Just Because I Wanted To

Yesterday, I had to help Slim with a First Eucharist project for school.   It was basically a craft representing the Catholic sacraments he has received thus far.  It was due today, and of course we were just doing it yesterday.

I read the extensive list of guidelines, and we got to work.  We planned out what would go where and how he wanted it to look.  I made suggestions and offered feedback, and in the end we had a nice little plan for his craft.

The idea of lining the project with glitter was stuck in my head, and Slim agreed it would look nice.  As I picked up the glue and glitter, I remembered that the guidelines specifically stated, NO GLITTER.

Now, whether I was tired/had a busy day/was stressed/was dealing with a crying baby/was rebelling against all the glitter projects the boys bring home from school/just wanted to get the damn thing done, here's what happened:

I knew the guidelines - they were right there  - but I put glitter on the damn thing anyway.  I just wanted to.  I broke the rules.

And it felt...exhilarating!

The plan for the picture was his; the glitter was mine.

Me: "We weren't supposed to put glitter on your craft.  It says right here on the guidelines."

Slim: "I like the glitter."

Me: "Me too.  If you get in trouble for the glitter, just tell them your mom did it.  Blame it on me."

Slim: "I'll tell them, 'If you don't like the glitter, look at it again because it looks nice, and we like it."

Me (smiling inside): "Yeah! You know, sometimes moms don't follow directions either."

Slim: "That's okay, Mom."

Yep, it's okay.

Slim has been struggling this whole school year.  He has been on and off several different medications for ADHD and anxiety.  He has been on and off several different behavior plans and charts.  He has been shuttled to and from speech therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, academic testing, and doctors' appointments.  Everyone is checking on him, redirecting him, yelling at him, demanding him to do something.  He's felt berated, unloved, and misunderstood.

I can just imagine what his teacher will think when she sees the glitter. No wonder this kid can't follow directions when his mother can't even read and follow them.

I used to think that way when I was a teacher.

But now, as a mom, I think that sometimes following directions isn't as important as making your child feel understood.

Yeah, it looks nice, and WE like it!

I Went to My Son's Grave Today

I went to my son's grave today.

We were driving by, and there was time.

The number of times I have been there is less than the number of fingers on both my hands.

I dread going knowing that he won't be there, waiting to run into my arms,

and wrap me with a great big Joey hug,

and give me a great big Joey smile.

I dread knowing I won't hear that wonderful Joey giggle.

Instead I approach the plain stone.

Plain because I had no energy for designs and words and images.

I stare at his name, his given name, Joseph, and in quotation marks, "Joey," his little boy name.

Because that's what he was - a little boy.

And I can barely look at the dates of his short life.

I kneel, and I look at the outline of where the earth was dug, and I see that the grass is still sparse after almost two years.

I think, even grass can't grow on this lonely hill.

I feel bad that I haven't brought flowers, that I hardly ever bring flowers.

But I hardly ever plan to come.

I try to talk to him, but I know I'm just talking to the ground.

I try to picture his face, his sparkling eyes and radiant smile.

But all I can see is a face bloated by steroids, eyes that are weary from sickness, and lips that no longer curl into a smile.

I picture a rotting body and that's when I have to turn away.  Turn away before the tears come.  The tears that acknowledge that my little boy is gone, and I'm walking away without him.

Just like the first time I left that place.

Spring Has Sprung

Spring is here. I love it! 

Early spring and late fall are the only times that my whole family is willing to be outside together.  Hubby, Knox, and Lil' C are pretty much outside whenever.  I don't like to sweat or shiver, so that takes care of two seasons for me (and obviously Baby E since we're joined at the chest these days). And Slim...poor Slim.  He doesn't like to be outside during any time insects are flying in the air.


Cowboy Slim

In his defense, the poor child has been stung by bees, not once, not twice, but on five different occasions.  The first time was in our own backyard, and he stepped on a hive.  The combination of his high-pitched, nasally voice and the flurry of movement from all four of his limbs panicked the poor bees, and they were all over him, even under his clothing. My brother is allergic to bees, so we were quite concerned for Slim.

Fortunately for him, he is not allergic to bees.

Because they just find him.  In our backyard, on the playground at school, on the soccer field, hiding inside his towel at the pool.  I don't fault him for freaking out about anything with tiny wings that comes near him.

But it makes enjoying outdoor time as a family very difficult.

We have a lovely backyard.  We have a beautiful patio, comfortable furniture, and an outdoor fireplace.  Trees shade our fenced-in yard, and it feels private (although I know the reason our next-door neighbors don't talk to us anymore is because our kids yell too much at each other and Hubby and I yell too much at our kids.  But anyhoo...)  It's nice to sit back there and watch the boys play or kick a soccer ball around with them or push them on the swings.




Lil' C=too darling for words, ifIdosaysomyself.


It's just that we can't get Slim to come out and join us...until last week.  The weather has been absolutely perfect.  Just warm enough, but not warm enough to perspire (bonus for me).  A slightly cool breeze, and none of that sticky Midwest humidity that brings out the bugs.

Every day last week after school, the boys were outside.  And I soaked in every "moment to be enjoyed."  I pushed people on swings and played yard games and kicked a soccer ball.  There was even one moment when my large ass went down a small slide.

My cardio=keeping all three swings going

Every spring I know I have to enjoy all I can because soon, the humidity will return, the flowers will bloom, and the bugs will return.

My lady charmer, Knox.

And then, it will be a struggle to get everyone outside to enjoy our beautiful backyard and enjoy time together as a family.

  

These days, time outside competes with time inside - so many channels of t.v. with so many shows on all the time.  Video games and computer games and, what seems like, much more homework than we ever had.  There's always an excuse to stay in rather than go out. And while the rest of us might be outside on a cool spring evening by the fire, Slim might be inside watching Penguins of Madagascar or something on Animal Planet or some random shark video he's found on YouTube.

I try to remind myself that I shouldn't force my children to do things that go against their personalities. When I was young, I was usually the one inside with my nose in a book or my face in front of the t.v.  And now, that is Slim.  My mom never forced me outside; I went out eventually to ride my bike or see what all the neighborhood kids were up to.

The times I have forced Slim outside have been a disaster.  His anxiety over bees and insects reaches it's frenzied peak, and he ends up picking fights with his brothers and me.  I have learned with him, as with all my boys, that when something is his idea, I just roll with it.  I make a conscious effort to enjoy the times we're all outside together even if we're all doing something different. 

When I look back at my own childhood, the memories that stand out are those of neighborhood baseball games in the empty lot across the street or of group sledding sessions or of roaming the neighborhood eating blackberries right off the bushes.  I often wonder what my boys will remember about their childhood and talk about when they're older.

Spring is here.  It's the perfect time to go outside and make some memories.



How do you plan to enjoy the beautiful spring weather?

How Cool Is That?

              "I honestly think it is better to be a failure at something you love than to be a
              success at something you hate." (George Burns, American comedian, 1896-1996)

About three months ago, my best friend from college, who is a professional writer, sent me a message on Facebook.  It said, "I think you should submit one of your pieces here," and had a link to The New York Times.

The New York Freaking Times.

They were asking for stories on Modern Love, and my friend suggested I submit one of my Joey stories.

Now, I may not be one those "funny" mom bloggers, but sappy, mushy, and emotional I can do.

And even though it was The New York Freaking Times, and I thought I had little more than a snowball's chance in hell of my essay being chosen, I decided to go for it.

I spent the better part of two months crafting a story that wove the tragedy of Joey's death with the miracle of Baby E's birth.  It had great guts, but I had to write and rewrite both the ending and beginning several times.

When it was finally at a place that I could call it done, I e-mailed it to my "editor," my mother, herself a brilliant writer, who has been polishing my work since I was in high school.

As per her suggestions, I changed the ending again, and struggled to get the word count just right.

And then, I took it, and hit "send."

The information provided said to assume after four weeks if I hadn't heard back that they were not publishing my piece.  I wrote "four weeks" on my calendar from the day that I had sent it.  (When Hubby saw that, he said, "What the hell does 'four weeks' mean?"  He thought I was pregnant again!)

I forced myself to not think about it. I forced myself to not think about how maybe, just maybe, it was good enough to be published in The New York Freaking Times.   I forced myself to not think about how cool it would be to say that I had something published in The New York Times.

So I went about the business of writing and submitting articles to various on-line publications.  And blogging.   And waiting.

As the four weeks loomed nearer, and no one was biting on any of my writing, I started to get depressed. I started to wonder if I'm really as good at this writing thing as I want to think I am.  The words of another college friend, who has shared some of my blog posts on her Facebook wall, kept popping into my mind: Don't let yourself get in the way of this, Kathy.

Because that's what I do.  I get in the way of my own dreams.  Being the queen of self-doubt, I take any rejection and non-encouragement and use it to fan the flames of my negativity and self-pity.  I've only been writing for a little over a year, but many times I've wondered why I'm even doing it at all.  Am I just wasting time?

Until last weekend, when I got an e-mail from another blogger.  It seems she came across my blog via the friend who had been posting on her Facebook wall.  She is launching a new website next month and asked if I would like to be a guest blogger.

I felt a little like Sally Field for a moment.

Of course I said yes, and I will share the link here when the site gets closer to launching.

I had almost forgotten about the Times submission, until I opened my e-mail yesterday and saw Re: essay on modern love.  It had been exactly four weeks since I had submitted my essay.  My stomach jumped as I went to open it, although I knew in my heart what it would say:

"Thank you for sending your writing to Modern Love. Although we have decided not to use your essay, we are grateful for the opportunity to consider it. I regret that the volume of submissions we receive makes it impractical for me to offer editorial feedback."

Wow, I got rejected by The New York Freaking Times!  How cool is that?

You know what's even cooler?  That I gave myself the chance to be rejected.  That I didn't just say to myself, 'The Times would never choose my piece, so why try?'

Instead, I tried, and I'm doing what I love.  And I'm resonating with people who are reading my blog. To me, that is success rather than failure.

How cool is that?



Have you recently tried something you've always wanted to do?  Did it make you feel like a success?

We Have to Stop Meeting Like This

Dear Baby E,

I hope you know how much I completely adore you.  I love your cute baby nose and chubby cheeks.  I love holding your little baby hands and staring at your darling baby toes.  I love how your soft baby hair is sprouting curls all over your sweet-smelling head.  And I especially love your silly one-toothed smile and your babbling baby talk.

I love nursing you, too.  I love that it's the one thing only I am able to do for you.  I drink in the quiet moments when it's just you and me, and I feel like I can keep you safe and happy forever.  I melt when you stop nursing to look up at me and smile and touch my face as if you have something to say.

But, and I say this with all the love I have in my heart, isn't it time to knock all that off??

I'm not suggesting that we discontinue nursing during the day - a guy's gotta eat right?  But all of this night waking is frankly taking it's toll on Mommy.

I know that you barely wake in the night and root around for the comfort that you find with me; and when I am not there, you get mad!  What I'm suggesting is this: you know those small, colorful, plastic things that are in your crib?  The things you like to bang against the crib slats and toss out onto the floor?  Those are called binkies.  A coupla sucks on one of those puppies will put you right back to sleep, I promise.

And if that's not comforting enough for you, you know that soft, blue fuzzy thing that's also in your crib?  That's a blankie, and it smells like Mommy.  I made sure of that.  Try cuddling up to that.

Or you could just try your good ole' thumb.  I saw you put it in your mouth as I layed you down for your nap just now - how did that work for you?

Look Baby, I know none of these things is as soft and warm as Mommy; but Sweetie, Mommy needs her sleep.  This waking up and looking for me four times a night is killing me.  I'm not getting any sleep or any chores done, and I'm so tired when I write that I repeat myself.

I'm just so tired that I keep repeating myself.

Oh, I know, I suppose it is my fault for picking you up and then falling asleep with you time and time again.  You've gotten used to waking up with my boob right there in your face. 

And it's not even that I mind falling asleep with you sometimes. It's just that when I sleep all night in the rocking chair with you, well, frankly I wake up with a sore ass.  And I really love my bed.  It's so soft and warm and my pillow is so comfortable.  I get to lay flat out on my back and work myself into the perfect grove in my bed.

You are over eight months old now, and we both need to be sleeping through the night.  I know I make you cry sometimes, and then I come in and pick you up anyway.  I know it's confusing, but we need to work on this together.  We don't want to get in trouble at your next well-baby visit, do we?  Believe me, we don't want to get "the talk."

I'm only saying this because when you were tiny, you did sleep through the night.   And I'm not sure what happened along the way, but I need you to do it again. Listen, I'm not saying we can never cuddle at night, but let's keep it to a minimum, shall we?

So to review, it's binkie, blankie, thumb, and then if you're still awake you can call for Mommy, okay?

I love you, Baby, but we really have to stop meeting in the middle of the night like this.

Love,
Mommy

The Non Kung-Fu PANDA

A few weeks ago, our four-year-old-son, Lil' C, started making a noise that sounded like a cross between a hiccup, a sharp intake of breath, and the sound a person makes when he is trying to suck snot into the back of his throat.

Pleasant, I know.

At first, I found it a bit annoying, and would ask him to stop.  To which he would politely answer, "Yes, Mommy, I'll stop."

But the noise continued unabated for another week.  And instead of simply asking him to stop, I demanded, "Lil' C, that is driving me crazy! WILL YOU PLEASE QUIT MAKING THAT NOISE!" 

To which he would politely answer, "Yes, Mommy, I'll stop."

It soon became clear that he couldn't stop making the noise, that it wasn't just an attention-getting ploy created by an often-ignored little brother.  Fearing we had another child with a tumor, I made an appointment with the doctor.

When Lil' C continued making the noise in front of the pediatrician, I was relieved I wasn't just being a crazy paranoid mom.  The doctor asked me a battery of questions, including if Lil' C had been sick recently. I answered that he hadn't, but his six-year-old brother was suffering from a bad sore throat.

When the doctor suggested swabbing Lil' C for the strep virus, I was puzzled.  And when he said, "I think he has a Panda," I was really confused.

Lil' C, however, was thrilled, "We have a panda!  His name is Po."

The doctor laughed and explained that PANDAS stands for Pediatric Autoimmune Neuropsychiatric Disorders Associated with Streptococcal infections.  Sure enough, the rapid strep test came back positive, even though Lil' C showed no other signs of having the virus.

The term, coined in 1998, describes a theory that some children develop rapid onset of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) or tic-like behaviors following group A beta-hemolytic streptococcal (GABHS) infections like strep throat or scarlet fever.

Huh?

I had never heard of such a thing, and an informal poll of my friends, family and Facebook peeps revealed the same.  Out of 70 people I asked, only 5 had ever heard of it.  Two are in the pediatric medical profession, two had a child diagnosed with it, and one heard buzz of it in relation to the high school girls from LeRoy, New York who had developed sudden tic-like symptoms.

The doctor gave us both a prescription for antibiotics (one for the six-year-old, too) and an assurance that the tic would go away (although he couldn't say when), but that did nothing to quell my nagging feeling that it was much more than that.

Surprisingly, a lot of information is available about PANDAS.  Here are some fast facts about this rare, odd, and controversial diagnosis:

• It occurs in children from age 3 to the age of puberty onset (which makes it a questionable diagnosis for the LeRoy girls).
• One percent of children have OCD not related to GABHS infection.  Not all children who get an infection will develop PANDAS.  There has been no research conducted as to the percentages of children who develop PANDAS after a strep infection.
• PANDAS is caused by the body's immune reaction to the strep infection, not the strep itself (thus the reason not all children will develop it).  The child's antibodies mistakenly attack a part of the brain, known as the basal ganglia, which is thought to control movement and behavior.
• There is no proven medical solution for PANDAS.  A course of antibiotics will cure the strep infection and therefore make the tic go away, but another strep infection or other autoimmune illness (such as scarlet fever, Lyme disease, celiac disease, the chicken pox or flu) can make the symptoms reoccur, possibly even more intensely and for a longer time period.
• There is even evidence that common childhood illnesses such as ear infections, sinusitis, pneumonia and impetigo can trigger PANDAS.

That's enough to scare the most seasoned parent and send her running to the pediatrician's office!  I have to admit that as a mother of five who has spent more than her fair share of time in pediatric hospitals and doctors' offices, it freaks me out a bit as well. 

I feel like there are dots that I can connect on Lil' C's road to this diagnosis.  His dad suffers from an autoimmune disorder, celiac disease, in which he has an extreme intolerance to gluten in wheat, oats, barely, and rye.  The genetic component is there; our children are more likely to develop autoimmune disorders because one of their parents has one.

There is also a nutritional component.  It's been theorized that nutritional supplementation may help the brain recover from the PANDAS response, causing me to wonder if Lil' C's past food issues could have weakened his body's response to the virus.  And the fact that he seemed to have no symptoms of strep is worrisome, although many of the people I talked to reported non-symptomatic cases of strep in their children.

Little children do all sorts of strange things, mainly to get our attention.  Most are harmless.  The important thing to remember about PANDAS is that the tics, strange thoughts or actions, or OCD-like behavior occur very abruptly, like your child is a different person from one day to the next.  Many parents can pin-point exactly when the strange behavior started (I know I can).   A strep test is an easy way to quell fears and save months of heartache and worry.

Lil' C has been on antibiotics for almost a week, and he is still making the hiccuping noise.  He is otherwise happy, active, and healthy.  I know I am going to have to watch for OCD and tic-like signs in the future, but at least I will know where to start when, and if, they occur again.



Has your child ever had any tic-like behaviors?  Have you ever heard of PANDAS?