Monday, September 30, 2013

It's the last day of September



September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, about which I was blissfully unaware until this September. Over the past 30 days, I’ve reflected on how my eyes were opened to this fact, and how – sadly, unfortunately – I am now all too aware.

Almost two months ago, I made plans to go spend the evening with my friends Becky and Chandler Moore. We live in the same neighborhood; their kids, Faith and Kady, go to the same school as Sam; and we’ve become very good friends over the past couple of years, having reconnected 15 (ish) years after Chandler and I first met in college. Becky and Chandler have been extremely good friends to us, and have supported us through some pretty shitty times.  We’ve vacationed together, we’ve partied together, and spending an evening unwinding and sharing a glass of wine together is not unusual for us. The game plan that Friday evening was that I would drop off Jack at football, and Sam and I would head over for a while.

I cannot explain the immediate sense that something was wrong. As soon as I knocked on the door, I knew. Maybe it was because the Moores never take that long to answer a knocked door. Maybe it was because the house was too still. Maybe it was because when Chandler opened the door, he seemed stiff and confused. All I knew was that something was off, and Becky confirmed it when she whispered to me, “We’re probably admitting Faith to Phoenix Children’s tonight. She has a lesion on her leg.”

And that’s how I first found out that 11-year old Faith had cancer.
 
I mean, no one immediately KNEW she had cancer, but the tests, scans, biopsies, and doctor visits over the next several days confirmed everyone’s worst fear – that the lesion was a Ewing’s sarcoma, a type of bone cancer that is common in teens and young adults.

Two months later, I still can’t comprehend this reality. I’ve had several family members with cancer –all of them were adults and many of them had known risk factors. But a child’s cancer? MY FRIENDS’ CHILD’S cancer!?!? What kind of cruel, inhumane, cosmic joke is that? In an interview (more on that in a second), Jack said it best when he said, “(Childhood) cancer isn’t something that you think can really happen, until it happens to a friend or a loved one.” In the same interview, Sammy was a little more succinct: “Cancer can really SUCK it. Like a lollipop.”

Our family went into Helper Mode: setting up a meal tree, giving fundraising suggestions, offering to dog sit, house sit, plant sit – you name it. If I’m being entirely honest, “Helper Mode” was and is a selfish response. It was purely a way not to feel so utterly helpless in the midst of the chaos. Not much makes you feel more helpless than going to visit your friends while they sit bedside of their just-out-of-anesthesia child, or watching as they hold her hand as she undergoes a scan to find out if the cancer had spread to her other organs (it hadn’t, thankfully).

My kids, on the other hand, responded much more selflessly. I’m not sure how Jack realized there were financial implications to his friend’s cancer, but he and Sammy started talking about donating their piggy banks to Miss Becky and Mister Chandler. That talk turned into the idea of having a bake sale for Faith, and then after talking with me about it, we thought we’d add lemonade to the corner table that I was envisioning. I imagined that we’d ask a few neighborhood kids who were also friends with Faith to help with signage, and hoped enough of them would bring their quarters to the stand so that my boys would not think their effort was in vain.
 
Community is an incredible thing. We asked those friends for some help, and that help quickly became, “What can we make?” and “How else can we help?” Eventually, we had 6 or 7 families offering to help make baked goods. Word was put out on Facebook, and about 5 days later, the number of volunteer bakers had grown exponentially – and many of those volunteers were strangers who had heard about the bake sale from a friend of a friend of a friend. Because of a journalist friend of mine, the bake sale caught the attention of a local news station (thus, the boys’ news interviews). And the little corner stand that I had hoped would make a few hundred dollars turned into this:



 
And strangely, this amazing act of generosity was when I started getting angry.

I was angry that my friends were scared. I was angry that it took Faith getting sick to see my boys’ selflessness in action.  I was angry that it took this awful thing for me to find out how caring our community was. I was angry that this sweet pre-teen girl has to think about chemo and hospitalizations, instead of softball games and schoolwork.

In short, I was PISSED at cancer.

I continue to be pissed, but watching my friends’ strength (although I don’t know that they would call it that) and positivity in the face of this has inspired me to stop being pissed, and start DOING something.  I’ve taken the time to learn about childhood cancer charities. I’ve slowed down and tried to be more patient with my kids. I’ve met countless new friends who have helped reach out to the Moores. I’ve started treasuring little moments more, and worried about little troubles less.

Faith’s prognosis is very, very good, and she’s going to recover. I hope that next year during Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, Faith will be cancer free and back to enjoying vacations, school, and “normal” kid stuff.
 
In the meantime, if you’d like to follow Faith’s progress, drop her a note, or offer support to her family, check out www.fixfaithsfemur.com.

Now, go hug your kids.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

A funny thing happened on the way to the blogosphere...

About three months ago, a friend of mine told me she was going back to work full time, and asked me how I juggle being mom, wife, friend, professional, and human being. Because I'm CLEARLY the person to go to for all such things.

So I started writing a blog-response to her. Three months ago.

A funny thing happened on the way to the blogosphere.

Life happened.

I can't even tell you WHAT happened. I'm sure it was a bunch of nothings and littlethings that melded together into Lifethings. I do know that since I last posted, kids have gotten out of school, we've gone on a couple of camping trips in cooler temps, we've moved (well, that's sort of a BIGthing), and I'm still avoiding avocados. You know the saying, "Life gets away from you"? That's kinda what happened here.

It's not that I have nothing to say lately. (Matt will tell you nothing's further from the truth.) There are so many things I've wanted to post about, and probably still will: Jack's entry into Jr. High. Sam's anxiety over his best friend's moving away. The family's move (albeit, into a neighborhood where we're surrounded by good friends). My battle with this cloud that seems to be hanging over my head lately. (Probably anxiety-related, but who the fuck knows? I haven't had enough time to think about it lately.)

So to answer the original question that this post was supposed to be about - how does one juggle all the roles that's expected of him or her and come out smelling like roses? Damned if I know. I think I'm like most people - I just do the best I know how, and some days that fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants gameplan actually works. But I do know that I need to continue to fine-tune the art of putting my needs at least on the same plain as everyone else's. If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

In my efforts to keep everyone else happy, I've let my blogging slide. Blogging gave me a creative outlet, let me share my experiences, and made me feel useful. I've missed it. I've been keeping up with my Facebook page, but it's a little different. I'm able to explore things more in blogging - kind of my own free therapy. So my game plan for the next few months is not to let nothings and littlethings build up and keep me from something I really enjoy. If Lifethings come up, I'd like to talk with you all about them, not push them off to the side and assume I'll get back to them later.

I'm sorry I've been away, but I'm back. And school's starting in a week, so there will be LOTS to discuss, I'm sure.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

The Devil's Food (and it ain't chocolate)

The hubs and I are doing a 21-day jumpstart "diet" to get our metabolisms up and running, and to get ready for bikini season. We both are all in, and truth be told we're about 4 months late for the beginning of bikini season (in Arizona, bikini season starts on January 15 and ends on January 14). The jumpstart involves eating very little complex carbs, lots of green and raw veggies, and lean protein. And avocado.

I fucking hate avocado. I DESPISE it. Just looking at it makes me gag. I haven't addressed this in therapy yet, but there is a very real chance I was attacked by a giant avocado as a child. Apparently people feel about avocados much the same way they feel about poodles or modern art - either you love them or you hate them. Let me be perfectly clear. I. Hate. Avocados.

But I'm committed to these next 21 days, and because I'm always telling my kids that you must always at least have a "No thank you bite", I have to walk the walk. So this morning, Matt chose the "best" avocado (sounds a lot like choosing the "best" form of torture to me), cut me a sliver, and chopped it nicely. (If he had mushed it up I would have been out - the texture is already disgusting. I don't need to have it look like a baby ate too much prune juice.)

I asked Matt, "What does it taste like?" He thought about it for a second and said, "I always thought heaven would taste like avocados." Liar.

I cannot emphasize enough how taking that first bite of avocado was like jumping out of an airplane. There was that much anxiety for me. To continue the analogy, eating avocado was like going skydiving - and then realizing, as soon as you jumped out the plane, that you forgot to put your parachute on.

That "fake" gagging thing that Sam does when he's eating something he doesn't want to? Yeah, I think that's legit. I did that. And I laughed at how ridiculous it was. And I took another bite. And gagged again. I got through my whole sliver, but by the end I was holding my nose and swallowing it whole. I have no idea how you avocado-lovers do it. That was the most disgusting thing I've ever done, and I have had a toddler throw up in my mouth before.

Apparently, avocado is some miracle weight-loss food. For me it's because I lost all appetite after eating it. And - shit - I have to do this 20 more times. And the reward for my bravery? A snack of raw cauliflower.

Friday, April 26, 2013

The Question

We were sitting on the couch as a family, watching TV, and out of the blue, Sammy asked:

"Mom and Dad - what does being 'gay' mean?"

I looked at Matt, Matt looked at me, and we both looked at Sam. And Matt oh-so-wisely replied:

"What do you think, Mom?"

Asshole.

My first concern was how he had heard the word used. I needed to make sure he hadn't used it or heard it used as slur, and that he knew that using in such a manner wasn't going to be tolerated in our family. We were safe - Sam had heard it on TV when we were watching Modern Family one night (LOVE that show!), and he wondered what it meant. Fair enough.

Matt and I don't usually dance around tough topics with the boys. We try to talk about things in age-appropriate terms, but we don't avoid the conversation. So we were both on the same page about Sam's question. We were going to answer it in a way that a 7-year old could understand, and we were going to earn some major Awesome Parents points as we did so.

So we explained: "When a person is gay, it means that a man loves a man, or a woman loves a woman." Simple explanation, but honest and to-the-point. Awesome Parents: 1, Uncomfortable Topic: 0.

Sam thought about it for 0.015 seconds and said, "Well I'M a boy and I love daddy and PopPop and Lucas (his BFF). So I'm gay, right?" Aaand...Uncomfortable Topic pulls ahead.

Us:  "No, not exactly, honey. When you're gay you love someone like you want to spend the rest of your life and live with them forever. Like mommy and daddy. THAT kind of love." Oh yeah. That'll do it! Matt and I gave each other a mental high-five.

Sam:  (pensively) "Well, I want to live with Lucas the rest of my life. We're going to be best friends for the rest of our lives, so we can be gay together!" Shit. Increasingly Flustered and Not-So-Awesome Parents: 1, Uncomfortable Topic: 3,142.

Us:  "Sammy, when someone is gay, they romantically love another man or another woman. They want to hug and kiss, like mommy and daddy do. They want to marry each other. It's a different love than how you are with Daddy or PopPop or Lucas. Does that make sense?" Pleasepleasepleaseplease...

Sammy: "OOOOOOH! Okay. Can I have dessert?" YES!!! Awesomest Parents in the Whole Wide World for the WIN!!

Matt was more than happy to get Sammy his dessert, and I think we both breathed a little sigh of relief. And then Sam asked:

"How do gay people make babies?"


Sammy got dessert twice that night.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Dirty little secrets

I have a confession to make: I have SNMIC - Special Needs Mom Inferiority Complex. Right or wrong, I don't consider my boys' special needs to be as severe as other special needs kids', so I feel bad even calling myself a special needs mom.

But the truth is, while Jack and Sam's special needs are different from others', they're no less significant or important.I have NEVER had a special needs mom (or dad) say, Your kids JUST have ADHD or ODD. No one has ever told me My kids' needs are more special than yours. There's a real camaraderie among those of us with special needs kids. Though our challenges may be very different, we speak a similar language. And this became very apparent today when I read an article in the Huffington Post today.


The article shared 6 secrets that special needs moms have. The author never states what her daughter's condition is, and I suspect it's not by accident. She's not comparing her kid(s) to mine. We're on the same page and we have the same secrets. The secrets identified below are hers, but the experiences are mine.
  1. Special needs moms are lonely. Word. Not lonely, like no one likes me and I have no friends, but rather like no one understands exactly what we go through. It's extremely isolating when you're in public and your kid is in the middle of an ODD episode and a million sets of judging eyes are staring at you and thanking God their kids don't act like that. Or worse, when some passive aggressive asshole says to someone else (but within your earshot) Geez, if I ever acted like that when I was a kid, my mother wouldn't have stood for that. Special needs moms also need to learn to bite their tongue and not punch people. (And I'm proud to say that in that case, I didn't hit anyone.) It's lonely not to go to (fill in the blank event or location) because you're afraid of what your kid may say or do, and how that will reflect on you. This is the dirty secret of special needs moms, and why we all like each other as much as we do. It's nice not to feel quite so lonely among one another.
  2. Special needs moms have to work extra hard to preserve their marriages. I've said it before and I will say it again - God bless our marriage counselor. The stress of the boys' ADHD, defiance, bad grades, poor behavior - it all buried us and the weight was (and sometimes still is) unbearable. We individually felt (and many times, still feel) like awful parents. But until our counselor, we would turn ON one another instead of turning TO one another for support and comfort. She taught us our "I feel" words. I can't overstate the importance of counseling and learning to communicate well with my partner. Marriage is hard work as it is. Add in two kids with varying degrees of ADHD and ODD? I'm shocked I'm still married some days.
  3. Special needs moms are not easily offended. I've written about this. It takes A LOT to offend me. A lot of time, I choose to laugh at ridiculous politically incorrect things because I don't have time or energy to get pissed off about it. I'm too busy trying not to punch someone for making some dumbass passive aggressive remark about my poor parenting. (Special needs moms may also need to learn not to hold grudges a little bit better.)
  4. Special needs moms worry about their child dying. This is one area that I DO know my kids' situation is not as severe as others'. The boys' physical health is not directly impacted by their conditions. For that, I'm grateful. But sadly, I know many special needs moms who have lost their children, or who live with that constant fear over the possibility. I cannot even imagine. I don't WANT to imagine. But I do worry about how my children have been bullied because of their ADHD, and about their resulting anxiety and depression. All of these things are issues that have been tied to suicide. And that scares the living shit out of me. I will forever fight to teach my kids healthy coping skills, and to value themselves highly, but that fear is always there.
  5. Special needs moms are fluent in the transforming body language of touch.  I remember when Sam was about 3, and his rages were often, and they were severe. He would punch, kick, scream, throw things, tear things up, hit himself, hit others. Words were meaningless when he would rage like that. And all I could do was hug him. Sometimes I would have to squeeze so hard that I was afraid I was hurting him. Honestly, sometimes I didn't care if I WAS hurting him. But if I hugged long enough, I would feel his muscles relax, one by one, until he was hugging back. Sam doesn't rage like that anymore, but I can still feel him relax when you hug him long and hard. It changes him. It changes me.
  6. Special needs moms know to savor the gift of a child saying "I love you." Part of Sam's ODD is that he doesn't like to show affection unless it's on his terms. He generally won't say "I love you" in response to you - he has to say it to you in his own way, on his own terms. Hearing "I love you" from your kids is always special, but when I hear it from Sam I know it's real and it's because he wants to say it, and not because it's in response to something.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

ECON 101

In the last week, both the boys have had the opportunity to earn some money and to show me how well I've taught them the value of a dollar. What I've found is that I'm raising one son who will likely never leave home, and one son who will grow up to become a future sweatshop operator.

Jack has been invited to travel to the UK with a Student Ambassador group, but the total cost is more than I'm willing to front. (I'll admit it - I'm a selfish mommy, and if anyone is paying that much money to go to Europe for three weeks, it's going to be me getting the VIP treatment.) However, I agreed to work with him to figure out how he could earn enough money to pay for the trip. In doing so, I get to be cheap AND teach him a life lesson, all at once.

Jack's been earning money babysitting his brother and has been successful enough doing so that we've agreed that he could continue doing so. We've also agreed to sign him up for a Red Cross Babysitting course so that he could babysit other kids. In talking about how much he thought he could charge for babysitting, I taught him the concept of Market Rate - as in, Mom and Dad don't pay it. I won't share how much we paid him for 4 hours of watching his brother the other night, but I'll tell you that I probably broke a few child labor laws because of how little I forked out. Jack doesn't have enough of the killer instinct yet to use that information to force us to pay more. Instead, he thinks everyone else should pay LESS because we pay less. If only it worked that way, son. If only...

After reasonably estimating how much he could make babysitting over the next year, he asked if he could also make money selling baked goods. Baked goods that *I* baked. Um, no. Okay well, what about mowing lawns? He estimated that he could make $3,000 over the next year mowing lawns. Sounds great, but I wanted to know how he planned on accomplishing that. He wants to charge $10 a pop, and mow only 5 lawns a month. Once I walked him through the math he realized that wasn't a business model he should go with. We're still talking through his game plan - I actually think his lawn-mowing biz could work, but it's obvious he needs to rethink his pricing structure and service model. The things you have to deal with when your mom's an accountant.

Sam, on the other hand, is going to do quite well in the business world someday. A friend of mine owns a reading center, and "hired" Sam to do some scissor work and cut out several hundred flash cards. For his time, she paid him $20. He was very easy to get on board, and once he knew the job was his, he meticulously planned how he was going to cut the cards, how quickly he was going to do it, and what he was going to do with the money.

On the day he set aside as Cutting Day, his neighborhood friends came over to play. He was very excited as he told them what he was going to do, and how important he was because he was HIRED to do this, and how fun and cool it is, and - HEY! Do you want to help me!? I'll pay you 50 cents!! TWO WHOLE QUARTERS!!! And I'll be damned if those 3 little kids didn't jump right on board with that game plan while Sam stood off to the sidelines to supervise. Matt and I put a stop to it right away - we watched it play out until it became clear that Sam was hiring his own personal workforce - but with that one interaction he was salesman, supervisor, investor, and capitalist. I was so proud.

Just one more way my kids show how opposite they are. And that I have about 6 more years to teach Jack how to survive in the big, bad world. I bet his brother would teach him. For a price.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

In the eye of the hurricane

It's been a full week since I got smacked upside the head with Jack's ADHD - inattentive type diagnosis, and our family is still struggling with it. Not "struggling" in a "Our entire lives have been a LIE up until now and we're in a tailspin and what do we do!? WHAT DO WE DO!?!?!?!" type of way, but more in a "Huh. Where the fuck did that come from?" type of way. We had finally gotten our feet back under us after surviving the drama surrounding Sam's diagnosis, then Jack's diagnosis came whizzing by and knocked us back on our asses. We weren't really equipped to handle Jack's diagnosis the same way we were equipped for Sam's, and therefore this past week is like going into uncharted territory all over again.

First, the timing of the chain of events that led to Jack's diagnosis CHBB (that's shorthand for "Could Have Been Better". I prefer the phrase ISA, or "It Sucked Ass"). His last-minute appointment was a whirlwind and I was completely under-prepared. Matt wasn't available for emotional support. This appointment was much more condensed than our first appointment with Sam (because the doctor didn't feel the need to walk so slowly through it with us since we had just gone through it with Sam) and therefore didn't include as much hand-holding. I was bombarded with the same information, but for a new kid.

Second, the boys have differing types of ADHD - Sam's is hyperactive/impulsive, and Jack's is inattentive. Their symptoms look EXTREMELY different, although both have wreaked havoc on school and home life. Before Sam, I didn't know exactly what ADHD looked like, but once Sam's behaviors and symptoms started, I knew that ADHD looked like THAT. If Sam was doing it, THAT was what ADHD looked like. Jack looked nothing like that, therefore it couldn't be ADHD. As much as I had read, studied, and learned about ADHD and how it could look for various individuals, I had read it through the lens of a mom with only one child with ADHD. I still haven't made the mental connection between all the reading and studying I've done and my older son.

And because Jack's so different from Sam, the strategies we've been using have to be adjusted for Jack, and in some cases, scrapped altogether. For example, if we were to ever send Jack to the quiet corner to "reset", he'd grab a book and we wouldn't see him until his 16th birthday. (Hmmm...actually I may keep that one on file.)

Another reason this caught us so off guard is that we've been dealing with Jack's "idiosyncrasies" for so long, and until recently it hadn't caused significant upheaval. He was identified as gifted by the school district when he was 8 years old, and gifted children often show many of the same traits as ADHD children. In our minds, this was just that giftedness meeting Jack's growing sense of independence and self - not ADHD. No way, no how. Surprise!

And lastly - Jack isn't responding to his medication as well as Sam did. There are no ill side effects yet (except for a mopey, put-upon disposition and that's more due to his affliction with the dreaded Preteen-ese), but there hasn't been any marked improvement in his classroom behavior. While we knew the first scrip may not be the best scrip, knowing something and KNOWING something looks very different. We were used to a little boy who perked up and became an improved version of himself very quickly. We aren't prepared for an almost-teenager who is still acting like an almost-teenager. We'll address this with his doctor, and we know we'll find the right prescription, but in the meantime it's disappointing (to us and to Jack) that the impact wasn't as fast and furious as what we had hoped for.

Overall, we're dealing. We're okay. As is the case with most unwelcome surprises, the immediate aftermath of Jack's diagnosis overwhelmed us and made the molehill seem like more of a mountain. It certainly wasn't a molehill I was looking forward to climbing, but it still wasn't the Mt. Everest my mind had created. I'm probably cursing myself by saying this, but Jack's diagnosis has been rather anti-climatic - here's hoping it stays that way.



Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Well, THAT wasn't what I expected!

Jack has always been scattered, absentminded, and disorganized, but it was considered more of a family joke until this school year when his grades took a dump. This year, much more so than in years past, has been a constant stream of tears, fighting, incomplete homework assignments, more tears, bad grades, teacher conferences, and to top it all off - more tears. We were especially concerned because he goes to Jr. High next year, and the chaos that we've been going through this year will seem like a guided pony ride if we don't get things under control.

However, throughout all this, we believed the issue with Jack was behavioral. Even after going through everything we went through with Sam (and in fact, probably BECAUSE of it), we didn't really believe that Jack had ADHD. But we had made an appointment for late next month with Sam's doctor in order for Jack to be assessed for ADHD or other learning disabilities. I was certain this appointment was going to rule out any type of disability, but that it would provide at least some sort of answer as to how to address Jack's issues.

I got a phone call today at 10 am letting me know about a cancellation at the doctor's office, and that they could see Jack at 1 pm this afternoon. The doctor's office is about 40 minutes away to the north, and Jack's school is about 20 minutes away to the south. I had none of the preliminary paperwork completed, and neither did his teacher, since we expected the appointment to take place in about 4 weeks. I had 3 hours to complete the paperwork, ask his teacher to complete hers, leave work, drive to the school, pick him up, and get him to the appointment on time. I literally walked in the door to his appointment at 1 pm on the dot.

Sam's (and now, Jack's) doctor met with us and did the same thorough evaluation of Jack that she did of Sam. She talked more with Jack about his experiences than she did with Sam, and he was extremely forthright and honest and got emotional when talking about how hard school has become for him, even though he knows he's smart.

And then she showed us his assessment results, and despite everything we've been through, everything I had heard, you still could have knocked me over with a feather when she said:

Jack has ADHD.

There's no good reason for me to be surprised by this news. Jack's brother is ADHD, as are my sister and Matt's brother. There's a genetic component and Jack's behavior is and was clearly indicative of it. Of the family history, Sam is the only one with the hyperactive/impulsive type. The rest are inattentive type.

Part of me is looking out the window of my vacation home on the River Denial, part of me is pissed off that I need to go learn all about inattentive-type ADHD now (because dammit, I studied the shit out of hyperactive/impulsive-type. Whatever parenting test that was, I aced it!), and part of me feels like shit that I've been dragging my feet on this because I was SOOOO sure the answer was that Jack was "just" a gifted child, acting out and we needed some behavioral therapies, and that was it.

Jack's giftedness did mask some of his ADHD traits, but what his gifted abilities couldn't make up for was his brain's inability to sort through information, process and organize it, then do something with it. But because our experience with ADHD up until now was with Sam, and Sam is SO different than Jack, we didn't see it.

Jack is over the moon with this diagnosis. It's sort of his "I told you so!", and he deserves one. We've been on his case for many years about school work, and his cries of "I'm trying!!" always sounded like excuses. Now, he has a medical diagnosis that says he WAS trying but trying wasn't enough to change his brain chemistry. I'll beat myself up over that tonight over a glass or three of wine.

We've decided, with Jack's input, and with the doctor's blessing, to start Jack on a course of meds as well. His will be different than his brother's (based on his age, his symptoms, and other medical history), but we'll be just as diligent about watching for any side effects. I'm actually more nervous about putting Jack on medication than I was with Sam, but I do believe it's the right thing to do.

It's crazy how much things have changed in the last 4 hours, and how much they're exactly the same. I don't see our day to day life changing much because of this, but like it did with Sam's diagnosis, maybe it will just become an improved version of the same ol', same ol'. At least, that's what I hope for.

Monday, March 25, 2013

The new babysitter

My kids' school district is on a modified year-round schedule, so that means extended fall and spring breaks, and a shortened summer break.  A two-week fall break is fantastic; I prefer to take family vacations in the fall, when fewer people travel. By the time we return from vacation, it's time for the boys to go back to school. And since we travel in the fall, a shorter summer break means less time and money (okay, mainly less money) spent putting kids in summer camps. But a two-week spring break is always iffy. There are intersession camps available for our kids, but our kids aren't usually super-excited about them, and I hate to pay good money for my kids to be bored at a day camp site, when they can be bored at home for free.

This year for spring break, we flew the boys to Oklahoma to spend time with my mom and my aunt and uncle on the family farm there. They spent ten days doing what my cousins and I did when we were their ages - roaming the pasture, skipping stones, taking target practice with the BB gun - and learning what it's like to be a kid in a small, rural town. This trip was the answer to our spring break quandary - my kids got to spend time with their grandmother, Matt and I got some alone time, and for those ten days we didn't have to worry about daycare accommodations. But when they returned we still had one more day off before they returned to school. What are two cheap-ass working parents to do?!

Answer: Resort to desperate measures.

Jack is twelve and has been begging for more responsibility. Sam is seven and has been begging for the opportunity to take advantage of his brother. With one fell swoop, we answered two prayers for the price of one. So today, Jack is home alone with Sam (God - just typing that is filling me with anxiety). We agreed to pay Jack $20 to watch his brother. We also agreed to pay Sam $15 to listen to his brother. (Sam seriously needs to go into sales. I realize that we were effectively blackmailed into paying that $15 to him, but he made me WANT to pay him. He's that good.)

My day looked like this:

7:37 AM - Matt leaves for work with a smile on his face. He is WAY too calm about this.

7:38 AM - Sam asks me for the third time since last night if Jack has to do anything he asks him. I tell him yes.

7:42 AM - Jack realizes what I said four minutes ago and wants clarification on what "anything" means. I tell him that as long as the police aren't called, I don't care what Sam asks - if Jack wants to get paid, he will do what Sam asks AND LIKE IT! And because I'm a good mother, I want to be fair, I ask Sam not to bound and gag his brother while playing cops and robbers.

7:54 AM - After going over all the rules for the gazillionth time - don't answer the door for strangers, no neighbor kids allowed in the house, no starting small fires just to watch them burn - and after warning my boys about the slow, painful torture I'd put them through if I called and no one answered the phone, I put on my brave face and walked out the door. Then came back in to make sure they knew where lunch was. THEN walked out the door.

8:12 AM - I call Matt to ask if we made a colossal mistake. Matt doesn't seem concerned, but I can't tell if it's because he trusts our kids, or because he needs to get off the phone. I'm going to assume Option A, because I really, really want to be able to do this again some day.

8:50 AM - I lasted a whole hour before I called the kids for the first time. Jack answered on the 5th ring and it almost goes to voicemail. I'm about to drive home just to make sure he's alive so that I can beat the bejeezus out of him. But he answers. They're alive. Playing Minecraft. I remind him to make sure they brush their teeth and get dressed for the day. Oh yeah, he says. I say a silent prayer that some day my child learns personal hygiene without having to be reminded.

9:32 AM - My phone, which I have been carrying around all morning, rings - it's Matt. I answer on the first ring. (THAT'S how you do it, Jack!) What's wrong!!?? What happened!!?? Nothing, he says. I just wanted to see how your morning was going. Gah!! Men!! Don't they know better than to be caring, thoughtful husbands when their kids are home alone!!??

10:10 AM - Phone call # 2. Jack answers on the 3rd ring. He's getting better. They haven't eaten their AM snack yet, but they're getting ready to. Still haven't brushed their teeth BUT they have gotten dressed. I decide to be happy with a small victory.

Approx. Noon - It's been a crazy busy morning at work so I haven't been able to call in almost two hours!!! My panic is full-steam ahead for phone call # 3. Fortunately, Jack answers halfway through the second ring. This overachieving will come back to bite him in the ass. He sounds annoyed when he answers. "Heeeeeey moooommmm." He sounds like a teenager, with his bored, insolent tone - they grow up so fast. Everyone's still breathing, still got all their limbs, not tied up, have eaten lunch, AND they brushed their teeth!

2:13 PM - I've backed off my diligence a little bit. So far, Jack's been a rockstar babysitter, so I allow myself another two hours before making phone call # 4. They're considering going to the park next to our house, but Sam wants to wait until the neighbor kids gone. I hear Sam in the background: "They're so CLINGY!"

4:18 PM - I call one last time before heading out. It takes Jack three rings to answer the phone, and I panic because the one-and-a-half rings rule has become my standard. I ask him what took so long to answer and he replies, "I was just letting the stranger in the house." Smart ass. I'm so proud.

4:32 PM - I call one last time - for real this time - to let Jack know I'm stopping at the grocery store before heading home.Jack says they may go to the park finally, and will leave a note if they do.

4:48 PM through 4:56 PM - I grocery shop faster than I have ever grocery shopped before.

5:17 PM - I arrive home and the garage door is wide open. I walk inside to an empty house. I panic and I'm pretty sure I hold my breath for the 40 seconds it takes me to find the note. "Mom. Went to the park. Go to the end of the street, turn right, and the park is on the right. That park." His growing grasp of sarcasm is about to make me cry tears of pride and makes me almost forget about the fact that he left the garage door wide open.

5:32 PM - Jack and Sam arrive home. There are no broken bones, they're smiling and joking with one another, and when quizzed separately, each says the other was great all day. And they seem to mean it. Could it really be this easy?

7:15 PM - Dinner has been eaten without complaint, showers have been taken without incident, and my announcement that school starts again tomorrow seems to actually excite them. I'm not entirely convinced that body snatchers didn't take my children, and I don't particularly care. I'll keep these versions. I pay the pod people their $20 and $15, and they ask when they can do this again. Worlds of possibility open up.

******************************************************************************************************

I was on edge and nervous all day, and even though it turns out that I had no reason to be, I'm not sure when I'll do this again. But Jack is cheap labor and Sam is a cheap extortionist, so the potential upside to our monthly family budget is significant. I'll admit I feel irresponsible, entrusting my 12-year old son to take care of and protect his brother, but really I think I feel this way more because I just don't want to admit they're growing up so quickly. I don't want to acknowledge that they do just fine without me breathing down their necks all day long. They're supposed to NEED me, dammit!


******************************************************************************************************

7:45 PM - It's time for bed, and Sammy, asks me to tuck him in. Before I do, I kiss him good night, thank him for being such a good boy today, and tell him I love him. He grabs my neck hard and squeezes. "I love you momma. I love you all the way up to God and back and back to God and back again."

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

What makes a Momma Bear?

Sugar, and spice, and everything nice - that's what little girls are made of. To be a Momma Bear, add a little piss and vinegar.

My mom and dad raised me to be a strong, independent, don't-stand-for-shit kind of woman. By most accounts, I didn't need much encouraging. I'm what I would consider a typical oldest child: ambitious, a perfectionist, stubborn (I prefer "strong-willed"), and bossy (so my sister Ann would say - If she would just listen to me, she'd understand that I have strong leadership qualities.). I come from a long line of Momma Bears - I think I was made for the job.

Momma Bears are not always moms. When we were kids, I appointed myself Protector of My Sister. The only fight I ever got in as a kid was because someone made fun of her. No one was going to make fun of or torture my little sister - except me. (And as a perfectionist, I was really, really good at it.)  I have friends and family without kids who wouldn't hesitate to take a stand for something they believe in.

Momma Bears stand up for themselves as much as they do for others. Once, a Warehouseman I used to work with was dumb enough to say some derogatory, sexual things about me to some of his buddies, and didn't know (or didn't care) that I overheard him. I'm pretty sure I blacked out from anger because the next thing I recall is that I was eye to chest with this asshole, who was about a foot taller than me and thrice as heavy, doing that "quiet yell" that Momma Bears seem to do so well. I let him know that I would not be disrespected that way, that I would not allow any other woman to be disrespected this way, and what kind of dumbass with a daughter thinks this behavior is okay and how 'bout I call his wife and tell her what he just said about another woman? I hissed and spit like a snake. I look back on that day and remember being so pissed off that I couldn't find any words, but according to those who were there (about 15 other men, all of whom knew better than to get in my way), I certainly wasn't speechless.  
  
We're a bit of paradox, because even though Momma Bears can throw a punch and aren't afraid to, we're also nurturers. We want to shield those we care about from hurt, anger and fear. Momma Bears appreciate others. Momma Bears care and love so deeply it often hurts. But we're not excuse-makers or blame-shifters and we expect the same of others.

My maternal Momma Bear-edness REALLY kicked in as soon as I had Jack and it went into overdrive when I had Sam. As the boys got older, there were more and more situations when I had to step up to the plate for my boys' sake - with teachers, coaches, friends, family - and in some of those cases, Mt. Momma Bear did erupt. In one instance, Matt still swears I was trying to get him killed because I chased down and chewed out two men whose reckless driving could have killed us while we drove down the freeway with the boys. It was stupid and he's right - I had no idea what those guys would or could do. But all I could think about was my babies possibly being hurt, and I was out for blood. In another situation, I think one of Jack's former coaches is still afraid of meeting me in a dark alley because I told him and anyone else within 100-yard radius what I thought after an epic display of poor sportsmanship (the coach, not the kids), and after he called my son a name.

 Special Needs Momma Bears are a different breed. (And Special Needs Momma Bears aren't always taking care of children - I know several who are taking care of their parents or other adults.) They take all the MB traits, and kick it up a notch. Your backbone has to be a bit stronger, your patience greater, your empathy higher, and your ability to bite your tongue - well, I wouldn't know how that goes since I've haven't figured that one out yet. 

I have learned the most about myself since embracing my role as a Special Needs Momma Bear. I didn't realize that I could be so passionate about something. I didn't know that I could be so patient. (And I'm not that patient, mind you. It's just that on a patience scale of 1-10, I used to be a -20. Being about a 3 now is amazing progress.) I didn't think I could ever take on something that scared me so much and turn around and conquer that fear. I didn't realize I was so awesome.

One more thing - Momma Bears LOVE to recognize the greatness in other Momma Bears. I prefer to do so with a generous house pour of a good wine. Cheers!

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Why I don't do PC

I got a feeling about political correctness. I hate it. It causes us to lie silently instead of saying what we think. - Hal Holbrook


In the not-so-distant past, I've fallen into the trap of not wanting to offend anyone by something I've said or done. How does that end up? Not so well. I usually end up inadvertently insulting twice as many people as I had initially hoped to please, and the one person I had hoped not to offend, never cared in the first place.

Being politically correct is exhausting, so I don't bust my ass at it anymore. I'm not saying I walk around like an ignorant Neanderthal (which, thanks to Geico commercials is now a politically incorrect thing to say). It just means I'm not going to go out of my way to say something that someone's mom's neighbor's brother's dogsitter won't find offensive. For example - I'm part Asian (that is, I'm a quarter Korean and some fraction of Chinese) and part Hawaiian. I don't particularly care if you call me Asian, Asian-Pacific Islander, Oriental (although that's more of a pet peeve), or hey you - as long as you're not using it a hurtful or disrespectful manner. I recognize Columbus Day, root for the Redskins, and have sons who have been known to point at an imaginary bad guy with their index fingers pointing out and thumbs sticking upward.

So when I refer to Sam and ADHD/ODD, I don't really take extra care to make sure I use the "right" phrase. And I'll let you off the hook - I don't care if you do or don't either, as long as you're not being mean or careless about it. Sometimes I'll say Sam has ADHD/ODD. Sometimes I'll say he is ADHD/ODD. Sometimes I'll refer to my ADHD/ODD son - I'm not using it as THE descriptor for my child, just one of many. I will equally refer to my strong/smart/stubborn/caring/insert-any-number-of-adjectives-here son. Saying that any one of those words is me "defining" or "labeling" my child overly simplistic to me. It says that of ALL the words I choose to describe my son as, that one phrase is the one that carries the most weight. I disagree. ADHD and ODD is a part of who he is, and it will be a part of his story for the rest of his life. But it won't be the WHOLE story.

If I'm defining my child, I hope I'm defining him by teaching him values like honesty, empathy, responsibility, and integrity. If I'm assigning labels to him, I hope the labels he grows up with are "leader" and "friend". He won't accomplish these things in spite of ADHD or ODD - if I do my job right he should accomplish these things regardless of his special needs or behavioral issues. I certainly have to apply different techniques to teaching these life skills to him because of his conditions, but if Sam were to fail in any of these areas (he won't) it would be a reflection of me, and not of him.

I don't avoid the term ADHD. We no longer tiptoe around saying "ODD" in our home. Jack and Sam know exactly what it stands for, and all 4 of us have conversations about what it means to our family. If it's not a bad word at home, it won't be a bad word out in the real world. If we teach our boys that it's nothing to be ashamed of, they won't be ashamed of it. Shame = bad. Awareness = good. If it's part of our everyday conversation, I hope that Sam's response if someone brings it up at school is, "Yeah. So?" (Hopefully in a very polite way. We'll work on that...)

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Your funny isn't my funny

I'm one of THOSE Facebook users. I'm the one who, if I don't post at least once a day, you likely need to call the authorities to do a wellness check on me. I'm always on it - I love keeping up with childhood friends, sharing inside jokes with college friends, looking at pictures, and posting my own pics. I've learned to stay away from conversations where I'm just going to piss someone off, and ignore the personal, political, and religious posts that I may disagree with. For me, life's too short to get all bent out of shape over Facebook posts.

But today, I saw this, courtesy of a friend of a friend of a friend who shared it on someone else's page and it ended up in my newsfeed:



I know better. I should have just hidden it or ignored it or shook my head at the inaccuracy of it. But nope - I allowed this one little share of a share of a share from someone I don't even know ruin my morning.

It was from one of those comedy-type pages, but I don't see what's funny about it. I don't know - maybe when I got dressed this morning, I forgot to put on my sense of humor. Maybe that's where this is coming from.

Or maybe I've just had enough of hearing, "Oh, you're overreacting. My kid gets hyperactive all the time!" or "Just because he doesn't pay attention doesn't mean he's ADHD!" or "ADHD isn't a real condition." or my personal favorite these days, "You're just medicating him because you're too lazy to parent your kid."

That last comment was an actual comment on the picture, in response to another parent who posted what I was feeling - that this meme minimizes what parents of ADHD kids go through and illustrates some of the stereotypes we live with. I would like to hunt down Mitch Thomas* and drop off an unmedicated Sam at his home for a week, and then have him tell me how lazy I am and how my son's condition is imagined and overblown. (*Not his real name. Or is it? If your name is Mitch Thomas, you're totally freaking out right now, aren't you?)

Please understand - I do not go around diagnosing my friends' kids as ADHD. Many, in fact most, times they are just kids being kids. I'm not a medical professional, and I don't like to project my situation onto others. I do believe that a lot of times, ADHD is a label that gets slapped on a child, through no fault of the child's or their parents. ADHD isn't just a kid who's really active, or a kid who daydreams, or a kid who doesn't pay attention. Those are factors in our child, but those alone do not indicate his ADHD. There's a difference between a kid who gets easily sidetracked, and a kid who gets out of his chair and starts doing somersaults and then grabs markers and writes all over books and then throws the markers in the trash and then digs through the trash and then wanders outside and then...(Side note: If reading that last sentence exhausted you, that's a glimpse into our lives. Sam is a walking, talking run-on sentence.)

I've seen a ton of memes that poke fun at ADHD that I actually think are funny, and have even posted some to my on own Facebook page. Isn't there some rule of comedy that says in order for something to be funny, it has to be true? But this stuck in my craw. I WISH this is what my son's ADHD looked like because at least he'd be quietly sitting on his ass as he daydreamed, instead of being sent home for bouncing off the walls.

In an effort to determine if I was getting all bent out of shape over nothing, I asked Matt how he felt about this post. Matt is not as hot-tempered as I am, and not super-expressive, but he pinpointed exactly what I was feeling. This minimizes our struggles, and make no mistake - it has been a supreme struggle. My marriage had became weakened and contentious partially because we didn't know how to work together to handle our son's ADHD. My older son has felt neglected because we've spent so much time, evergy, and money on his brother. Our ADHD son has walked around for several years feeling like a failure because he thinks he's not as good as all the other kids who listen. Most moms and dads calendar their weeks and months around playdates, sports, and school activities. Not us - we do it around doctors, therapists, and marriage counseling sessions. We're becoming a stronger family unit for it, but the hell we went through to get there - I wouldn't wish that on Mitch Thomas or any of his ignoramus buddies.

I hate not being able to see the humor in a situation. I hate feeling like a hypocrite because I can laugh at some jokes about ADHD, but not this. I hate not being able to live and let live. I hate complaining about this because I know it could be a lot, lot, LOT worse. But just because something could be worse, doesn't mean that what we went through (and still go through) isn't still plenty shitty.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Meet Sammy B.

You know, he's the reason I started blogging, and I just realized that I haven't introduced you all to Sam. In the immortal words of Stephanie Tanner, "How rude!"



Sam Robert is our much wished-for miracle child. When Jack was about 12 months old, we starting trying to get pregnant again. When we did get pregnant, it didn't stick. After 2 years of trying, we began consulting with a reproductive endocrinologist. I had the dreaded Unexplained Secondary Infertility - there was no reason why I wasn't getting and staying pregnant. We were forced to learn the alphabet of infertility: ART, AI, IUI, and finally settled on IVF. Finally, after 4 long, painful years of infertility, we became, and stayed, pregnant.

In vitro was my first experience with feeling judged for decisions that Matt and I made. It didn't happen often, but I would hear the criticisms of people who told me that infertility was nature's way of controlling the population; that my miscarriages were God's way of telling me that I should be happy with just one child; that I should accept whatever God gave me. Personally, I think Sam's birth was God's way of telling me to be patient, and telling everyone else to mind their own damned business. Well, maybe not so much that last part (that was actually me), but he was definitely on our side for the journey. One day right before I had to decide if we were going to go through with a very expensive IVF treatment, or if we were going to call it a day and throw in the towel, I was driving home from work. I had a long commute, and a lot of times I used that time to talk with God. (He and I chat a lot this way.) On this particular drive, I asked Him, "God, I wish I knew what to do. It's such a big decision. I don't know - should I just stop trying?" Not 60 seconds later, a minivan drove past me on the freeway, and I noticed its vanity plate: KIDSR4U. I shit you not. I still get chills thinking about that.

We had more help from Up There too. My father died when I was 5 months pregnant with Jack, but I firmly believe he's been keeping an eye on his grandsons ever since he passed. Two nights before I got the word from the doctor that I was, in fact, pregnant, my dad and his father - my Papa - came to me in a dream. In it, the three of us sat around my childhood kitchen table, and we talked about this and that. My dad and Papa told me that I was pregnant, that it was a boy, and that they would be honored if I would name the baby after them. (My dad was Robert Jr., and my Papa was Robert Sr.) I woke up, cried softly for a little while, then woke Matt up and told him about the dream (you'll never convince me it was "just" a dream).

This kid was Meant to Be.

But in true Sam fashion, he never made things easy. I had hyperemesis gravidarum before Kate made it cool (actually, there's nothing cool about it). I suffered from preeclampsia during my last trimester and as a result, Sam was delivered by emergency c-section 3 weeks early. His little lungs weren't fully developed, so he spent the first five days of life in the NICU, then was on supplemental oxygen for almost a month. I found out recently that a mother with preeclampsia, early delivery, and needing O2 while an infant have been proven links to ADHD. Check, check, and check. Awesome - something else for me to feel guilty about.

Sam is known as Sammy, Sam Bob (a joke with my family from Oklahoma), Sammy Blue Eyes (because every Italian kid needs a good mob name), and mostly, Sammy B. Sarcasm is his first language (it's in his DNA), and Matt and I still marvel at his extremely advanced grasp of it. I thought my mother-in-law was going to keel over when, at about 2 years old, Sam looked her in the eye and said dryly, "Nana. I's been sartastic."

He is FUN-NY. With a capital FUNNY. Most times, he means to be and he LOVES when people laugh at his jokes. He does NOT love it when people laugh at HIM. He's a sensitive soul and is very easily hurt. It's a strange balance because that kid is also a mean motherfucker who will say the most painful things a child can say, just because he wants to wound you as much as he feels wounded. Those moments break my heart because I know he can't possibly understand that I already DO hurt as much as he does, simply because he's mine.

He is loving. And smart. And naturally athletic. And did I say funny? And, yes, he has ADHD, ODD, and anxiety. Eh, no one's perfect. But he's our Sammy B, and as his very proud, but often exhausted, older brother would say - our family wouldn't be Us without him.

If Sammy were here for this introduction, I'm certain he would very politely say hello (because he's been raised well) and then ask you to pull his finger (because there's only so much I can do).

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

But I never win ANYTHING!

When I first decided to blog, I kinda hoped my mom, my husband, and a couple of my best friends would (pretend to) read it, that they would tell me how witty, and smart, and charming, and pretty I am, and they would at least wait until my back was turned before they rolled their eyes at my inability to shut the hell up. It hasn't quite turned out that way. It seems some of you actually ARE reading it and even better, it's resonating with many of you. 

But I don't think, in a million years, I ever expected anyone to think I'm "inspiring". So when I saw that my new virtual friend and fellow blogger Shannon nominated me for The Very Inspiring Blogger Award, I was shocked, then completely humbled. Shannon's husband Seth is a childhood friend, and I started following her blog (www.sweetoliana.blogspot.com) at Seth's recommendation. Shannon and Seth's daughter, Oliana, was born blind and is autistic. She writes a very frank, honest blog about the challenges they have raising Oli as well as their 3 other children. SHE'S inspiring. She's someone I look at and think, "What an incredible human being!" Me? I'm just some lady who can't seem to get her shit together. No way am I in the same league. Shannon was also one of the first people I reached out to when I was wondering if I should make the leap into the blogosphere. She was so helpful and patient and caring and INSPIRING.  The fact that Shannon thinks I'M inspiring blows my freaking mind. 

But being the attention whore I am, I'll take the nomination with a heartfelt thank you then get on with the business of officially accepting the nomination for Very Inspiring Blogger.

The rules for the award are as follows:

  • Link back to the person who nominated you. See above, and seriously, check her out. She's awesome, and I'm not just saying that because she nominated me. She's honest, funny, and insightful. And she kinda freaks me out sometimes because I feel like she's IN MY HEAD!!
  • Post award image on your site. I have, and will wear it with pride!


  • List 7 random facts about yourself. The only tough part is narrowing it to 7. I'm one quirky bitch.
    1. My favorite movie of all time is The Sound of Music. I have watched that movie so many times that when I was a kid, I could recite every single line. Seriously - how can you not think of Maria singing "I Have Confidence" while jaunting down the cobblestone streets with her suitcases, and smile!? I was probably 4 when I first  had romantic feelings for Christopher Plummer. To this day, even though he's gray and a million years old, I think of him as Captain von Trapp. What's not hot about an authority figure in uniform blowing a whistle!? Whew! Getting a little worked up over here...Pardon me...
    2. I eat burgers and all circular sandwiches around the edges in a counter-clockwise motion. Always have. I'm convinced this is a sign of genius. But it just makes sense - when you eat around a circular sandwich, there's always a corner to bite off. And you're totally going to try that now, aren't you?
    3. When setting thermostats, I will only set them to even numbers, or multiples of 25. Yes, seriously. Ask my husband. I go ape-shit crazy when he tries to set the thermostat to 73.
    4. My favorite word is "fuck". (If my mom IS reading, I just lost her.) There is no better word in the English language, in my estimation. It communicates so much and it can be used as a noun, as a verb, as an adjective, or as an exclamation. I don't use it for shock value. I use it because I really, really like saying it. I try to be sensitive to those who don't feel similarly, and I don't go around schoolyards shouting it at little kids, but I use it, and don't feel like apologizing for it.
    5. My least favorite word is "panty". Gross. I need a shower for just thinking of that word.
    6. When I get really, really nervous, I speak with a Southern accent, and not on purpose. My first college boyfriend thought I was from the South for almost 4 weeks after we met. I also slip into it when I go back to Oklahoma to visit family there, but I can't do it on command to save my life.
    7. I have a Performer's Contract with NBC. True story. Matt and I were on Season 2 of The Marriage Ref. I'm a football lover and Matt couldn't care less about it. On Sundays during football season all I want is my beer, my wings, and my Broncos, but Matt wants to, like, hang out and stuff. Anywho, they flew us to NYC, I won the argument, and we didn't win the grand prize but our consolation prize - a weeklong all-expenses paid trip to St. Lucia - didn't exactly suck. Inside scoop - Nick Cannon is super cool and called Matt his "brotha"; Caroline Rhea hated me. Whatevs, Aunt Hilda; Jim Breuer actually seems like he's an intelligent guy; Tom Pappas thinks I'm "adorable"; and Jerry Seinfeld is very nice (but really serious) and very short.
  • Nominate 15 other blogs and inform them. Waaaah! I'm the new kid at school, and I don't know anyone or any blogs well enough to be able to give you 15 personal recommendations. But here are blogs that I personally love reading, and that have inspired me in some form or fashion:
God, that feels pathetic, that I could only come up with that many. I know there are more, and there are a ton of Facebook pages that I would consider inspiring, but not associated with blogs. I'll keep updating this list as I come across other blogs.

I'm under no false pretenses about the award. I know it's not going to make me rich and famous, I know I don't get to take home some phallic-shaped Waterford crystal trophy, and that really, this is a way to promote and support our fellow bloggers. But I look at this as someone wanting to promote and support little ol' me (Thank you, Shannon!), and for that, it truly is an honor just to be nominated.

Monday, February 25, 2013

An Ode to my Girlfriends

I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and new. - Ralph Waldo Emerson


I haven't posted in almost a week (bad Mommy blogger!), but I've been busy being awesome with even more awesome women. I spent the last week gearing up for and running Ragnar Del Sol (http://www.ragnarrelay.com/race/delsol), which is a relay team event that runs 202 total miles over 2 days. Our team of thirteen amazing ladies was split between two vans, and each runner ran 3 legs varying from 2.5 miles to 13.5 miles (not it!). The vans leapfrogged one another after every six legs, so each van had a few hours of downtime to sleep, shower, eat, and question our sanity. When our team crossed the finish line Saturday evening - 37 hours after we started - I had slept a total of 6 hours, ran about 11.5 total miles, and survived on a steady diet of Gatorade, beef jerky, peanut butter pretzels, and M&Ms. We would probably tell you we survived two days of hell together, but hell might have had better scenery, fewer hills, and smell a little better.

And I actually loved it.

I loved it for a couple of reasons. One, I love challenging myself physically. I'm competitive, mainly with myself, and I love the satisfaction of finishing something that common sense (and my mother) says you're crazy to try. I actually like the feeling of my muscles aching - it means I DID something. (I completely accept that I'm a masochistic freak. One of these days, I'll tackle that in therapy.)

But the bigger reason I enjoyed the weekend so much was because of the time I spent with my girlfriends. Of my 12 teammates, only 3 of them are new friends. With the others, I've run a half marathon through the hills of San Francisco, run a full marathon through the streets of San Diego, walked 60 miles to fund breast cancer research and programs in Chicago and Phoenix, and spent countless hours sharing wine, beer, and conversation. I have no doubt that I'll share more future adventures with both the new and existing friends.

I spent the most time with my five vanmates, only one of which is a "new" friend. We all have motherhood in common, we all have spouses or significant others, and we all work. I'm sure we had a ton of differences too, but I couldn't easily tell you what they were. We spent more time talking about shared experiences and empathizing over one another's stories than stressing out over what we didn't have in common. One of my friends is a mother to two kids who are also ADHD - her gentle support over a phone call I shared with my husband about Sam's meds was what I needed in order to feel good that I was handling things in the best way possible for my son. Our van ride wasn't a total chick flick though - we spent just as much time talking about poop, farts, and body odor as we did about home life, work, and kids. Think of it as Boys on the Side meets Bridesmaids meets Chariots of Fire.

I consider myself extremely lucky to have a wide and diverse network of girlfriends. For every friend I ran with this weekend, I probably have two more who couldn't care less about arch support and stride length, but who are just as important to me. My truest and best friends are loyal, principled, and emotionally healthy (eh, relatively so, anyway. Birds of a feather, and all that.). No Drama Llamas allowed. My friends and I have similar sensibilities, none of us take ourselves too seriously, and all of us have what I consider to be a healthy sense of humor. Whenever I spend time with any of my girlfriends, I'm inspired, energized, and thankful for the gift of their friendship. My friends are my sounding board, my dose of reality, my shoulders to cry on, and my advice givers. I endeavor to be the kind of friend for them that they are for me.
I live for my kids and love and adore my husband. But were it not for my girlfriends, I'm convinced I wouldn't have my sanity. I hold these true friendships sacred. I can go for months without speaking to some of my oldest and dearest girlfriends, but we always seem to pick up right where we left off. I honestly feel sorry for people who don't have these kinds of dear friends. I truly don't know what I would do without them.

If the making of real friends is the measure of true success in life, I've won the lottery.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Just another Tuesday night

I had a surprise dinner date last night with one of my favorite people in the whole world. He's good-looking, funny, smart, engaging, has my eyes and his father's chin. Jack Jack has always been just about the coolest human being on the planet since (and maybe because) I gave birth to him.

Before Sam was born, Jack had us all to himself for about 5 years. When I became pregnant with Sammy, we worried that Jack would feel replaced and that he would resent his brother, and eventually us. We instituted regular "Mom and Jack" and "Dad and Jack" days, when Jack could choose an activity and at least twice a month, he got one-on-one time with one of us. Because Jack and I are the football fans in the family, during football season, we would usually have our M&J dates at a sports bar, eating wings and drinking beer or soda. (Feel free to use that blurb in my Parent of the Year nomination.)

But in the past year, as we've battled with carving out time for work, home responsibilities, sports, and Sam's appointments, these Jack dates have become fewer and fewer. My firstborn will be a teenager this year (cue tears) and I'm already finding few opportunities to get to spend time with him. So even though last night was a school night, Jack finished his homework early so that he and I could enjoy a cozy dinner of wings.

We talked about a lot of things - school, friends, home, his brother. Although I know that he's a pretty spectacular person, and although I know he's getting older and more mature, he still managed to surprise me. Among the things I learned:
  • One of his best friends has a "crush" and that it's not official yet, but that EVERYONE knows what's going on.
  • He's worried about what being a seventh-grader is going to look like, but he's excited to go to Jr. High next year.
  • Sam is kind of a like a demi-god, because according to the Percy Jackson books, all demi-gods have ADHD.
  • He had a girlfriend last year, but he didn't know about it until they broke up. (I laughed my ass off at that.)
  • He feels sorry for his brother sometimes because of how hard he has it, but he thinks Sam is a cool kid, and he loves his brother something fierce.
We talked about that last item for a while. I asked Jack what he thought life with ADHD was like for Sam. His response was incredibly empathetic and insightful: I think he gets frustrated because he can't concentrate and sit still like other kids can and it makes him sad because it makes him feel different and not in a good way. Things that are simple for other people are hard for Sam because of his ADHD and it's probably scary for him. My 12-year old son showed more understanding and compassion for his brother's challenges than most adults do.

He told me that he gets upset when he finds out people have been picking on Sam when Jack's not around. He knows Sam is not an easy-going kid, but Jack firmly believes his job is to be the best brother he can be to Jack, and to have his back. In this regard, Jack reminds me of our late Golden Retriever. Cooper was a beautiful, gentle, loving, sweet dog, but God help you if you messed with his people.
Jack also talked about how much he's liked going to Kris, Sam's therapist, and sitting in on those sessions. He thinks what we're learning there has been helping the whole family. He says that as a family, we don't get angry as quickly (probably), we talk more (definitely) and yell less (up for debate). He sees that Kris has helped him to manage his tantrums, and has also noticed that the medication seems to help him rein in his impulsivity. He still thinks his brother is a handful and hard to keep up with, but he said he couldn't imagine our family without him.

And then the topic turned to some hockey fight on TV and Jack's school play, and he was back to appropriate 12-year old boy talk. But I woke up this morning still feeling warm and fuzzy over our quality time last night. About how he opened up and chatted with me about this stuff the way I open up and chat with my friends. And about how it wasn't an effort - we just TALKED. On a random Tuesday night. Over wings.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Where did the time go?

Welcome to the post that I started writing 4 days ago.

In the time since I started working on posting, I:

  1. Celebrated Valentine's Day with a dear girlfriend. Matt and I don't celebrate Valentine's Day for each other. We do breakfast with the kids, then celebrate our anniversary of the day we met on February 15. Yes, we're pukey cute that way.
  2. Had date night with Matt for our pukey-cute Night We Met anniversary.
  3. Herded cats kids.
  4. Spent the day with Matt, my cousin, and another great girlfriend, running a 5k and enjoying the post-race music, food, drink, and company. I used to pretend I love running. Now I pretend to tolerate it. The truth is it's a great reason for me to hang out with friends who also pretend to tolerate running.
  5. Taught a Sunday barre fitness class. (Shameless plug alert: If you live in the East Valley of the Phoenix-metro area, come check us out! www.karvestudiogilbert.com)
  6. Herded cats. No, really. Coco the Cat got out, and she is too prissy and pretty for the outside world.
  7. Went to a picnic with friends and their kids. I'm not Arizona weather's biggest fan, but the weather for # 4 and # 7 was pretty spectacular.
  8. Hosted a sleepover for Sam and Jack's BFFs. Pizza, smores, and Nerf battles for four. I hid in my room with Coco, who decided that the world has gone mad and wouldn't leave my side.
And as I speak, I'm still refereeing fights between the younger two boys over Minecraft and the older two boys over some video game that I'm too much of a girl to know/care about. It's taken me almost 40 minutes to post what I've posted so far. Oy.

I'm one of those people who (feels like she) does better when I'm busy. However there's a fine line between "busy" and "overwhelmed", and an even finer line between "overwhelmed" and "OMG I'm going crazy and I'm about to lose my shit!" (For the sake of time, let's call this last one "FML mode").

When I'm in FML Mode, as I'm so dangerously close to now, Matt gets snippy, I am dangerously short on patience, and the boys are on edge. It's chaos. I'm not a good mom or wife. And that feeling feels like a whirlpool that seems impossible to get out of. In that moment, though, I get how Sam feels out of control and how difficult it is to rein in the panic and unsettled emotions. If I, as a responsible (?) adult, can't control these yucky feelings, how is my 7-year old kid expected to pull it together right away? The fact that many times in the past week he's been able to do so, tells me that he's more advanced than I am.

And because we're so close to FML Mode, I need to keep this brief and will be back later this evening with something much more Zen. Hopefully.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

"A" for effort

I'm my toughest critic. I'm always measuring myself against and comparing myself with friends, strangers, TV characters, pretty flowers - basically anyone and everything. And when you set the bar that high, you get just a TEENSY bit stressed out. So this week, I have been anxious, tense, and sick to my stomach leading up to this afternoon...

Today was Parent-Teacher Conference day. (dun, dun, DUN!)

I always feel like Parent-Teacher Conferences are the ultimate job review: Let's talk about how well you've been parenting your child so far this quarter, shall we? When the boys were younger, these were just formalities; an excuse to get out of work for an hour to look at some tissue paper collages and potato-stamp art and to talk about how nice it was to have them in class. But as Sam's ADHD behavior progressed, and as Jack got older, these conversations began to take on a little more weight.

With Jack we're constantly dealing with his lack of organizational skills and how that's negatively impacting when (or even if) he's completing his classwork and homework. He would much rather be reading a book than paying attention to a lesson. He's that kid who has his Hunger Games book hidden under his assignment, thinking he's SO clever because no one has figured out his trick. (Newsflash, Jack - I'm still scarred from getting caught by Sister Agatha in 4th grade, reading a a Disneyland guide book when I was supposed to be doing a writing assignment. That shit sticks with you.) Jack heads to Jr. High next year, and I'm scared to death of him falling behind because of these poor organizational skills and bad habits. I'm worried about how his "permanent record" will look. (Because although I'm pretty sure my boss today knows nothing about the Sister Agatha incident, I still have this unreasonable fear of the "permanent record".) 

But let's be honest here - I see his grades as a reflection of myself. If he gets a "C", that means I'm just doing an average job as his mom. God forbid his mother he should fall below average or fail. My head knows better, but as with so many other things, my heart hasn't quite figured that out. And even worse, I take that out on Jack. Jack would probably tell you I have very high expectations of him. Really, I have very high expectations of myself. My mother would probably tell you the same thing about herself and me when I was a kid, and just like I didn't get it until I was a mom, Jack won't get it until he has kids of his own.

Don't get me wrong. Jack is seriously one of the smartest people - not kids, but people - I have ever known. He knows more about the things he's passionate about, like military history and Greek mythology, than adults who hold doctorates in those areas. The kid is a sponge. And his teacher reminded us of that today. We have been very lucky with our boys' teachers in the past, but Jack's teacher this year really holds him accountable and doesn't pull punches, and she recognizes his excellence at the same time. I kinda have a parent crush on her.

Sam's conferences cause a different kind of anxiety. He doesn't get letter grades yet, so instead we talk about his skills and abilities (YAY!) and his behaviors (not so yay). Because it seems we're always meeting with his teacher at IEP meetings, I wonder a) if she's sick of seeing us, and b) what the hell else can we discuss!? My worry with Sam's conferences is that something really, really bad happened since the last note home (there wasn't, thank God) or that his ADHD behaviors are getting worse. Actually, because this is the first week of school since Sam started medication, we did have something new to talk about. It seems that so far, so good. His teacher has reported that Sam seems to be more focused in class and is not quite so temperamental this week. In fact, today Sam stayed at his desk during free time in order to complete a writing assignment - something I could not have imagined Last Week Sam doing. And so far, no whiffs of scary side effects - the fact that he titled his writing assignment "Mystery Farters 9: Lost in Space" tells me that my little boy's irreverent humor is still firmly intact. (Yes, there has been a Mystery Farters 1-8. With accompanying artwork.)

I walked away from today's conferences feeling pretty good. I feel like Jack has a game plan with his teacher as to how he's going to stay on track for the rest of the quarter and the school year, and Sam seems to be showing some promising positive changes. If this were a job review, I don't know if I would be getting a raise, but at least I get to keep my job, and it's a pretty great job to have.

I will likely never stop being too tough on myself, but if I can just learn to look at days like today as positive feedback, instead of looking at it as all the ways I haven't measured up, I would be doing myself and my kids a huge favor.

But in the meantime, I'm going to entertain myself by imagining Sister Agatha reading a Mystery Farters writing assignment...