*Author's Note: this post was penned on a day when my children and I have experienced Halloween hangover, which is ironic since none of us drink. You know what I mean. Just keep this in mind as you commence reading.*
Yesterday reminded me that holidays are for normal families.
We (my decidedly not-typical family) tend to tool along moderately well most of the time with our daily routines specific to each of the boys. But throw a holiday at us with cultural and familial expectations, as well as a whole lot of breaking with those life-saving routines, and you know what happens?
This happens: my family life is like a satellite, while holiday traditions and expectations are like the earth. We cruise along relatively peacefully until we attempt to approach and engage in the holiday, and then we burn up entering the atmosphere.
I do not recall with fondness the irritating and storied history of my children behaving poorly at holiday events, such as:
--The Christmas Model Train Show where young Henry became a horrific spectacle when mom and dad didn't buy him the $2000.00 antique Lionel locomotive he yearned for, and where toddler Jack proved to all the old guy train aficionados who run these gigs that he truly didn't understand NOT touching the train displays.
--An unpleasant string of visits each October to a local Fall Festival which features bouncy castles and giant trampolines, where we struggle loudly and publicly with waiting in line, taking turns, moving on placidly when our turn ends, and coping with crowds.
--The Thanksgiving dinners in our home where our guests have sat awkwardly alone at the table while Jeff and I each addressed different tantruming children.
Halloween used to be sort of a scary day for Jack, but not for the obvious "spooky" reasons. He was terrified of wearing a costume all day at school, parading around the school for crowds of people to eye, and trick-or-treating.
For the first time this year, Jack decided that wearing a costume wasn't all bad. He left it on for almost the entire dance party at school. He also peacefully ignored the trick-or-treaters who graced our porch, in favor of doing puzzles on his ipad and munching on fun size candy bars while curled up on the couch. This is the good news.
This is the bad: Charlie took over as the kid who wouldn't wear a costume, wouldn't march in his preschool costume parade, and wouldn't trick-or-treat.
Maybe it's my fault for perpetually trying to make the holiday "normal," when we just aren't.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Best & Worst
The group of young women I teach at church has a tradition at the beginning of their Sunday lesson. They call it Best & Worst, and it involves each person sharing something from their week which fits these categories, respectively.
This week we noticed something counterintuitive about the "bests" and the "worsts." In every single case, the two were connected. Interestingly, the best and worst were usually the very same thing, event, or situation.
It (whatever it was) began badly or unexpectedly, yet somehow managed to become something positive, to the extent that my girls rendered it as the best part of their week.
My experience was no different from theirs. My week has seen a tsunami of laundry and sickness as a contemptible stomach virus ravaged our household.
I bemoaned to Jeff that the universe doesn't give a fig when the mom of four sick kids is also sick herself. Unfortunately, neither do those children care that their caregiver wants to crawl under her electric blanket and shiver herself to sleep, rather than launder their nasty linens and clean the foul bathrooms.
Moms don't get sick days.
In the whirlwind of illness, a couple of points stamped themselves onto my psyche.
First there was this: in the context of a hurricane causing havoc and destruction on the east coast, I gave thanks for my washer and dryer, and for the uninterrupted power supply which kept them humming productively all through the night.
And then there was this: a friend of a friend of mine died last week of an amniotic embolism as she delivered her second child. While I didn't know her, she lived nearby. I had actually met her briefly the day before she gave birth and never regained consciousness.
I thought of her as I slogged through our sick week, and I was glad to be here, sick and caring for my sick ones.
See how it happened? Worst became best.
This week we noticed something counterintuitive about the "bests" and the "worsts." In every single case, the two were connected. Interestingly, the best and worst were usually the very same thing, event, or situation.
It (whatever it was) began badly or unexpectedly, yet somehow managed to become something positive, to the extent that my girls rendered it as the best part of their week.
My experience was no different from theirs. My week has seen a tsunami of laundry and sickness as a contemptible stomach virus ravaged our household.
I bemoaned to Jeff that the universe doesn't give a fig when the mom of four sick kids is also sick herself. Unfortunately, neither do those children care that their caregiver wants to crawl under her electric blanket and shiver herself to sleep, rather than launder their nasty linens and clean the foul bathrooms.
Moms don't get sick days.
In the whirlwind of illness, a couple of points stamped themselves onto my psyche.
First there was this: in the context of a hurricane causing havoc and destruction on the east coast, I gave thanks for my washer and dryer, and for the uninterrupted power supply which kept them humming productively all through the night.
And then there was this: a friend of a friend of mine died last week of an amniotic embolism as she delivered her second child. While I didn't know her, she lived nearby. I had actually met her briefly the day before she gave birth and never regained consciousness.
I thought of her as I slogged through our sick week, and I was glad to be here, sick and caring for my sick ones.
See how it happened? Worst became best.
Monday, October 22, 2012
In Good Hands
It's almost here.
Less than two weeks from now will mark the one-year anniversary of my baby's wild entry into the world.
One year since my water broke at four in the morning six weeks before my due date, I got up to clean the kitchen and move laundry, all before waking Jeff and telling him that he wouldn't be going to work that day.
In case you're wondering, 34 weeks gestation is way too early to birth a baby. I don't recommend doing it.
I drove myself to the hospital that morning, whilst Jeff got the oldest boys off to school and arranged for someone to watch Charlie. It was surreal waddling into Labor and Delivery by myself. They asked me if I was married. I should have snorted and said something snarky, but I didn't.
We spent a day in Labor and Delivery, just waiting. They don't let you leave once your fluids rupture because a) risk of infection and b) the baby's delivery is inevitable. I find it curious that all of our tremendous medical advances still can't use a little duct tape to patch the leak in one's uterus, so to speak. Water breaking = baby coming. Even if it's too early.
Truman arrived 24 hours later. In the first few hours of life, he struggled to breathe and underwent a stressful hour of invasive prepping in order to take an ambulance ride to a larger hospital with a bigger NICU, which contained the specialized ventilator his tiny lungs required.
I stayed behind at the little hospital, sans baby. I also do not recommend doing this.
Certain memories glisten as they surface from the murky depths of my mommy-brain when I think about the twenty-five days which followed.
Eating pork enchiladas in my hospital bed with my bosom friend Chris, who let me tell her all the disgusting details, and who made me feel sort-of normal again.
Crying via iphone to my dear friend Terra in Hawaii, who checked on me regularly and cheered me up just because she always "gets" it.
Listening, en route to visit Truman for the first time, to my pal Bea tell me about the already-arranged weeks of dinners my neighbors had volunteered to bring us.
My sis Kate mopping my floor.
My SIL Mia (post-partum herself) bringing me a casserole and some teeny tiny baby socks.
My next-door neighbor holding my tiny preemie.
My other next-door neighbor driving my 4th-grader to school all winter long.
My sisters bringing baby gifts to the NICU, and making it feel more like a party and less like a black hole that sucks you in and doesn't let you leave.
My support group sending bagels, freezer dinners, diapers, and baby gifts--all packaged and delivered by self-designated spokeswoman Traci (because moms of special children have nothing else to worry about, right?).
While far from being exhaustive, this list reveals something.
It was something which crystallized and clearly illuminated my befuddled brain in a time of sleep-deprivation and stressed out other children.
It was this: while Truman grew and slept in his isolette, God held me in the palm of his hand.
Less than two weeks from now will mark the one-year anniversary of my baby's wild entry into the world.
One year since my water broke at four in the morning six weeks before my due date, I got up to clean the kitchen and move laundry, all before waking Jeff and telling him that he wouldn't be going to work that day.
In case you're wondering, 34 weeks gestation is way too early to birth a baby. I don't recommend doing it.
I drove myself to the hospital that morning, whilst Jeff got the oldest boys off to school and arranged for someone to watch Charlie. It was surreal waddling into Labor and Delivery by myself. They asked me if I was married. I should have snorted and said something snarky, but I didn't.
We spent a day in Labor and Delivery, just waiting. They don't let you leave once your fluids rupture because a) risk of infection and b) the baby's delivery is inevitable. I find it curious that all of our tremendous medical advances still can't use a little duct tape to patch the leak in one's uterus, so to speak. Water breaking = baby coming. Even if it's too early.
Truman arrived 24 hours later. In the first few hours of life, he struggled to breathe and underwent a stressful hour of invasive prepping in order to take an ambulance ride to a larger hospital with a bigger NICU, which contained the specialized ventilator his tiny lungs required.
I stayed behind at the little hospital, sans baby. I also do not recommend doing this.
Certain memories glisten as they surface from the murky depths of my mommy-brain when I think about the twenty-five days which followed.
Eating pork enchiladas in my hospital bed with my bosom friend Chris, who let me tell her all the disgusting details, and who made me feel sort-of normal again.
Crying via iphone to my dear friend Terra in Hawaii, who checked on me regularly and cheered me up just because she always "gets" it.
Listening, en route to visit Truman for the first time, to my pal Bea tell me about the already-arranged weeks of dinners my neighbors had volunteered to bring us.
My sis Kate mopping my floor.
My SIL Mia (post-partum herself) bringing me a casserole and some teeny tiny baby socks.
My next-door neighbor holding my tiny preemie.
My other next-door neighbor driving my 4th-grader to school all winter long.
My sisters bringing baby gifts to the NICU, and making it feel more like a party and less like a black hole that sucks you in and doesn't let you leave.
My support group sending bagels, freezer dinners, diapers, and baby gifts--all packaged and delivered by self-designated spokeswoman Traci (because moms of special children have nothing else to worry about, right?).
While far from being exhaustive, this list reveals something.
It was something which crystallized and clearly illuminated my befuddled brain in a time of sleep-deprivation and stressed out other children.
It was this: while Truman grew and slept in his isolette, God held me in the palm of his hand.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Fall Breakdown
This evening marks the conclusion of Fall Break. Here is a quick recap:
Jeff painted a dresser which we inherited a scrumptious turquoise color selected by moi. He called it "robin's egg blue." The paint chip (and I) called it "true turquoise." We both called it sort of Tiffany & Co-esque. We both agree that it looks fabulous.
Somebody finally potty-trained. Finally. Fi. Nal. Ly.
Somebody else still has a love/ignore/reject relationship with the potty. However, two kids trained out of four is 50%, which is much, much better than 25%.
Jack smashed a lamp on the bathroom floor.
Jack ripped apart a book and shredded approximately 40% of the contents of a photo album, and sprinkled it all about the house.
Jack kicked the baby over, threw the vacuum down the stairs, dragged the blender around the backyard, chucked my curling iron at the wall, and dumped the contents of one of the trash cans onto the driveway.
On Day 4 of the break, I struggled to contain and redirect Jack, who somehow during this school holiday got stuck in "destructive mode," and also "rampage mode." When I thought about Thanksgiving Break next month, and the probable repeat of Jack's behavior death spiral, I climbed into my bed and cried myself to sleep.
Jeff and I moved Charlie out of Henry's room and into his own room, which is much closer to mom and dad and which is working out capitally. As part of this endeavor, we moved, reoriented, and hauled loads of furniture and tons of STUFF. I'm realizing that I need to have another cleanse of all the THINGS in our house, and I need to do it, stat.
Jack vacuumed the dusty, crumby floors uncovered by our furniture switcheroo. And he truly didn't mind at all.
I bid fond farewell to my Gospel Doctrine teaching gig and re-entered the Young Women program at church.
I introduced Jeff to the irresistible crinkle cut sweet potato fries at Rumbi on our date. We inhaled them. At the cinema, we were charmed by Emma Watson's depiction of an alternative American teen. Her accent was pretty convincing, but not as bewitching as her native lilt.
Baby has revealed that much like his brother Charlie, he hums every time he eats. When they both eat at the same time, it sort of harmonizes.
Jeff painted a dresser which we inherited a scrumptious turquoise color selected by moi. He called it "robin's egg blue." The paint chip (and I) called it "true turquoise." We both called it sort of Tiffany & Co-esque. We both agree that it looks fabulous.
Somebody finally potty-trained. Finally. Fi. Nal. Ly.
Somebody else still has a love/ignore/reject relationship with the potty. However, two kids trained out of four is 50%, which is much, much better than 25%.
Jack smashed a lamp on the bathroom floor.
Jack ripped apart a book and shredded approximately 40% of the contents of a photo album, and sprinkled it all about the house.
Jack kicked the baby over, threw the vacuum down the stairs, dragged the blender around the backyard, chucked my curling iron at the wall, and dumped the contents of one of the trash cans onto the driveway.
On Day 4 of the break, I struggled to contain and redirect Jack, who somehow during this school holiday got stuck in "destructive mode," and also "rampage mode." When I thought about Thanksgiving Break next month, and the probable repeat of Jack's behavior death spiral, I climbed into my bed and cried myself to sleep.
Jeff and I moved Charlie out of Henry's room and into his own room, which is much closer to mom and dad and which is working out capitally. As part of this endeavor, we moved, reoriented, and hauled loads of furniture and tons of STUFF. I'm realizing that I need to have another cleanse of all the THINGS in our house, and I need to do it, stat.
Jack vacuumed the dusty, crumby floors uncovered by our furniture switcheroo. And he truly didn't mind at all.
I bid fond farewell to my Gospel Doctrine teaching gig and re-entered the Young Women program at church.
I introduced Jeff to the irresistible crinkle cut sweet potato fries at Rumbi on our date. We inhaled them. At the cinema, we were charmed by Emma Watson's depiction of an alternative American teen. Her accent was pretty convincing, but not as bewitching as her native lilt.
Baby has revealed that much like his brother Charlie, he hums every time he eats. When they both eat at the same time, it sort of harmonizes.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Keep it Clean
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.
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.
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.
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