!!!

Insert here my loud joyous noises about LP’s planning and placement team meeting. I can’t make any myself because this week, I caught croup from my children. And grown-up croup doesn’t sound like a grown-up barking seal, it sounds like laryngitis, ’cause it is.

And, I can’t tell you – or really, I can only tell you – how very dreadful it is to be the mother of three boys and not be able to raise my voice, or even come up with something that doesn’t sound like a croaking. The impact of a whispered, “don’t hit your brother,” is very minimal.

Ironically, I’m feeling much better than earlier in the week when my throat was sore but I had a voice. At one point the fiery burning sensation sent me running to the Minute Clinic for a rapid strep test. It rapidly told the nurse practitioner that I probably did not have strep. She recommend a DNA probe strep test to send to a lab if I didn’t improve by today – that, it seems to me, could only mean the DNA of whatever horrible bug is living in my throat, because it seems like my own DNA would be irrelevant in this situation. I find it disturbing to think about this.

So, I’m just left wondering, am I better? I feel better, but sound worse, or not at all, depending on when you catch me. Happily, yesterday I felt a little worse and sounded a little better when we were at our PPT – where to my relief, it was decided that our little one is (IS!) eligible for special education serviced here in our town.

Let me back up a moment to mention all the dire warnings I had received about eligibility -it was bad and hard to discount – and even some of them came from the staff themselves. I tried to hold it all at bay- it wasn’t easy and sometimes I lost hope. It is discouraging to hear stories from families that have been disappointed. But today, at least, our story is different.

Until now, I never quite understood that phrase from the Old Testament “God granted him favor in the eyes of ____” This kind of thing always seemed to be happening to one or another of our bumbling Old Testament heroes, getting into a potential scrape and being baled out one way or another, often by God granting him favor in the eyes of some unlikely person, like Pharaoh’s jailer. These past few months all the testing and all the specialists felt like that – like luck, but better planned than luck. (not to compare them to dictator’s jailers because that wouldn’t be nice and these people are nice – and they don’t know I have a blog, so I’m not, you know…)

Everyday that LP had an evaluation or school visit, it was his most charming, lovey self who came out to play. Each specialist in turn developed a little crush on him and his sweet ways. They enjoyed him and enjoyed talking to one another about him, dreaming up ways to help him and one-upping each other on the very best Individual Education Plan they could concoct – putting me in mind of New Testament phrase that I use to encourage healthy competition in my house: And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works.

And did they ever. He is getting in school speech therapy from the public school therapist who will go to his private preschool – she will drive there twice a month and work with him in his class. I am getting in home consultations with the occupational therapist – who just this week went to an all day conference on sensory processing issues – and she will also consult at school for his teacher and me so we know what accommodations we might make and also start the desensitizing process….. Plus, I am getting one free hour of therapy a month from the school psychologist (remember, I mentioned needing help!) So, yes, my town is paying for my therapy.

Thank you, town, in return for this therapy you will find me cheerfully at the local Starbucks, playground and library time. I promise not to be the crazy lady muttering under my breath about sensory processing and receptive language skills. Instead, I’ll smile, wave and always head home before the all important naptime hits my charming, but easily overloaded kid.

A little charm on the part of a three year old boy cut through lots of red tape this week/ God granted him favor in the eyes of the specialists and we are warming in the glow it in right.

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Payment Due

Yep, it’s true. I’ve been waiting for payment on a loan for nearly 8 months. And last night, it came through. One extra hour of sleep – plus interest. After all my years in mommying, I have finally figured out how to fall back, be a mommy and get the extra hour of sleep I have been owed since March. Now, potentially in this, my last year of having regular nappers in my care, I napped deprived my little ones yesterday, put them to bed on-time and they slept in.

I can’t take all the credit. While the tooth fairy and the genie full of diapers bowed out of negotiations pretty early in the process, Father Time sent as his representative:

There are not many good reasons for a family with two children under four to forgo nap-time on a very blustery November Saturday, but Day Out With Thomas 2007 is at the very top of the list.
(Please note 8 year old at bottom left, perhaps not as excited to be out in a tropical storm getting his picture taken with a train. He did later enjoy watching Thomas getting a new load of coal in his tender, or whatever.)

Thanks to the expertise and skills of Thomas The Tank Engine, the perfectly precise amount of stimulation was introduce the to toddlers, and they were able to skip their naps with minimal meltdowns and achieve and normal bedtime. There are not many imaginary friends who bring such attention to details to tough assignments. An Elmo or a Barney perhaps would have done too much…a Gordon or Little Bear could easily have done too little. This morning two of them slept until the clock said 9 and one of them – the littlest one of all – slept until the clock said 10:30. So from the bottom of our hearts, thank you Thomas, thank you.

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My big plans

I had some big plans. In my fantasy world of way more free time than I really have I was going to overcome my overstimulation and nominate writers for all kinds of awards. I have made absolutely no progress at all on my blogging learning curve and am annoyed at myself.
Also, I now have more bloggity blog homework, which will be fun, in a thinky kind of way, once I have time for fun again. Which I don’t. have time. for fun. at all. Do you remember in March when I whined about my crazy job? – okay also in all the other months too, but this time was special because I got that song stuck in your head. Yep, that one, from Annie; sorry, I did it again. Well this time, the sun will come out one week from today, making this week my last week to wait for vacation to begin. And when the thump thump thump of suitcases being dragged down the stairs meets the parking frenzy out back, I will no longer live with anyone except my very own three boys and my man, which is really a full enough life.
Thus one chapter of my life ends and I look forward to having some space, time and quiet to reflect on it. I look forward to the new path I have picked, a little house, a little town, three boys, and the world of childbirth calling me out in the wee hours every so often, tying loose ends together to make ends meet but having our own space to work it out in for the first time in three years.
This is also my last weekend with two children under three, LP turns 3 on Sunday, a day I have look forward to since he was about 19 months old, and now I’m feel all weepy and nostalgic about it. It helps not one bit that my last baby started for real today – not the two – three step tumble we have had for two months, real walking from room to room. Which brings us full circle to my blogging learning curve:
overcome evil powers of google/picasa/blogger and learn to upload deliciously cute video of Little Bear walking!
I know, I should be packing…

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Real moms ask: opt what?

So, I’m not sure if you gathered this, but I’m quitting my job. I signed my contract last Winter and then had a major epiphany in the summer that I wanted to not come back….oops.
This last year has been a gift, things have gone relatively well, we’ve found a great place to live (I live at work and so does my family; don’t try this at home, or at work…you get my drift). We are moving close to friends, family, church, some great schools, playgrounds, and good ice cream. All good. My husband works long and hard earning most of the pennies that keep us warm, dry and fed. He will continue to do so next year, even while whittling away at dreams of his own.

My mommy secret? This real mom really would rather not have to work. I am deeply conscious that my desire “to be kept” is absolutely anachronistic and could be seen as possibly immoral. I went to college for four years, knowing the whole time that I’d want kids and that I’d want to stay home with them. After college I felt as though the great machine of education/socialization had chewed me up and spat me out the other side. I met the cultural expectations of my time and place (prep school/Manhattan/ early 90s). I was tired from that and from all that had happened to me in an as yet young life. Marriage and a baby were a cake walk compared to what work felt like to me at that time. I know, it sounds insane, but it was true at that time, for me.

I’ve had at least part-time work from the time my oldest child was 4 months old. Most of the time I was able to do most of that work at home, minimizing my costs for daycare or babysitting. The job I have now is both at home and not minimizing my daycare costs as I have more responsibilities than I could reasonably keep up with and keep LP home with me. Every job shift I have made has been based on what my kids and family most needed from me at the time. Again, I am worn down. Opt out, why yes, thank you, but on the side…cause I’m gonna need some income.
I wish someone who loved this job was doing it right now. I’m feeling sort of cruel and impatient with myself because there are people who need work, who need to feed their families and keep them warm and safe and I just can’t find a way to love this and cling to it. It’s not working for me, but I am deeply fearful that I’m gonna always feel that way about “work.”
Will I dislike work less when my kids are bigger? Right now I resent it because it whips me away from them, away from a craft, a game, a story. In fact, some moments go by that I could have done a craft, a game or a story and I don’t because it’s not worth it if an interruption comes.

Will it be different if home is home and work is work? Will I feel more focussed and more able to devote energy and passion to all the different parts of myself? Cause, as always, I have a grand plan. I’m returning to a former love that I only just had a taste of between my first and second children, being a doula. And I’m adding to that a nearly accomplished goal of being a childbirth educator. I’m nearly there, so this may just be the sound of cold feet. Where will I teach? Will I earn enough money? Will I get enough births to keep my certifications up? Will I resent work less if it’s what I really love to do, or will having to do this work be the thing that rubs its shine off?

I’m about to move to a town of 25,000 of which I understand roughly 2000 are living in poverty. The median household income is roughly 83K. (total fluke we are going to live there and will belong in neither of those camps…) What if I opt-in? What if I have time to opt-in to that big gap and make friends with and visit the elderly in that town who will grow more poor everyday until death? What if I opt-in to my kids’ school and look for the families who need stuff. My urge to opt-in to a (somewhat invisible in my suburban culture) hurting world is as much influenced by my faith as it is by images of people and places needing help, the images come from far away but there are needs among my neighbors.

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Food for the Soul (for now and later)

When he was newborn he cried from the very second we got home from the hospital(day 2) until my milk came in (day 5). He milled his arms in the air flailing around and weeping until we learned to swaddle him as well as the maternity nurses. I cried for 6 weeks in the shower, nursed him on demand and held him for four months and then miracle baby arrived – naps, bedtimes, night weaning! The most pleasant chatty baby in the universe had come to live with us!
Around 18 months I missed his chatty, happy baby-self. This new baby screamed in his car seat & ran into traffic the moment I took him out to play. He whacked me from time to time with his adorably chubby baby hands. I almost went out of my mind and then suddenly, he was conversant, chatty, but fluent in English this time! No longer dependent on my guessing skills when he said “more” he could say more juice, more outside, more snacks, more Elmo!
At age 3 he became bratty; I remember walking out to sit on the back step leaving him in the kitchen barking his demands at no one. He wouldn’t potty train, he wouldn’t have a rest in the afternoon. He was made at me in Target cause I wouldn’t let him out of the shopping cart. He told me he was going to put him on the cross and die me just like Jesus. I wasn’t sure which one of us was going to go to hell. I was pretty sure I was gonna kill whoever had read him that story at Sunday School cause he was clearly way to young to do anything at Sunday School but play on the swings, sing Jesus loves me and eat some donut holes. So, I figured after I figured out who that was and killed them, that’d I’d be carted away, and my three year old just might be the better for it. I knew for sure I’d lose my mind before preschool would start in the Fall. I got invited to Asia for the following winter, I made plans, updated my passport and got my visa and vaccinations.
He started school. He was happy! Apparently my ever fascinating self and my errands, cooking dinner, reading books and playing trains had been boring him if not to tears than to out and out home front rebellion. He potty trained almost completely in the first week of school. Came home tired enough to spend an hour in his room reading books! I went to Asia in January. I did not miss him (I’ve only said that to one person before now. I think I’ll say it again.) I went to Thailand then to Burma for about 2 weeks and I did not miss him. My mother completed his potty training regime with her super powers of not really giving a rip one way or the other (you can’t fake that by the way, cause I tried to earlier in the year).

I’m writing this to myself because right now I have a very different about to be three year old and a very different about to be one year old. There are pushing entirely different sets of buttons by not being champion sleepers, by teething and getting sick and both needing to be held at the same time and by refusing to learn to use utensils and still chewing toys (okay, just the almost 3 year old, the one year old is allowed to be a baby, I know). There is no trip to Asia in sight, but I offer to myself this potential light at the end of a tunnel of the unsettling baby/toddler/preschool years:
“During instruction he will publicly compliment other students or prompt them to participate. His kind and caring ways set a good example for other students to follow.”
-excerpt from Thinker’s second trimester’s comments.
Yep, that’s right, the same kid that would pee in his pants next to the toilet while staring me down, the same kid that spent one week of our life together obsessively un-five point harnessing himself from his seat while we were cruising along at 45mph – so, it’s out there for me, that second grade teacher comment, that job well done from someone out there who spends 8 hours a day with him without me there to supervise. It may not be warm like Thailand’s beach in January, but it is food for the soul. Today, I am soaking it up.
(I may need it when he turns 13.)

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The angel on his shoulder

oh good job look what you made I knew you could do it I so proud of you.

She might be too tiny to see in this photo, but my Little Puppy is clearly carrying my mom around on his right shoulder. He’s mimicking Nacky’s constant stream of affirmation when she plays with him. These words are calling into being his great big about to be three year old self who tries very hard to build towers that won’t fall, put his own socks on, and make toaster waffles with no help. His little affirmations are sometimes even good at holding at bay his toddler-baby self that wants mommy to feed him his oatmeal and screams and kicks when Maisy is over.

I’m struggling to birth this preschooler into being. My older child chased after each milestone at breakneck speed. I’ve had to learn to teach this child to talk, to walk, to feed himself. Lots of things have come naturally to L.P. – climbing, jumping, baseball, but those strengths have run ahead of us as other things have lagged behind, things very valuable to me and society like language and patience.

Tantrums at bath time are as common now as they were 6 months ago, but last night I did something new and it was Shiny. I filled the tub and let him do the rest, all the rest. He doesn’t like being messed with, diaper changes, bath time, struggling into a coat. It’s as though he feels victimized, indignant. My life with L.P. as a toddler is so different than it was with Thinker; I need a new brain, new thoughts, new mommy game.

As I was struggling to articulate our method of handling this little puppy to my sister in law, she put it very succinctly: he’s a river, try to let it flow, damming up the river is a bad idea. It’s true; if you put the breaks on this kid, all you get is a scream-fest. All my work as his mother is along the banks of the river, redirecting his wayward, willful course, un-damming things that were blocked by life and circumstance, and bringing all together as he flows his sometimes merry way.

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Shiny

It was all Shiny, the day I declined to return, my supervisor weepy, the vacation that followed, well timed it was, the only 3 weeks left til the end of term. Neither roseola, nor sinus infections, nor sleepless nights with sick children could take that shine off.
And then the firewall blocked blogger unreasonably and sporadicially, frustrating every attempt like a tyrannical two year old.
And then the water from upstairs into my “housing” (they remind me this is not my home, it’s my housing, thanks.) Into my housing into Little Puppies room (not for the first time), though for the first time since he’s been able to leave his crib and go explore the fun water near his stereo…no, he didn’t do that, but I’ve been haunted at the thought since the possibility occurred to me.
And, I’m saying to the powers that be “I already quit, what more do you want? I surrender.”
Only I didn’t say that, because I’m not drinking the coolaid anymore and I’m not playing. It’s all disengagement from here on out and only 6 more months to we move to safety, wherever we find it.
So, I’m looking for the shiny to come back and my hope is that the shiny eyes of my children filled with wonder at first snows and Christmas joys, big and small, will turn this ship around.

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