Broken Windshields and Digital Detox: Handling Mother’s Day

Posted on May 13, 2018 by middleofthemadness

It was not a good morning. A wet t-shirt whack to the middle child’s arm left him in tears and left the eldest arguing about the subjective experience of pain. My attempt to explain this subjectivity was unwanted factual information at a time of emotional distress which escalated the issue. Before long, TV remotes were flying, pillows were flying and by the time the baseball helmet was about to be launched toward the sliding-glass doors, I took him down.

I give the boy credit for moving into submission rather than fighting back with all his might as he outweighs me by at least twenty or thirty pounds now. But we drove to school with me emotionally exhausted. As they jumped out of the car, tears welled as I texted a friend: “It’s so hard when people tell you how mature and wonderful Super Tall Guy has become and they don’t have to see the shit that he gives me at home.” Over and over again.

He pops into school and does well all day, while I carry around a heavy heart. Because his loss of control seems more intense lately, I eventually decided to call for an intake appointment for psychiatric/therapy services. It’s been on my mind, you know, every time he flips out and then I say, “Well, he’s calmed down again.” But I worry about the emotional toll on myself, the toll on him to deal with uncontrolled anger again and again, and the toll on the younger brothers emotionally and sometimes physically.

After school he wasn’t much better. I arrived home with The Little Guy (after learning that since a cavity was filled in the same tooth eleven months from the last time, insurance wouldn’t cover it and I’d be paying $175) to find Super Tall Guy running out to my car to say, “I’m sorry for hurting Mr. Ornery.” Sigh. Apparently a discussion had gone awry about who got the “best” placement for the Mother’s Day gifts they brought home from school. Mr. Ornery’s loss left a scratch on his back.

My consequence of banning him from visiting his aunt’s house where Awesome Cousin had just arrived from the West Coast was met with upturning the video/CD shelving. I took the younger brothers over while Super Tall Guy cleaned up the mess. Expecting him to have turned the corner, we went over to my sister’s as well.

The evening seemed to go smoothly and given the beautiful weather, I worked on cleaning my car while the boys rode bikes on the street. I heard but didn’t see the crash that sent my 7-year-old nephew onto the pavement as he swerved to avoid Super Tall Guy lying in the middle of the road. His full-face helmet offered important concussion and teeth protection, but his lack of a shirt resulted in brush burns to back and shoulder. Comforting the young one, I let Awesome Cousin chat with Super Tall Guy about his poor decision.

We soon left for home and just a few hundred feet down the road, I reiterated how dangerous it is to get in the way of young kids riding on the street. Super Tall Guy was not in the mood to hear more about his mistake. Embarrassment leads to anger. Remember that. Embarrassment leads to anger. He picked up his feet and kicked the windshield – causing a brilliant star-shaped shatter. Shocked, I pulled over to the side of the road and just sat there for a couple minutes crying “I can’t do this anymore.” Super Tall Guy cried in sadness and despair. The Little Guy cried out of fear at the intensity of the emotions around him. Mr. Ornery must have been wondering what all the fuss could possibly be about as he didn’t notice the cracked windshield until the next morning.

Walking into the house a few minutes later, Super Tall Guy collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep as I took the dog for a short walk. I gave The Little Guy a tight squeeze as I reassured him that his mom had this. “I’m strong. I got this. Don’t you worry. I’m going to help your brother.” Kissing Mr. Ornery good night, I talked about the many reasons people cry but he seemed unconcerned other than hoping that his cousin would be feeling better soon.

Then I sat on the couch with a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s and let the shock fade.

This is Mother’s Day weekend. This is the boy that first “made” me a mother. This is my love. And yet I struggle so hard to parent him. The emotional toll is huge. The physical burden gets overwhelming. The struggle to understand what he needs and temper his anger is intense.

Reflecting on his day, I can tell that he was very tired. He was probably also reacting to a long week of dealing with consequences for behaviors last weekend that left him without his Ipod and without his laptop to play games on (the XBox has been gone for quiet awhile – that will be another story). And, I have a strong suspicion that he is “detoxing” from sustained “digital heroin” intake and experiencing a reorientation of his dopamine neurotransmitters.

Too often I have relied on electronics to keep Super Tall Guy quiet and keep his emotions at bay so that he isn’t bothering his brothers. But time spent in this digital reality hasn’t been teaching him how to deal with the typical everyday annoyances of having younger brothers. It’s going to take years and years to learn that, I’m sure.

The day after his explosions he spent a couple hours doing “community service” for his aunt. He spent hours playing with his brothers and cousins. And, after an hour of TV and then a tantrum about how he “needed” more, he and I started a game of Monopoly before bed.

I remind myself that detox is not easy. I am going to need a lot of patience and friend support as Super Tall Guy and I go through this, I’m pretty sure.

And, I remind myself that this parenting gig is not easy.

But it is oh so worth it.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Untreated ADHD is Just Exhausting

Posted on April 13, 2015 by middleofthemadness

That was my conclusion last week. The effort that it takes to get the 8-year-old ready for school in the morning is more than my 8-hour work day. The decibel level of some of the spontaneous explosive noises in the car is worthy of heavy metal concerts. The number of “re-directs” I utter in those first two hours makes me comparable to a drill sergeant with new recruits.

That’s it. That’s what I decided last week. It’s exhausting.

And it might be feeling more so because I have this carrot dangling in front of me of finding the “right treatment” – the magic pill that’s going to help his brain focus better and control impulses more. I’m so eager to find that control, because let me tell you – tonight’s lack of impulse control escalated from putting the car window up and down, to swatting his brother, to throwing his pencil at the dashboard, to repeatedly hitting my shoulder with his flip-flop. It ended with me tackling him to the floor and holding him tightly until the fight left and his 101 pounds sat on my lap on the kitchen floor while I hugged him. “Bear hugs and kisses” my friend says – “bear hugs” to hold them until the anger leaves and “kisses” of love….because I love him.

But it’s exhausting.

Given the extreme reaction to his first medication, we decided to trial the intermediate acting one, hoping to get better sleep. And given his reaction of five hours of pressured speech, we decided to start at the lowest dose. So for a week, Super Tall Guy swallowed 10 mg of metadate sprinkled on apple sauce (much easier than swallowing a pill!). After a week of no observed change in behavior, I increased it to 20 mg. Still nothing…except for staying up later at night just a little bit each night so that by the weekend, when I increased it to 30 mg, we had a blow-out fight (see above!). I couldn’t figure out whether to attribute this explosion to the medication increase or the fact that for almost two weeks he had gradually gotten more and more sleep deprived – a sure trigger for explosive behavior.

Either way, it’s exhausting.

Tonight as I tucked him in, I asked him to review what went wrong while in the car earlier. He played with his toy truck as I listed some of his behaviors, you know, to prompt him. “You played with the window when I asked you to stop. You were hitting The Little Guy. You threw your pencil. You are a dog. You ate a cow.”

“I ate what?”

“Never mind.”

It’s too exhausting.

(I have a new prescription in hand….waiting for the weekend to watch for side effects.)

I am your ACE

Posted on November 24, 2013 by middleofthemadness

Sometimes the strain of parenting really gets to me. Sometimes I am not personally balanced enough on my own little teeter-totter, that when the boys throw me a curve ball, I fall off in the attempt to catch it.

I’ve been doing a lot of work in establishing a crisis nursery for the Pittsburgh area. Although a respite for any parent, it started as a child abuse prevention model. Put the young children in a crisis nursery for a few hours or a few days to keep them safe while the parent or caregiver takes a break and attends to an emergency or pressing situation.

This work is built on the premise that our young children are very vulnerable to stress under the age of 5 at the same time that their brains are developing at lightning speed. If they are exposed to “adverse childhood experiences,” their brains, genetic structure, and immune system can be altered for life. Yes – brains, genes, health…changed for life. This is some serious stuff!

So, these adverse childhood experiences are called ACE, because no one likes to say a mouthful of words. In the research, an ACE score was based on an experience of physical abuse, sexual abuse, exposure to domestic violence, having an incarcerated parent, living with a parent with mental health issues or substance abuse problems. The higher the ACE score, the harder the childhood, the worse the person’s health in adult life.

I spoke with a friend about this research recently. Her whole career is focused on this area and in helping people think about ACE and how we care for children and adults who have been traumatized by events in their life.

Naturally, as she is a mother of a boy….we also shared a lot of stories about the joys and stresses of parenting boys. I told her that when Super Tall Guy was around 2 or 3, we were reading a “feelings” book together that had wonderful illustrations of a range of emotions and the word identifying them on the page. He was silent as we turned pages….until the drawing of a red head with exploding swirls and dark eyes and jolting lightning bolts….and he said “Mommy” … right there at the page labeled “Angry.”

I paused. That moment is imprinted on my mind. Sometimes, for my developing boys….“I am your ACE.” I am a stressful experience. I am a scary moment. I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to be the model of an angry face, even if sometimes my head is red and there are lightning bolts jutting out at all angles. (I’m not trying to downplay the seriousness of these ACE “experiences,” just reflecting on how powerful emotions can be and a parent’s potential role).

I once took a mini-video of Mr. Ornery when he was having a huge fit of tears and anger. I played it back for him to let him see what it looks like as he yells and flails and stomps and wails. It’s probably the case that I should actually take a “selfie” of my own face sometimes when I’m in a “mood” with the boys….when I’m frustrated at having told them for the umpteenth (I now understand that that word refers to parental infinity) time to not stand on the piano to climb up and hoist yourself over the staircase railing…. when I’m reminding them to aim in the bathroom…. when I’m shaking my head and saying “really? Really? You just hit him for what?!?”

It’s quite possible that my selfie might make me reconsider my outburst. It might help me step back and count to ten. It might encourage me to put myself in my own room for a time-out break and some deep breaths. It might be just what I need to remind myself that I actually never want to be an ACE for my children and will do absolutely everything in my power to protect them from a single Adverse Childhood Experience.

Wrapping them in the “protective relationship” of unconditional love, body-slamming them with praise, encouraging their expressions of independence and individuality….these….these are the experiences I must provide. For I am your Absolutely Cherishing Each – ACE!

Love is patient, love is kind. It…

Posted on July 21, 2013 by middleofthemadness

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8Love never fails.

The other day I was playing “catch” with Noah – which essentially means that I try my very best to throw a baseball directly into his half-open stiff baseball glove despite him occasionally jumping out of the way when he judges that the ball could possibly touch him. Throw after throw, I reminded myself that “this” is what it means to be patient…and suddenly the 1^st Corinthian’s verse (13:4-8) popped into my head. And I began to wonder why it is used in almost every wedding ceremony I know to describe the love of two adults….

…..when clearly it was written as encouragement for parents.

Love is patient – and that’s not just in playing catch, it’s in repeating 3 times “do not spill the water, Do not spill the water, DO NOT spill the water…..ahhhh! You spilled the water!” Right. Big breath. Patience.

Love is kind – it is going out of your way to do things for your kids. For example, we’ll just say that maybe the chocolate flavoring was empty and the other night I ran to Target to get some chocolate for Noah’s morning cup of milk….just because I know how much he likes it. Wow – that was nice of me! (boast)

It does not envy – okay, let’s be honest, sometimes it does envy the single friends who go home and sit on the couch, have a quiet dinner, watch some TV and sleep in late on a Saturday morning….

It does not boast. It is not proud. – I certainly don’t boast (too often) about my “love” for my boys – but I love to “boast” about my boys! There’s something so delightful in being proud of your children. When they take their first step. Pedal on two wheels instead of four. Ride a roller coaster solo for the first time. Jump off the diving board. The heart flutters and the mouth wants to scream “that’s my boy” – and you know that usually the only one who understands the depth of this pride is another parent (or grandma!).

This though – this is a hard one. “It is not easily angered.” This one can be a struggle for me. We had a lovely day at Idlewild Park today – just perfect – and I knew we should probably have left around 4pm for the hour drive home. But we were doing “just one more ride” and letting Noah get on the roller coaster for the first time….and it was closer to 5 when we headed to the car. By that time, though, Micah had surpassed his coping threshold and sat on a bench refusing to walk to the car. Threats. Bribes. Cajoling. Tons of energy and finally he dragged along behind me as I pushed the stroller and kept Noah beside me.

When Micah picked up a handful of rocks, though, Noah began nervously looking over his shoulder – I knew he was wondering if Micah would throw them at him. We got to the car, I opened the doors to tuck Seth in….. Micah showered the rocks against the back of the van. I flipped….long streams of meaningless words….got him into the van, demanding that he get in his seat and buckle up. It took 15 minutes and two stops alongside the road “to rest” before his tears and my anger subsided.

“It keeps no records of wrongs” – oh yes it does! Actually, the behavior (“that was really a bad decision, Micah” – substitute in the word “stupid” a couple times, though I keep trying not to) receives consequences (no TV for the next 3 weeks unless you earn some time back), but I have to be able to let it go. I have to work through the frustration of “you ruined a perfectly good day by having a fit at the end.” I have to think through how I could have helped that transition go more smoothly. I have to figure out how to not “flip out” the next time myself.

I sit here still this evening, saddened by the darkness that reared in ugly fury. Frustrated. A true dragon.

Yet, I cling to these words – for these are the words of a parents’ love: “It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” Read them again.

We hug. We snuggle into bed. Kiss goodnight.

Tomorrow we will do better.

Love will not fail.

4 words I need to say more often

Posted on June 29, 2013 by middleofthemadness

It’s been a challenging couple of weeks with Micah again. I don’t know if this is just the pattern we’re going to be in or if there are particular reasons that we’re having more frequent meltdowns. My guess is that there’s been a bit too much change for him over the past couple weeks. When there’s a lot happening, he seems to lose his coping abilities – graduation from kindergarten, party at my brother’s house, week at the beach, start of a new summer camp. And much more intense physical activity tires him out, weakens his coping, ends him in bed at 7:00pm and awake at 5:00am (have I mentioned that’s not a great schedule for me??).

The problem is, when we exceed the coping mechanisms of a newly-minted 7-year-old, his fall back mechanisms are those of a two-year-old. “Did you just take that toy from me?” = whap! “Did you just splash water on me?” = knockdown! I’m glad there hasn’t been any biting at least, but a few times I’ve had to resort to pinning him to the ground and waiting for his body to calm. Needless to say, he’s two-thirds of my body weight and almost comes up to my shoulder, so we’re getting pretty evenly matched in the sport of wrestling. Guess I should contemplate weight training!

When we’re in this “mode,” it’s just not fun. I realize that I am much less interested in engaging Micah or spending time together. So, I’ve been going out of my way to be a bit more “huggy” and rewarding the positives. I know that I tell him that I love him often, but I keep trying to find other ways to say that.

The other day, I wrote this as a reminder that I do really enjoy the boys.

I delight in the fact that Micah just learned to float on his back and jump in the deep end (though I panic at that as well).

I delight in many of Noah’s quotes, including today when he said “Thank you, Mommy, for not calling me grouchy anymore because that hurts my feelings.”

I delight in Seth’s toothless grin and the way that he waves and says “hello” to everyone on our way into Starbucks to get my calcium supplement mixed with caffeine and chocolate-flavored sugar.

I delight in finding a small Sarris candy bar in my office as I type this :).

Yes, it’s good to praise the boys….to reward the positives….but sometimes, we just need to tell people “I delight in you” just for who you are. May I remember that next time Micah’s and my tempers roar!

I abhore 5:00am….Just ask the dragon

Posted on June 25, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I do not like 5 am.

I was not created to be a morning person and the only time that I will intentionally wake up at 5 am is when that is the only time during the day that I have any chance of being alone. And the only times I’ve had to do that is when I’m on mission trips in third-world countries and I’ve wanted to wake up to see how the world around me is rubbing their eyes and embracing the new day.

I do not embrace the world at 5:00 am at my house. In fact, I’m not even embracing my own boys. I am generally, thoroughly, shockingly, surprisingly angry. Deep down angry that they have the gall to make any noise or heaven-forbid to say “hi, Mommy.” And I’m even angrier if they decide to say hello to a brother and thereby have more than one child awake when the birds haven’t even gotten in tune yet.

Naturally, the first step to solving a problem is to admit that you have a problem. I have a problem. I do not like the person I am when I growl at my innocent, bright-eyed bouncy children in the morning. It’s just not pretty when I try to push a 70 -ound Micah off the bed because he won’t be quiet and won’t stop poking me.

I tell myself stupidly unhelpful things like – you know, if you went to be at 10pm (it’s 11:43 pm right now) instead of midnight or 1 o’clock, you wouldn’t be so tired and grumpy in the morning. It doesn’t work. I’m a night-owl, my children are early birds. And the Great Horned Owl is known to eat over 50 species of birds, including ducks, herons, Canadian geese and hawks. I’m just saying – don’t mess with me at 5:00 am. You will face the dragon.

I have, in my own head, for the past few years thought of myself as “Dragon Mommy.” (In fact, the folder on my laptop which stores my writings is titled Dragon Mommy.) This description is based purely on my emotional state. I don’t know, the dragons in children’s books always look pretty benign….until of course, they are disturbed. Then the faces turn red and they spew fire and burn up castles and forests and trees (eg, “The Paperbag Princess” by Robert Munsch). It can get pretty nasty….and that is what I can become. In fact, just this evening, Micah said “let’s play where you’re the dragon and you capture me and throw me into the tickle jail” – a great game which gives me fantastic exercise, but really – am I the dragon a lot?

So when Micah previously woke up at the respectable hour of 5:47, I would go against my conscience and hand him my cellphone for Netflix at 6:00 am….but not until “6-zero-zero, Micah” so that he doesn’t want to wake up earlier and earlier just to watch it. But after a few days of 5:02 and 5:08, I have totally compromised my morals. This morning when I was stuffed between Micah on one side, Noah pressing in on the other side, and Seth reaching up his hands and mumbling through the binky and toothless grin “up please” – I handed Micah the phone, convinced Noah to go back to sleep and sent Seth off to “find Auntie” – gosh, I’m really bad a 5:00am. Please just let me sleep until 6:20 – that’s all I ask.

Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll work on a strategy to settle the dragon….maybe….

Maybe check in later in the week….and we’ll see.

…… It’s Friday….my sister comments, “wow, I can’t wait until tomorrow when I can sleep in!” I sigh – “wish I could….but my lovely little ones will have me up by 5:10.” Yes, no change, no resolution….except that I have succumbed to it and got myself to bed a little earlier last night. Seth probably thinks that I’m the meanest mommy in the world, because even at 5:38, I’ll bark “get back in bed – it’s nigh-night time!”

There’s that saying about nailing Jell-o to a wall….

Posted on April 21, 2013 by middleofthemadness

“I am jello.”

That’s my newest mantra….in the scheme of constantly changing parenting mantras. Hey, at least I can temporarily find something to cling to.

This one has been working this week. I learned it from a saint of a friend who has 4 young boys – all within 6 months of the span of my boys’ ages. So whenever I think I have it bad or that I’m having a rough day, all I have to do is say “at least I only have THREE boys!”

The concept of “jello” is that it doesn’t stick to you. So when you start an “engagement” with a child (euphemism for an escalation of emotions), you remember that you have your own emotions and do not have to take on those of the child. Be jello – don’t let their emotions stick to you.

This is in stark contrast to my usual mode of engagement – volcanic eruption! So I thought the jello thing might be worth a try.

Monday was strawberry jello. Micah jumped right into one of his typical morning infractions – full-body slam of one of the younger crew – usually either Ryan or Noah. I suggested that he take a break on the stairs (or you could call it a “time out”). He took his cup of strawberry milk with him and for the next 3-4 minutes sat on the bottom step taking a swig of milk and spewing it happily across the hard wood floors. I stood one room away in the kitchen door frame saying to myself, “jello”….. “jello” …… “not volcano….jello.” I wet a few rags, walked over to Micah and suggested that whenever he was ready, he could clean up.

Score one for Mommy Jello Queen!

Tuesday was lime jello….as in the color of the “Micah broke the stained glass window” text that I received as he and I pulled into the driveway. Apparently, that morning after I left early for a meeting, he and his aunt got into an engagement – likely for a reason very similar to Monday morning = full body contact! So I sat him down on the couch and “jello,” suggested that he tell me what his punishment/consequence was going to be. I rejected the 100 push-ups idea (he can’t even do 2) and accepted the 6-weeks of no TV….begudgingly….because that really just means 6 weeks of punishing me!

Score two for Jello Queen!

The orange jello of the Cheez-it eruption was just not quite as successful. Probably because I was tired and grumpy and he was tired and grumpy and I didn’t feel like repeating “mushin” (the martial arts word for controlled mind) to him or “jello” to me! Instead we had Cheez-it lava spewing throughout the kitchen and hallway floors and eventually the dust-buster was pulled out for this “when you’re ready, clean up” mess.

So, I’m 2 for 1….which is very important to Micah’s competitive brain (even though he doesn’t know my jello trick so the competitive aspect is not quite so fun). Maybe we’ll have to keep seeing how many colors of the jello rainbow we can be!

Ten Bits of Wisdom for a New Adoptive Single Mother

Posted on February 9, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I talked to a colleague this week who just adopted a little boy five weeks ago. She’s single and in her forties and asked me what I thought about single parenting and adoption. I said “mothering is full of ups and down….usually within the same second.” And though my kids are still pretty young, here’s what I’ve learned so far (a bit more than I shared over the phone with her):

Five “hard” things that will surprise you:

You are going to fail. It’s really hard when you’re used to being a successful, professional woman, but it’s true. There are moments in mothering that you are going to totally and completely bomb. And you’ll know it. You’ll know it the moment you are in it…and yet you won’t be able to do anything about it. You’ll be in the moment and you’ll be doing it all wrong. But…. that moment will end. You will forgive yourself. Your ego will be bruised for a while, but you’ll forgive yourself. And you’ll learn that all moms do that. All moms fail at some moment. What makes a mom great is realizing it, forgiving yourself, trying to learn from it (yeah…..), and moving on. Because you love your child and your child loves you.

That’s the hard one. But it’s true. Here’s another hard one. There will be times that you hear this little voice in your head that says “I wish I never made this decision.” It’s probably somewhere between wiping the poop off the crib railings and stepping on a lego in the middle of the night. It’s probably somewhere in between 39 months of no more than two nights of real sleep in a row and lugging a stroller, diaper bag, kid and two suitcases down the airport hall. It’s there… somewhere. It’s fleeting. It’s shocking. But it’s also real. Life just flipped upside down, you’re on a rollercoaster in the dark, and sometimes you’re not sure you can handle it. And you are scared. But you can handle it. You really can. And you know in your heart of hearts that this is exactly what you want to be doing.

Hmm, I’m on a roll with the hard stuff, because there also comes that time when you realize that parenting has brought out the worst of you. The really ugly side comes out….like anger, grumpiness, impatience. And previously, if you didn’t like a situation you were in or the way it made you feel, you could leave. But now, you can’t. Parenting is 24/7, it doesn’t end. You wake up – the kid is there. You go to sleep – the kid wakes you up. So you must find yourself some breaks and forgive yourself again.

You are going to miss your single life. You’re still “technically” single, but it is so very different now. It’s hard to come to grips with the new limits on your life. No longer can you just jump in the car and head out of town for the weekend (without some serious planning and a trunk full of crap). No longer do you meet up with friends for dinner (without first finding a sitter and contemplating the balance of how many evenings you are away from home). Spontaneity is a whole different version now – you can still have some….until the baby is old enough to need a schedule and then spontaneity becomes “which room do I clean first today?” Gone is the time when you wake up on a Saturday and say “hmmm, what am I going to do today?”

And, you might struggle with the concept of adoption. You might have some bumpiness in bonding with your new one. You might grieve that this child, as beautiful as he is, doesn’t look the least bit like you (or you might rejoice in this). You might be hurt by other people’s glances or words. You might even go so far that you doubt your parenting ability for the child and wonder if some other family should have adopted him. And for this reason, you must have someone in your life who tells you as often as needed, “you are the very woman who is supposed to be his mom.” Because this is true.

Believe me – you will not survive this alone. Don’t even try…for many of the reasons that I’ve just listed. You must have some allies in your camp – a cheering squad, a supporters group, a cadre of friends. (And it’s helpful if all your friends don’t know each other so you can whine to at least 5 or 6 of them about the same thing that the little kiddo just did.) If you have family, move as close to them as you possibly can. Build up a network of people who can take the baby for a couple hours, drop off a gallon of milk in a moment’s notice, sit by you in the ER when the little one is sick, or get out of work early to get the kiddo off the bus on the day you have a really important 3:30 meeting. Cherish these people. They will keep you going. And do not be afraid to ask for help.

Oh – I’m squeezing in a number 6 — Parenting is painful. That surprised me. I never really considered how many times my head was going to get knocked by a flying block. Or a door slammed on my big toe splitting the nail. Or being jumped on from behind when you’re squatting to put on a siblings shoes and falling onto the floor. But the one that always kills me is leaning over your kid to plant a tender kiss on their head, only to have them rear back to look at you and split your lip open or bloody your nose. Real nice. (Okay, back to my list….)

Five wonderful things that will surprise you:

You are going to be amazed at how much you love that child. It is such a powerful emotion, that makes you wipe snot off a nose for the thousandth time. That leads you to lie down beside them long after they’ve gone to sleep just to watch them breathe and their eyes twitch for a few minutes. That causes you to fiercely defend them even when they don’t need it. The love between you and your child is better than anything you could have dreamed of and you can’t even imagine life without him.

You have never known pride until you’ve been proud of your kid. Oh sure, you have felt good about an accomplishment of yours. You’ve been happy for your team or colleagues. But when you watch your son kick his first soccer goal or your daughter stand up and take her first steps – wham! That is powerful pride.

The first time you say it – and believe it! – that you are the baby’s “mother” is pretty fantastic. When you say to yourself, “wow, I’m a mommy. Wow!” It will finally settle in…and your new identity forms. But what’s even more delightful is when your child looks at you and for the first time says “mommy” – you won’t ever forget that moment.

You will spend an entire day getting absolutely nothing done and you’ll be okay with that. You’ll be amazed at how long you can just sit and stare at a baby. You’ll wonder why it took two days to do a load of laundry when you’ve had to sort and fold the clothes over and over again when the boys have “underwear war!” You won’t worry about the dishes in the sink anymore or the crumbs under (and in) the couch – your new “accomplishment” for the day is to have fun, tickle and kiss….and keep the kid alive.

You will understand that becoming a mother was truly, truly the best decision you ever made. Sure you might want a little less vomit to wipe up, but you will know that there’s no other description of yourself that’s more important than to say that you’re a mother. You will be worn out more than ever imagined. You will be frustrated and confused at times. You will do things you never expected to do. And you will be happier than you thought possible – and so grateful for your child and the chance to be a mom.

Call me or a friend to share any of these 10 things…and for anything else.

(Oh….and here’s a couple other simple words of wisdom
– subscribe to Adoptive Families if you want to do a bit more reading and get some suggestions
– definitely sign up for Amazon Mom for free two-day shipping ….including diapers!
– always have extra milk or formula in the house – running out at 9pm is a huge mental drain!
– keep babywipes (and tissues) within an arm’s length…ALWAYS)

Surprise…again

Posted on January 27, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I guess kids should surprise you. I mean, why wouldn’t they? They are their own little independent selves, interacting with a world from the perspective of adult knees and trying to make sense out of the chaos of noise, lights, movement and touch that surrounds them constantly.

They are naturally built to focus in on certain things. They know to look at the human face to read emotion. They know to pay attention when enumeration begins, but that it’s possible to ignore for quite some time the word that’s supposed to signify their identity (ie, the eldest responds to “One….” much faster than he answers to “Micah….”). They know that if they crawl into bed at 2 am and say they’re “scared,” the warm body there will accept them and drape an arm over them in protection. They know that the relationship between a mother and her child is vital to the child’s survival and they will attempt to repair it whenever needed.

But they also seem to know that it’s pretty unconditional – and that relationship can be pushed pretty far and stretched out and pulled and yanked… and yet the coil will still spring back. So my kids love to check the pull of this coil. They love to see how loudly they can screech as they chase each other around the loop of the house. They love to test how much water is too much water out of the bathtub as they splash gleefully. They like to explore the effects of cheerios flying through the air and scattering upon the carpet and then eating them up “like doggies.” They like to measure how frequently the word “no” can be said before it is followed by a long tirade of how and why “no means no,” or a distinct rise in the ending tone of the word, or a movement of a large parent towards them to block their original goal.

It still surprises me, though, when Micah has one of his really big blow-outs. Like this afternoon, when we decided to get into the car and go someplace fun, but he gets upset and starts the fight with removing his seatbelt as we’re driving 50 mph. This calls for an immediate pull off the road and a discussion on safety….and yet it’s followed by repeated hitting of his brother, taking off the seatbelt and throwing things in the car. Each time, I pull over and remove him from the car. I breathe deeply. I count to 10. I try to remember all those tips from numerous parenting books (none of which has mentioned specifically how to handle a size 2 boy shoe thrown at the back of one’s head while driving…hmmm….). We work ourselves up to 4 hours of time-out upstairs by the time we’ve spent 40 minutes in and out of the car… going nowhere. I feel bad for the other two in the car. And when Micah and I finally talk about it later and I ask “why,” he says, “my brain tells me to be bad.” Okay – what do I say to that?

Gosh, I’m glad he doesn’t surprise me too often with this. But it does stop me in my tracks. I start to wonder what’s going on…and if I’m supposed to be doing something else with him. Am I working too hard and ignoring my kids? Should we go back to therapy? Does this kid need something else? What sparked all that? Is this something I’m triggering or continuing? Is he starting to react to the stress of the craziness that is hitting our lives recently?

I prefer the surprise of being called to “look what we did!” and finding car tracks encircling the bathtub. And sharing the joy of creating something new out of connecting toys. And smiling at the surprise of making a tunnel under a pile of snow. And giggling together over a video of funny cat tricks. I so often hear the phrase “oh, the joys of parenting” and there are many joys for sure, but the sarcastic tone that sometimes accompanies that phrase is also very true some times. There are some “joys” that are hard to handle. But the coil always snaps back into place….

It is a very tight coil built of the strongest material ever – love.

(8:00 pm addendum: Now I’m wondering if today’s blow-up was a harbinger of illness. Micah fell asleep on the couch at 6 after complaining of “being cold” which he never is and a headache. Sigh. Gotta love these viral-infested little guys!)

Brave face….in the face of loss

Posted on September 25, 2012 by middleofthemadness

Our house has been on the market for over a year. It’s a torturous process. An agent calls, we work into the wee hours of the morning to clean up all remnants of 5 little boys, we vacate the house (often hanging out at my mom’s)….I carry 8-10 large plastic bins of cleared items (including the countless sippy cups and sippy cup parts from the countertop) down into the basement, stack them up among the 30-40 other storage bins already down there….and then slowly bring them all back up one by one in the days after a house showing as we remember things we need next. Well, it’s usually me wondering things like, “where’s the bundt pan to make this cake?”… “what happened to the metal spatula that I like using to get the cookies off?” … “where do all the sippy cups keep going?” (some of them do find their way behind the couch or under the seats in the car, only to be thrown away once found if they meet the black-inside criteria).

All this is to say that having one’s house on the market is a Pain with a capital P. But what has really been troubling me (other than my back when carrying all those bins) over the past year is a sense of a slow leak…a slow, yet accumulating loss of things. I find myself often thinking, “I wonder where I put that x, y, or z the last time we packed up the house?” “I can’t remember where I put….” And, it’s almost like Christmas to the boys when we go to my mom’s house and they find one of the bins with their toys in it “Oh, look, it’s our Batman-mobile!! Look, here’s our tractor!!” I get the same joy occasionally – “Oh, look, here’s a bin full of cereal boxes…most of which have expired!” But generally, I find myself frustrated and grieving the loss of items which I used to rely on.

Naturally, these simmering feelings were blown into gargantuan size this past week with the burglary of our house. Frustration, grief, anger, sadness. Kathy was on the local news the next day telling our story. A friend called to tell me she was “coming up” on the news as I pulled into the driveway. “Oh, I’ll run inside and watch,” I said….followed quickly by “oh, we don’t have a TV.” Noah falls asleep in one of his unique, semi-unsafe positions and I long to reach for the camera and capture another “Noah sleeps” moment.

Yet, all of that is nothing compared to the loss of my memory. I have sudden amnesia. Sudden Alzheimers. And yet, I am not sick. It’s just that I entrusted my memory to a machine because there was so much within my brain and now that machine has left me….and so has the memory of Micah’s first word and when he learned to walk. So has the memory of how many classes I’ve done for “continuing medical education.” So has the work that I’ve put into building a crisis nursery….hours upon hours of work….gone.

So I spent the week walking around with an ache inside and a brave face in front. “Doing okay,” I’d say and then tell the story of how Bazer the police dog chewed up the furniture. I’m really good at telling a funny story. It keeps my own emotions in check. And people have told me all week “Wow, you’re brave. You’re strong.” And most of the time I feel like I am and then I crash – big time. I come home late one night and the older boys are in bed without their respective pull-ups on….and the blankets and the sheets and the jammies are soaked through….and I explode. Fueled by my anger of loss….it actually doesn’t matter what small thing sparked the explosion. Fueled by an older son who does not want to hear that his dearest “blue blankie” is saturated with urine and thus must be washed NOW. Fueled by the audacity of someone to invade our privacy and safety. Slamming doors, kicking, muttering under my breath….I finally lay in the bed and sob. That’s where the brave face falls apart sometimes. And the words of Mandisa’s song “What if we were Real” run through my head:

“Well, I’m tired of saying everything I feel like I’m supposed to say

I’m tired of smiling all the time, I wanna throw the mask away

Sometimes you just have a bad day, Sometimes you just wanna scream ….

We keep trying to make it look so nice, And we keep hiding what’s going on inside

But what if I share my brokenness, What if you share how you feel

And what if we weren’t afraid of this crazy mess, What if we were real.”

What I’ve slowly come to realize in my week of working through this, is that while it’s important for me to be strong and protect my children – that’s the only face I show them most of the time. The face that says “Mommy has this all altogether.” I rarely show them the “real” me. The hurt me. The angry me (well, no – they know that one really well). The sad me. They need to see those faces sometimes too so that it’s safe for them to be “real.” So tomorrow we’ll buy a dog bone for Bazer in case he wants to come back and visit sometime and we’ll all practice being real.

middleofthemadness

Mothering – in the middle of the madness of boys!

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