It's that time in the school year again... report card time. A time of praise and criticism. Endings and beginnings. As usual, I am left proud, yet frustrated. For them, it is a quarterly event, this period of assessment and reflection. For us, it is a daily or weekly ongoing trudging progression and process. It's time to take it in and reflect, then shake it off, buckle down, and do what we do... attempt to make our sons successful.
Our eleven year old is very bright, if not downright gifted. He is also impulsive and hyper. At an early age though, we learned that, like a hyper Labrador retriever puppy, frequent physical activity takes the excess energy out of him and makes him more manageable. We closely monitor his diet and behavior, all of which has resulted in a pretty cool kid. He is always on the distinguished honor roll and earns nothing but praise from his teachers. This is not by chance. It is hard work on his part, and to a lesser extent these days, ours. He makes us extremely proud to be his parents... even if his mouth runs like a duck's behind at times.
Even if his gifts are more hidden, our youngest son is also bright. Like his older brother, he is also impulsive and hyper, probably more so even. Unfortunately, due to his gross motor delays, we have a harder time using physical activity as a tool to drain his excess energy. His diet and behavior are closely monitored, as well. Unlike his older brother, his comments from school are not as glowing. They are nice but not as full of praise... we are still extremely proud to be his parents.
Our youngest son is a week shy of six years old. Since he was two, we have been told by teachers and therapists that he is hyper and impulsive. No! Really? I live with him 24/7 but I was not aware of this! I'm shocked! His report card comments report that "he needs repetition of all concepts in order to retain the information". Well, yes, that is usually the case. I've been teaching him to tie his shoes for two and a half years now. It took me five years to potty train him. He still doesn't sit still for a whole meal, heck, for the first ten minutes of a meal. Tell me again that he needs repetition.
His report card reports that "His attention difficulties are affecting his academic growth." Probably. It would be a pretty easy solution to say "Hey. He's hyper. Let's put him on meds." The reality is that will be a last resort. I will have to have worn myself to the bone and the teaching staff to a frazzle before I will even consider that option. The reason? We don't know why he is the way he is. We do know that his brain functions differently than ours. He's taking it all in, have no doubt. He's not missing a trick. But he can't seem to make his body comply. There is something there in his brain chemistry that is different or disconnected expressively. What would meds do to that brain? His neuro-developmentalist even questions what they would do to him. She was very straight forward when she said "I would be very disappointed if you resorted to meds as an easy out at this time." I agree whole-heartedly. Our life with him is far from easy. But we don't know that the alternative would be better. Is it worth risking at six years old, while only in kindergarten, before his brain is even close to fully developed? I don't think so.
I teach thirty incarcerated female offenders at an alternative school in a group home. Over fifty percent of our population has an Individualized Education Plan (IEP). Another twenty-five percent probably should have one but their families didn't know enough to push for one at a young age. The remaining percentage are full of gifted girls who are bored out of their minds because no one has adequately challenged them over the years. This is no exaggeration. It is my reality at work. I do not have an aide. I do have an itinerant Title I teacher who comes in twice a week to work with the worst cases. My students' reading levels range from first grade to college level for thirteen to eighteen year olds. In addition to some serious learning challenges, they also face some pretty significant life issues. That is my daily challenge. To get them to care. To get them to learn. To get them to grow as young women... I tell you this to make the point that I know what it takes to teach kids who are challenging. I do it daily.
Do you really want to tell me that my six year old's academic growth is affected by his attention difficulties? He is in a kindergarten class with twelve other students. He has access to a classroom aide and a Title I teacher. He is receiving speech therapy, occupational therapy, and physical therapy at school. In addition, he is receiving occupational therapy at the local children's hospital. He is being followed by a neuro-developmentalist. He has two parents who are not only committed to making him successful but are also actively involved in working with him and challenging him to meet his full potential. Homework takes at least an hour every night. We tease; we challenge; we play games; we encourage; heck, at times we feel like ripping our hair out; but we get it done. Tell me what more you need us to do. We know you are dedicated. We appreciate your efforts more than you will ever know. Your affection for our child and your concern for his welfare are clear, of that we have no doubt. But please do not imply that our six year old needs meds or enough is not being done to meet his needs. If you can tell us what more needs to be done, we will do it. But do not ask us to medicate him. His brain is not yet developed enough for us to take that chance. You have him for a year. Your school has him for the next twelve. We'll deal with the consequences of an easy solution for the rest of our lives.
I think I am expressing the frustration of many parents who are facing an uncertain future with their children. What is the right decision? Am I doing what is right and fair for my child or am I doing what is easiest for me? I don't think there is a right decision. I can't possibly sit in judgement of parents who decide that medication is the answer for their child. I'm not living their experience with their child. May my child need medication in the future to help him manage his impulsivity and hyperactivity? Sure. I'm not deluding myself that that option may not be in our future. I just know it isn't the answer at this time. He is too young. There are too many options still available to us. He needs time to grow and mature. After all, he may be almost six, but developementally... he is only four.
Tonight, through this forum, I vent my fear and frustration. Tomorrow... I continue to do the job of raising my child to the best of my abilities. All I know is that I love him and want the best for him. Isn't that what every parent wants?
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Laughter Is the Best Medicine
It has been an especially trying week, so instead of focusing on what is not right in my world, I have been trying to invest energy in remembering what is well and good and healthy. This week's focus is on that... the moments when my boys make me laugh and remember that being a parent is the hardest, yet most rewarding thing that I will ever do with my life.
When I came home from work, my youngest son was diligently working on writing something at the kitchen table. "What are you doing Buddy?", I asked. "Are you working on homework already?" He pauses and replies, "No Momma. I'm writing my girlfriend list." Silence. "Your what?!?", I question, thinking I may have heard him wrong. "My girlfriend list" he replies, and continues working with intense focus. Totally straight faced, my oldest chimes in, "Don't worry Mom. It keeps changing every day." (WHAT?!?!) That's my boys.
At 4:30 am, I woke to a little face a mere inch from mine. As I strangle a scream and struggle to come to consciousness, I realize that it is my youngest son. "Wha. Wha. Wha.", I mumble incoherently. "I had a bad dream.", he tells me. My consoling, mother-of-the-year response was "Go to the potty and go back to bed." Surprisingly, he does. An hour and a half later, when I get him up for school, he informs me "I'm not making bad robots anymore." Huh??? "What?", I ask him, very confused where this is coming from. "I'm not making ANYMORE robots!" OOOOkay. In my head, I'm thinking "What the heck is this kid talking about?" He goes on to explain, "My bad dream. I'm not making anymore bad robots 'cause they give me bad dreams. Only good robots from now on. NO MORE BAD ROBOTS!" Ohhhh. Now I get it. His dream earlier was about bad robots and apparently he has been "making" bad robots at school. Now I get it. Sort of.
My oldest son is upstairs getting ready for bed singing Toby Keith's "Red Solo Cup" at the top of his lungs. His father hollers up the steps, "Knock it off." At which point, my youngest, sitting on the floor at the bottom of the steps, playing with Legos, picks up the chorus and begins to sing. From upstairs, my oldest continues the song... pauses.... my youngest fills in the missing line... my oldest continues.... and so on. We can't help it. We burst out laughing. You have never heard a more original version of this song. A tone deaf eleven year old and a five year old with speech and communication delays singing together. Priceless.
To this day, no one in our immediate family can go past the deli counter at a super market without thinking of the classic line, "I like cheese, Pap." When my oldest son was three, he was very precocious and charming. Whenever we went to the store together, the ladies at the deli would fuss over him and give him pieces of cheese. He learned to play this up to get extra slices. It was adorable yet alarming how he worked these grown women. One day, he happened to go to the grocery store with his grandfather. This wasn't his usual grocery store. As they approached the deli, he loudly commented "I like cheese, Pap." There was none of the usual response. No fussing. No fawning over his cuteness. No free cheese samples. So again, louder, he states, "I like cheese, Pap." No luck. Still no customary response. Finally, in a very loud voice, he declares, "I LIKE CHEESE, PAP!" This finally earns him a grudging, "Would you like a slice of cheese?", to which he replies, "Yes, please."
It was the first really significant snowfall, the winter my oldest son was two or three years old. My husband and I were so excited to take him out sled riding. We all bundled up and headed outside. Our property is made for sled riding. Absolutely perfect. We live on the corner lot, at the top of a pretty sizable hill that slopes down towards our nearest neighbor's house. Overnight, it had gotten chilly and frozen the new snow into a crisp glaze, perfect for fast sledding. For the first handful of trips down the hill, my husband rode the sled with my son on his lap, while I took pictures. It was fast and fun. After a dozen or so trips, my husband decided that we had a decent "sled groove" cut into the snow. On the next run, he thought we should let our son go down the hill alone. Okay.... well, no. Not okay. As he went down the hill, the sled began to pick up speed. Nervously, I realize that without my husband's extra weight, the sled was picking up significant speed. Just as I broke into a run down the hill, the sled JUMPED out of the sled groove and took off for the road that borders our property. Now we were BOTH running and screaming (like the sled would hear us and stop!) over snow and ice glaze. Just like that... my son and the sled "pop" over the road bank and disappear from view. AHHHH! My husband VAULTS over the bank and discovers my son face down in the ditch with the sled on top of him. Thankfully, we live out in the country, so it wasn't a busy, highly traveled road. He ended up with a face full of snow, a brush burn down the side of his face, and a swollen eye, that had receded back to normal by the time we made it to the ER, like the crazy first time parents that we were. At the time, it was the scariest moment of our parenting lives. Today, in retrospect, the vision of that moment when he popped over the road bank can still cause us to break into fits of giggles.... We are sick people.
My youngest son has always had a special fondness for my one uncle. Ironically, they live in Baltimore and we only see them a couple times a year. That never seems to dim his unbridled affection for him. This year at Christmas was no different. At suppertime on Christmas Eve, as the whole family assembled, my youngest declared that he and Uncle Mike were going to share supper. The significance of this is that he and his grandfather have ALWAYS shared dessert. After a meal, when dessert is served, he climbs up next to his Pap and they eat dessert off of the same plate. I don't know how it started, but it has been a tradition for the two of them forever. Apparently, my son felt that it was a great honor or a special bond or something for he and his uncle to eat supper off of the same plate. Bless his heart, my uncle agreed to it! For most, this may not seem like such a big deal. But there are two problems. One, my son is a terribly gross eater. His fine motor delays combined with his impulsiveness cause him more often than not to abandon his utensils and resort to eating with his hands. He can't sit still, so he's shifting around; touching the people around him; in general, getting messy and covered in food. The second problem, is that my aunt is a bit of a germ phobe. She doesn't like germs, or mess, or anything unsanitary. Needless to say, it was a priceless experience to see my uncle share a dinner plate with this messy, gross kid and to watch his wife watch the spectacle. I still break into giggles every time I think of it.
It's these moments, these funny little memories, sayings, phrases, or jokes that families share, that make the tough times bearable. It's these moments that bind you together. I'm so grateful for moments like these in my life. I have so many with these men of mine.
When I came home from work, my youngest son was diligently working on writing something at the kitchen table. "What are you doing Buddy?", I asked. "Are you working on homework already?" He pauses and replies, "No Momma. I'm writing my girlfriend list." Silence. "Your what?!?", I question, thinking I may have heard him wrong. "My girlfriend list" he replies, and continues working with intense focus. Totally straight faced, my oldest chimes in, "Don't worry Mom. It keeps changing every day." (WHAT?!?!) That's my boys.
At 4:30 am, I woke to a little face a mere inch from mine. As I strangle a scream and struggle to come to consciousness, I realize that it is my youngest son. "Wha. Wha. Wha.", I mumble incoherently. "I had a bad dream.", he tells me. My consoling, mother-of-the-year response was "Go to the potty and go back to bed." Surprisingly, he does. An hour and a half later, when I get him up for school, he informs me "I'm not making bad robots anymore." Huh??? "What?", I ask him, very confused where this is coming from. "I'm not making ANYMORE robots!" OOOOkay. In my head, I'm thinking "What the heck is this kid talking about?" He goes on to explain, "My bad dream. I'm not making anymore bad robots 'cause they give me bad dreams. Only good robots from now on. NO MORE BAD ROBOTS!" Ohhhh. Now I get it. His dream earlier was about bad robots and apparently he has been "making" bad robots at school. Now I get it. Sort of.
My oldest son is upstairs getting ready for bed singing Toby Keith's "Red Solo Cup" at the top of his lungs. His father hollers up the steps, "Knock it off." At which point, my youngest, sitting on the floor at the bottom of the steps, playing with Legos, picks up the chorus and begins to sing. From upstairs, my oldest continues the song... pauses.... my youngest fills in the missing line... my oldest continues.... and so on. We can't help it. We burst out laughing. You have never heard a more original version of this song. A tone deaf eleven year old and a five year old with speech and communication delays singing together. Priceless.
To this day, no one in our immediate family can go past the deli counter at a super market without thinking of the classic line, "I like cheese, Pap." When my oldest son was three, he was very precocious and charming. Whenever we went to the store together, the ladies at the deli would fuss over him and give him pieces of cheese. He learned to play this up to get extra slices. It was adorable yet alarming how he worked these grown women. One day, he happened to go to the grocery store with his grandfather. This wasn't his usual grocery store. As they approached the deli, he loudly commented "I like cheese, Pap." There was none of the usual response. No fussing. No fawning over his cuteness. No free cheese samples. So again, louder, he states, "I like cheese, Pap." No luck. Still no customary response. Finally, in a very loud voice, he declares, "I LIKE CHEESE, PAP!" This finally earns him a grudging, "Would you like a slice of cheese?", to which he replies, "Yes, please."
It was the first really significant snowfall, the winter my oldest son was two or three years old. My husband and I were so excited to take him out sled riding. We all bundled up and headed outside. Our property is made for sled riding. Absolutely perfect. We live on the corner lot, at the top of a pretty sizable hill that slopes down towards our nearest neighbor's house. Overnight, it had gotten chilly and frozen the new snow into a crisp glaze, perfect for fast sledding. For the first handful of trips down the hill, my husband rode the sled with my son on his lap, while I took pictures. It was fast and fun. After a dozen or so trips, my husband decided that we had a decent "sled groove" cut into the snow. On the next run, he thought we should let our son go down the hill alone. Okay.... well, no. Not okay. As he went down the hill, the sled began to pick up speed. Nervously, I realize that without my husband's extra weight, the sled was picking up significant speed. Just as I broke into a run down the hill, the sled JUMPED out of the sled groove and took off for the road that borders our property. Now we were BOTH running and screaming (like the sled would hear us and stop!) over snow and ice glaze. Just like that... my son and the sled "pop" over the road bank and disappear from view. AHHHH! My husband VAULTS over the bank and discovers my son face down in the ditch with the sled on top of him. Thankfully, we live out in the country, so it wasn't a busy, highly traveled road. He ended up with a face full of snow, a brush burn down the side of his face, and a swollen eye, that had receded back to normal by the time we made it to the ER, like the crazy first time parents that we were. At the time, it was the scariest moment of our parenting lives. Today, in retrospect, the vision of that moment when he popped over the road bank can still cause us to break into fits of giggles.... We are sick people.
My youngest son has always had a special fondness for my one uncle. Ironically, they live in Baltimore and we only see them a couple times a year. That never seems to dim his unbridled affection for him. This year at Christmas was no different. At suppertime on Christmas Eve, as the whole family assembled, my youngest declared that he and Uncle Mike were going to share supper. The significance of this is that he and his grandfather have ALWAYS shared dessert. After a meal, when dessert is served, he climbs up next to his Pap and they eat dessert off of the same plate. I don't know how it started, but it has been a tradition for the two of them forever. Apparently, my son felt that it was a great honor or a special bond or something for he and his uncle to eat supper off of the same plate. Bless his heart, my uncle agreed to it! For most, this may not seem like such a big deal. But there are two problems. One, my son is a terribly gross eater. His fine motor delays combined with his impulsiveness cause him more often than not to abandon his utensils and resort to eating with his hands. He can't sit still, so he's shifting around; touching the people around him; in general, getting messy and covered in food. The second problem, is that my aunt is a bit of a germ phobe. She doesn't like germs, or mess, or anything unsanitary. Needless to say, it was a priceless experience to see my uncle share a dinner plate with this messy, gross kid and to watch his wife watch the spectacle. I still break into giggles every time I think of it.
It's these moments, these funny little memories, sayings, phrases, or jokes that families share, that make the tough times bearable. It's these moments that bind you together. I'm so grateful for moments like these in my life. I have so many with these men of mine.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Sharing Command
"Go put yourself back to bed." he tells me kindly but firmly. I don't want to listen to him, but I don't really have much choice. I had just had a titanium rod re-implanted in my skull two days before and I was still fighting the effects of the anesthesia. The room was spinning in a most unpleasant way. I either needed to go lay down or fall down. But laying down meant leaving my youngest child, who was currently up in bed coughing and recovering from an asthma attack, in my husband's hands. The situation left me feeling very out of control, not a feeling I am comfortable with.
We were a couple for ten years before becoming parents. During that time period, we functioned very well as partners. It really was a give and take partnership. That pattern started to change naturally and subtly after the birth of our oldest child. My husband is a very deep sleeper. Only the pager going off, wakens him once he has fallen asleep. If anything besides the pager does wake him, it takes awhile for him to become coherent and functional. Because of this, and the fact that I was breast feeding and off on maternity leave, it just became easier from the start for me to get up with our son if he woke in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, my oldest was never a good sleeper. That meant that for the first couple of years, I was working full time and up a lot through the night with him. I resented my husband's full nights of sleep but felt it was my duty as a mother to get up with our son. That's what mom's do. Right?
As I have discussed in previous posts, my youngest son has had a way of changing everything in our lives. He ups the anti so to speak. Our oldest had just started sleeping better, more consistently through the night, when we had our youngest. He is a better sleeper than his older brother but has more serious health issues. I shifted gears from fighting off "dragons" in the middle of the night with the help of the brave and powerful stuffed Pooh bear and Ernie, to delivering medicine and breathing treatments throughout the night in four hour cycles. When my husband did attempt to help, did I encourage it? No. In retrospect, not at all. They were my babies. I was taking care of them. If he didn't know what to do without being told, he should just go back to bed and let me do it. I may not have verbally voiced it in this way but that was the message that I was sending. My resentment, frustration, and exhaustion were cementing a very unhealthy pattern. Did we talk about it? No. Did I attempt to change the pattern or ask for help? No. Because that's what mom's do. They take care of their children without complaining or asking for help. Right?
Wrong. Recently, my husband and I have discovered that we missed our old patterns of partnership that had existed before we had the boys. There weren't too many relationships that were stronger than ours back then. I would bet serious money on it. We came to realize that we missed working together as a team, whether it be on simple matters or on more serious issues. It has taken some serious soul searching on both our parts to identify where we went off track. We have had to make our relationship a priority, not just something that will be sitting on the back burner until the boys are older. Sometimes that means, I can't be the "Super Mom" image I thought I was supposed to be. Maybe I won't get all the special treats and goodies baked. Maybe I won't be the Mom who volunteers to help out for every activity, in addition to working full time. Maybe my son will go to his brother's soccer game in mismatched clothes because he dressed himself and I didn't feel like making him change. But won't my boys be better off with a happy Mom, who has a strong, healthy relationship with their happy Dad, rather than an angry, resentful Mom and half-invested Dad.
Learning to put the care of our boys in the hands of others, especially if they are sick, is difficult for me. That is something I am working on. It shouldn't be all that hard. My husband is an AMAZING father. He is totally devoted to our boys. If they grow up to be half the man that their father is, they will be wonderful, successful men. Developing the ability to step back and let him take the driver seat with their care will not only help his relationship with them, it will benefit ours as well. It is an exercise in trust.
The majority of marriages of parents of children with special needs end in divorce. With this in mind, how many of you are in similar situations? How many of you are resentful of your husbands involvement (or lack of involvement) with your children's daily care? How many of you, partly through your own choices, have orchestrated the lives you are unhappily living in? It's very difficult, and somewhat painful, to take a step back and identify that you are in part responsible for the situations that make you unhappy. But what can be gained by identifying these patterns today, and making the changes necessary to improve and strengthen your parental and spousal relationships? I pray that you read this not as a voyeur but as someone who is willing to openly examine the patterns and choices in his or her own life and determine what can be done to make changes for the better in your own life. We can testify that on the other side of this extremely uncomfortable life examination comes a closer relationship that is better able to weather the rough patches in life. Parenting and relationships are never easy, but it's the journey that makes them worthwhile.
* I should add the disclaimer that my husband named this particular piece. He is an officer in the fire service, hence the title "Sharing Command", as in multiple individuals sharing command of a fire/accident incident. - Didn't want anyone thinking I think I'm in "command". HAHA
We were a couple for ten years before becoming parents. During that time period, we functioned very well as partners. It really was a give and take partnership. That pattern started to change naturally and subtly after the birth of our oldest child. My husband is a very deep sleeper. Only the pager going off, wakens him once he has fallen asleep. If anything besides the pager does wake him, it takes awhile for him to become coherent and functional. Because of this, and the fact that I was breast feeding and off on maternity leave, it just became easier from the start for me to get up with our son if he woke in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, my oldest was never a good sleeper. That meant that for the first couple of years, I was working full time and up a lot through the night with him. I resented my husband's full nights of sleep but felt it was my duty as a mother to get up with our son. That's what mom's do. Right?
As I have discussed in previous posts, my youngest son has had a way of changing everything in our lives. He ups the anti so to speak. Our oldest had just started sleeping better, more consistently through the night, when we had our youngest. He is a better sleeper than his older brother but has more serious health issues. I shifted gears from fighting off "dragons" in the middle of the night with the help of the brave and powerful stuffed Pooh bear and Ernie, to delivering medicine and breathing treatments throughout the night in four hour cycles. When my husband did attempt to help, did I encourage it? No. In retrospect, not at all. They were my babies. I was taking care of them. If he didn't know what to do without being told, he should just go back to bed and let me do it. I may not have verbally voiced it in this way but that was the message that I was sending. My resentment, frustration, and exhaustion were cementing a very unhealthy pattern. Did we talk about it? No. Did I attempt to change the pattern or ask for help? No. Because that's what mom's do. They take care of their children without complaining or asking for help. Right?
Wrong. Recently, my husband and I have discovered that we missed our old patterns of partnership that had existed before we had the boys. There weren't too many relationships that were stronger than ours back then. I would bet serious money on it. We came to realize that we missed working together as a team, whether it be on simple matters or on more serious issues. It has taken some serious soul searching on both our parts to identify where we went off track. We have had to make our relationship a priority, not just something that will be sitting on the back burner until the boys are older. Sometimes that means, I can't be the "Super Mom" image I thought I was supposed to be. Maybe I won't get all the special treats and goodies baked. Maybe I won't be the Mom who volunteers to help out for every activity, in addition to working full time. Maybe my son will go to his brother's soccer game in mismatched clothes because he dressed himself and I didn't feel like making him change. But won't my boys be better off with a happy Mom, who has a strong, healthy relationship with their happy Dad, rather than an angry, resentful Mom and half-invested Dad.
Learning to put the care of our boys in the hands of others, especially if they are sick, is difficult for me. That is something I am working on. It shouldn't be all that hard. My husband is an AMAZING father. He is totally devoted to our boys. If they grow up to be half the man that their father is, they will be wonderful, successful men. Developing the ability to step back and let him take the driver seat with their care will not only help his relationship with them, it will benefit ours as well. It is an exercise in trust.
The majority of marriages of parents of children with special needs end in divorce. With this in mind, how many of you are in similar situations? How many of you are resentful of your husbands involvement (or lack of involvement) with your children's daily care? How many of you, partly through your own choices, have orchestrated the lives you are unhappily living in? It's very difficult, and somewhat painful, to take a step back and identify that you are in part responsible for the situations that make you unhappy. But what can be gained by identifying these patterns today, and making the changes necessary to improve and strengthen your parental and spousal relationships? I pray that you read this not as a voyeur but as someone who is willing to openly examine the patterns and choices in his or her own life and determine what can be done to make changes for the better in your own life. We can testify that on the other side of this extremely uncomfortable life examination comes a closer relationship that is better able to weather the rough patches in life. Parenting and relationships are never easy, but it's the journey that makes them worthwhile.
* I should add the disclaimer that my husband named this particular piece. He is an officer in the fire service, hence the title "Sharing Command", as in multiple individuals sharing command of a fire/accident incident. - Didn't want anyone thinking I think I'm in "command". HAHA
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Hanging on With Both Hands
On our trip to Wal-Mart together, we danced in the aisles to the store music; talked to total strangers like they were our good friends; touched everything in sight; and raced each other to the car in rubber muck boots. That is a typical day out with my youngest son. Life with him is a full throttle, hold on with both hands kind of experience. If you are prepared for the ride, it's a ton of fun. If you aren't in the right frame of mind, unprepared mentally and physically for that level of intensity, it is exhausting.
Worried about how it will be perceived or received, I often fail to express the overwhelming love, joy,and happiness that wells up inside of me. Too often I come across serious and reserved to those that I care about. My son does not have these inhibitions. He loves without boundaries or limitations. Thinking nothing of kissing someone or hugging someone, he offers love unconditionally. Recently after a luncheon at our church, my son was going down the table kissing and hugging his family members goodbye. When he got to the end of the table, he encountered a recent widower, who had sat at the table with our family. Without a moments hesitation, he leaned in and planted a big kiss on his cheek and grabbed him for a hug. Startled and surprised, the older man looked up and smiled the sweetest smile. I started to apologize but he laughed and said it was great. That is my son. People fall in love with my little man because he offers joy, humor, and entertainment with no strings attached. He has no agenda. Life is his agenda.
One of my biggest fears when my youngest started school was that they would make him lose that special "him" that everyone loves. That special spark. Have you ever met someone like that? They are so alive. So in love with life. That is my son. I was afraid that when he started school they would make him conform to their image of how he should be and I would lose what made him so very special. So far that has not happened. They seem to love and appreciate him as we do. I've worried that his lack of boundaries would cause problems with the other kids. Instead, in his backpack, I keep finding these drawings and letters from the other kids in his class. When he tells me stories about his friends at school, he doesn't just identify them by name. He ALWAYS refers to them by "my (name)". He'll tell me about "my Sally" this or "my Michael" that. I just pray that these relationships continue to grow in a positive, supportive manner. If only everyone felt that bond and affection for those around them. Wouldn't it be a nicer world to live in?
My son could teach the average person so much about life. He holds nothing back. At the end of the day, he falls asleep within minutes, totally exhausted from the energy he has put into his day. Life is not easy for him, yet he holds nothing back and attacks it with full enthusiasm. He has little concern for what others think. Instead, he is totally enthralled by the experience of life. As a "Type A" planner, I have had to learn to roll with this; go along for the ride; loosen up and enjoy the moment. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It's probably a very good thing. I can't wait to see where this journey takes us.
Worried about how it will be perceived or received, I often fail to express the overwhelming love, joy,and happiness that wells up inside of me. Too often I come across serious and reserved to those that I care about. My son does not have these inhibitions. He loves without boundaries or limitations. Thinking nothing of kissing someone or hugging someone, he offers love unconditionally. Recently after a luncheon at our church, my son was going down the table kissing and hugging his family members goodbye. When he got to the end of the table, he encountered a recent widower, who had sat at the table with our family. Without a moments hesitation, he leaned in and planted a big kiss on his cheek and grabbed him for a hug. Startled and surprised, the older man looked up and smiled the sweetest smile. I started to apologize but he laughed and said it was great. That is my son. People fall in love with my little man because he offers joy, humor, and entertainment with no strings attached. He has no agenda. Life is his agenda.
One of my biggest fears when my youngest started school was that they would make him lose that special "him" that everyone loves. That special spark. Have you ever met someone like that? They are so alive. So in love with life. That is my son. I was afraid that when he started school they would make him conform to their image of how he should be and I would lose what made him so very special. So far that has not happened. They seem to love and appreciate him as we do. I've worried that his lack of boundaries would cause problems with the other kids. Instead, in his backpack, I keep finding these drawings and letters from the other kids in his class. When he tells me stories about his friends at school, he doesn't just identify them by name. He ALWAYS refers to them by "my (name)". He'll tell me about "my Sally" this or "my Michael" that. I just pray that these relationships continue to grow in a positive, supportive manner. If only everyone felt that bond and affection for those around them. Wouldn't it be a nicer world to live in?
My son could teach the average person so much about life. He holds nothing back. At the end of the day, he falls asleep within minutes, totally exhausted from the energy he has put into his day. Life is not easy for him, yet he holds nothing back and attacks it with full enthusiasm. He has little concern for what others think. Instead, he is totally enthralled by the experience of life. As a "Type A" planner, I have had to learn to roll with this; go along for the ride; loosen up and enjoy the moment. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It's probably a very good thing. I can't wait to see where this journey takes us.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Judgement
My husband and I were enjoying a rare weekend without the boys. They were having a sleepover at their grandparents. We were having a quiet breakfast out by ourselves. Suddenly, the whole breakfast crowd turned and started staring at a little boy in the restaurant who was crying and throwing a fit. Each table had a small mind game on it, provided to entertain the customers while they waited for their food. Apparently, this little guy wanted to take his with him. He was loudly letting everyone in the restaurant know it. As everyone turned and stared, I could feel the parents' humiliation as they tried to shush him and move him along out of the restaurant. My husband and I looked at each other and exchanged a look. I could read his mind. We felt for them. There was a time, when we may have judged them as parents based on their child's behavior out in public. No longer. We've been there too many times ourselves since having our youngest child.
Most people that know us, know that our boys are well behaved, respectful and caring young men. They are also typical children who become tired, frustrated or disappointed. There have been many occasions when those feelings, paired with tiredness, have led my youngest to act out in public. On one such occasion, we had decided to take the boys to a local candy store/factory. It was supposed to be fun and a little bit educational. Unfortunately, we timed it poorly. My youngest is now too old for naps but some days would be better off if he still took one. This was one of those days. By the time we made it to the candy store, he had fallen asleep in the backseat of the car. Upon waking, he went into manic bounce mode. This NEVER ends well. Pairing that scenario with the over-stimulating experience of being surrounded by every kind of candy imaginable was more than he could take. He bounced. He grabbed. He got loud. He became frustrated and overwhelmed. I tried all my tricks. Redirection. One-on-one attention. Distraction. Verbal cues. None of it was working. Finally, I simply picked him up and carried him outside, leaving his Dad and brother to finish looking and shopping. He and I sat outside until he calmed down. Once he had regained control, we processed what had happened and what was expected of him. By then, his Dad and brother had finished and come outside. He was upset but it was a natural consequence of not being able to function the way he needed to. We discussed that we would come back for him to try again another day when he was better able to control himself (which we did successfully).
During this episode, I was judged. Of that, I have no doubt. I could feel my face become hot and flushed. It was embarrassing. You learn to recognize the faces. THOSE looks. The ones that say "Wow. Those parents have no control over that kid." or "They need to do something about that kid. He needs a time out or a nap or something." It's easy to judge if you haven't lived the experience. I understand. My son is very tall for his age. He could easily be mistaken for a child a year or two older than his age. Unfortunately, developmentally, he functions a year or so below his same age peers. It would be easy to look at him and see a seven year old behaving like a four year old and make judgements. They don't know how frustrating it is for him to try to communicate when he is frustrated because it just sort of "jams up his system". They haven't lived our experience.
Another form of judgement, is the advice offered, usually with a kind heart... but not always. The implied, "If you would do this, he wouldn't have this problem." or "If you did that, he wouldn't act that way." Advice is a tricky thing. If it is given, the person receiving it has a couple choices. They can use it; ignore it; or listen and modify it. The giver of advice can then be pleased, unaffected, or offended. Although advice is usually offered in a loving manner, it is often received in a judging manner. The receptive feeling is that you, as the parent, are not doing a good enough job. It is natural to feel that way, especially when you are already questioning every decision you make. As parents, we are doing the best that we know how given our personal experiences and knowledge.
Sometimes, it is the comments, often cast off casually, that can be hurtful or perceived as judgemental. The often heard, "They were really good for us" with that tone. Or the, "They slept in really late for us", again with that tone. Or the, "He didn't have a single problem with his breathing while he was with us." Simple statements. Innocently delivered. Heavy on the heart. Personalization? Transference? Possibly. But also, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you could be doing better. Guilt? Exhaustion? Probably. Who knows. Regardless of the intention, regardless of the source, it is these little moments that make you question yourselves as parents. Are you doing enough? What could you do differently? These are the questions that keep you up at night.
So, did you feel for those two parents that morning in the restaurant? You bet. But you're also grateful for the lesson learned. You hope you have learned to be more gentle with the hearts of others. In addition, you have learned to not take these little moments of peace with one another for granted. They are few and far between but treasured. May we continue to be united in our efforts to raise strong willed, active boys into strong, independent, hard working men... If we survive them in the meantime!
Most people that know us, know that our boys are well behaved, respectful and caring young men. They are also typical children who become tired, frustrated or disappointed. There have been many occasions when those feelings, paired with tiredness, have led my youngest to act out in public. On one such occasion, we had decided to take the boys to a local candy store/factory. It was supposed to be fun and a little bit educational. Unfortunately, we timed it poorly. My youngest is now too old for naps but some days would be better off if he still took one. This was one of those days. By the time we made it to the candy store, he had fallen asleep in the backseat of the car. Upon waking, he went into manic bounce mode. This NEVER ends well. Pairing that scenario with the over-stimulating experience of being surrounded by every kind of candy imaginable was more than he could take. He bounced. He grabbed. He got loud. He became frustrated and overwhelmed. I tried all my tricks. Redirection. One-on-one attention. Distraction. Verbal cues. None of it was working. Finally, I simply picked him up and carried him outside, leaving his Dad and brother to finish looking and shopping. He and I sat outside until he calmed down. Once he had regained control, we processed what had happened and what was expected of him. By then, his Dad and brother had finished and come outside. He was upset but it was a natural consequence of not being able to function the way he needed to. We discussed that we would come back for him to try again another day when he was better able to control himself (which we did successfully).
During this episode, I was judged. Of that, I have no doubt. I could feel my face become hot and flushed. It was embarrassing. You learn to recognize the faces. THOSE looks. The ones that say "Wow. Those parents have no control over that kid." or "They need to do something about that kid. He needs a time out or a nap or something." It's easy to judge if you haven't lived the experience. I understand. My son is very tall for his age. He could easily be mistaken for a child a year or two older than his age. Unfortunately, developmentally, he functions a year or so below his same age peers. It would be easy to look at him and see a seven year old behaving like a four year old and make judgements. They don't know how frustrating it is for him to try to communicate when he is frustrated because it just sort of "jams up his system". They haven't lived our experience.
Another form of judgement, is the advice offered, usually with a kind heart... but not always. The implied, "If you would do this, he wouldn't have this problem." or "If you did that, he wouldn't act that way." Advice is a tricky thing. If it is given, the person receiving it has a couple choices. They can use it; ignore it; or listen and modify it. The giver of advice can then be pleased, unaffected, or offended. Although advice is usually offered in a loving manner, it is often received in a judging manner. The receptive feeling is that you, as the parent, are not doing a good enough job. It is natural to feel that way, especially when you are already questioning every decision you make. As parents, we are doing the best that we know how given our personal experiences and knowledge.
Sometimes, it is the comments, often cast off casually, that can be hurtful or perceived as judgemental. The often heard, "They were really good for us" with that tone. Or the, "They slept in really late for us", again with that tone. Or the, "He didn't have a single problem with his breathing while he was with us." Simple statements. Innocently delivered. Heavy on the heart. Personalization? Transference? Possibly. But also, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you could be doing better. Guilt? Exhaustion? Probably. Who knows. Regardless of the intention, regardless of the source, it is these little moments that make you question yourselves as parents. Are you doing enough? What could you do differently? These are the questions that keep you up at night.
So, did you feel for those two parents that morning in the restaurant? You bet. But you're also grateful for the lesson learned. You hope you have learned to be more gentle with the hearts of others. In addition, you have learned to not take these little moments of peace with one another for granted. They are few and far between but treasured. May we continue to be united in our efforts to raise strong willed, active boys into strong, independent, hard working men... If we survive them in the meantime!
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