We are rapidly approaching the summer doldrums. Jack's summer school is a distant memory, but the first days of school are still far off, wavering like a mirage in the desert heat. We have planned for these endless, end-of-summer weeks by taking some of Jeff's vacation time so that he may be around to help with the wrangling of children.
The past week was one of these delicious periods when we've managed to shake up the routine a bit and steal ourselves a bit of peaceful time away, both alone and together. Jeff seized a chance to go fly-fishing for a day, and when he returned, I sneaked away for a long afternoon to myself.
I feel that the past week of my life has contained an embarrassment of riches. Because, you see, after my lovely day out and about, Jeff and I left for another long-planned mini-break which serves the dual purposes of a) celebrating our fifteenth year of marriage, and b) keeping us mentally healthy for the month of August.
We stayed the night in a historic hotel downtown, which was completely charming. We dined al fresco at various beautiful venues for every single meal. We visited with old friends. We drank homemade horchata on my sister's quaint old-timey porch. We went to three movies in a twenty-four hour period. We slept late. And we spent a fair amount of time just sitting together enjoying unhurried conversation. We soaked it up, this peaceful, quiet time.
Sigh.
I feel slightly more ready now to face the next few weeks of busyness. Not entirely ready, but a bit more.
As I was sitting in a quiet place on my solitary day away this week, I had this recurring thought: now is a good time to focus my energies on the problems at hand, instead of fretting over what the problems may be like at some point in the future.
This little epiphany perhaps might seem rather elementary to most, but to me it was a pleasant realization that I can stop pushing my figurative heavily-laden wheelbarrow of worries about the future. Instead, I can park that bad boy someplace out of the way and get to work addressing only my current challenges.
It feels more manageable to simply focus on now.
Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery.
But today is a gift--
That is why it is called the present.
(Name that movie!)
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Perfect = Boring
This week I read an excerpt from a book by a single mom who raised three successful sons. She stated that her target audience was single parents, but as I read about the challenges she faced parenting her young boys on her own, I felt that many of the lessons she discussed applied to my family dynamic, too.
First, she said that parents coping with less-than-ideal circumstances have to do one central, important thing: get rid of the notion of nearly perfect. It will never happen and it must be banished forever. I love this woman! I contemplated how much grief I have given myself in striving to reach a standard of nearly perfect at various times in my life. It's a game a reformed perfectionist like myself just couldn't win. Rarely did things measure up to my ridiculous expectations.
I recently celebrated my birthday and ruminated about the fact that I really like being a thirty-something. I believe that somewhere in the process of parenting my unique boys and growing into a grown-up, I discovered the truth that when things are nearly perfect on the outside, they typically aren't all that interesting, nor are they realistic to maintain. Growth involves struggles, changes, and messes. And boy, are we growing around here!
The single mom from the article also shared this maxim: identify what you think is important for parenting your kids and then start eliminating items from the list. As I read this, I realized that she had essentially summarized what Jack's presence in our family has been teaching me for years. We can't do it all, but we can focus with laser-like intensity on those few things which are paramount.
For the single mom writing the book, those non-negotiable things did not include home-cooked meals, clean bedrooms, or attractively-dressed children. They did include politeness, kindness, church attendance, family time together, and sports participation (because it wore her boys out and taught them responsibility). I admire this writer for deciding that Hot Pockets as a regular evening meal for her boys was really not the end of the world and she wasn't going to let it get her knickers in a twist. For her and her children, being at church each week was important; that her boys looked like bedraggled orphans while there was less so.
My list of absolutes isn't really all that different from the single mom's. I admire her for realizing that she couldn't do everything, but she could prioritize a few things she wanted her family to learn, and then work resolutely to make those things happen.
So while these dog days of summer are doggedly testing my stores of creativity, problem-solving, and energy, the fact that it's "all kids all the time" doesn't have to wear me down completely. I just have to remind myself that nearly perfect is not only nearly unattainable, but also pretty darn boring. And while there are lots of things you could call my family, boring really isn't one of them.
First, she said that parents coping with less-than-ideal circumstances have to do one central, important thing: get rid of the notion of nearly perfect. It will never happen and it must be banished forever. I love this woman! I contemplated how much grief I have given myself in striving to reach a standard of nearly perfect at various times in my life. It's a game a reformed perfectionist like myself just couldn't win. Rarely did things measure up to my ridiculous expectations.
I recently celebrated my birthday and ruminated about the fact that I really like being a thirty-something. I believe that somewhere in the process of parenting my unique boys and growing into a grown-up, I discovered the truth that when things are nearly perfect on the outside, they typically aren't all that interesting, nor are they realistic to maintain. Growth involves struggles, changes, and messes. And boy, are we growing around here!
The single mom from the article also shared this maxim: identify what you think is important for parenting your kids and then start eliminating items from the list. As I read this, I realized that she had essentially summarized what Jack's presence in our family has been teaching me for years. We can't do it all, but we can focus with laser-like intensity on those few things which are paramount.
For the single mom writing the book, those non-negotiable things did not include home-cooked meals, clean bedrooms, or attractively-dressed children. They did include politeness, kindness, church attendance, family time together, and sports participation (because it wore her boys out and taught them responsibility). I admire this writer for deciding that Hot Pockets as a regular evening meal for her boys was really not the end of the world and she wasn't going to let it get her knickers in a twist. For her and her children, being at church each week was important; that her boys looked like bedraggled orphans while there was less so.
My list of absolutes isn't really all that different from the single mom's. I admire her for realizing that she couldn't do everything, but she could prioritize a few things she wanted her family to learn, and then work resolutely to make those things happen.
So while these dog days of summer are doggedly testing my stores of creativity, problem-solving, and energy, the fact that it's "all kids all the time" doesn't have to wear me down completely. I just have to remind myself that nearly perfect is not only nearly unattainable, but also pretty darn boring. And while there are lots of things you could call my family, boring really isn't one of them.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Jack Cam
I am currently watching a live video feed of Jack rolling around his room. He is fighting sleep, as are his brothers. I'm not sure why I seem to be the only exhausted person in the house when 9:00 P.M. rolls around, but such is life.
The Jack Cam has been an oft discussed topic in these parts. After literally years of talking about it, Jeff ordered a system and installed it yesterday morning between work calls and Jack's bus returning him from school.
It's pretty sweet: it offers a birds' eye view of Jack's entire bedroom and has infrared capabilities, which means we can see what he's doing in the dark. Yep, Big Brother is watching Jack with night vision. Or rather, Big Momma and Big Pop are.
Henry are Charlie are fascinated with the Jack Cam. They take turns watching the monitor and running into Jack's room to wave at each other. I don't blame them. It IS pretty fascinating.
We are waiting and watching for the pre-BM moment, when we can avert a Code Brown and redirect Jack's little tush to the bathroom. I think it just might work. Jeff already rushed in once after the Jack Cam revealed one pale boy jettisoning his pj's and undies.
Jeff has promised to soon have the Jack Cam ready for portable viewing on my iPad, meaning no matter my lccation or current household task, if Jack is in his room, I will be able to see him preparing to duece and (theoretically) help break the Code Brown habit in favor of a new era of clean self-sufficiency.
In the past week, Jack has pooped in the potty a record FIVE times. This was all pre-Jack Cam, mind you, and it is a new, phenomenal record. Perhaps the Jack Cam will help cement this pleasant and welcome behavior.
I'm filled with hope!
The Jack Cam has been an oft discussed topic in these parts. After literally years of talking about it, Jeff ordered a system and installed it yesterday morning between work calls and Jack's bus returning him from school.
It's pretty sweet: it offers a birds' eye view of Jack's entire bedroom and has infrared capabilities, which means we can see what he's doing in the dark. Yep, Big Brother is watching Jack with night vision. Or rather, Big Momma and Big Pop are.
Henry are Charlie are fascinated with the Jack Cam. They take turns watching the monitor and running into Jack's room to wave at each other. I don't blame them. It IS pretty fascinating.
We are waiting and watching for the pre-BM moment, when we can avert a Code Brown and redirect Jack's little tush to the bathroom. I think it just might work. Jeff already rushed in once after the Jack Cam revealed one pale boy jettisoning his pj's and undies.
Jeff has promised to soon have the Jack Cam ready for portable viewing on my iPad, meaning no matter my lccation or current household task, if Jack is in his room, I will be able to see him preparing to duece and (theoretically) help break the Code Brown habit in favor of a new era of clean self-sufficiency.
In the past week, Jack has pooped in the potty a record FIVE times. This was all pre-Jack Cam, mind you, and it is a new, phenomenal record. Perhaps the Jack Cam will help cement this pleasant and welcome behavior.
I'm filled with hope!
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
My Dependents' Day
This week I've been thinking about two of my sons: specifically, the two who flank Jack in birth order. I believe these boys came before and behind Jack for the purpose of being kind, watchful, protective helpers for their special brother.
Henry has always watched over Jack and helped him in myriad ways. When they both shared a train fascination, Henry would set up and run the Polar Express locomotive train set to Jack's delight. When they were just little boys, Henry would watch movies with Jack and make sure he didn't venture off the sidewalk and into the street. He buckled Jack's seatbelt and washed Jack's hair in the bath. Now he often helps Jack open tricky packages or retrieve favorite toys which have been lobbed into the window well.
Charlie seems to have emerged from his early years of being intensely disliked by Jack with great devotion and everlasting fondness for his big, silly brother. Chachi isn't the least bit concerned that Jack completely despised him in his infancy. He just seems to revel in the fact that Jack follows him through the house and backyard--swinging when he swings, bouncing when he bounces, and vegging out to Tangled when Charlie does. These two often roll around like a couple of little bear cubs. They don't say a whole lot to each other vocally during such moments, but their tactile play fulfills a need for sensory input and brotherly wrestling.
This close physical connection proved very handy yesterday when Jack, who had spent the morning resisting therapy, breakfast, and backyard playtime, decided to unlock the front door and bolt at full speed down the street. I heard him take off but was holding an almost-sleeping baby and wasn't as fast as Charlie, who followed Jack and chased him several doors down, where he grabbed Jack's shirt and held on with all his might. The four-year-old stopped Jack dead in his tracks. Good work, Chach.
Henry's kindness for Jack again played out today when he came to the rescue. I had stopped at my parents' home where the three boys were going to hang out while I took Jack to Shriner's Hospital for his yearly x-rays and check of his leg-length discrepancy and knock-knees. In the two minutes while I used the restroom, Jack went outside to the pool, which was stuck partially open because the pool cover had broken down beyond repair, and got himself soaking wet. Five minutes of panic ensued because a) Jack was drenched, b) we needed to leave NOW for Shriner's, and c) we had no spare clothes.
In frenetic desperation, I found a tee shirt with the logo of a university my eldest refuses to wear and pulled it quickly over Jack's head. Then I turned to Henry and asked if he would loan Jack his shorts and make due with something scrounged from Grandma's drawers. Without argument or even hesitation, H simply handed over his camo shorts. And suddenly Jack, while "going commando," was decent enough for a visit to see the orthopedist.
Brotherly love, indeed.
Henry has always watched over Jack and helped him in myriad ways. When they both shared a train fascination, Henry would set up and run the Polar Express locomotive train set to Jack's delight. When they were just little boys, Henry would watch movies with Jack and make sure he didn't venture off the sidewalk and into the street. He buckled Jack's seatbelt and washed Jack's hair in the bath. Now he often helps Jack open tricky packages or retrieve favorite toys which have been lobbed into the window well.
Charlie seems to have emerged from his early years of being intensely disliked by Jack with great devotion and everlasting fondness for his big, silly brother. Chachi isn't the least bit concerned that Jack completely despised him in his infancy. He just seems to revel in the fact that Jack follows him through the house and backyard--swinging when he swings, bouncing when he bounces, and vegging out to Tangled when Charlie does. These two often roll around like a couple of little bear cubs. They don't say a whole lot to each other vocally during such moments, but their tactile play fulfills a need for sensory input and brotherly wrestling.
This close physical connection proved very handy yesterday when Jack, who had spent the morning resisting therapy, breakfast, and backyard playtime, decided to unlock the front door and bolt at full speed down the street. I heard him take off but was holding an almost-sleeping baby and wasn't as fast as Charlie, who followed Jack and chased him several doors down, where he grabbed Jack's shirt and held on with all his might. The four-year-old stopped Jack dead in his tracks. Good work, Chach.
Henry's kindness for Jack again played out today when he came to the rescue. I had stopped at my parents' home where the three boys were going to hang out while I took Jack to Shriner's Hospital for his yearly x-rays and check of his leg-length discrepancy and knock-knees. In the two minutes while I used the restroom, Jack went outside to the pool, which was stuck partially open because the pool cover had broken down beyond repair, and got himself soaking wet. Five minutes of panic ensued because a) Jack was drenched, b) we needed to leave NOW for Shriner's, and c) we had no spare clothes.
In frenetic desperation, I found a tee shirt with the logo of a university my eldest refuses to wear and pulled it quickly over Jack's head. Then I turned to Henry and asked if he would loan Jack his shorts and make due with something scrounged from Grandma's drawers. Without argument or even hesitation, H simply handed over his camo shorts. And suddenly Jack, while "going commando," was decent enough for a visit to see the orthopedist.
Brotherly love, indeed.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Summer School
Things my children have recently taught me:
A) "Clean" is relative. My standards have changed regarding cleanliness, and I'm okay with this. I suspect if other people aren't, they will just not come over here much.
B) There will be poo.
C) Swimming pools in the summertime NEVER get old, and are SO MUCH FUN!
D) Walking outside is less preferable to simply standing in the doorway with the door wide open, with nary a thought for flies, bees, or cool air-conditioned air entering or escaping.
E) Summer evenings in the backyard NEVER get old, and are peacefully satisfying.
F) Dinosaur-themed birthday parties with balloons, cake, and treat bags are wildly pleasure-inducing for four-year-olds.
G) Summertime is really, really strenuous for moms.
H) Sometimes getting a mid-day babysitter for Jack and baby so Mom can take the other boys to an afternoon movie is totally worth it.
I) When someone pours water in the sink of the toy kitchen and adds Swedish fish, the results are not appealing.
J) Driving through at Arctic Circle for cones of an afternoon NEVER gets old.
K) Date night is life-sustaining.
L) Janet the bus driver is a welcome sight for both Jack and Mom during four precious weeks of Jack's summer school program.
M) Everybody needs a break sometimes: Henry at Grandma's, Charlie with a friend, Jack at school, Truman during nap time. Mom and Dad wherever and whenever they can finagle it.
N) There is something very physically and psychologically refreshing about venturing into the mountains and away from the valleys.
O) Febreze's Hawaiian-scented sprays are making the post-poop house a little nicer to live in.
P) Shop-vacs are sort of destroying my sanity, even while they boost Jack's mood infinitely.
Q) Kindly neighbors who notice Jack streaking through their houses and then attempting to leave with their shop-vacs, but who don't let him actually make off with said appliances and who don't really get all bent out of shape over it are really SO FABULOUS.
R) Having a ten-year-old is lots of fun. I'm getting excited to see my kids get bigger.
S) Pancakes and bacon in the morning (every morning) are the key to one kid's heart.
T) Capri Suns and SpongeBob GoGurts in the fridge are the key to another kid's heart.
U) Chips, chips, chips, and Dino nuggets are yet another boy's joie de vivre.
V) Littlest brother wants every food, except rice cereal, and he wants it NOW people!
W) Savory moments, like that lovely interval between children falling asleep and my reluctant bedtime, are really so nice.
X) Summer reads are really so enjoyable. This week: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, and Dandelion Wine.
Y) Hoses in the hands of young children NEVER get old.
Z) I can do this. Particularly, if I have a big soda within reach.
A) "Clean" is relative. My standards have changed regarding cleanliness, and I'm okay with this. I suspect if other people aren't, they will just not come over here much.
B) There will be poo.
C) Swimming pools in the summertime NEVER get old, and are SO MUCH FUN!
D) Walking outside is less preferable to simply standing in the doorway with the door wide open, with nary a thought for flies, bees, or cool air-conditioned air entering or escaping.
E) Summer evenings in the backyard NEVER get old, and are peacefully satisfying.
F) Dinosaur-themed birthday parties with balloons, cake, and treat bags are wildly pleasure-inducing for four-year-olds.
G) Summertime is really, really strenuous for moms.
H) Sometimes getting a mid-day babysitter for Jack and baby so Mom can take the other boys to an afternoon movie is totally worth it.
I) When someone pours water in the sink of the toy kitchen and adds Swedish fish, the results are not appealing.
J) Driving through at Arctic Circle for cones of an afternoon NEVER gets old.
K) Date night is life-sustaining.
L) Janet the bus driver is a welcome sight for both Jack and Mom during four precious weeks of Jack's summer school program.
M) Everybody needs a break sometimes: Henry at Grandma's, Charlie with a friend, Jack at school, Truman during nap time. Mom and Dad wherever and whenever they can finagle it.
N) There is something very physically and psychologically refreshing about venturing into the mountains and away from the valleys.
O) Febreze's Hawaiian-scented sprays are making the post-poop house a little nicer to live in.
P) Shop-vacs are sort of destroying my sanity, even while they boost Jack's mood infinitely.
Q) Kindly neighbors who notice Jack streaking through their houses and then attempting to leave with their shop-vacs, but who don't let him actually make off with said appliances and who don't really get all bent out of shape over it are really SO FABULOUS.
R) Having a ten-year-old is lots of fun. I'm getting excited to see my kids get bigger.
S) Pancakes and bacon in the morning (every morning) are the key to one kid's heart.
T) Capri Suns and SpongeBob GoGurts in the fridge are the key to another kid's heart.
U) Chips, chips, chips, and Dino nuggets are yet another boy's joie de vivre.
V) Littlest brother wants every food, except rice cereal, and he wants it NOW people!
W) Savory moments, like that lovely interval between children falling asleep and my reluctant bedtime, are really so nice.
X) Summer reads are really so enjoyable. This week: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, and Dandelion Wine.
Y) Hoses in the hands of young children NEVER get old.
Z) I can do this. Particularly, if I have a big soda within reach.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Fire Sale
My neighbors and I had a big adventure last weekend when a wildfire burned across the hills next to our neighborhood. We did not fall within the evacuation zone, but a neighboring community did, and as the day wore on and the black smoke rolled closer and closer to us, we entertained the idea that we might be required to evacuate.
As we watched the hills and tracked the flames, most of us began to gather a few things which we could quickly put into our cars should we be asked to leave. My son assembled a giant garbage bag filled with his clothes (he values a well-rounded wardrobe), his iPod, and his baby book. I piled four tubs of scrapbooks, photo albums, and journals by the back door before removing my grandma's quilts from the walls where they hang and folding them on top. "Irreplaceable" was the standard by which I determined what I would kick myself for not taking with me later, should our house succumb.
Jeff thought I was decidedly over-doing it. Especially when I began stacking framed family portraits and the framed embroidered pictures my mom has made for each of my babies. Maybe I was over-reacting. But I rationalized that if anything sentimental was going to come with us, it would be my task to bring it along. Jeff's prepared supplies consisted of a tidy fanny-pack sized bag containing essentially a toothbrush and a change of clothes, as well as a Manila folder with everyone's birth certificates and other essential documents.
Together, we assembled another sizable pile of diapers, formula, a port-a-crib, and foods which the morbidly picky eaters known as our sons find acceptable. My adrenaline spiked at bedtime as I lay visualizing how quickly I could rouse my boys and get them into the car in the event of evacuation. Every car that drove up the street had me imagining that this was it--they were sending in volunteer firefighters to mobilize us. It made for a not very restful night.
Happily, we didn't have to go. Our neighbors returned safely to their homes and the fire burned across the mountain and away from populated areas. The entire experience was an exercise in evaluating what is meaningful and irreplaceable. During the 24 hours or so when things were uncertain, I found myself repeatedly walking through the rooms of my house pondering if any of it meant anything, ultimately. If it burned, would I be heartbroken?
For almost everything, I felt confident that I could let it go and move forward, replacing what was lost with something else--perhaps even something completely different, but just as effective. I attribute this sense of detachment solely to Jack, who constantly schools me in the futility of getting attached to material possessions. With Jack around, things break. Constantly. Useful things, pretty things, electronic things, random things, cheap things, expensive things--Jack is no respecter of monetary value or aesthetic appeal.
The fire reinforced what my son has been non-verbally telling me for years: things don't matter, people do. And my people are safe, whole, and happily going about the business of shredding, disassembling, smashing, and otherwise tactilely exploring the things which fill our lives.
As we watched the hills and tracked the flames, most of us began to gather a few things which we could quickly put into our cars should we be asked to leave. My son assembled a giant garbage bag filled with his clothes (he values a well-rounded wardrobe), his iPod, and his baby book. I piled four tubs of scrapbooks, photo albums, and journals by the back door before removing my grandma's quilts from the walls where they hang and folding them on top. "Irreplaceable" was the standard by which I determined what I would kick myself for not taking with me later, should our house succumb.
Jeff thought I was decidedly over-doing it. Especially when I began stacking framed family portraits and the framed embroidered pictures my mom has made for each of my babies. Maybe I was over-reacting. But I rationalized that if anything sentimental was going to come with us, it would be my task to bring it along. Jeff's prepared supplies consisted of a tidy fanny-pack sized bag containing essentially a toothbrush and a change of clothes, as well as a Manila folder with everyone's birth certificates and other essential documents.
Together, we assembled another sizable pile of diapers, formula, a port-a-crib, and foods which the morbidly picky eaters known as our sons find acceptable. My adrenaline spiked at bedtime as I lay visualizing how quickly I could rouse my boys and get them into the car in the event of evacuation. Every car that drove up the street had me imagining that this was it--they were sending in volunteer firefighters to mobilize us. It made for a not very restful night.
Happily, we didn't have to go. Our neighbors returned safely to their homes and the fire burned across the mountain and away from populated areas. The entire experience was an exercise in evaluating what is meaningful and irreplaceable. During the 24 hours or so when things were uncertain, I found myself repeatedly walking through the rooms of my house pondering if any of it meant anything, ultimately. If it burned, would I be heartbroken?
For almost everything, I felt confident that I could let it go and move forward, replacing what was lost with something else--perhaps even something completely different, but just as effective. I attribute this sense of detachment solely to Jack, who constantly schools me in the futility of getting attached to material possessions. With Jack around, things break. Constantly. Useful things, pretty things, electronic things, random things, cheap things, expensive things--Jack is no respecter of monetary value or aesthetic appeal.
The fire reinforced what my son has been non-verbally telling me for years: things don't matter, people do. And my people are safe, whole, and happily going about the business of shredding, disassembling, smashing, and otherwise tactilely exploring the things which fill our lives.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Don't Read This Post While You Are Eating
My house smells like someone has smeared poop all over the place. Someone, in fact, has.
Summer school has begun for Jack, and it seems that this transition, while it is a positive one which he is quite happy about, has triggered the need to Code Brown.
Our approach to the indoor poopapalooza trend is to respond with complete neutrality. Open the door to Jack's grotto to find a stinking, smeared mess? Poker face. Silence.
Strip the bed. Sanitize the floor, walls, and window. Isolate the perp away from the crime scene, thus NOT reinforcing the behavior by allowing him the fun of watching the janitorial response.
It's a nasty job, and it still makes my blood boil when it happens. And yes, it still happens, despite the advice of experts and our best efforts in prevention. But I am fairly certain that the way I respond to the Code Brown says more about my parenting efforts than does my inability to eradicate it.
I live in Poo City, and that is just the way it is. I am weary of talking about futile solutions with experts. I am tired of trying to catch Jack in the act, or just before. I am not loving the barnyard stench which ubiquitously wafts through my house.
Perhaps I am reaching the acceptance phase in the grieving process of having a chronic poo-casso in my life. I am too tired to deny that it's a problem, or to try to bargain with the universe to make it stop, or even to feel perpetual anger that it still happens.
I'm at peace with the smelly veneer of crap in my house. Okay, not really, but I do find solace in the hard-working Kirkland Signature Household cleaning wipes, which really help to get the job done.
And I appreciate my husband, who is my partner in restoration.
Summer school has begun for Jack, and it seems that this transition, while it is a positive one which he is quite happy about, has triggered the need to Code Brown.
Our approach to the indoor poopapalooza trend is to respond with complete neutrality. Open the door to Jack's grotto to find a stinking, smeared mess? Poker face. Silence.
Strip the bed. Sanitize the floor, walls, and window. Isolate the perp away from the crime scene, thus NOT reinforcing the behavior by allowing him the fun of watching the janitorial response.
It's a nasty job, and it still makes my blood boil when it happens. And yes, it still happens, despite the advice of experts and our best efforts in prevention. But I am fairly certain that the way I respond to the Code Brown says more about my parenting efforts than does my inability to eradicate it.
I live in Poo City, and that is just the way it is. I am weary of talking about futile solutions with experts. I am tired of trying to catch Jack in the act, or just before. I am not loving the barnyard stench which ubiquitously wafts through my house.
Perhaps I am reaching the acceptance phase in the grieving process of having a chronic poo-casso in my life. I am too tired to deny that it's a problem, or to try to bargain with the universe to make it stop, or even to feel perpetual anger that it still happens.
I'm at peace with the smelly veneer of crap in my house. Okay, not really, but I do find solace in the hard-working Kirkland Signature Household cleaning wipes, which really help to get the job done.
And I appreciate my husband, who is my partner in restoration.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Summer Thanksgiving
This week I feel a surge in gratitude for the following:
A) Girls' Night Out with good friends. The relentlessness of summertime parenting at my house makes a GNO outing to Zupas and the Megaplex make me feel like I've sampled manna and briefly experienced nirvana. I didn't even need that wacky milky/waxy spa treatment-thing Charlize Theron demonstrated in SWATH to feel renewed and rejuvenated (but not exfoliated). Conversation with two darling friends effectively hit the reset button for me to go home and try again at this child-rearing business.
B) My parents, who every summer take Henry to Yellowstone so that he can join in on the fun and memory-making of campfires, hikes, geyser-viewing, and wildlife-watching with his cousins. One of these summers, when we have effectively solved the toileting issues and the other behavior problems which currently beset us, we are going to be able to take all of our children on a full-fledged family road-trip to our nation's oldest and best national park. Until that happens, thank heavens for Lynn and Shirley for including our eldest child in the good times.
C) A handful of wonderful therapists and sitters. I alternately think of these sweet young ladies as "support staff," "adoptive family members," "angels," and "tender mercies." They fill all these rolls, and they effectively enable our family to function. Best of all, they do it with enthusiasm and love for our boys. They don't realize how much I love them for the cheerful service they render to my family.
D) Jack's excellent car behavior. He is buckling his own seatbelt and keeping it on, my friends, which means that he is no longer dancing around the van whilst we streak down the freeway or mooning other drivers when he decides to remove his pants.
E) Truman's overall demeanor. My sister Sarah once said that my family is like a puzzle with each family member possessing different strengths and qualities, which nevertheless fit together perfectly. I love this analogy, not only because it references the autism/puzzle piece connection, but because it really sweetly recognizes that while we are all over the place in terms of age, personalities, and abilities, we are all in this together and somehow it is working. Thankfully, baby Truman fulfills the peacefully sweet and tolerantly flexible piece of our family puzzle.
A) Girls' Night Out with good friends. The relentlessness of summertime parenting at my house makes a GNO outing to Zupas and the Megaplex make me feel like I've sampled manna and briefly experienced nirvana. I didn't even need that wacky milky/waxy spa treatment-thing Charlize Theron demonstrated in SWATH to feel renewed and rejuvenated (but not exfoliated). Conversation with two darling friends effectively hit the reset button for me to go home and try again at this child-rearing business.
B) My parents, who every summer take Henry to Yellowstone so that he can join in on the fun and memory-making of campfires, hikes, geyser-viewing, and wildlife-watching with his cousins. One of these summers, when we have effectively solved the toileting issues and the other behavior problems which currently beset us, we are going to be able to take all of our children on a full-fledged family road-trip to our nation's oldest and best national park. Until that happens, thank heavens for Lynn and Shirley for including our eldest child in the good times.
C) A handful of wonderful therapists and sitters. I alternately think of these sweet young ladies as "support staff," "adoptive family members," "angels," and "tender mercies." They fill all these rolls, and they effectively enable our family to function. Best of all, they do it with enthusiasm and love for our boys. They don't realize how much I love them for the cheerful service they render to my family.
D) Jack's excellent car behavior. He is buckling his own seatbelt and keeping it on, my friends, which means that he is no longer dancing around the van whilst we streak down the freeway or mooning other drivers when he decides to remove his pants.
E) Truman's overall demeanor. My sister Sarah once said that my family is like a puzzle with each family member possessing different strengths and qualities, which nevertheless fit together perfectly. I love this analogy, not only because it references the autism/puzzle piece connection, but because it really sweetly recognizes that while we are all over the place in terms of age, personalities, and abilities, we are all in this together and somehow it is working. Thankfully, baby Truman fulfills the peacefully sweet and tolerantly flexible piece of our family puzzle.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Walking on Broken Glass
There is a picture I copied several months back on facebook which has really been bugging me lately. I liked it at the time. Now, I find it totally irritating. It says something like, "Are you happy? If yes, keep doing what you're doing. If no, change something."
I've been thinking about it with annoyance quite a bit this first week of summer. I thought about it yesterday when Jack smashed a glass bowl and a glass candle jar. I consequently put him in his room for a time out, and the dumb picture again popped into my mind when Jack immediately dismantled his room (I had to drag the bed frame into the hallway when he upended it). I thought about it when he later pooped in his bedroom and then tantrumed because I simply wiped him down and skipped the reinforcing bath "reward" he was banking on.
What exactly should I change, I feel like asking the creator of this annoying, simplistic, bossy picture? What do you recommend? Should I rid my house of any form of glass? Should I forbid bathing ever again? Should bed frames be verboten? What's the magic bullet of a change which is going to do the trick?
The irony with this scenario is that up until the smashing and smearing began, Jack had been having a really terrific day. He had a happy therapy session, an outing to explore the lovely gardens at Thanksgiving Point, and a good share of trampoline/hose/Otter Pop time in the backyard.
Tragically, today followed a similar pattern of a stellar therapy session, a fun outing with mom and brothers, some peaceful outdoor playtime, and then: Jack pushed over a glass-fronted cabinet, destroying it when the panes shattered everywhere.
Jack's child psychiatrist weighed in on our rocky transition to summer by noting that this is another instance of Jack struggling to find his footing in a transition period. Transitions are completely brutal for him. Always. So we shouldn't be surprised. I felt a vague sense of relief and validation knowing that it isn't something I am failing to do that is sending him into this tailspin, but rather it's something he inevitably has to work through.
In the midst of yestereve's broken glass and poop extravaganza, someone knocked at the door. It was my neighbors Kara and Karleen who had chosen really the most terrifically perfect time to bring me a "Summer Survival Kit" which includes but is not limited to: Lindt 70% Dark Chocolate Squares and a bit of light escapist reading, among other treasures. Fantastically, this afternoon Jeff's sister and stepmom also popped in for a serendipitous visit, and also came bearing Lindt 70% Dark Chocolate Squares.
Interestingly, after the destruction died down this afternoon, Jack approached me quietly and calmly and gave me a long hug. He has never done this before. Later in the evening as I bounced with him on the trampoline, he again gave me a peaceful, intentional hug. Maybe he was apologizing. Maybe he was saying he loves me.
As I have pondered Jack's hugs, stowed my chocolate in the cupboard, unpacked my survival kit, and tearfully read the tag penned in Kara's lovely handwriting, I have felt gratitude for compassionate people. I have also felt like God loves me. And I'm thankful He found a really lovely way to show me.
I've been thinking about it with annoyance quite a bit this first week of summer. I thought about it yesterday when Jack smashed a glass bowl and a glass candle jar. I consequently put him in his room for a time out, and the dumb picture again popped into my mind when Jack immediately dismantled his room (I had to drag the bed frame into the hallway when he upended it). I thought about it when he later pooped in his bedroom and then tantrumed because I simply wiped him down and skipped the reinforcing bath "reward" he was banking on.
What exactly should I change, I feel like asking the creator of this annoying, simplistic, bossy picture? What do you recommend? Should I rid my house of any form of glass? Should I forbid bathing ever again? Should bed frames be verboten? What's the magic bullet of a change which is going to do the trick?
The irony with this scenario is that up until the smashing and smearing began, Jack had been having a really terrific day. He had a happy therapy session, an outing to explore the lovely gardens at Thanksgiving Point, and a good share of trampoline/hose/Otter Pop time in the backyard.
Tragically, today followed a similar pattern of a stellar therapy session, a fun outing with mom and brothers, some peaceful outdoor playtime, and then: Jack pushed over a glass-fronted cabinet, destroying it when the panes shattered everywhere.
Jack's child psychiatrist weighed in on our rocky transition to summer by noting that this is another instance of Jack struggling to find his footing in a transition period. Transitions are completely brutal for him. Always. So we shouldn't be surprised. I felt a vague sense of relief and validation knowing that it isn't something I am failing to do that is sending him into this tailspin, but rather it's something he inevitably has to work through.
In the midst of yestereve's broken glass and poop extravaganza, someone knocked at the door. It was my neighbors Kara and Karleen who had chosen really the most terrifically perfect time to bring me a "Summer Survival Kit" which includes but is not limited to: Lindt 70% Dark Chocolate Squares and a bit of light escapist reading, among other treasures. Fantastically, this afternoon Jeff's sister and stepmom also popped in for a serendipitous visit, and also came bearing Lindt 70% Dark Chocolate Squares.
Interestingly, after the destruction died down this afternoon, Jack approached me quietly and calmly and gave me a long hug. He has never done this before. Later in the evening as I bounced with him on the trampoline, he again gave me a peaceful, intentional hug. Maybe he was apologizing. Maybe he was saying he loves me.
As I have pondered Jack's hugs, stowed my chocolate in the cupboard, unpacked my survival kit, and tearfully read the tag penned in Kara's lovely handwriting, I have felt gratitude for compassionate people. I have also felt like God loves me. And I'm thankful He found a really lovely way to show me.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Backyard Bonanza
It has become an annual ritual of sorts for me to keep a record, each summer, of things for which I am grateful--a gratitude journal, I guess. In an effort to stay positive amid the insanity, I count my blessings and then get on with wrangling the chaos.
Today I am grateful for my backyard. It's absolutely a summertime staple for my boys and for me, as well. It may be strewn with dog poop (wait, we don't have a dog!), and it may have a trashy layer of soda cans and plastic toys lying about, but here is the good news: it's big, it's shady, it's green, and it's fully fenced. As all moms of special kids know, the fully-fenced yard is a gateway drug which leads to compulsive feelings of peace and addictive sensations of hope that one can go the bathroom and still find the children playing in the yard upon your return.
Our backyard is scruffy and a bit ragged at the edges since Jack mauled and incapacitated our weed-whacker. The deck looks worse for wear since the day Charlie and one of his pals excitedly tore off the lattice which covered the posts below the deck (punk toddlers). Our barbeque grill looks like it survived Vietnam. In reality, it is has thus far survived a boy who is prone to wheeling it all over the place, sometimes knocking it over in the process. The handle is long gone, which merely adds to the ghetto aesthetic.
I do not claim that this backyard it is a showplace. But it's pretty ideal for sensory outdoor playtime. We've got grass, gravel, trees, shrubs, swings, dirt, tetherball, slides, tire swings, dump trucks, a sandbox, a kid-sized excavator, a hose, a trampoline, a playset, a frog pool for filling and splashing, at least a dozen balls, and a window-well for throwing things in (Jack's cache of treasures).
Last fall we picked up a few sturdy and decent-looking chairs on clearance, so now we also have a comfortable place to sit. This is a good thing, as my tush is parked here for the duration of the summer.
Today I am grateful for my backyard. It's absolutely a summertime staple for my boys and for me, as well. It may be strewn with dog poop (wait, we don't have a dog!), and it may have a trashy layer of soda cans and plastic toys lying about, but here is the good news: it's big, it's shady, it's green, and it's fully fenced. As all moms of special kids know, the fully-fenced yard is a gateway drug which leads to compulsive feelings of peace and addictive sensations of hope that one can go the bathroom and still find the children playing in the yard upon your return.
Our backyard is scruffy and a bit ragged at the edges since Jack mauled and incapacitated our weed-whacker. The deck looks worse for wear since the day Charlie and one of his pals excitedly tore off the lattice which covered the posts below the deck (punk toddlers). Our barbeque grill looks like it survived Vietnam. In reality, it is has thus far survived a boy who is prone to wheeling it all over the place, sometimes knocking it over in the process. The handle is long gone, which merely adds to the ghetto aesthetic.
I do not claim that this backyard it is a showplace. But it's pretty ideal for sensory outdoor playtime. We've got grass, gravel, trees, shrubs, swings, dirt, tetherball, slides, tire swings, dump trucks, a sandbox, a kid-sized excavator, a hose, a trampoline, a playset, a frog pool for filling and splashing, at least a dozen balls, and a window-well for throwing things in (Jack's cache of treasures).
Last fall we picked up a few sturdy and decent-looking chairs on clearance, so now we also have a comfortable place to sit. This is a good thing, as my tush is parked here for the duration of the summer.
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