Spinning Yellow

Yes, We (and I) Can

** I actually wrote this on November 6th and timestamped it for the 5th because of an internet problem I had.  See here for more details.

I woke up today, like many people, filled with emotion.  I was reading stuff on my laptop and kept tearing up, thinking about the historical significance of Barack Obama being elected.

Scott was watching TV, probably ESPN, and I kept saying things to him like, "Remember when we watched the Martin Luther King speech?  About not being judged by the color of your skin but by the content of your character?  That's what happened, you know.  This is a great moment."

And I went on and on, telling him how proud I was of the country for banding together.  How excited I was to have this man, this family, in our white house.  As I was continuing with my emotional litany of all that was good, Scott interrupted me -

Mom, I don't want to go to school.

"I know honey", I said absentmindedly as I watched the video of Barack's acceptance speech.

I don't feel good.  I am worried ...

"Um, hmm, well, you always feel this way before school.  Are you hungry?"  I tried to get back to the video and the commentary.

I don't want to have to go to the bathroom.  There's always pee on the floor and the kids don't wash their hands.  And if someone is in there they might touch me or ask me stuff.

"I don't know what to tell you," I said, as I dabbed my eyes, not able to take in the enormity of the election and the details of this morning ritual.

Will I be OK?  Mom?  I don't want to have to sit next to someone who gets too close to me.  And I'm worried about third grade.  It's going to be too hard.

I started to get annoyed.  I mean, why did he have to do this?  Why couldn't I be excited about this new day in history?  Why couldn't I have this moment of hope?  I felt like, once again, he was sucking the joy out of things. 

"Of course you'll be fine, Scott.  You do this everyday."  I repeated the same things I say over and over each morning, unwittingly being part of his ritual, his reassurance.  I resented him putting me in this position.

As the bus pulled up, he looked at me, I love you mom.  I'll be okay, right? I hope you have a good day.  I am happy for you that Obama won.  I love you...

He reluctantly got on the bus and I waved as it drove off.  I felt relieved to see him go.  At the same time I felt that sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had once again sent him off to the lion's den.  The place where he feels so uncomfortable.  Because he needs to go.  I felt guilty.  And sad.

The tears started flowing again.

Damn it, I thought.  Why does life have to be so hard for him?  Why can't he just be happy?  Why is every day, every thing such a struggle?  Why does he have to suffer so much?  Damn it.  Damn it.  Damn it.

Then I went inside and I took a deep breath and I decided to channel my emotions into something positive.  And as corny as it might sound, I thought, if Barack Obama can be president, if millions of people decided to work together, certainly I can continue to do this, too. 

I found the paper with the therapists names that I had called back in June and I made an appointment for Scott to see a person who specializes in Cognitive Behavior Therapy.  Then I looked up the books my friend had suggested based on recommendations from her son's therapist.  Books like: Freeing Your Child from Anxiety: Powerful, Practical Solutions to Overcome Your Child's Fears, Worries, and Phobias by Tamar E. Chansky

Then I went for a run.

And I felt a little bit better.  I am not sure if this will be the right route for Scott.  Matt and I have discussed the possibility that he might need some medication for his anxiety and OCD as well as therapy.  But it is a start.  I know that his issues are too much for Matt and I to handle on our own.

I have felt hopeless lately in many ways.  As if nothing ever changes so why even bother trying.  I know I have a tendency to get overwhelmed, but I am also the cheerleader around here.  The one who typically looks on the bright side.  But I've been stuck, lost, not myself.

I felt something shift today.  I reread Barack's speech and thought about the powerful words he chose.  And I thought.  Yes I can keep helping my son.  Yes we did elect this man.  Yes I will keep doing my best.  Yes we will make the changes we need to.  Yes he will find ways to make it better.

Yes we can.  I know we can.  Look how far we've come.

I will continue to tell my son and myself:  Yes you can.  Yes you will.

Election Day, the Good and the Bad

Good
I was able to vote easily and quickly with both, well-behaved (at the time) kids in tow.

Bad
I did not get to run because I was so worried about getting to the polls early and avoiding the kind of lines I stood in in 2004 for hours.

Good
My state, Pennsylvania, and even my county (which typically votes Republican), has voted decidedly for Obama.

Bad
My kids were crazy today (and really have been for the past few weeks) and since they were home from school I had to spend all day with them.  I was really wondering what the deal was, too much candy? the weather? when I suddenly remembered that they are both at that half-year mark from their birthdays.  A developmental stage that tends to be trying each year for us.  Even though this made me understand their behavior better, I still couldn't wait for them to go to bed.

Good
Matt sent me this hilarious e-mail (my apologies to those who live in red states):

Dear Red States:

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren't aware,that includes California, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 percent of America's quality wines, 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT. With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia. We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the war, the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent that Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent of you crazy bastards believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

Finally, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,
Blue States

Bad
Because I am trying to be frugal and not shop as much, even for household things, I haven't been to Target for several weeks.  Consequently, we are dangerously close to running out of toilet paper.

And on that note, I think I can safely go to bed without missing anything, this election is over.

I Guess You Never Know

This morning I unexpectedly had to go to Jane's preschool and help prepare for an upcoming event.  I had signed up to do this, but there was a mix up with the date and the director kept apologizing for her mistake.  I decided to just get it over with since all I really had to do was mix up some stuff and chat with a couple of other moms and the director (we weren't with the kids).

Within minutes of arriving, we got into a conversation about the Parenting Consultant that Matt and I had seen over three years ago, during the summer of 2005. Before I realized it, I was telling the director the whole sorted story of Scott's SPD diagnosis and his terrible year in pre-Kindergarten (at a different preschool).

Turns out her son, who is now 28, had developmental delays and learning disabilities, including severe auditory processing problems.  She wanted to know how we got through it, how he was doing now.  She had such kind words for his struggles and the difficult road we had traveled.

The preschool that Jane attends has a reputation for being a perfect place.  One where parents never complain and the director constantly touts how awesome all her teachers and programs are.  In order to secure a spot for your child, you have to put their name on the waiting list before the child is even born.  It is both wonderful and a bit over-the-top.  In the beginning I would sit in meetings and roll my eyes listening to the sappy drivel.

But Jane is as happy as can be.  She loves school, adores her teachers and is learning.  The school is superior to the one Scott attended, of this I am sure.  But I've often wondered if he would have fit in at Jane's school.  The kids all seem so well behaved; absent are the type of children with issues. 

The idea did cross my mind that the director had weeded those children out so as to preserve her Utopian environment.  And I always suspected that she would have judged me just as the director and teachers had at Scott's school.  As a mother who was looking for excuses for her child's poor behavior.  As a failure.

But today, as I fixed up bags of reindeer food, this director and I talked mom to mom.  About how hard it is to be a parent.  About what it was like to discover that your child has problems.  How alone and confused we both felt.  About some of the challenges she faced and some of the issues we are currently dealing with.

She said her son was her second child, the one that had to follow the perfect first born.  She knew there were issues when he was barely two and they had been through the wringer.  But he was, "the one that made me a good mom.  That taught me how to be patient, compassionate, a better person."  I nodded in agreement, understanding what she was saying, thinking of an e-mail I had sent a friend recently where I wrote:

Jane loves school and Scott, well, is Scott. He finds issues with everything.  But is doing well.  And he just continues to be such a unique, interesting kid.  My heart and my inspiration.  Jane is lovely.  Scott is a lot of work but in that "the hardest job you'll ever love" kind of way.

I was glad for the scheduling mix up and the opportunity to see this woman differently.  And to be reminded that I shouldn't be judging or jumping to conclusions, either.  That you just never know when the person who seems to be the least likely to understand turns out to be the complete opposite.

Your Help Is Not the Kind I Want

To the lady at Wegman's today:

I realize you thought my daughter was cute, she really is darling, but I will discipline her as I see fit.  I was not yelling, nor was I scolding her harshly.  I was simply telling her that it was not okay to scribble on the advertisement circulars that were stacked on the counter.  She is four years old and knows that grabbing a pen and writing on things that she is not supposed to is not allowed.  When I tried to correct her you told her she "was fine".  It did not appear that you work at the store.  What authority do you have to tell my child that she can deface someone else's property?  I was not fluster, nor was I rude, or loud.  When my daughter heard you say she could continue, you put me in an awkward position.

As a mom, I've been criticized for not being strict enough with my children, but I can't recall ever feeling chastised for doing the right thing.  When my daughter looked up as I took the pen from her and repeated that she was not allowed to color on the flyers, she said, "but I want to."  And then she looked at you for the go-ahead.  You glared at me as if I was the meanest mommy in the world.  How dare I not let her do what she wants to!

My husband thinks I should have told you to mind your own business.  Perhaps he is right.  I am still surprised by our encounter.

I hope that you are not raising any children to believe that they can do anything they want to because they may turn out just like you.

Sincerely,

The woman with the super adorable little girl who will be taught right from wrong by her responsible parent, thankyouverymuch.

To Everything, Turn, Turn, There is a Season, Turn, Turn

Hey there!  So ... how was your summer?  Yeah?  That's good.  Oh, me?  Well, mine was really crazy.  It started out really great.  Then got kind of mixed up and sad and lost.  Then stress and anxiety flooded in.  And stayed awhile.  It has been long.  And yet, I am not ready for it to be over.

We've been busy, in a good way, going from one event to another.  Here's a quick review:

Our winter of sickness turned into a spring full of angst.  Once summer started and all the end-of-the-school-year nonsense (too many parties, special events, lack of routine, Scott even said at one point, "I don't want another pizza party, I just want a regular day!") was over, the stress level in our house went way down.  Plus I was in a zen-momma, just turned 40, mode of living in the moment and enjoying having my kids around. 

We had a pre-July 4th party with two of my friends from college and their families (which included "the three little trip-a-lets", as Jane calls them).  At the same time we settled into a nice routine of attending swim lessons in the morning, hanging out at the park, running errands, chilling out at home, reading Harry Potter and doing workbooks.  We girly-ed up some old furniture for Jane's room by painting it pink and purple.  We saw the fireworks with the cousins as usual, enjoying the fact that the kids can all play pretty independently now (I'll choose to ignore the part where Scott got scared of the fireworks because of the smoke now, instead of the noise, well, he still doesn't like the loudness, either).  I rushed to finish Nineteen Minutes and then hosted book group.

This wonderful start to summer then blended into me getting ready for and attending the BlogHer 2008 conference.  After returning, we got in a little bit of a funk with sad news and new anxieties cropping up. We scrambled around getting ready for vacation, went away, then had to recover from said vacation.  There was football practice and picking tomatoes and green beans from the garden.  Attempts at bike riding without training wheels.  Lots of lunches out.  TV watching, computer games, Wii playing.

I read a second book, Crossing To Safety, for my book group, cramming it in, finishing just in time for our meeting. 

There also were fights between the kids.  New issues with "trash can germs".  Complaints about being bored and simultaneously too busy.

I felt tired.  All. the. time.  Oh the headaches, also.  Grrr.

Usually I am more than eager for Fall, my favorite season, to arrive.  But this summer seemed to carry extra importance.  More than anytime before I know how precious these days are.  How fleeting.  I sense the change of seasons, not just literally, but figuratively, for me and my family. 

This time of caring for small children, of being dedicated primarily to them, is coming to an end.  There won't be any more babies.  I think I am the one who is having the most difficult time moving on.  Because it is me that needs to adjust the most.  From full-time, all consuming mommyhood, to what?  I don't know.  I feel lost when I thought I'd feel free, excited, revved-up for new possibilities.

Tomorrow my boy goes back to school.  Something he needs to do.  He wants nothing more than to stay home with me.  To be able to control his environment.  To not have to deal with any of it.

He is concerned about his teacher.  The bullies on the bus.  How long the day is.  Being away from home, missing me.  And the germs.  Really worried about the germs that lurk everywhere because, you know, no one else washes their hands and the bathrooms are beyond gross and don't even get him started on the cafeteria.  And the bus might break down or he could get poisoned.  And no one likes him, well some of the girls do, but they're yucky, except maybe the one girl that he kind of sort of likes, but no.  she's still yucky, too.  It is all just overwhelming.

But he must go.  It is good for him.

And for me.

The new school year always brings a lot of promise.  For fresh starts, new friends.  Opportunities to learn and grow.  I welcome the arrival of routine and cooler weather.  Of whatever lies ahead.

Even if I am wistful for the summer days and babies of the past.

*** Tomorrow I will be hosting a guest post from an anonymous Bitcher as part of Her Bad Mother's Betchfest.  Please check back to listen to some good old-fashioned ranting.  From someone other than me!  And to offer your comments and support.  Because everyone likes to be heard.

The Summer That We Wanted. Yeah, We Finally Got It!

Guess what?  Our summer is going really well.  Really, really, well.  So well that I am almost afraid to admit it for fear of jinxing things.  I know!  I can't believe it either.  I've done so much complaining about summer in the past that I had pretty much resigned myself to another stress-filled 10 week roller coaster.  But, something has happened here.  A perfect mix of maturity and structure that is enabling us all to enjoy these long summer days.

The irony is that a ton of stuff has gone wrong, too.  We've had a bee sting, a badly skinned knee, kids not going to sleep, a late night trip to the ER for an asthma attack, and a renewed fear of fireworks, among many other things.  In fact, just yesterday, I spent an hour on the phone trying to fix a banking problem, then another hour deciphering why my new sensor wasn't connecting to my Nike + account and then, right after she fell asleep, Jane threw up.

All that and the normal summer annoyances, like kids who fight and no time to myself, complaints about what's for lunch and who gets to play at Grammy's, anxiety about new situations.  Sunscreen.  Bugs.  The list goes on and on.

But none of that matters because what we do have is a typical summer.  Kids who swim and play with other kids.  Who can entertain each other and themselves.  Enough of a routine to keep things sane and plenty of flexibility to have fun. 

It is as if the atmosphere in our house has changed dramatically.

For years now I have been frantic and anxious.  Wondering how to get through each day, worried about what new challenge would come up.  Take last summer for example, Scott wouldn't put his head back in the water and Jane wasn't potty trained.  I spent all summer stressing that he'd never make it through a full day of school in first grade and she'd never be able to start preschool still in diapers.

And all I'd hear from everyone around me was, "Aren't you glad to have time with your kids?  They will be grown up soon enough and you will miss them.  You should enjoy summer when you can relax."  Except summer never felt relaxing at all.  It was more about me trying to figure out how to get a break from the kids and how to get them to comply as it seemed they should.

The other day I was chatting with one of the moms at the playground next to the pool complex and I admitted that this summer is finally like I had always hoped it would be.  I was explaining how Scott is now, after three previous summers at this same place, going in to swim lessons on his own.  How Jane plays with other kids and barely even looks for me. 

As we talked, the mom confided that she understood all too well.  That her older, twin boys, had spent two years in an autistic support class.  That she knew what I meant when I explained how I had felt self-conscious.  Like all the other moms were wondering either what was wrong with my kid or why I was such an awful parent.

But time and understanding has not only changed the way I look at Scott but it has also allowed me to see myself more accurately.  Just like everyone else.  Doing the best I can.  And because of that, I can now feel comfortable.  I realize that we do fit in.  That summer can be for us, too!

My book group just finished reading Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult.  While it certainly wasn't the best book I've read, I did relate to several of the characters.  In particular I was drawn to the idea that these children of mine, the ones who hug me and tell me they love me 20 times a day, will soon be off in their own worlds.  They will be much more interested and influenced by their peers and will no longer want me to hang out with them.  While I know this is the natural order of things, it pains me to the core.  Suddenly the idea that I am so lucky to have this time with them, to enjoy our summer with lots of free time, becomes crystal clear. 

Perhaps I needed Scott to be in full day school last year to truly appreciate the summer.  As I had suspected, I missed him.  And possibly I also needed to grow up a bit myself, too.  To see that even though racing for certain goals has merit, there are also times when not having high expectations, to just going with the flow, is equally valuable.  Last year I vowed to embrace summer, but I couldn't force myself to do it.  This year it is happening all on its own.

There are reminders everywhere that I should have a tiny baby to care for in addition to these two children of mine.  That this summer was also supposed to be about welcoming a new member to our family.  My heart hurts when I see sweet newborn babies.  But then I refocus and look at my kids.  The ones that are sporting tans and sun-bleached hair.  Who are begging me to play with them. 

And I feel fortunate once again. 

To be their mother. 

To have this time. 

To create these memories for them and for myself.

And the Star-Dazzle Award Goes to ....

*** Fair warning that there is going to be some serious mommy bragging in this post.

I might have been complaining in my last post about the monotony of raising kids, but truth be told, I love being a mom.  And more specifically, I love being a mom of two kids.  These two kids.  Two very different children.  They can be quite frustrating and they both have their individual issues.  Well, Scott much more so than Jane, but she's been having some tantrums (and will not, for the love of God, go to sleep tonight) and being a girl does present some inherent challenges.

So, while I have been somewhat discontented lately, this past weekend was really what all parents look forward to.  The good stuff.  The things that our parents think of when they say, "when you kids were young was the best time of our lives."  The things that we look back on as kids and feel proud of.  The stuff of happy memories.

I should now turn the award ceremony over to someone else, not their mom, who might be able to be a little more objective, but it is my blog, so you get my proud momma version:

The Tiny Dancer

First up for her Star-Dazzle award is Jane.  Jane performed in her first dance recital this weekend.  She went to dance lessons all year for this and mom and dad forked over huge amounts of money.  Delilah covered it well in her post yesterday.

I was a bit concerned about the recital after Jane turned into a diva-in-training before the rehearsal, demanding that her hair be done a certain way and that she wear her favorite bright purple, shimmering lipstick.  But she was all business (show business that is) for the recital.  She was prepared and she ate it up like any small girl who gets to dress-up in a tutu should.  She even donned her purple, polka dot sunglasses while strutting into the building as if she was entering her dressing room; posing for photos and asking for her make-up to be reapplied.

As I dropped her off in the cafeteria, which was the holding room for all the performers, she smiled brightly and blew me a kiss.  "Have fun, sweetie!"  "I will mom!" 

My mind raced:  Is she nervous?  Will she cry?  Be overwhelmed?  Pee her pants?  Isn't this developmentally inappropriate to ask a just turned 4 year old child to get up on a high school auditorium stage in front of a packed audience?

But I forgot all of that as the curtain opened and group after group of girls, from 3 year olds all the way up to high school age, danced their numbers.  Many of the children I knew.  And I really started to cry when I saw Kate, clearly enjoying herself doing her routine just like the other girls, as happy as can be.

These kids were super stars!  What a great chance to have the memory of performing in front of an audience.  And Jane?  She was simply perfect.  As cute as a button, following along, twirling in her elaborate get-up.  Smiling, waving and blowing kisses to her fans.  I wanted to run right up on stage with her and hug her to pieces.

I'll be signing her up for next year, when she gets to wear tap shoes and make a lot of noise.  I can't wait.

The All Star Player

Second up, to share the award, is her brother, Scott.  Scott is finishing up his baseball season which completes his second rotation of soccer/basketball/baseball playing team sports.  Even though Scott takes these games very seriously, the idea is to get the children's feet wet in the world of sports.  Basketball this year was the first time that an official score was kept although the coaches still played down winning or losing trying to get the kids to learn how to play and have fun.

But for Scott it is about winning.  And this has been an issue as far as these junior leagues are concerned.  When the basketball league decided to have an all star game, Scott was sure he'd be selected to play, but he wasn't.  Not because he wasn't one of the better players but because it was his first year in the league and the coaches decided to have the older kids participate.

This made Scott's head explode.  The injustice!  Why should he bother to play?  When would he ever be recognized for his talent?

Well, the time has come because he was just offered a spot on the All Star baseball team!  And he gets to play with some of his best buddies from class.  His group.  The ones that he is now asking for play dates with.  My boy!  Is finding his group.  I might start crying again.

Scott has really struggled this spring with anxiety and OCD.  He can be volatile and downright sullen.  But this world of sports?  It is his thing.  His place.  He needs it and he deserves it.

There will be "scouts" there for the 8 year old travel team which he could be invited to play on next spring.  A real, competitive, every game matters type of opportunity.  I know many people think that that is not appropriate for his age.  But I defy them to see him in action and question whose motive it is to play.  He wants this and has been waiting. 

Is it any different than having your little girl perform in a recital?

Scott is the youngest member of his team and he is going to represent them in an All Star game.  He is thrilled.

Rising to the occasion

Scott was not happy about having to attend Jane's recital, but we felt that he should support his sister.  Earlier in the day as he was teasing her, I scolded him saying, "this is her one day, don't ruin it for her."  So, of course, he had to pout and be mad at me.  Matt and I exchanged glances thinking he better not make this moment about him.  It is always about him.  Typical first child.

But he sat through the whole recital without any complaints.  And when it was all over and Jane came off the stage she was so happy to see him there.  He gave her a big hug and congratulated her on her performance.   "Thanks, brother!" she beamed.

Can you see my heart bursting?

For a closing note, your proud momma MC would like to also share this little story:

Matt came home from work late today and was going to mow the lawn.  I had already planned to have dinner at my mom's and the kids were not expecting to see their dad until after they got home.  But he surprised them by coming over as they were eating.

Matt brought over his and Scott's baseball gloves and, in a teasing tone, asked Scott, "Now that you are a big shot All Star player, do you still have time to have a catch with your dad?"

Scott smiled and responded, "I'll always have time for you, Daddy.  Always."

That moment. 

These moments. 

The good stuff.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

Lately I feel like my life is flying by at lightning speed.  2008 is practically half way done.  I am about to turn 40.  These children of mine are 7 and 4. 

I am in a tunnel with images whizzing by:

Me, in the house I bought on my own 10 years ago.
Scott as a baby, looking out the window.
Jane taking her first boat ride at the tender age of 4 months old.
Me, in my car, the one I bought back when I lived in DC, on my way home from NY with my teeny-tiny puppy.
Scott trying to ride a bike, arguing with Matt when he was 4.
Jane desperately trying to suck her thumb after she broke her wrist.
Me, as a child, playing with my neighbor.
Me, in high school, college, my first job out of school.
Me, traveling with my friend in Europe.
Me, with an old boyfriend.
Matt and I on our honeymoon.

I see backward and forward.  Snap shots captured in time.  A million small moments.  A lifetime already.  And yet I know I have so much more of my life to live.  Time is moving so quickly.  This must be what old people feel.  This sense of having experienced so much.  Of the treadmill gaining speed and you can barely hang on.  The years flying by.  Christmas then Summer in the blink of an eye.

And yet.

There is a certain Ground Hog Day quality to my life.  Here I am doing the laundry again.  Fixing up the morning medicines.  Putting out the toothbrushes.  Oh, Jane peed on the floor again?  Oh, Scott is complaining that his stomach hurts?  Matt shaking his head, we need to organizing things around here.  Another baseball game.  Another birthday party.

Yawn.

How is it possible to simultaneously feel like my life is speeding by and also be so bored by much of the day to day?

This time warp of days crawling by with dulling monotony and years piling up so fast I can't keep them straight?

Even as I write this, it sounds absurd.  My life is far from boring.  In fact, I often think that I need to figure out a way to make things slow down, to simplify, to, well, make things less chaotic.  Yet, even the unexpected has become predictable.  Am I just getting older and nothing surprises me anymore?  Is it that I need to shake things up a bit, break out of my routines?

I do know this:  The saying, "The days go by slowly but the years go by fast" has never felt more relevant than right now.

My Last Post About Puke, I Promise

This morning while I was in our downstairs office on the computer, Jane came running in saying she didn't feel good.  A few minutes before she had been happily watching TV and seemed perfectly fine to me.  I glanced over, distracted, "oh? what's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"What?  Really?"

We rushed into the bathroom, she lifted the toilet seat, and proceeded to vomit several times.  I sat there incredulously.  She couldn't possibly be sick again.  It wasn't the violent retching of last week, but puke all the same.

When she was done, she stood up, smiled a little and said, "I am all done now.  I'm not sick anymore."

I stared at her.  What the hell was going on in my house?

I feel like I need to call in those Hazmat guys in the suits to detox the place.

Now, although we haven't had the throw up virus in our home until recently, Jane has, on occasion, been sick to her stomach.  Over the holidays, she threw up after our annual Hanukkah party.  We suspected that she ate too many chocolate coins which prompted her to say, "I'm sick from the guilt," when she really meant "gelt," but it was so funny and appropriate that we didn't correct her.

It hit me that perhaps Jane is a Puker.  You know the type.  I had a friend in college who would get super drunk, feel sick, throw-up in the bushes outside a fraternity, wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt, and grab a beer to wash down the taste.

My sister and her kids are also Pukers.  My sister used to get car sick when we were kids.  We'd pull over, she'd toss her cookies, and we'd get back on the road.  My nephew was so good at it, that by age 3, he barely needed a grown-up to help him (girls always need someone to hold their hair back).

Even Matt is a Puker.  Sometimes he gets sick from drinking or eating certain things.  The next day, it is as if it never happened.

I am not a Puker.  I am more like an anti-Puker.  The exact opposite of a Puker.  The last time I threw up was when Matt and I first started dating, 9 years ago.  I had mild food poisoning from some deli chicken salad.  I thought I might be dying.  Matt, non phased, still wanted to kiss me (after I brushed my teeth, of course).  I remember thinking, wow, he must really like me.

I am the type of person who can be nauseous for days (weeks, when pregnant) but cannot get myself to vomit.  I am terrified of throwing up, actually.  I can literally count on one hand how many times I've thrown up in my lifetime, and that includes two times when I was so drunk I don't even remember them.

Sure enough, Jane was completely fine all day long.  Her usual silly, fun, self.  I've been trying to figure out what her sudden throw up incident was all about.  Was it what she ate for breakfast?  Did she stick something in her mouth and gag?  Matt told me to just get over it.  Clearly it is my issue, not theirs.

A little while ago I called my mom to see what she was up to for the weekend and to check if she might be able to watch the kids at all.

"hello?"  I heard on the other end of the line.

"Mom?  Is that you?  You sound terrible."

"I'm sick."  The pathetic voice barely managed to get out.

"Oh, that's too bad, do you need anything?"

"No.  I tried to eat something and I threw it up."

"Oh, okay, well, sorry again, get some rest."  Oh, the guilt!

No more, I said!  Now you are picking on Grammy?  That is just wrong!

How the hell am I going to get away from all these sick people, if my babysitter is ill?

 

There's a Big Silver Lining in All This

When I complained about how the puke virus finally invaded our home, I did not express how fortunate I feel that it didn't happen until now.  At a time when it seems we can, and did, handle it pretty well.   A few years ago, or even last year, I really can't imagine how Scott would have reacted to the choking sensation.  To the foul smell and yucky taste in his mouth.  To the gunk coming out of his nose.  Although he was scared and obviously didn't like it (nobody does, of course) he reacted in a way that you'd expect.

I keep coming back to this idea of how, well, normal, he has been lately.  I do not use the word lightly because I think normal is very subjective.  But I guess I am trying to say that Scott has been acting, in most ways, like a typical six year old.  More so now than he has ever behaved in the past.  Possibly it is a combination of how much we've adjusted, natural maturing, and self and specialist taught coping mechanisms. 

He even said that the throwing up wasn't the end of the world, mostly just scary.  Huh?  From a kid who can't even stand the smell of my newspaper?  Who hates the way liquid feels on his face?

Yes, my kid.  Who has come so far.  Who is realizing that life throws you punches and curve balls and you can make adjustments and move on.  Who actually let me wipe his face with a paper towel the other day.

I can see now that as he is getting older, he can control his environment more himself.  He can move the newspapers.  He can go wash his face off.  Just like how I always wear my sunglasses and only read when it is quiet.  I can make those choices because I understand myself and because I am capable.  I don't have to ask someone to help me.

A few weeks ago when he was all wound up before bed time, I yelled at him that he was driving me crazy.  "Settle down!"  I screamed.  About 10 minutes later, he very calmly said, "I watched a little tv, sat in the big chair and chewed on that yellow thing and now I feel much better."  He knows what to do.

And here is the big kicker:  Due to being sick, Scott hasn't been eating with his normal voracious appetite.  So his system has been off and he hasn't been pooping regularly.  I only skipped one day of Miralax because I am so afraid of him having any kind of constipation issues even though he did have some diarrhea (oh, yes, in the middle of the night, I forgot to add that to my highlights, it brought back such fond memories).

Anyway, he left for school yesterday without going to the bathroom for over 24 hours.  Usually, a huge cause for concern, but what could I do?  After he was home for a few hours, he casually said, "oh, yeah, mom, I forgot to tell you that I pooped at school today."  And then he just went back to doing whatever he had been.

I was shocked.  And once again I had to adjust how I view my son.  How much more capable he really is.  How I am the one who may be holding him back sometimes, trying to protect him, schedule things out so that there aren't any surprises.  Even plan his pooping.

As much as I dread the vomit virus, I will concede that it has shown me that we can handle more than I thought. 

Now, please, no more visits until at least next year. 

I finally finished all the laundry.