stacked lawn furniture and bags of fertilizer. Jack can't ever get enough of messing things up in our garage. Jeff reported that Jack was quite exuberant.
He was loud enough and vocal enough that apparently Jack garnered some strange and questioning looks--the kind which used to wither a piece of my soul, but which now scarcely register on my inner dialogue of "do I care what a few clueless dolts think about my sweet Jacky's boisterous excitement at going someplace fun? No I don't."
Jack was greeted heartily by an older employee, who didn't understand why Jack wasn't responding to his questions. When Jeff mentioned Jack's cognitive disability, the man seemed a little embarrassed, probably, I'm guessing, because he felt he shouldn't have been asking a disabled child questions. Not sure. Anyway, he needn't have felt embarrassed. But he could have followed up with a high five or a fist bump, or a "bye," which are all really basic social gestures which Jack has mastered.
I like that when Jack goes out in public, he is an ambassador of sorts for people with special needs. He just is. I used to put specialty stickers hand-crafted by my sis (who could probably find a comfortable niche selling such wares on Etsy, I'm suddenly envisioning) on the back of his shirts. They said "I have autism." When he wore them, we no longer got the stink-eye from other people, and we certainly no longer got the "you should learn how to be a parent" comments which are burned in our memories.
Back at the home improvement store, Jeff said that as they checked out and headed for the car, they were nearly struck by a cart being pushed gleefully by a boy with Down's syndrome, whose dad was doling out advice on how NOT to run into people while driving the shopping cart.
Jeff felt a moment of flickering kinship with the dad of the happy cart-pushing boy. Just a couple of special kids scoping out the Home Depot with their dads on a Saturday afternoon.
I'm struggling to verbalize exactly why this warms my heart so, but it really really does.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Early Thanksgiving
I received three phone calls from Jack's school this week. I've already written about the paranoid uncertainty which accompanies each call. Will it be about Jack kicking another student? Did he drop trou on the playground and do his business? One never can tell. This post is a rundown of the three calls.
1) Jack's teacher called to personally explain to me what I would be reading about in Jack's folder from school. He'd had an off sort of day--lots of mood swings. After happily participating in PE, Jack returned to the classroom, walked straight to his teacher's desk, picked up her laptop, and smashed it on the floor.
Complete mortification.
Miss Sue kindly explained that this event wasn't the end of the world as she was already due to receive a new laptop anyway.
Still, completely mortified.
When I apologized and expressed this to her, she gently told me that Jack is a person who makes his own choices, and that this time, the behavior was a result of his disability. She then expressed her love for Jack, and told me that she knows Jack is loved at home--that we teach him and work with him daily, even if the lessons from our efforts don't immediately take.
2) The second call was from Missy, the bus aide. She gave me a ring one morning simply to let me know that Jack had been such a peach that morning on the ride to school. She described to me how he had sat with his hands folded and his legs crossed, quietly watching out the window. When they arrived at school, a situation with another student prevented them from getting off the bus for several minutes. Missy wanted me to know that Jack didn't complain or try to get up. He just waited, quietly. She told me that while sometimes Jack has his moments, she just absolutely loves him.
3) Then yesterday, Jack's principal called. Paranoia set in as I waited for her to reveal the purpose of the call. I need to be less paranoid.
She asked me if I would be willing to serve as one of a handful of parents on the School Community Council, which addresses various school concerns, as well as writing a plan for achieving the School Trust Lands goals.
Heck yes, I'll do it. I was intrigued, and also just pretty happy she wasn't bringing up that broken laptop.
I often feel that my family is given many blessings which help us navigate and survive life with a multi-disabled child, while raising a bunch of other children as well. So many blessings, I suspect, that we probably aren't even cognizant of them all.
I am, however, very aware of the priceless gift that Jack's school, bus, teacher, principal, OT's, SLP's, and aides are.
And I am grateful.
1) Jack's teacher called to personally explain to me what I would be reading about in Jack's folder from school. He'd had an off sort of day--lots of mood swings. After happily participating in PE, Jack returned to the classroom, walked straight to his teacher's desk, picked up her laptop, and smashed it on the floor.
Complete mortification.
Miss Sue kindly explained that this event wasn't the end of the world as she was already due to receive a new laptop anyway.
Still, completely mortified.
When I apologized and expressed this to her, she gently told me that Jack is a person who makes his own choices, and that this time, the behavior was a result of his disability. She then expressed her love for Jack, and told me that she knows Jack is loved at home--that we teach him and work with him daily, even if the lessons from our efforts don't immediately take.
2) The second call was from Missy, the bus aide. She gave me a ring one morning simply to let me know that Jack had been such a peach that morning on the ride to school. She described to me how he had sat with his hands folded and his legs crossed, quietly watching out the window. When they arrived at school, a situation with another student prevented them from getting off the bus for several minutes. Missy wanted me to know that Jack didn't complain or try to get up. He just waited, quietly. She told me that while sometimes Jack has his moments, she just absolutely loves him.
3) Then yesterday, Jack's principal called. Paranoia set in as I waited for her to reveal the purpose of the call. I need to be less paranoid.
She asked me if I would be willing to serve as one of a handful of parents on the School Community Council, which addresses various school concerns, as well as writing a plan for achieving the School Trust Lands goals.
Heck yes, I'll do it. I was intrigued, and also just pretty happy she wasn't bringing up that broken laptop.
I often feel that my family is given many blessings which help us navigate and survive life with a multi-disabled child, while raising a bunch of other children as well. So many blessings, I suspect, that we probably aren't even cognizant of them all.
I am, however, very aware of the priceless gift that Jack's school, bus, teacher, principal, OT's, SLP's, and aides are.
And I am grateful.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Down and Up
Here are a few highlights (and lowlights) from our weekend:
Low: While at Stickers Doctor for our annual FluMist inoculations, preschool-aged son first punched baby, then spit a logie on baby's head, all before melting into a writhing and steaming pile on the exam table when it was his turn for the nasal spritz.
High: On the bright side, we are now ready for flu season, including me. Thanks Stickers Doctor for inoculating moms too!
High: Watching the Thunder football game was uniquely pleasant, thanks to cool morning temperatures and my cute and energetic passel of Henry's buddies. They were funny and rowdy and they kept the team spirit alive.
Low: The opposing team wiped the field with us, beginning with the touchdown that they scored five seconds after the game started. Who are these fifth-graders and where do they come from?
High: Perusing the Costco book table at my leisure to kick off our date night. Yes, please.
Low: Broken bones and a broken front tooth. Not us, but our darling nine-year-old neighbor who took a nasty spill on his bike and now has the wounds to prove it.
High: Our family was only mildly to moderately loud and distracting at church today. We might be getting a bit better. Only time will tell. Let's just NOT ask the other families who sit in the back near us, okay?
High: Jack provided the nursery treats today and happily shared some super yummy NutriGrain bars. He also spent a few minutes, post singing time, cuddling with his kind teacher Liesel. She and the other leaders love Jack. He loves nursery. And I love all of them for being so sweet and giving Jack a place to fit in at church.
High: Bedtime commenced without drama. Weekends tire out our guys and that works for me.
Low: While at Stickers Doctor for our annual FluMist inoculations, preschool-aged son first punched baby, then spit a logie on baby's head, all before melting into a writhing and steaming pile on the exam table when it was his turn for the nasal spritz.
High: On the bright side, we are now ready for flu season, including me. Thanks Stickers Doctor for inoculating moms too!
High: Watching the Thunder football game was uniquely pleasant, thanks to cool morning temperatures and my cute and energetic passel of Henry's buddies. They were funny and rowdy and they kept the team spirit alive.
Low: The opposing team wiped the field with us, beginning with the touchdown that they scored five seconds after the game started. Who are these fifth-graders and where do they come from?
High: Perusing the Costco book table at my leisure to kick off our date night. Yes, please.
Low: Broken bones and a broken front tooth. Not us, but our darling nine-year-old neighbor who took a nasty spill on his bike and now has the wounds to prove it.
High: Our family was only mildly to moderately loud and distracting at church today. We might be getting a bit better. Only time will tell. Let's just NOT ask the other families who sit in the back near us, okay?
High: Jack provided the nursery treats today and happily shared some super yummy NutriGrain bars. He also spent a few minutes, post singing time, cuddling with his kind teacher Liesel. She and the other leaders love Jack. He loves nursery. And I love all of them for being so sweet and giving Jack a place to fit in at church.
High: Bedtime commenced without drama. Weekends tire out our guys and that works for me.
Monday, September 3, 2012
August is the Cruelest Month--And it's Over
School is back in session. Here are some signs that things are changing around here.
A) I am cooking again. Real food. Planned, prepared dinners. The fridge once again houses leftovers (yay for ready-made tasty lunches and second-day dinners!).
B) I agreed to host the neighborhood book club at my house. That I feel brave enough to invite a bunch of neighbors to my house, many who are new to the area and do not yet know me well, reveals that select moments in my life are now free from chaos (which, by the way, I've heard stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome). Since I'm now able to snatch little bits of respite, I can conjure the time to whip up come cookies and clean up the place (sort of...).
C) I am reading again. Henry and I are working on Sounder, and I actually finished a memoir called Let It Go. When my life gets too busy for books, I inevitably feel like something vital is missing. Reading soothes and inspires me, and I'm relieved to have reclaimed the time for it. Feel free to recommend any fabulous reads. I'm on the prowl.
D) Jack is really peacefully happy. He is ecstatic when Doris and Missy drive the bus to our house each morning, and he is thrilled to see Miss Sue and many other helpers when he arrives at school. He relishes his mornings in the sensory motor room, and adores his spins on the adaptive bike. Class time is pretty great too, especially when they bring in power tools and adjust the desk heights, and such. And there is always the vacuum which lives next door in Miss Gay's class, waiting to be visited. Structure has returned. Happy souls live here.
E) Football practice, chalk-talks, training, gear, and games have become all-consuming. This is a new adventure for a not-very-sporty couple like Jeff and me. We are, however, enjoying the excitement and happiness, discipline and responsibility it is cultivating in our eldest son.
F) Daily behavior therapy is evolving into a sensory-rich, organic look at the myriad learning opportunities right here in Jack's home, backyard, and neighborhood. It is less about puzzles and learning games at the table in the therapy room, and more about contributing through household tasks and socializing in the family room with little brother. Jack is eating it up. He loves to sweep and wipe off the table and practice talking while walking to the park. Change can be really, really good.
G) The scrub oak on the foothills are beginning to simmer with red and orange. The air carries a hint of fall. Charlie's preschool starts tomorrow. I. Love. Autumn.
A) I am cooking again. Real food. Planned, prepared dinners. The fridge once again houses leftovers (yay for ready-made tasty lunches and second-day dinners!).
B) I agreed to host the neighborhood book club at my house. That I feel brave enough to invite a bunch of neighbors to my house, many who are new to the area and do not yet know me well, reveals that select moments in my life are now free from chaos (which, by the way, I've heard stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome). Since I'm now able to snatch little bits of respite, I can conjure the time to whip up come cookies and clean up the place (sort of...).
C) I am reading again. Henry and I are working on Sounder, and I actually finished a memoir called Let It Go. When my life gets too busy for books, I inevitably feel like something vital is missing. Reading soothes and inspires me, and I'm relieved to have reclaimed the time for it. Feel free to recommend any fabulous reads. I'm on the prowl.
D) Jack is really peacefully happy. He is ecstatic when Doris and Missy drive the bus to our house each morning, and he is thrilled to see Miss Sue and many other helpers when he arrives at school. He relishes his mornings in the sensory motor room, and adores his spins on the adaptive bike. Class time is pretty great too, especially when they bring in power tools and adjust the desk heights, and such. And there is always the vacuum which lives next door in Miss Gay's class, waiting to be visited. Structure has returned. Happy souls live here.
E) Football practice, chalk-talks, training, gear, and games have become all-consuming. This is a new adventure for a not-very-sporty couple like Jeff and me. We are, however, enjoying the excitement and happiness, discipline and responsibility it is cultivating in our eldest son.
F) Daily behavior therapy is evolving into a sensory-rich, organic look at the myriad learning opportunities right here in Jack's home, backyard, and neighborhood. It is less about puzzles and learning games at the table in the therapy room, and more about contributing through household tasks and socializing in the family room with little brother. Jack is eating it up. He loves to sweep and wipe off the table and practice talking while walking to the park. Change can be really, really good.
G) The scrub oak on the foothills are beginning to simmer with red and orange. The air carries a hint of fall. Charlie's preschool starts tomorrow. I. Love. Autumn.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Bus Watching
'Tis the eve of the first day of school, but only for boy #1. It's a teaser for Tuesday when that big yellow bus chugs up our street and puffs to a halt in front of our abode. When Jack traipses onto that bus, summer really ends.
Good freaking riddance, summer "break."
You've been...real, I guess. Now don't let the door hit your can on the way out.
Bring on the best season of the year: the season of cool mornings and sunny afternoons, fall leaves, pumpkins, apples, harvest abundance, Halloween & Thanksgiving. Best of all, autumn is the season when school resumes.
If you are inclined to judge me and my attitude of unabashed happiness at school once again being in session, just keep it to yourself. I love my boys. We all love each other with more decorum and placidity, and less theatrics and hysterics when our school routines return.
Jeff and I looked around this weekend at the ridiculously messy state of our house. Jeff observed, astutely, that it looked like the scene of an '80's high school keg party in a John Hughes film, minus the actual party (or the keg).
This is Jack's handiwork when he enters the end-of-summer-death-spiral.
We spent a few busy hours tidying the wreck before taking the boys to Grandma Joyce's cabin where Jack enjoyed an evening of vacuuming the deck, the rug, the basement, and all the little crannies.
He gets so excited when the bus drives up and the door swings open. We are ready for it. Now it just needs to happen. It's almost time.
Good freaking riddance, summer "break."
You've been...real, I guess. Now don't let the door hit your can on the way out.
Bring on the best season of the year: the season of cool mornings and sunny afternoons, fall leaves, pumpkins, apples, harvest abundance, Halloween & Thanksgiving. Best of all, autumn is the season when school resumes.
If you are inclined to judge me and my attitude of unabashed happiness at school once again being in session, just keep it to yourself. I love my boys. We all love each other with more decorum and placidity, and less theatrics and hysterics when our school routines return.
Jeff and I looked around this weekend at the ridiculously messy state of our house. Jeff observed, astutely, that it looked like the scene of an '80's high school keg party in a John Hughes film, minus the actual party (or the keg).
This is Jack's handiwork when he enters the end-of-summer-death-spiral.
We spent a few busy hours tidying the wreck before taking the boys to Grandma Joyce's cabin where Jack enjoyed an evening of vacuuming the deck, the rug, the basement, and all the little crannies.
He gets so excited when the bus drives up and the door swings open. We are ready for it. Now it just needs to happen. It's almost time.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Crazy Town
How do you know you are starting to lose your mind?
Well, you can start by walking into the chapel at church (really quite late when everything is really quiet and reverent) with the back of your skirt stuck up inside the waistband of your undies, like I did today.
Yep, that just happened.
Can I get a what what?! for my friend Amanda, who pointed it out to me and shared my moment of horror like a kindred spirit.
This gem of a sacrament meeting entrance pretty much sums up the past couple of weeks.
I guess I could blame my embarrassing wardrobe malfunction on the fact that I was too busy wrenching a toy lawn mower away from a kid in the church parking lot and returning it to the car before it noisily made it's way into the church, to give my own problematic knickers a once over.
But I won't.
I didn't really intend to be a peep show during sacrament meeting, but what can I say? It happened.
Maybe it's just me, but it seems that we are all getting a bit nutty around here. I'm not sure if I feel this way because we have a giant inflatable Santa Claus which boys #2 and #3 are compulsively dragging around the house and plugging in to watch it whir and slowly inflate.
Check back with me in a few weeks to see if the academic calendar has restored my lucidity. In the meantime, I will likely continue to find myself distractedly singing Christmas carols, which isn't at all creepy in mid-August.
Well, you can start by walking into the chapel at church (really quite late when everything is really quiet and reverent) with the back of your skirt stuck up inside the waistband of your undies, like I did today.
Yep, that just happened.
Can I get a what what?! for my friend Amanda, who pointed it out to me and shared my moment of horror like a kindred spirit.
This gem of a sacrament meeting entrance pretty much sums up the past couple of weeks.
I guess I could blame my embarrassing wardrobe malfunction on the fact that I was too busy wrenching a toy lawn mower away from a kid in the church parking lot and returning it to the car before it noisily made it's way into the church, to give my own problematic knickers a once over.
But I won't.
I didn't really intend to be a peep show during sacrament meeting, but what can I say? It happened.
Maybe it's just me, but it seems that we are all getting a bit nutty around here. I'm not sure if I feel this way because we have a giant inflatable Santa Claus which boys #2 and #3 are compulsively dragging around the house and plugging in to watch it whir and slowly inflate.
Check back with me in a few weeks to see if the academic calendar has restored my lucidity. In the meantime, I will likely continue to find myself distractedly singing Christmas carols, which isn't at all creepy in mid-August.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
We Made It
While summertime is not officially over yet, I can sense the end is near. How do I know this?
1) I am starting to go bat **** crazy. The fun summer activities which have filled our time for many weeks no longer seem appealing to any of us. This August ennui leads me to think that we will all find the change invigorating.
2) Henry's class list has been posted on the front doors of his school, his teacher has posted a list of recommended school supplies, and two different school open houses are on the calendar for my two school-age boys. This stuff is a lifeline for me at this point in the hot, endless, lingering summer days when Jack's behavior takes a predictable backward slide.
3) Our next-door-neighbors and some of our boys' favorite playmates are imminent to return from the frozen north where they summer. Yay! Happy days are coming!
4) I'm starting to daydream about what our days will look like when we return to the structures and routines which Jack depends on. We can climb out of summer survival mode and stretch a little. Life will move at a pleasant clip, instead of spinning in a nauseating vortex.
5) I find myself getting really happy when I think about the weather changing from hot and smoky to cool and crisp.
6) Fall clothing and shoes are my cup of tea. I'm ready to blow off this "maintaining a pedicure" business and put on some jeans and boots. Or sweats and sneakers. And long-sleeved tees with cozy hoodies. Huzzah, I won't have to spend ten minutes applying sunscreen to my brood every time we go outside.
7) Charlie is getting wildly excited about returning to preschool and I am equally pleased about the prospect of three afternoons per week when the house is quiet and the baby is napping.
8) Football season is practically upon us, which suddenly means something this year as I have a son who is enamored with playing, watching, and attending football games.
9) I am waxing proud of the fact that we have essentially survived another long and blistering summer. We made it.
10) I am also feeling happy and grateful for the numerous highlights we experienced in the past three months. See number 9, above.
1) I am starting to go bat **** crazy. The fun summer activities which have filled our time for many weeks no longer seem appealing to any of us. This August ennui leads me to think that we will all find the change invigorating.
2) Henry's class list has been posted on the front doors of his school, his teacher has posted a list of recommended school supplies, and two different school open houses are on the calendar for my two school-age boys. This stuff is a lifeline for me at this point in the hot, endless, lingering summer days when Jack's behavior takes a predictable backward slide.
3) Our next-door-neighbors and some of our boys' favorite playmates are imminent to return from the frozen north where they summer. Yay! Happy days are coming!
4) I'm starting to daydream about what our days will look like when we return to the structures and routines which Jack depends on. We can climb out of summer survival mode and stretch a little. Life will move at a pleasant clip, instead of spinning in a nauseating vortex.
5) I find myself getting really happy when I think about the weather changing from hot and smoky to cool and crisp.
6) Fall clothing and shoes are my cup of tea. I'm ready to blow off this "maintaining a pedicure" business and put on some jeans and boots. Or sweats and sneakers. And long-sleeved tees with cozy hoodies. Huzzah, I won't have to spend ten minutes applying sunscreen to my brood every time we go outside.
7) Charlie is getting wildly excited about returning to preschool and I am equally pleased about the prospect of three afternoons per week when the house is quiet and the baby is napping.
8) Football season is practically upon us, which suddenly means something this year as I have a son who is enamored with playing, watching, and attending football games.
9) I am waxing proud of the fact that we have essentially survived another long and blistering summer. We made it.
10) I am also feeling happy and grateful for the numerous highlights we experienced in the past three months. See number 9, above.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Otitis Media
I called the pediatrician today following forty-eight hours of Jack smashing glass, ceramic, and porcelain things on the hardwood. Smashing typically means just one thing: Jack's ears hurt.
He never gets a fever. His nose doesn't run. He does not tug on his ears. But he tells us he is in pain the only way he knows how--he throws things across the room. Or from the stairs onto the floor below. Recently he favors casually knocking framed pictures from their wall hooks and watching them shatter and break apart.
Shizby, Jack!
You would think that after the bazillion ear infections that Jack has suffered since infancy, we would have long ago figured out a way to see when one is barreling down on us. Sadly, we have not.
I want someone to invent a magic scanning wand for the mother of a nonverbal mentally disabled child. All I want is a simple electronic device which I can pass in front of Jack in a scanning maneuver. "Is Jack sick?" I would ask the wand. "Yes. His ears hurt," would be the mechanical, omniscient reply.
Is this too much to ask? Apparently, it is.
However, while I do not have a magic scanning wand, I do have Bonnie the receptionist at the pediatrician's office, who always finds us an accommodating appointment time on the same day we call. I also have Jennifer the nurse, who knows that Jack is scared of the measuring tape which hangs from the ceiling, as well as the blood pressure cuff, and doesn't insist on getting a current height or bp every time we visit.
I have Charlie, who will drop whatever he is doing and happily come along to "stickers doctor" on any day of the week with brother. And we have our pediatrician, who bumps knuckles with Jack, stays current on the poop progress, understands our daily challenges, and asks me how I would like to proceed with treatment.
We also have an ENT who time and again compassionately peeks in those poor little ears and carefully places tubes therein. And we have a great children's hospital in our midst.
It's not a magic scanning health wand, but all together they get the job done. Jack's ears and I are thankful.
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