warm fuzzy

(My sons holding hands on a walk.)

Maybe it's the cherry pie that Henry and I just baked and sampled, or maybe I'm getting all wrapped up in the season- I'm really counting my blessings right now.
It's no accident that Thanksgiving comes at this dreary time of year- something pleasant (or at least busy) to keep us occupied, or we might all be tempted to hide under the covers all day long. I know it was hard for me to get moving on this Monday morning- the sun not up yet and the rain drizzling down. Today I realized the truth in the cliche: my kids are literally the thing that make me willing to get out of bed every day. I don't mean that in a hideously depressed kind of way. I just mean- on a day like today I cannot imagine being motivated by anything else. But those two boys make me smile every morning- they make it worthwhile. They're the reason I go to work and the reason I go to sleep so early and the reason I try to figure shit out.

Today's dreary Monday-ness was worsened by the fact that I scooted Henry on to the bus this morning without his backpack. So I needed to drive it up to him at school before lunchtime. What a lucky mistake that turned out to be! I got to see his classroom buzzing with activity. Henry "introduced" me to his teachers and classmates. (Well, sort of. He said "this is my mom", but usually neglected to tell me the other person's name.) I was so impressed by the way that all of the children told me their names and mumbled "nice to meet you". They made varying levels of eye-contact, but wow- when those kids looked me in the eye? I was smitten.

I may have written before about the old man in Chicago who said that (then-1.5-year-old) Henry had an "old soul". There's something special about spectrum kids, whether it's that they have "old souls" or just that I know how much it takes for them to look me sweetly in the eye and introduce themselves. But whatever it is, I'm hooked.

Mix in a few laughs with old friends on the phone this weekend, my lifeline of internet friends that I can now reach through various media (although I haven't figured out how to Twitter from my cell phone), the sound of two boys and their dad roughhousing upstairs, Thomas' artwork (pictured above), and I have a lot to be thankful for.

So I've been thinking about what I want to write about:

The worry that grips me whenever Henry is sick, as he has been the past few days. I know this worry is pretty ridiculous when you consider that some mothers have things like brain tumors to worry about, while my child has a common cold virus, and all it really comes down to is that he's been sickly all his life and I don't like it.

And really Henry's probably toying with me when he asks me to tell and re-tell the story of the worst day of my life while we wait in the doctor's office for 2 hours next to the little girl holding a barf bowl. He's really just trying to weaken my defenses so I will agree to buy him 3 rewards (a dvd, puzzle, and sticker book, oh and also a box of Christmas Tree Cakes) rather than the one reward that was promised. Touche little sick one.

Maybe a more entertaining thing for me to write about would be how much of an ass I made of myself at Thomas' preschool for those 2 weeks that L was out of commission. I'm a little perplexed that I feel comfortable talking to strangers at work all day long, most of the time without embarassing myself, but talking to other parents at preschool seemed to make me lose all sense.

Just to appreciate the faux pas, let's imagine the scenario using my blogging friends and their children. Say we're all out in the hallway waiting for our children to be dismissed from class (wouldn't that be awesome if they all went to the same school?!). I turn to, say, MOM-NOS and say "Did Nik have fun at the zoo this weekend?" And MOM-NOS answers "I don't know." I furrow my brow over this odd answer for a few seconds until I realize that MOM-NOS must not be Nik's mother.

Yes, quite embarrassing. Made only slightly better by Thomas telling me "it's ok mommy, I mix up Nik and Bud's mommies all the time. They kind of look alike." Not really comforting coming from the 4-year-old who doesn't even know all his classmates' names.

Ironically, in this same imaginary scenario, Bud bites Tommy the next day. So MOM-NOS (who I've been trying to avoid after my slip-up) stops me on the way in to pick up the kids. She says "I'm so sorry that Bud bit Tommy."

And I blurt out "Well I'm so sorry that I thought you were Nik's mom!"

I then go on with something inappropriate about how my older son has autism and hurts other kids sometimes so I totally understand. Why did I respond this way? It sounded both like I thought her child was autistic and also like I thought it was just fine for children to hurt one another.

By the end of the week, when another nice mom inquired about having a playdate, I just stared at her with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. A PLAYDATE?! HOW DOES THAT WORK? DO I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU THE WHOLE TIME? BUT I'LL SAY SO MANY STUPID THINGS!

I guess I'll just chalk it up to being out of my element for a couple weeks. We live in a different school district than most of these people, so I can start over fresh when Tommy starts kindergarten next fall.

For some reason I am reminded of an embarrassing moment from when Kate was little:

It was first grade and she had just come to live with us. I had an inferiority complex about not being a "real mom". I thought all the other mothers new all the secrets because they had actually birthed their children. I freaked out about packing her lunch and bringing a dessert to the Brownie potluck. I thought that all the other moms made homemade secret recipe treats, and that they were given those secret recipes at the hospital before they brought their babies home or something. (I thought that until I arrived at the first potluck event and saw the table covered with store-bought cookies.)

So, it was Halloween night and a friend from Kate's class comes to the door with her mom. I'm trying to make friendly-mom chit-chat, and I say "so is M's dad at home giving out candy?" M's mom replies "I don't know." See, it turns out that M's mom and dad were never married and never lived together. It turns out that not every family is cut from the same cookie-cutter. I was so busy feeling like the odd man out because I was a step-mom (and not even a legal stepmom yet at that point- we weren't married), that I didn't realize there were lots of other unconventional families out there as well.

It's disconcerting that I still feel so uneasy around other moms sometimes- 2 kids and 12 years later.

ducking and rolling

I know I've said this before: that I like to think I'm a real flexible, by-the-seat-of-my-pants mom (in a good way). But too much of that can wear me out- I really like my routine. This week has been chock-full of changes and adjustments- ducking and rolling.
We ended up voting when the polls first opened Tuesday- Bill went from work (he goes in to work very early), the boys and I went up and got in line, waited about 20 minutes or so and then Bill was done and could take them home while I kept waiting. I love taking my kids to the polls when I can, I want them to understand what a special right it is. I always get choked up when I explain that people in other countries don't get to choose who their leader is. (The election merits a separate post: coming soon.)

So anyway, the voting was out of the way and we got to the bus stop right on schedule.

Every morning Henry carefully selects a half dozen prints, along with a few books or magazines, or maybe a DVD box, to take along in the car and on the bus. His bus ride is about 40 minutes each way. A couple times he has brought a Leapster to play or the CD player and headphones to listen to, but mostly he just brings his beloved things to look at. While we wait for the bus I check each item to make sure it bears his name, so we can get it back eventually if it is left somewhere.

Monday afternoon Bill reported that the bus driver told him she wanted Henry to only bring one thing on the bus. I guess I assumed this was a suggestion, and didn't realize that it was a new rule. One that we should have prepped for a bit before Tuesday morning. So I walk Henry up to the bus and she stops him and says "remember, you can only bring one thing today."

Aye yie yie. His face crumpled and he proclaimed "I will bring nothing! I will leave it here!" I was about to cry myself. I was very close to just telling her that we would start the new plan tomorrow- we need more time to get used to the idea. But I didn't want to be the parent that undermines the bus driver's authority.

I do understand her reasoning: Henry wants to keep the stuff in his hands. He refuses to put it in his backpack, even just getting on and off the bus. His little legs are still so short that he can barely climb the bus steps as it is, and when you factor in the hodge-podge handful of papers sticking this way and that, you know he's going to fall or drop something, crawl around to find it, and hold up all the kids on the bus as well as all the traffic lined up behind it. I do understand. But I'm sad for my kid. Sad that he doesn't understand this better and sad that he won't just adapt by shoving the stuff in his backpack. Sad that I can't just make it right for him. Sad that I couldn't just grab him and his stuff off the bus, put him in the car, and drive him to school. But what would that achieve? It would make him feel better and make me feel better...

Anyway, he was pissed and I was pissed and the bus drove away. I was frankly worried that he would become very aggressive on the bus and start attacking other kids. Ms. Bus Driver has not seen that side of Henry. She would be (again, understandably) very upset and then the whole problem would escalate...

I immediately vented to my new mom friend at the bus stop, and she advised me to call the school and ask them to help me work on this issue. I called and spoke to one of his teachers to warn her that he might be upset when he gets to school. She said that they have been rewarding Henry with prints from the computer, so he has a collection of them at school also. She offered that maybe if I remind him that he has some prints at school, he'd easier leave them off the bus. I called later in the afternoon to check on him, and was told that he was having a fine day. So hopefully he is learning to manage his frustration. The past couple days have gotten better at the bus stop. This morning he still went through the motions of saying "I will bring nothing!" But then picked up his book and carried it to his seat.

But back to Tuesday morning: after the sad incident on the bus, Thomas and I drove on to L's house, only to be greeted by L in tears, saying she was having a gall bladder attack and needed to go to the emergency room! She ended up being admitted to the hospital and having surgery to remove a stone that had traveled, as well as remove her gall bladder.

So I unexpectedly had the rest of the day off on Tuesday, and presumably the rest of the week. It's not a bad thing to have to take time off work, but it's worrisome when your "co-mother" (I think I'm going to start calling her that!) is in terrible pain!

I always feel so strange when I'm home like that- torn between wanting to do stuff (go to the park, make a craft...) and wanting to veg out on the couch and eat Halloween candy. I mostly did the latter, although Thomas and I did play some legos and Bakugan. When I talked to my dad Wednesday and told him what was going on, he offered to have Tommy stay at their house for a few days, and we took him up on that offer.

I don't like that Tommy has been gone so much lately (he was at their house 2 weekends ago so we could go to a football game, and then spent the night at a friend's house last weekend), but he did call last night saying he missed us, so I guess he's not ready to leave home yet :-)

fantasy

I walked into the boys' bedroom yesterday morning to wake them up, and Thomas startled me by saying plaintively "I just wish the Ninja Turtles could be real." Perhaps he was dreaming about the Ninja Turtles and woke up with that thought on his mind- lying there in the dark, half awake, half asleep.

Moments like this often catch in my heart. Here's something I don't like about being a mom, a parent, a grown-up: I don't like being the voice of reason all the time; the dream-crusher. I remember how that felt as a child; to so love the book you were reading or the movie you were watching that it pained you to acknowledge that it wasn't real- that E.T wasn't hiding in your closet, your car couldn't really fly, or you wouldn't uncover a mystery if you took enough notes in your spy notebook.

I know that L has had to break the news to Tommy that he is not a superhero and cannot fly. I know she had to tell him this for his own safety. But yesterday morning, in the pre-dawn dark of my sons' room, I just said "who knows? Maybe they are real and we just have never seen them." And I felt like a 4-year-old all over again.

Henry's teacher e-mailed me back that same afternoon. She said I should feel free to contact her anytime, and explained that they'll also be sending home this form to report on Henry's day:

It looked like she circled the faces on this one, but subsequent forms have been self-evaluations by Henry, and all has been smiley faces.

She also said Henry is a joy to have in class. Well, duh. You can save all that teacher-y sunshine-y stuff for another mom, Miss C. Has he pinched anybody yet? I guess, on that front, no news will just be good news.

Friday evening Henry actually said "I'm going to miss my school. I'm going to miss my teachers." (!!!) I'm not going to put too much stock into that, as I think he was just plugging something in to his "I'm going to miss..." repetition. But it was still nice to hear.
______

Thomas has been quite into coloring lately. For the past month or so he colors in the morning, colors in the evening, brings coloring books in the car... It's nice to see our huge collection of coloring books actually getting colored in. (Henry just likes to look at them.) I worry slightly when Tommy cries about something not being quite right- like he colored outside the lines, but he doesn't seem to be overly compulsive about it most of the time.

The other day he picked up something that Henry had made in school last year and said "why does Henry color so messy? Oh, I know, it's because he's autistic."

I did a double-take, but then said, "well, that's true. He's not as good at some things as you are. Some things, like coloring, are just harder for him, and that's because he's autistic." Well that was easier than I thought. Now Henry's younger brother understands his disability.

I know it's not really that simple, but then again, it is. To Tommy, Henry is Henry and Henry is also "autism", so Tommy knows about autism. I hope he will someday understand the kid next to him just a little bit better, like our friend Brian does. (Brian's mom's blog is private, so I can't link to it.)

This week Tommy started fall soccer, and also goes back to preschool. He is now one of the bigger kids in both settings, and although he was worried, as always, about being shy, he really wasn't shy at all. He's growing up.
__________

And just when I think I might be getting a grip on things, I'm really not. Henry had his 9-year checkup yesterday, and daddy took him. (Henry's doing fine. 15th percentile as always :-) Then today I realized I needed to get Thomas' medical form signed before he starts preschool. Oh, how dumb am I? I should have sent it along with them yesterday.

I faxed it over, only to have the doctor's office call and tell me that Thomas' last checkup was in February of '07. His 3-year checkup. I never took him for a 4-year checkup. Hello, youngest child, welcome to neglect.

So I need to hurry up and get him in for a checkup tomorrow so that he can go to preschool. 2 well-child visits to the doctor's office in one week. Not the most efficient way to operate, but it's all we've got.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

all-around, a satisfying weekend

A new puzzle--

An uncle who is ready and willing to play with all his cool old toys--

A Grandpa who takes you on adventures, like checking out the attic--

(Perhaps this photo is blurry because mommy was so nervous. Even more so when she heard Grandpa instruct "now stay on the wood beams- don't step on the white part. It won't hold you.")

Temporary tattoos and a slip-n-slide--

Wearing no shirt all day long on your birthday, sitting outside eating watermelon, looking at the cool comic book your uncle gave you--

Covering your ears and blowing out the candles--

And she's not pictured, but the big sister joined us for the celebration. Tommy and I took her home and I saw her apartment for the first time. I was left with mixed emotions: a little bit excited for her; I remember how it felt to go out on my own, a little bit sad to leave her there alone.

I know that's weird as she hasn't lived with us for months now. I guess old mommy habits die hard.

Happy birthday Henry! Thanks for making me your mom 9 years ago.

Well, since I seem to have conveyed all my anxiety well enough to pass it on to everyone else, I feel like I should write a quick post to say that the first two days have seemed to go ok. It's hard to really evaluate, since all my information is coming from this young man of little words. He was already deep into a Disney movie by the time I got home Monday (The Sword in the Stone), and wasn't really psyched about telling me about his day.

I mostly asked him a lot of poorly-constructed questions, so that he just kept answering "yes". (Did you eat your lunch in the cafeteria? Did your teacher eat with you?) When I asked about recess, he responded "I didn't go down the slide." I can only infer that someone wanted him to go down the slide, but he refused. Or he actually did go down the slide, but doesn't want to talk to me about it...

He brought home a "madlib" worksheet he had done at school. Each page had an incomplete sentence- he had to cut out a word to fit in the blank, such as "I come to school in a ____" and he had cut and glued the word and picture for "bus". One page read "My teacher is a real ____." Henry had filled in the blank with "sweetheart". I asked him what some of the other choices were. He looked up at me with an impish smile and said "monster"! So I'm glad he didn't choose that response.

I wrote a note to his teachers yesterday, asking for guidance on Henry's birthday treat next week. They don't do daily communication notebooks at this school. But maybe I'll just force my own by writing them a note every day.

Yesterday evening, when I asked about school, he said "I went to art!" Henry's never been much into art- too challenging to his fine motor skills- so I was happy to hear his excitement. I asked what they did in art and he said "I made a dragonfly!"

This morning he started saying that he didn't want to go to (the new school), he wanted to go back to (the old school). I told him that I know it's hard to start something new and that it would take some time to get used to (the new school). I decided not to push it, and declared that by Halloween he would really like his new school. (Hopefully it happens before then, but I thought that time frame might give him the idea that it would be soon, but not right away.)

Thank you everyone for your support, and I'm sorry for all the nervousness spilling all over the place. As you know, the new school decision has been a stressful one. Of course all parents worry about their children. But our autistic children ratchet that up a level or two. It was very comfortable to have Henry at L's house this summer- a comfortable safe zone where he could also spend time with his brother. But I was caught offguard a couple different times when I realized that L couldn't understand things Henry was saying to her. She has known him his whole life, and spent the most time with him of anyone, outside our immediate home. She loves him like he's her own child. And she still doesn't know what he's telling her half the time. Really eye-opening. And really frightening, if you think about it too much: there are only 4 people in this world who understand everything Henry says.

How am I supposed to send him out in the world, knowing that?

It doesn't help that I've been reading a lot of news stories that I shouldn't. I read about bad things that happen to children, as if I think that reading about them will prevent them from happening to my kids. And then the details get stuck in my head and shake loose in the middle of the night.

This cloud will blow past- don't worry. By the time we get through this fun-filled long weekend and celebrate Henry's 9th birthday Monday, I will be all sunshine and daisies again.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming... maybe we should all get Dory tattoos (or t-shirts, for the needle-phobes.)

the circle of life

Could I be any more cliche than this? Henry watched The Lion King a couple times this weekend and took 2 different Lion King books with him to his first day at the new school, so I just can't avoid using the circle of life phrase.

Henry has been feeling a lot of anxiety about this change to a different school. But the good news is that he's been expressing that verbally without too much other acting out. This morning he told me he didn't feel too well. And that he was nervous about going to a new school.

Of course I understand how he feels. How nervous do any of us feel when we start something new? He's not quite 9 years old and loves his routine- gulp. I can't let myself get too far inside his head or I'll be trying to smuggle him in to work with me and "office-school" him to never let him out of my sight!

So I tried very hard to remember that a mom's job is to say "I understand how you feel. It's normal to be worried about something new. But you'll be fine. Everything will be great. I think you'll love your new school!"

I remembered that a new infant was starting today at L's house, and I thought about how his parents must feel- leaving their baby for the first time.

I told Henry to think about how scared that baby might feel, but that we knew he would have so much fun at L's house and soon he would love it there.

There was a little mix-up with the bus, so we had some extra time to snap photos while waiting. It finally arrived, although it stopped about half a block from where I had been told...

Henry sat down across from a chatty 5th-grade girl. She introduced herself and asked us our names. Henry pointed to her Camp Rock binder and said "Camp Rock".
"I have a Camp Rock binder, Camp Rock notebook, Camp Rock folders, and Camp Rock pencils", she replied.
"Wow" I said.
"I'm a big fan" she explained. Then she offered to help Henry find his classroom.
This feels as hard as every other first.

you are the consequence!

Let's just all put our heads down and try to make it through the next few weeks, ok? It seems like families all over the blogosphere are worried about the new school year starting, and over here is no exception. Henry's been talking a lot about missing his old school, missing L when he goes back to school, missing me and daddy, missing Kate.

This is one of his ways of expressing his anxiety. I don't know that he will actually miss any of these things, but it's a phrase he's found that conveys hey, I need some comforting. In reading back through some of my early posts, I remember that he used to miss things much more regularly. And back then he had all his pronouns backwards. So we have traveled from that point to this: where we have just occasional anxiety, with the correct pronouns. But the worry for the mom feels the same.

And the worry spills over to Thomas. He is not starting school yet- has one more safe year at L's house before the big changes start. But a couple of his buddies from L's are going on to kindergarten, and she is taking in 2 new infants. Tommy will be the big boy that the little ones emulate. Time marches on and on.

In a lighter vein, here is how my sons looked when we left the house this morning.

Longtime readers may remember that Thomas used to be positively traumatized when required to wear long pants in the winter. Well, all of a sudden, the past few weeks, he has been digging through drawers to find long pants and long-sleeved shirts to wear. And a long-sleeved shirt with a short-sleeved over it is even better. He thought he looked totally fashion today- down to the sunglasses.

For his part, Henry has taken to sleeping with no shirt (I guess he learned that from Daddy). He often sleeps in boxer shorts and then requests to just wear those for his underwear that day. Well, today he said "I want to keep my jammie pants on under my shorts." Only he was wearing long pants this time. Don't worry, I brought proper changes of clothes for both of them, in case L takes them out in public today.

Yesterday was a rough one for both boys. I was just thinking that we had almost made it through the summer without incident (remember Thomas' black eye last August?), but no such luck. L called yesterday to tell me that Tommy had been stung 4 times (by a wasp or hornet, we think, as bees can only sting once) on the back of his knee! Of course I had a heart attack, worrying that he would be allergic, but he was perfectly fine after she put some baking soda paste on the stings.

Henry's pain yesterday was of a different sort: the sting of shame, perhaps. At our last visit to the library (Monday), I borrowed an X-Men "junior novel"- a chapter book with no pictures except for a few pages in the center, with photos from the movie. Although Henry is a very good reader, he prefers large storybook-type books with lots of pictures. I was hoping to force his comfort zone by having him read this chapter book.

When I called him up for a bath Tuesday night, he had, clutched in his hands, the photo pages from the library book. Torn right out. I couldn't believe it. Henry has never ever damaged a book- library or otherwise. I guess I took it for granted that he understood that you aren't supposed to damage books. But maybe he just was never motivated to do so before.

Heavy sigh. So when I picked him up yesterday, I told him that we were going to go back to the library, return the damaged book, and tell the librarian he was sorry. Henry did not like this plan at all. He argued a bit and said he didn't want to go. I replied by saying that this was the consequence for damaging the library book.

He came over, pushed me right about my rib cage, and said "you are the consequence!"

You almost feel sorry for the kid because you can tell he wants to really tell me off, but he just doesn't have the language. He did a lot of crossing his arms, planting his feet, and saying "hmph!" on the way to talk to the librarian. He looked like he was going to cry and only managed a "sorry", while looking down. But that was enough. I feel like the point was made- I hope he learned a lesson. (Oh, and the librarians are super-nice and know him and I had called beforehand and talked to them, so they were very kind to Henry.)

The book only cost $5, so I am going to make him do a few jobs to earn the money. (In fact, I bribed him to pose for the photo above by telling him he could earn $1. Note his unhappy face.) On the way out of the library I stopped to give Henry a hug and asked if he felt embarrassed. He said yes. It's so hard to help him understand his emotions without putting words in his mouth. Oh, he also attempted to convey his anger toward me by declaring "you are not my mom!" I just brushed that off and said "of course I am." Luckiest mom in the world, even on a day like this!

Tonight we have "meet-the-teacher night" at Henry's new school. Now, before you get all excited and think that I kicked some school district butt to get him in, let me explain.

It turns out that, if you can't get your school district to agree to send your child to the private school, (I couldn't, not without calling an IEP meeting which couldn't be done until after school had already started) you can send him to the "community school" (called charter schools in most other states) arm of the same school. (If there is a community school slot available, and if the spot is offered to you.) You withdraw your child from the district of residence and enroll him in the community school.

Holy shit, this stuff is unclear. One person tells you one thing and the next person doesn't know anything about that, and you send an e-mail and leave 15 messages and wait a week to figure out what to do next. I feel like I've been through the wringer.

It doesn't help that my husband is still not drinking that kool-aid, while I'm guzzling it by the gallon. At least he's willing to give it a shot, seeing as I'm so flipping sure about this.

I'll agree with him that the place has a bit of a cult-like feel to it. Everyone is so friendly and smiling and talks in such soothing tones. But I like to think that that's because they work with autistic kids all day, and friendly, smiling and soothing are good ways to be in that environment--not because they're trying to brainwash us.

Our school district's refusal to agree to place Henry here just reinforces my feeling that they don't really care about my child. And their argument that mainstreaming in the public school prepares my child for the "real world" he will someday work and live in holds no merit with me. You know what will prepare my child for the future? Being in a safe, nurturing, understanding, respectful environment that works on his weaknesses and works with his strengths to give him an excellent education.

The "real world" can be a pretty shitty place, and I don't see any other parents going out of their way to prepare their kids for that. Why should I be expected to?

I think Bill summed it up pretty well with this analogy: a couple summers ago Henry played t-ball through our city's parks & rec dept. We told them up front that he had autism, and they were quite willing to work with him and include him. And it was fine- it was a decent experience. But then this summer we found the Miracle League. They did more than just let my kid play. The team was made for kids like him, and parents like us, and it was more than we could have hoped for. This is my hope for our new school.

I've realized that part of this is selfish. I went to a parent orientation meeting the other night, and had the most unusual feeling as I pulled into the parking lot full of cars with autism ribbons on their bumpers. The feeling grew as I looked around the room and saw parents nodding and smiling at the school founders who were speaking. I think this feeling that I'm not so used to is belonging. As Drama Mama would say, these are our people.

Just as my son will no longer be relegated to a room at the end of the hall, I will no longer be relegated to the edges of the parental realm. I would not have participated in the PTO at his old school, because he didn't really participate in the school's activities. This new school requires a lot more parental involvement, and I think that will be good for me- for all of us.

I was telling a friend about the baseball analogy- a friend who's son is 10 and plays select-league baseball. I said "yeah, maybe Miracle League isn't 'real world' baseball, but I don't care." She interrupted me and said "Or maybe Miracle League baseball is 'real world' baseball. Just as much as our league is. It's about giving everyone a chance to play."

issues

I would really rather not give everyone the impression that I'm totally neurotic and frantic about my children leaving me at any moment. I kind of thought that I was over that stuff I wrote about in the last post. But then this morning I had a bad dream:

Tommy was leaving. Going somewhere on his own. I'm not clear on the exact circumstances- if Bill and I were divorced and the boy was going off to visit his dad, or maybe he was just going off on a trip by himself. But he was standing out on a street corner in his yellow crocs and blue spiderman t-shirt- not any older or bigger than he is now- waiting for a taxi to pick him up.

I was watching him through a window, trying to be cool, but then just lost it and ran out to him, crying, and begged him to come back home and stay with me for awhile. I was on my knees, hugging him and sobbing, and he was like "ummm, I don't know mommy. Actually, I think I'll go."

Is that messed up or what? I am getting all choked up again, just thinking about it.

It's going to be a long 14 more years for this kid, what with trying to live his life while his mom drags along behind him, holding on to his ankles.

why can't real life be more like preschool?

Me: Oh, man, tomorrow I have to go back to work.

Thomas: Mommy, do you have to work the WHOLE TIME while you're at work? Do you get breaks?

Me: Oh, yes, we get breaks. (If you only knew how many breaks I take to talk or read blogs...)

Thomas: Do you have snack?

Me: Well, yes, we do have snack breaks. (If you only knew...)

Thomas: Whose turn is it to bring snack next? Yours or Karen's?

happy birthday lovey

Tommy had his first real birthday party with friends this weekend, at the gymnastics place. He requested red cake (easy- a red velvet mix) and red icing (FYI it takes 1.5 bottles of red food coloring to turn white icing into red). His big sister did the decorating.

He was a very good host, had lots of fun, and received lots of cool superhero gifts. Today (his true birthday) he will bring a treat to preschool and open more presents at home.

I've been working on this analogy in my head: that our children are like vacations. Each a delightful little detour from life as it had been, changing our life experience forever. Some children are like a mountain-climbing survival trek; they challenge you to a level you've never reached before, shocking you and exhausting you and turning things upside-down. Sometimes they make you think "hey, I never set out to be a mountain climber. What am I doing here?" But sometimes they also make you think "hey, look at me- I'm climbing this mountain and I'm actually enjoying it!"

Thomas is like a vacation at a familiar beach house. He's generally easy and predictable and goes with the flow. He gives us a minute to catch our breath. Of course he can be a brat quite often, but even at those times he usually can be reasoned with, and responds to basic parental logic. The storm usually blows over quickly. I guess what I'm trying to say is, Tommy is a comfort and I'm so glad he's in my life. I hope I never fail to let him know that.

Happy 4th birthday boo-boo.

double standard

This photo is currently my computer desktop background- it's from our visit to the zoo last weekend. It says a lot about my sons: Thomas is wearing a Batman pajama shirt backwards on purpose and Henry is holding his Big Cats Zoobook.

My boss commented today on the picture and asked about Henry's magazine. As usual, I launched into a longer-than-necessary explanation.

You see, Big Cats is one of Henry's very favorite Zoobooks. Because he carries his very favorite things with him to school, the gym, the grocery store, L's house... sometimes the very favorite things get lost. Or they get ripped.

In the past few months, something happened to Big Cats. I can't be sure what it was, and it doesn't really matter. But Henry would ask for it and I would promise to look a couple places for it; in the cars, in the basement where I keep things that need to be repaired, I would ask L about it. When we went to the zoo he would look for it in the gift shop, and they would never have any copies.

As so often happens, I put Henry off and off and off until I finally focused my attention on the situation and thought ok, the Big Cats book is gone, let's figure out how to get a new one. So I ordered a new copy from the Zoobooks website. It arrived around Henry's birthday.

Then, last Sunday, as we browsed in the gift shop, Henry found what he wanted to get: Big Cats. (Sure, now they have it in stock!)
But we already have that one Henry. At home. I know because I ordered it special for you. Why don't you pick out a different Zoobook that we don't already have?
We do not have it at home!

Yes, we do. Remember, it came in the mail? I know we already have this one at home.
It did not come in the mail! We do not have it at home!
You can tell by the picture how this argument was resolved. We bought another copy of Big Cats. And it's not a huge defeat in the bigger scheme of things, I know. It cost like $3, made him really happy, and now we'll have a spare for the next time we lose one copy.

But the part that bothers me--and the part that my boss couldn't really understand, although he is well-intentioned--is... if it were Thomas wanting a duplicate of something he already has, I would not give in so easily. Of course, the flip-side of that is that Thomas probably wouldn't ask for something that he already has. He would decide that it made sense to pick out something different.

My boss was asking "what would happen if you just told him no and refused to get it for him?" Well, I would probably have to drag him out of the gift shop crying, and then we'd have to talk all day about the Big Cats magazine. And what it really comes down to is--and this goes along with what I wrote a couple posts back about spoiling my kids--I don't want to tell him no. I get how important it is to him to have his papers or his books or his magazines. I get how comfortable those things make him feel. And I'm happy to help my child feel comfortable. But I wonder sometimes if I'm doing the right thing.

No, strike that. I don't wonder if I'm doing the right thing. But I wonder why the "right thing" for one child can be different from the "right thing" for another child.

My mom told me recently about how she made my one brother take piano lessons. And not the other brother. Basically she knew that my middle brother would have flat-out refused to cooperate. The younger brother, he didn't like it, but he could be persuaded. So he took piano lessons.

Time Magazine's cover story this week is about birth order- the stereotypes and truths associated with being the first-born, baby, or somewhere in the middle. Although I don't feel that many of the issues apply to our family, it is still fascinating food for thought, and is making me examine my choices- will Tommy have it easier or harder because of his older brother and sister? Will I give in to him more or less? Will I celebrate each new skill he learns, or will it be old hat for this mom of three?

Maybe the thing I have learned from the other two that Thomas will benefit from is: to suggest the thing that seems logical (don't buy a magazine that you already have), but to be open to the idea that we don't always have to be logical.

first day of school 2007 and keeping my head above water

(Holding up 2 fingers to show he's in 2nd grade)

Um, yeah. The first day of school was a week ago. I'm not sure what my problem is- I just haven't felt moved to write much lately. Or even read much in the blog world. I guess we just need a break from our habits once in awhile- whatever those habits may be.

The first day went great for both kids, as have all the days since. Kate seems engaged and happy, and Henry has been getting good reports in the communication notebook. He has started saying "I don't want to go to school", which troubles me, even though I know it is normal. They are making him do work, which he didn't have to do at summer camp. So it's natural that he would have second thoughts about second grade (good one, eh?)

He doesn't put up a fight when it's time to get on the bus, which adds to my conviction that his protests aren't really sincere. But last night, as we watched Chicken Little before bath time, he chanted it over and over: I don't want to go to school I don't like going to school I don't like school I don't want to go to school. It's just so tiring to keep responding positively. And he does want a response- he expects me to say the right thing to comfort him. Sigh. I'm sure this will pass, but it is tiring.

My youngest son is being tiring in his own way. Doing a lot of whining and crying; and asking for a lot of things lately: when I pick him up from L's house, he'll ask "do you have a toy in the car? But I wanted a new toooooy! My toys are booooring!" Yeah- he's being quite a brat. Also tiring. I wonder if he's getting ready to grow or something because he's being very needy right now. He's waking up more at night and, as I mentioned before, crying each night when it's time to put on his pullup.

Henry's teacher sent a list of questions for him to answer before school started (I wanted to share it here but didn't get around to it). The questions were along the lines of "when I'm by myself I like to ____" "when I'm with my parents I like to ____", (I coached his answers a little bit so they weren't all watch a DVD). For the question "something I don't like is ____" Henry answered Tommy's crying voice. I don't like Tommy's crying voice. I thought this was a pretty telling response, considering there are so many other things Henry doesn't like! This must be the one that bothers him the most.

I don't want to act like we need to walk on eggshells around Henry, but I have been telling Tommy that it really bothers his brother when he cries, so please don't do it.

I guess it will just take us all a little while to get used to the new routine. Something still feels a little off right now, although the anxious dreams have gone away. I've just been feeling extra sensitive lately- I'll read a troubling news story and then it takes me days to shake it. It's the 10th anniversary of Princess Diana's death, and September 11th will be on a Tuesday again. (I remember that 9-11-01 was a Tuesday because we have a recurring meeting on the second Tuesday of every month...)

OK, enough of the moping. Here's some good news: I've always been too cheap to join a gym, but I finally broke down and joined the rec center here where I work. I just can't jog outside when it's 100 degrees, and I don't want the weather to be an excuse to not exercise at all. So I'm trying to do that regularly again, and that's probably helping with the sleep too. I'm also getting used to listening to CDs again, now that we have a CD player in the car.

I feel like I'm slowly coming back to the real world. Raising little kids (and teenagers) is like treading water in the ocean. Now that they're a little older maybe I can climb up on a raft, take a break, and drink a gin and tonic...

singing away the stress

I posted quite a while ago (on Valentine's day- I can't figure out how to do the link) about songs that make you smile. Today I heard a great one on my way to work: Ball and Chain by Social Distortion. (You can click on the link to watch a video- I didn't find a link to just hear the song.)

Bill is out of town this week. I like to think that I do everything around the house anyway, so what's the big deal if he's gone? But I guess he helps more than I realize, because yesterday was very stressful!

-Tommy isn't feeling well, and is VERY whiny. I took him to the doctor on my lunch hour, and his ears are ok, it's just a virus.

-Henry is really freaked out, (I mean, dysregulated :-) by:
a.) school ending
b.) the Easter Seals program hasn't started yet, so his big sister is watching him this week. She is really doing great with him, and they have fun together, but it's just something DIFFERENT, you know?
c.) Daddy is gone. Yesterday Henry told Kate "Daddy will be home in no time." (This is a mantra that he often repeats when someone is away at work or whatever.) Kate told him that Bill will be home Friday night. Henry replied "today is Thursday!"

-Kate had a youth group activity last night in an opposite area of town. All three of us had to drop her off and pick her up- both boys whining in my ears the entire time. By the time we got home Kate could tell that I was ready to lose it, so she helped the boys clean up their room and get ready for bed, while I sat on the couch and ate some Dairy Queen (brownie batter blizzard) and drank a glass of wine! Thanks, Kate.

This morning I dropped Tommy off, drove through Starbucks and splurged on a half-decaf coffee (I know, I'm a mom gone wild in my minivan), and then the Social Distortion song came on. It was just what I needed to hear, for some reason. I turned it up really loud and sat in the parking lot at work, singing along in my very loud off-key way.

Maybe I just need a moment like that to make me feel like I actually still have some freedom of choice in my life. Some independence, even if it's as meager as sitting alone and looking like a dork as I sing along.

I thought about my friend Sal, and others who ride public transportation to and from work. When is their opportunity to sing at the top of their lungs?

and now, back to your regular programming

My husband hopes that I don't hurt myself getting down off my soapbox. So I'll be very careful...

To update on the past couple posts:

-I decided to go with Barnes & Noble gift cards for the teachers, along with a little candle from the Bath & Body Works sale right next door. I was tempted to get gift certificates to a local ice cream place (mostly because that's what sounded really good to me) but decided B&N was safer- you can get not only books, but music or movies...

-Bill and I had a date Friday night, in honor of our anniversary. We walked to a neighborhood restaurant for a slightly fancy dinner and wine. Then we walked a few doors down to that ice cream place I just mentioned. Finally, we walked to the local little movie theater to see The DaVinci Code. What a fun night. I hope this doesn't sound terrible, but sometimes when we have a great time alone like that, it makes me extra irritated by our "real life" with kids. Maybe that was a reason for my mood Saturday?

Another reason I get frustrated with an issue like Henry going outside is that I wonder- "what is the best for my child?" It just seems like it's a mom's job to encourage her child to go outside. But it's a weekend, and the rest of us are doing things that bring us pleasure. Is it wrong to let Henry do what brings him pleasure? What is my obligation here as his mother? To force him to do something because it is "what kids are supposed to do"?

-I have not been "pissed off mom" ever since Saturday. I have still had my moments, but I have tried (as Kyra wisely suggested) to acknowledge when I'm being grumpy/irrational and apologize.

This morning I tried to get Henry to write his name on the gift tags for his teachers. Don't ask me why I go through that routine with him when I KNOW that he is going to refuse and get upset. The thing that makes it even worse is that his 2-year-old brother chimes in "yeah, Bubba. You write your name!" This makes Henry mad. Then, when I say "Tommy, you don't need to get involved with this. Just eat your breakfast" and Tommy starts crying, it makes everything worse. I ended up saying "you are both making me really mad" and throwing down the gift tags! Mature. But I didn't say what I wanted to say, which was "how damn hard is it to write your name on this gift for your teacher?!" I guess that's the thing- it is really damn hard for Henry.

As we walked out to the car for his ride to school, he told me that he doesn't want to go to the new school. I think he is really worried about that. And it's hard for me to comfort him, because I'm worried about it too. This year went so well. It's hard to start over.

confession

I got impatient with Henry yesterday. I don't mean to announce that as if it's the first time that's ever happened (or the last), but I do feel sad about it.

Yesterday we had perfect weather. Blue sky, cool in the morning but warming up to 80 by the afternoon. Thomas, Bill and I were in and out of the house all day.

Henry doesn't like to do anything outside. When he was 2-3 he would want to walk around the neighborhood and look at cars and have the same standard conversation about certain houses and landmarks. He also used to like to sidewalk chalk, although it would just be him dictating to me what he wanted me to draw. But now he just likes to stay inside. He will play on the playground when we visit one, but just playing outside in the yard holds zero interest for him.

Yesterday I suggested a trip to the library and then the grocery store, as a way to get him out of the house. Those both went well. But once we got home he just wanted to watch a DVD or lay all his crumpled and well-loved "Disney papers" all over the floor. Chicken Little seems to have replaced Lady and the Tramp as his current favorite subject, and he carries around two Chicken Little sticker books, a Disney Magazine with Chicken Little on the cover, the Chicken Little book on CD book and some printouts from the Disney website.

Anyway, last night Bill was cooking out, and I wanted to sit outside with him. Tommy was coming in and out of the house, and Henry was in the house. Henry kept asking me to find one more of his papers, and then a particular Star Wars book that was my brother's, (from back when Star Wars, Episode IV was the FIRST Star Wars.) I couldn't find the book anywhere and he kept perseverating on it. I finally just told him (in a not very nice way) "Henry, it's nice outside and I want to go outside- why do you have to stay in here with all these movies and papers spread all over the floor?!" He just looked at me and said "NO!"

When I think about it rationally, he is probably feeling extra dysregulated. The end of the school year is coming, and he knows that he'll be going to a different school next year. Also, his nose was running all day long yesterday, and the Claritin I gave him didn't seem to help.

It's just hard, as he gets older and more communicative. Sometimes I feel like I should be able to have a "rational" conversation with him in which I say "hey, it's nice outside. Let's turn off the movie and go outside." And he says "ok mommy."

(But lots of times I wish I could have a rational conversation like that with my teenager also, and it's not so easy.)

It's not all about autism. It's just about being a mommy. I was frustrated with Tommy yesterday too, because he wouldn't stop climbing on me and wanting juice, but NO not THAT juice, a different juice. Etc. etc.

Bill gave them a bath and I tried to put them to bed early. We read a book together in Henry's bed. But both boys kept whining that they wanted a different book or that "Bubba push me." Bill could hear us on the monitor and he said it didn't sound like me when I said "both of you need to be quiet or we're not reading any book."

I don't want to be that mom- the one who's pissed off and short with her kids all the time.

So that's why I'm going to take a walk this morning- some time for just me. Maybe today will be better.

mother's day

I've been thinking a lot lately about this business of being a mom. It started 2 weeks ago when Henry was so sick. I realized that it's a mother's job to interpret what the pediatrician is telling her- when to believe it and when to push for something else- when to say "ok, but..." when being advised to wait another 24 or 48 hours. I'm not very good at that. I want to be able to trust my pediatrician blindly. But I've learned, in 6 1/2 years of being Henry's mother, that the doctors don't always know a whole lot more than you do once you've read the American Academy of Pediatrics book. Sometimes you have to dramatize the illness to get attention. And I don't usually go for the drama in my life.

Then at the Emergency Room I had a few hours to think about all the things we do as moms. All the tasks you don't realize that you're signing up for when you say "hey, let's have a baby." Things like catching barf in your shirt because that's easier to clean up than the carpet. Things like holding your child down so doctors can examine him. Things like forcing your 6-year-old to drink out of a sippy cup like it's a bottle because he's so sick.

At a gathering at our house last weekend, a friend said to me "why doesn't anyone tell you how much motherhood sucks?" I kind of laughed her comment off, saying "oh yeah, if anyone told us how hard it was, no one would ever have children!" But, without going into this woman's personal situation, I believe that she really meant what she said: she thinks motherhood sucks. (Forget for a moment that I hate that word.) It really upsets me to know that anyone would feel this way. God knows that I am far from being an exemplary mother (I just put my boys to bed without a bedtime story or brushing their teeth so that I could get back on the computer) but I love being a mother. Every single minute of it. Even on my worst day or my kids' worst days I would never say that motherhood stinks (that is a word that I prefer to sucks.) Even a day spent in the Emergency Room is a day spent doing the most important job there is: helping a small person grow into the best big person he can be.

I can also say, after the past 2 weeks, that I tip my hat to all stay-at-home moms. It was never in the cards for us, financially, for either Bill or I to stay home. But after this week, I wonder if I could even handle it? I feel like I started 10 different projects (I have a lot of energy in the mornings) but didn't finish any. The TV was on all day long, and I ate like a pig (we had a lot of leftovers from Kate's birthday/confirmation bash last weekend.) The situation was a little unusual because Henry was sick and needed to rest- I suppose I would have done more active stuff outside if that hadn't been the case. But I commend all you moms who are with your kids all day long and manage to get so much done.

Today was a good day. We visited my parents in Dayton (about an hour and a half away). My brother was there visiting from Washington, DC. My mom, brother and I went to the Princess Diana exhibit at the Dayton Art Institute. I have been a Diana-phile since the royal wedding in 1981. I was 11 then and highly susceptible to the whole fairy tale thing. I got up at 4 am or something to watch the wedding and then went on to collect coffee table books about Diana and her kids. The year she died (1997) was the same year I got married, and I again got up at 4 am to watch her funeral. I sat on the couch under a blanket and sobbed. I know that's unbelievably corny. But I just couldn't bear the sad reality of her life, compared to the fairy tale that we all thought we were watching back in 1981. At the same time, I realized how wonderful my every-day normal person life was, compared to her life of palaces and designer clothes.

So I made mom and Christian go to this exhibit today and it was kind of a disappointment. We realized afterwards that the exhibit was put on by her family (the Spencers). So they were only able to show items from her childhood and then from her death (like hundreds of condolence books that were signed by people all over the world). The highlight for me was her wedding gown. But you walked out of that exhibit room and directly into one about her funeral. Nothing about her life in between. I guess that stuff is all owned by the royal family. There were very few photos of her sons. And my brother pointed out the irony of visiting a show about Diana on Mother's Day: her kids don't have their mother anymore.

Well, it's time to do another mommy job: wash Thomas' sheets. He is sleeping in our bed right now, because last night I found him asleep with his pjs unzipped, his diaper undone, and his bed full of pee. Why?