The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

There is change in the air over here. The jasmine is in full bloom, we are noticing more creepy crawlies flying around the lights at night. The kids can smell summer in the air. We have hit the home stretch in school. You know that point where there is too much school left to totally blow things off, but not enough to muster much effort? And that is just how the teachers feel. This time of year also strikes terror into the hearts of parents across the land. Spring break is the appetizer of what summer is going to be like. All kids. All day long. How do you cope? What do you do with your kids during the summer months?

For a few of my kids this is a pretty straight up process. My oldest, who will turn 11 this summer, really wants to do a few camps. She is a great athlete and has a passion for ice skating and theatre. So, tennis camp, basketball camp, ice skating lessons and Broadway by the Bay for her. Done and done. I can shove a Lunchable in her bag (or a couple of bucks, who are we kidding?) on her way out the door and she will be fine the whole day. She is hitting her stride in tween-dom and is currently my most difficult to parent child. Who knew? It’s not the one that is setting fire to things, but the one who sobs every night about how rotten the girls in 5th grade can be. She is right. Middle school is the pits. I am pretty sure I am going to home school her next year.

Tiny is also pretty easy. She will turn 5 this summer. This is her last year before she is off into the school system. I am having traditional “wait, when she was two I couldn’t WAIT for her to be at school all day, and now that she is a fun and happy girl, I am going to miss her so MUUUUCH” feelings. She just wants to spin and sing and dance. Easy peasy. I am going to have her continue at her preschool in the summer program. A few “dancing” classes and trips to the sprinkler park and she will have the best summer ever. Her only request is to have Joe, our local ice cream truck man, cater her birthday party. He shows up at the appointed time, the kids each choose their favorite and I hand over a shockingly low amount of money and we have the best birthday party ever.

Ace is only three. At this point, her developmental preschool and therapies probably will feel like summer fun times for her. The kind of fun times where they make you do all kinds of work that you don’t want to do and force you to be in long sessions during your nap time. Also, you don’t get to pick your nose or play in the ball pit until AFTER you do your core exercises. Wait, that kind of sounds like a summer program in boot camp. Too bad. I do wonder what kinds of things she will be able to do as she gets older. She is really social and enjoys sports and other physical things, but is going to be pretty different in ability level than her peers. I guess I can just put her in camps until she is old enough to notice that she feels out of place (if she ever does). I know that she will be playing AYSO soccer next year (with her daddy as the coach…) and possibly T ball. Special Olympics here we come (get your banners ready).

And that leads us to Cubby. Shocking, right? Here is the thing. He is doing much, much better these days. Not “its time to have play dates and go to regular school” better, but better. He has great meds and has been working really hard in therapies and is responding to behavior modification programs. He WANTS to go to camps. He wants to do fun things this summer. It is what other kids do and he wants to do it to (and no amount of me promising him all the snow cones he can eat if he just stays home and plays with me is doing anything to change that). I am terrified to send him into a situation where he will not be successful. I know he can hold it together, but he doesn’t always manage to do it. He is an amazing athlete and that might be the right answer for him. But I worry. How can I help him be successful and still fun? Do any of you have secret weapon camps for me?

Catchy title for the Easter holiday, don’t you think?  Clearly, I did.  Anyhow, this isn’t going to be about Easter at all, but rather a philosophical discussion that I hope you’ll weigh in on.

My kid is sensitive.  She is delicate in emotion, clingy to mom, tender-hearted and compassionate.  She prefers being held, and whines when she is not picked up within seconds of her request.  I pick her up within seconds of her request.  She is the type of kid, who at almost 20 months old, still needs to be rocked to sleep and HAS to be kissed and hugged goodbye (like a handful of times) before leaving her in the care of others.  DJ is a kid who needs to be introduced to new people and new things slowly, with a lot of assurance that I am there waiting in the wings should she need a boost of familiarity.

DJ is also fearless, adventurous, a thrill-seeker, and seemingly unfazed by consequences to dangerous stunts.  She is quick to explore, happy to play alone and doesn’t often wait for someone to tell her it’s OK for her to follow her impulses.  Her favorite things are motorcycles, monkey bars and swings – but only when daddy pushes her.  When I push her, she incessantly asks for “more,” meaning higher (which I can’t stomach because I am the only cautious one in this family of three).

When DJ was born, I was flooded with emotion.  The overwhelming love was almost unfathomable – except it was happening to me without any control of my own.  I embraced motherhood as if it had been long estranged from my life – it was that missing piece.  I felt complete.  Still do.  And while I know that I’m certainly not the only mom to be completely taken and transformed by this great love…..the way I translated this feeling has me wondering – what came first, the chicken or the egg?

There was barely a minute in the first several weeks of DJ’s life when she was apart from my arms.  She slept tucked close at my side, she fed from my breasts, and she snuggled against my chest in her Ergo carrier while I did just about everything.   I was so in love with this child that I couldn’t bare to be separated from her.  The phrase “attachment parenting” was unfamiliar to me, and something that only hippies practiced.  I had really negative connotations in my mind whenever I heard someone coin my parenting style as such.  However, once I finally decided to arm myself with a defense by understanding what it really meant – I found relief in knowing that there were a ton of other families who were practicing what I was instinctively living.

I realized very early on that DJ had quite a sweet disposition, and I rarely let her cry when she needed me.  While we certainly experimented with allowing her to “cry-it-out,” and a variety of other things that “experts” assured would make an independent, self-soothing child – we painfully realized that these methods did not work for our daughter.  When her pediatrician assured us that vomiting induced by traumatic cry sessions was a harmless act of trying to get our attention, we opted to allow DJ to have just that – our attention, before the puking became a necessary tool in her tiny arsenal.

So, my question is this…..did my coddling make her sensitive?  I mean, is that possible?  It’s not like she’s 5 years old still being spoon fed by me…..but, yes, I will admit that I still cook breakfast with an almost-two-year-old swaying from my hip.  She enjoys being part of what I do, and if she asks to be held, then I hold her.

While I absolutely want my daughter to be strong and independent (which she absolutely shows signs of inherently being), I also want her to continue relying on me to meet her needs – whether they are physical, or emotional.  I am choosing to believe that my daughter was born with an incredible character, harmoniously tying the sweet in with the strong.  I am choosing to believe that I have just been attuned to that from the first days of her life, and that the bond we are creating now will be the very thing that keeps DJ feeling safe and confident to tell us the truth as she gets older, to know that she can absolutely ask the tough questions, and that she will never be afraid to come to us with her perceived failures.

I think that DJ is pretty amazing, and I feel that it would be totally arrogant of me to claim responsibility for her attributes.  However, if we are to blame for spoiled, bratty, bullying and irresponsible children, then I guess I have to admit that I could be to blame for some of DJ’s annoying habits of whining.  In either case, I should be totally clear – I have no regrets.  I am just curios as to what others believe…..did the need come before the response, or did the response form the need?

By now, you’re familiar with my story, but if you’re just tuning in, I’m a single Dad, divorced 16+ years, never remarried. What?! you ask.  Never remarried?! you say!  But you’re so cool, you’re so understanding, you’re so… Yeah, I get that alot!

All kidding aside, splitting the holidays through the years was somewhat challenging, not so much for the schedule, but more-so for the time I didn’t have with my children.  Missing out on some of the special occasions like buying the Power Ranger school supplies and dressing them up for school pictures was difficult, but being there for the looks on their faces when Santa delivered what they wrote him for was worth it every time.

Just because they’re teens doesn’t mean anything has changed.  They still deserve to be treated special and get what they deserve.  And I still write the Easter bunny and Santa every year to make sure they arrive for those days I have them with me.

Some things have changed though.  Since my children have gotten older, they do things a little differently.  When they were growing up, they gave me special little gifts like candles or ceramic crafts they made in school.  Now they appeal to the side of me that wants to spend time with them.  Now they take me out to eat dinner, they take me to an occasional movie, or at least pay for the snacks if I take them.

Every year that passes, Santa now visits me and so does the Easter bunny.  Oh I still miss those hand-made cards, seeing those decorated eggs that say I ♥ Dad on them, and bookmarks that are used until they’re shredded beyond belief until they are no more – because I could not throw them away.

I guess I never stopped believing that it was important for me to be there because they needed me.  And in turn, they have never stopped believing I’ll be there for them.

For all the Dads out there, married or not, this is what’s important.

Jayne and Sejal. Sejal and Jane. My first borns. There are twins on my mom’s side of the family and my dad’s side of the family. It never occurred to me that I would have twins. Until my 30th birthday when I went to my very first OB appointment at 6 weeks pregnant and the doctor showed me those two little blobs swimming around in my uterus. I drove home in a daze.

There has been a rash of pregnancies in my life lately (but none for me, calm down mom). I think this is why I am suddenly struck with how many times I have heard the following exchange. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” asks the person, and mostly the expectant mom deflects that question by saying “we don’t care, as long as it’s healthy”. The same week I saw a funny video on Facebook (I know, right? What are the odds?) called “Pregnant Women are Smug” by Garfunkel and Oats–a female comedy/musical duet. You should watch it. If you have ever known or have been a pregnant woman, you will laugh your freckles off.

Let’s add another layer. I am part of a program in the area that matches expecting families who have children that test positive for genetic abnormalities in utero with families that are raising kids with the same issues. Most people are tested early enough to still have the option to terminate the pregnancy so they are interested in meeting with us to help them decide what they want to do. We have done this almost a dozen times. As far as I know, not a single family has elected to continue the pregnancy. So, this means that we entertain people in our homes, show off our awesome family and especially the Amazing Ace, and they leave thinking “I would never want to do THAT”. Trust me when I tell you that I GET IT. I am a member of a very conservative religion where termination of pregnancy for any reason other than danger to my life would be grounds for excommunication. And I STILL considered it and though about it very, very carefully. I get the feelings of overwhelming grief and thinking “who is going to take care of this child when I die?” I would have done anything to un ring the bell. I didn’t want any part of this life.

It takes all the control I have not to just take these people and just SHAKE them until I can make them understand that what they are afraid of is not really that scary. I don’t know how I could better help them know that THIS child, the one that they are fearful is going to be more good than bad. That child will be more like other kids than not like them (they will just do things in their own way and own timeline). I want them to know HOW WRONG I was when I thought I could not do it and that they are wrong too. All the things that I worried about when faced with having a child with special needs are things that I don’t even think about anymore. The things that I do worry about are the same things that I worry about with my other kids. Will they be happy? Will they ever stop picking their nose in public? And sweet-mercy-WHEN-are-we-going-to-get-the-potty-training-thing -down?. Maybe not quite that simple, but you get the idea Yes there is extra work. Yes there is a certain amount of shifting around how you run your life. But mostly, she isn’t that different. . I spend my days trying to help my kids get the skills they need to be happy and productive. That end result looks different for all of them. No big deal. I have three kids with three very different sets of needs. I realize that there are families out there who have children that are much more medically fragile than mine are. I KNOW there are parents out there that have kids that are much less emotionally stable than mine are (and that is saying a lot). I have a funny feeling that if you asked them, their answers would be similar to mine.

So, while I get it why people answer the whole boy or girl question with the “as long as it’s healthy” answer, I wish that I could let people know that even when you don’t get” healthy” it is still really awesome. I think that a better answer would be “we don’t really care, as long as he/she gets here”. Or just pick a gender (why is that so bad? Isn’t it ok to have as much of a preference about your child’s gender as you do about what to have for lunch?) All our children are amazing and annoying to raise (don’t pretend yours aren’t). People with sick kids would love for them to be “healthy” but they are still glad they are here. Those of us who don’t get “healthy” are doing just fine thankyouverymuch. I was just thinking about this over the last few weeks and realized how often I heard this and wondered if it triggered anyone else. I am woman enough to admit that it bothers me. I am even woman enough to admit that might not be very rational, but it is a trigger. And there it is.

And for the record, I do hope your kids are healthy. I hope mine are healthy. Mostly I hope they are happy

So, I’ve been nesting – well, without any eggs in the hay.  Maybe it’s not actually called nesting if it’s not in preparation for a baby – but “nesting” sounds so much better than something like “compulsively scrubbing till my fingers are bleeding.”

I’ve been certifiably out of control.  Seriously.  It’s not just been about using the shop vac to suck the 9-months old crumbs from the creases along our baseboards, or about using a toothpick to clean around the kitchen faucets (and yes, I have done both) – but it’s been about needing a fresh new look, too.

I’ve talked my husband into changing the décor of our living room, adding an accent piece to the chandelier in our dining room, and buying a new comforter and throw pillows for our bed (which is too small, by the way – so next on the list of “must-haves” is a King sized mattress).  We have completely landscaped our backyard, oh – and I have organized DJ’s dresser drawers.  I already have my sights set on painting over the dark wood panels in our bonus room to “open things up,” make that room look more cheery.  My husband has requested that I focus on one project at a time…..I can’t figure out why he thinks I need reigning in…….

Anyhow, I took a little break today (let me rephrase, I had some moments alone in my car as my mom watched DJ while I went to the chiropractor), and spent some time reflecting on my recent need for getting things in order.  It hit me, that was just it – I needed to create some order.  I am pretty sure my therapist cracked this behavior of mine many moons ago when she insisted that I stop and take inventory of the events in my life whenever I began obsessively cleaning.  She guaranteed that my love affair with Comet most certainly meant that things elsewhere were spinning out of my control.

Um, yes.  Motherhood is one, big, huge out of control experience.  Outside of the things that we think we can control – such as schedules, meals, etc. (which, lets face it, can be turned upside down in a heartbeat given a child’s mood), everything else is a total crapshoot.  Lately, DJ has been exercising her independence in major ways.  Her tantrums, her opinions, her imagination, and even her physical impulses are totally and completely unpredictable and exhausting (and debilitating at times).  She’s in control even in the moments when I am absolutely exercising complete authority – I am, after all, using a stern voice and a time-out in reaction to something she has done, right?  UGH.

This is what life with a toddler is like.  Erratic.  And so, when DJ refuses to take a nap for two days in a row, or only eats bread with butter for three nights, or shreds the grocery list that I finally had time to write at midnight, or throws the Edamame beans from the cart at Trader Joes – I do what I do best, I bleach the heck out of my counter tops and create a clean slate.  I harness the chaos and fabricate order.

I guess there are worse drugs……..

There are certain pieces of childhood that stay firmly planted there–forgotten and abandoned by our later adult selves, simply because they cease to occur after the age of ten. Not the major milestones, or even the memories, but those little snippets that were so ultra-important at the time, but now just another neglected remnant, like Kool-Aid mustaches and growing pains.

The one that came screaming back to me today was when I asked my son where he thought his shoes might be–a question that is asked multiple times a day.

“In the crack of the bed.”

This opening in the space and time continuum does not occur when we are adults as we tend to place our big beds in the middle of the master bedroom. We forget that vast abyss created by a twin bed pushed up against a wall and the resulting “crack in the bed” that is host to treasures or horrors depending on what kid contraband can fit there.

I remember I used to store snacks there like a hibernating squirrel. By the time I’d remember them, they were pretty much unfit for human consumption, but the ants appreciated my efforts. I’d stash away books, flashlights, the recent Mad Magazine that I didn’t want my sister messing up. It was the very best place to hide the Halloween candy, too.

But it could also be a very scary place. If I’d have happened on something particularly frightening by 7 year-old standards like an exceptionally poignant ABC “After School Special,” well, then there would be trouble. At night when my imagination was at its most precocious, I’d picture all sorts of monsters and aliens just lying in wait until I closed my eyes to emerge from the crack. Although Guinness never officially recorded it, I know I must have held the world record for the longest period of time without blinking.

But the absolute worst was when the crack would threaten to swallow you whole. If that twin mattress was slightly askew, a black hole would open up and I would be trapped between two worlds–or simply wedged against my Shaun Cassidy poster I got from Tiger Beat all night. Which perhaps wasn’t the worst fate imaginable.

I don’t remember when the crack in the bed disappeared–probably when my room was rearranged–but it was funny how fast the recall came once I was reminded.

And now that I was, I won’t have to ask of the location of my son’s shoes so often.

It has been a week (or 5) since I posted last. You might think that it was because of the awesomeness of the day I talked about on my last post. Try and believe me when I tell you that this wasn’t the case at all.  For those of you who still doubt me, later I will tell you the story about how last week one of the kids set the house on fire while I had a herniated disk and was flat on my back for a few weeks, but all this happened (of course) after I broke my toe by dropping a can of salsa on it.   On second thought, I might needs to save that story for a week when I REALLY have nothing to blog about.

Over the course of the last month I just sort of gave up somewhere. I have been hiding.  Random things have popped up in my life (when don’t they?).   Some are related to the special needs aspect of our life, some are related to the adoption aspect, some were job related and some were school related (seriously, how much paperwork does Kindergarten registration need? I think our adoption had less).  None of is was earth shattering or things we hadn’t dealt with before.  In fact, it was mostly just the routine stuff that I deal with on a daily basis. Same old, same old.

 I made a fatal mistake though. I allowed myself to think that I was SO good at dealing with all the stresses that are by now routine, that I forgot to do some things.  I forgot to take care of myself and my needs (I guess that ISN”T just a tag line on a O Magazine article). I forgot to be sure that I had conversations with grown ups. I forgot that even though I know WHAT to do when things get tricky, the act of doing them is stressful.  I didn’t service the engine. I didn’t fill my vessel so that I had something to offer others. I didn’t make enough “me” time.  I didn’t take the time to eat my weight in Jojo’s  smell the roses. I am out of cliches. In a nutshell, I fancied myself a veteran mom who wasn’t susceptible to “newbie” mom pitfalls.   Turns out I am not.    

I am a hider.  When things get overwhelming, I just take a break and hide. Sometimes it is just for an afternoon reading People magazine while sitting in my car in the grocery store parking lot because the house is a mess and the car is clean and I don’t want to deal with it.  Sometimes (when you have a back injury and are bed bound and have really, really powerful painkillers) the hiding can last a little longer.  Even after I was up and around I stopped answering calls and worrying about rescheduling things.  I just hid.  The luxury of not having to do anything (schedule free days!! No appointments) quickly turned into the intricate system that allows my life to function in a semi-normal way into a big old mess.  Don’t get me wrong, kids were still getting fed, school was being attended regularly and we didn’t even watch too much TV, I just got tired of DOING everything so I stopped for awhile.  Turns out that starting up again is harder than I remembered.   I was reminded that there is a reason why I have a system for doing things the way I do.  It works. But it is hard. 

My sister has a family motto that she has taught her kids to live by. It is  “I can do hard things”.  Aside from the “that’s what she said” aspect of it (ahem) I love this.  I even gave her a painting of her mantra one year.  I can do hard things.  I sometimes I don’t like to or want to, but I can do it.  Not doing it doesn’t make them go away (surprising, right?) and ignoring the built in “maintenance factors” that I know to do also isn’t a great idea.  I am able to do what I do because I occasionally get to read a book, visit with my friends and have a date with my husband.  I can’t stop doing those things that make me feel like me.  Slipping into “super mom who can do it all and ignore the emotional oil changes” really doesn’t help anyone.  So I am back.  I am done hiding (but I might have to keep reading People.  I’m not CRAZY, you know).

I can do hard things.  So can you.  Every day I can get up and do something difficult and tricky. And I can do it again. I just forgot.   So do me a favor and don’t YOU forget.  Ok?

When you think minivan what do you think of?  Soccer mom?  Uncool?  Frumpy?  Goldfish cracker encrusted seats?  No other car seems to evoke such strong emotions from people, parents and non-parents.  I know so many moms who say they won’t be caught dead in a minivan, they “just can’t do it.”  As if owning a minivan somehow takes away the last little bit of coolness you possess when you become a parent.

When my twins were born we had a Jeep Grand Cherokee.  I loved that car.  It was easy enough to snap in the baby car seats and there was plenty of space in the trunk for my massive double stroller and a few bags of groceries.  One of my twin mom friends had a minivan and I remember one afternoon at the park as we both walked back to our cars carrying children, snacks, sand toys I was struck with envy and she simply pushed a button on her key chain and the side door slid open and her little toddlers got right in.  Meanwhile I dropped everything I was carrying, fished about for my keys while making sure my toddlers didn’t run off down the street.  I lifted them both up into the car and then loaded all my stuff in the back.   But I still had no desire for a van.

When I got pregnant for the second time, I knew I had to let go of the stereotypes and at least go test drive a minivan.  There was no way I could fit three car seats in my Jeep.  I was also starting to think a little further into the future and I knew that we would eventually need a third row of seating.  After looking into minivans I knew it was going to be the most practical choice.  I could not say no to the sliding doors, the fifty million different ways to configure the seats, the little hook for my purse, the DVD player, the space… oh the space.  So handed in my cool mom card and drove off in my sparkly new minivan.

And for a while all was good.  All jokes aside, it’s just a vehicle, a way to transport us from one place to another.  And it did a darn good job of transports our family of five and all of our stuff from one place to another.  We spent six good years with our Honda Odyssey.   I remember one road trip in particular we had that van packed with as least seven suitcases, a bike, two scooters, three kids, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law and my husband and I with room to spare for a small cooler full of snacks!

But as my kids have gotten older, it’s still a highly practical car, but I find myself transporting small people more often than load of things like boxes of diapers, pack ‘n’ plays and strollers.  I am more likely to be driving five kids to soccer practice  rather than packing up three kids for a day as the zoo.  And honestly, I wanted a little bit of cool back in my life.  I was growing tired of driving around my now scratched up and goldfish cracker encrusted mom-mobile.

It was time.  Time for a car without my beloved sliding doors.  I am now the proud owner of GMC Yukon Hybrid.  Yes, I do miss the sliding doors, but that is about all I miss.  I can fit six kids in the back, sacrificing a good amount of trunk space, but it works.  My identity really isn’t wrapped up in what kind of car I drive.  But I have to admit, driving around in my new car feels pretty good, even if there are already a few goldfish crackers smashed into the floor after only two weeks.

Yesterday was what our household of three refers to as a “Baby Day.”  A Baby Day is a day in which most of the day’s activities revolve around “baby.”  (As I type that definition, I realize I have just described most days!).  Anyhow, more specifically, a Baby Day means that responsibilities take a backseat to fun, and that we’re very deliberate in our planning – always keeping DJ’s interests in mind.

We started off by going out to breakfast near a train station.  DJ munched on sourdough toast with butter (her new favorite combo) and giddily bounced in her booster chair as the “choo choos” passed by.  After breakfast, she and my husband watched an hour of motocross (I’m certain I’ve previously mentioned DJ’s obsession with dirt bikes), while I took a closed-door shower!  Can I just tell you what a difference it makes to start the day off with a long, hot shower without a game of peek-a-boo around the shower curtain?  Heaven.

After motocross (and the slight trauma caused by the administration of a glycerin suppository because of some mean constipation – DJ, not me), we headed out to Happy Hollow with some great friends who were kind enough to endure the kiddie chaos.  DJ was almost as fascinated by the Meerkats and Lemurs as she was by the pebbles she gathered in her hand along the way.  She rode a Merry-Go-Round for the first time, noshed on a Hebrew National, and even pet some food-crazed goats.

When we got home, DJ got to take a nap with me – all cuddled up in my jersey knit sheets.  When we woke up, we went to REI and got a baby seat for my husband’s bike, along with some new shoes for DJ.  We assembled the bike seat, bundled DJ up, strapped on her fashionable helmet adorned with a cupcake design, and headed off for some dinner burritos.  DJ absolutely loved the bike ride, and even threw a tantrum when we parked the bikes for dinner (she also refused to remove her helmet throughout dinner).

As we were cruising home, sky darkening and breeze increasing, I was absolutely overwhelmed with joy.  I kept thinking, “This is what life is all about.”  And it is.  For me.  This is what my life is all about – family moments, making memories, embarking on new adventures, seeing my baby girl beaming with delight.

For several hours yesterday, the financial stressors vanished, the to-do list faded into the background, the tension from an earlier lover’s quarrel was forgiven, and all felt absolutely right in the world.  Our priorities revolved around creating a good time – and once we let go of all the things that typically prevent us from unabashedly laughing our tails off, the fun was more organic than it was planned.

All I know is that we need to weave more “baby days” into our lives – they’re good for our souls.  It’s so nice to be reminded of the most important things in life, like coming together to giggle over silly things, eating dessert before dinner, and making it a point to escape our “adultness” for the good of our longing spirits.

What will your “baby day” consist of?  Plan it now!