Barnmaven

Um, NO.

I have come to enjoy sessions with my therapist.  She was so hard to find, the good ones always seem to be.  I find too many MSW’s or LC’s  are too accommodating, too reflective or simply just not able to keep up with me.  I’m strong-willed, opinionated, and like most of us, I can create a wall of defense behind every bad decision I make.  Its hard to find a therapist who can challenge me when they think it necessary, but do so in a way that continues the dialogue. 

I think I would make a terrible therapist.  I don’t know that I would be able to cope with it if my clients refused to examine their bad choices and make better ones.  I don’t see how I could keep myself from smacking a client upside the head who was clearly on the tracks toward disaster and they refused to listen to me.   Yes, I most definitely do NOT have a career calling as a therapist.  

So at my last appointment, everything was pretty much awesome.   She confirmed my instincts on some of the conflict I’m having with my ex, I told her about the new man in my life and instead of chastising me (which I expected) we had some good discussion around when/how the kids should be introduced.    We talked about C and his IEP and the sensory stuff, talked about some of the items I’ve ordered for him and some other things I need to consider purchasing.  And then, everything took a decidedly downhill turn.

“How’s A___?” 

”She’s doing pretty well.  Having some focus issues in class, we’re working on some med changes to compensate.  Other than that and her normal inability to tolerate her brother, things are pretty awesome.”

"Have you started talking to her about puberty yet?”

I’m sorry, what did you say?

 

 

Puberty?

 

  

Its not that I haven't talked to my daughter about how women's bodies work, and how grown up women are different than girls physically.  Its not that I haven't mentioned in passing, usually in response to questions, about things like body hair and menstrual cycles and bras. 

This is all fine and dandy...IN THEORY.

I am not.

NOT.

READY.

To have a daughter who is IN PUBERTY.  Come ON, she was a chubby little adorable baby just yesterday!  Seriously!

This is, of course, the point in the conversation where my therapist smacks me alongside the head, tells me to stop being such a giant hypocrite and start paying attention to this whole "parenting" thing I'm supposed to be doing.

She sent me home with this pink book I'm supposed to read with her.  I get the willies even looking at it.  I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS.   

I have to do this.

Hold me.

The one where I claim, despite all evidence to the contrary, that I'm not losing this battle

So let's see, where were we?

The teacher that can't be bothered to "trouble shoot" (direct quote) my son sent him home after a mere half an hour in kindergarten on Tuesday.

My emails to the Principal and the counselor have gone unanswered, though I finally received a return phone call from the assistant director of special services with the school district, who I resorted to calling Tuesday afternoon.  Since I feel my concerns aren't being addressed, I've taken the liberty of elevating things.  I am not certain this is a good move or not; by getting the district involved I risk alienating the people I am counting on to help my son.  On the flip side of that  penny, I fear if I don't take some sort of action to push things along, we might make it through the entire year of kindergarten without my son learning anything more than the fact that his teacher can't spell his name right.

Yes, that's correct.  His teacher sent home a sheet for the children to practice writing their names.  She was kind enough to give them a model to follow at the top of the sheet...except she spelled my son's name incorrectly.   After everything else that has happened it was...I can't even find the words.  Insulting?  Last straw?  Proof?  Don't know.

There's something about talking to school administrators, who must be very carefula bout how they choose their words in order to avoid any appearance of acting outside of rules and regulations (and federal laws) that makes me feel somehow shamed.  As if my son's problems are MY fault.  The result of poor parenting.  Because maybe when he was born I just took a big ole' hypodermic needle and shot him up full of anxiety and ADHD and manic-depressive illness.  Because, you know, that sounded like FUN.  And so, feeling somewhat on edge from the phone call I had with the school this afternoon, I trudged happily off to choir practice knowing that it would make me feel better to do that and that I could then come home, throw the little guy in the tub (his sister's at their dad's) and relax with a nice glass of H3 Cab. 

That was a very good plan, until I sat down with my freshly poured glass of wine at this computer and opened my email. 

"I wanted to talk to you in person but it’s hard to find a moment to do that without little ears around. So, forgive the email. I know time is of the essence. I’m sorry to put  you in this position but I have decided that it’s best that I do not continue watching _____ & _____. I didn’t want to quit on you or the kids, but I think it might be for the best. ______ & ______ are great kids and I see the good in them. However, it is overwhelming and I am thinking of my little ones. _______ is impressionable and copies [sic] everything older kids do; we just feel that it’s best to go with our instincts on this.

I regret putting you in this position but I also need to be honest with you. If it was just me watching _____ & _____ (without my little ones); I wouldn’t mind. However, I realize now that I need to look out for their best interests.

I plan on still watching them tomorrow (as you did pay me through this week), and maybe that can give you the weekend to make other arrangements?"

Ah.

I see.  My kids are "great kids" but your kids are impressionable, and so what, you don't want them to COPY THE KID WITH ADHD.  Which I get, really I do, but maybe you should have thought of that BEFORE YOU ACCEPTED THE FUCKING JOB.  I totally understand how being involved with me and my broken, special children isn't in the best interests of ANYONE.  I do.  And I forgive you for it.  And no, you don't need to watch them tomorrow, dear lady, because the last thing I want to do is send my children back to a home where the adult in charge thinks that they are a BAD INFLUENCE.   We get enough of that everywhere else, thank you very much.

And as you might guess, I am now sipping that nice glass of cabernet, plotting my revenge trying to wade through all of the anger and guilt and shame in my head and figure out just what on God's green earth I am going to do next.  I am simultaneously thanking that same God for my boss, who when I called him trying to explain what was happening without dissolving into miserable tears, reassured me that I was valued, appreciated, and to please not worry about taking a day tomorrow to try and solve this problem.  To not worry about doing anything that was needed to take care of my family.

And then I came here to post, and I read the really supportive comments a few of you really amazing people have left for me on the last couple of epistles, and I know that I am not alone.  I know that I am not the only person who is trying to make chocolate chip cookies out of a steaming pile of dog poop, and I know that this is not the worst thing ever that could happen, even if it feels like it right at this very moment.

And I am not giving up.  I am not going to concede that my child has no value, regardless of what some educators and caregivers might think.  Yes, he can be terribly difficult.  Annoying.  Crazymaking.  He is also adorable and loving and articulate and SMART oh my God smart, and he has the best smile in all the world.  When we do songs and stories at night, as I tuck him in, we do a hug, he kisses me on the cheek, and I say "I love you, C."  "I love you too, Mommy."  "I love you more."  "No, Mommy, I love YOU more."  "I love you more than anything, C."  "Well, I love you more than the whole EVERYTHING, Mommy." 

You win, buddy.  You win.

 

Rolling along

Years ago I dated an older man, whose favorite response to "How are you?" was, "Rolling like thunder down the road of life." 

Five or six days ago, I think what I was doing was more of a crabwalk, and I've not quite hit "thundering", but at least I'm picking up speed.  Rolling like...a Red Flyer wagon wheel, or maybe a big, rather odd-shaped rock that tumbles down a slope.

And so, amidst what seemed at first to be a very terrible week, there was a bright spot or two.  The birthday of my daughter, the support of friends, the warm fur of my horses when I warm my cold hands under their manes on a cold morning.  The sweet brown eyes of my dogs as they gaze at me in love.  The warm weight of a cat who has taken my sitting down as an invitation to have a snooze on my lap. 

If I am grateful for anything today it is that when life seems hardest to bear, when I begin to wallow in those thoughts of "I hate having to do all of this by myself" that I realize I am not by myself.  In those times when I feel I just can't take one. more. step. -- He's there.  It seems odd that struggles might be the best way to grow my faith, but its true.  I'm not one of those people who believes that every difficulty we face in life is somehow placed there by God to teach us something.  Oh sure, there are things we need to learn and perhaps there are times when that's the case, but I rather think that we have struggles and pain and misery and suffering because of the things we as human beings do to one another.  But that no matter what the pain, now matter how many tears we may cry over it, that God sees our pain and hurts right along with us.  That He loves me, and you, so very much that the simple fact that we have suffering breaks His heart.  And when I think of what Christ endured, I feel somewhat ashamed of my suffering because it doesn't begin to equate with what agony it must have been for Him. 

So there's gratitude.

Gratitude for other reminders;  that my Mom is, always has been, and always will be the kind of mother who loves her children and feels that her job of providing band-aids for skinned knees doesn't end when we graduate from high school.  In the absence of daycare and the necessity of still getting to the office for meetings and to accomplish my job during what is our busy season, my mom didn't wait to be asked for help, she cleared her schedule and pitched in by picking C up from school and getting A off the bus.  She came to my house and folded laundry and did crafts with the kids and fed them lunches and snacks and dinners. 

Gratitude for new things learned; that even though in my self-pity parties I often feel that I am the only person who is handling everything and being consumed with worry and anxiety over my child's struggles, that they have a father who worries about them every bit as much.  Who will take C to his Doctor's appointment today because it was the only appointment we could get and I would like to make it to work again. 

Gratitude that I have an employer who is flexible and who values families.  A boss who says "Go do what you need to do." 

I found a solution that I think will work; a mom who gave up half her family's income to be with her kids until they are in school full time, who has a sibling with issues just like my children, who in all ways appears calm, patient and who loves kids.  Who, for what I can afford to pay, will pick my children up from school three days a week and alleviate the need for my struggling son to be in an aftercare environment that is chaotic and noisy and completely overstimulating and overwhelming for him.  The first day he didn't have to go there he was so much better.  Mom and I both thought he seemed relieved that he didn't have to go to group aftercare anymore. 

We started an additional medication last Friday for the ADHD and we increased the dosage on his medication for Bipolar.  The aggressive behavior tapered off significantly this week and he has gotten some good reports from school.  He's still very active - overly so, and perhaps the second medication isn't quite the right one - but we are on the right track.

So we're rolling right along.  Waiting for the next bump in the road, but I know we'll get over it when it inevitably appears.

 

How to get more sleep

1.  Put the kids to bed early later than usual at midnight.

2.  Have your last glass of wine no later than 7 pm right before bed.

3.  Make your bed your personal space, only for sleeping Eat in bed, read in bed, drink in bed, watch movies and talk on the phone.

4.  Eliminate unnecessary noises Let three large dogs (combined total weight of 215 pounds) sleep with you.  Or rather, wrestle, lick themselves, snore, fart and shed while laying on your bed.

5.  Meditate quietly with your eyes closed Periodically threaten your children with death when they are still whispering and talking across the hall at two am.

6.  Its best to sleep on your back on your left side, then your right side, then your left side, then your back, then your right side.  Rotate every half hour.

7.  Train your body to sleep through the need to go potty get up every half hour (or when you change positions) to pee.

8.  Television should never be watched in bed left on all night so the flickering lights and the muted sound make you think there's someone else in your room. 

9.  Leave your bedroom door closed open so the cats can come in periodically and taunt the new dog.  Then close it in the middle of the night so that they get mad at you and start clawing at the handle.

10.  Get a pet sitter and a babysitter and get a hotel room.

Tonight?  I'm going with option #10.  See you in Portland Charles & Julie!  You don't care if I just sleep the whole time, right?

Screamfree mornings

 I recently picked up Screamfree Parenting  by Hal E. Runkel, LMFT.  Why?  I could be coy and say "Why not?" but we both know that's not really the truth now, is it?  The truth is that like a lot of parents, I have frequenting parenting FAIL and I'm open to ways to not do that so much.

I'm hornswoggled on a daily basis at how creatively frustrating my children can be.  They are masters of finding the pain points.  I dont' think they do it to be malicious, they do it BECAUSE THEY CAN.  For years I had immense difficulty with the concept of Original Sin...and then I had children.  Now I understand that they emerge bloody from the womb filled not only with joy and love and innate bueaty, but also with deviousness, malicious intent and willfulness brewing.

Undeniably my children have taught me to have far more patience than I had before they fucked up changed my life for the better.  However, that's akin to saying that box wine is a huge improvement over jug wine.  Sure, one is better.  But by how much?  (Annnnnd there, I've gone and offended 95% of my living relatives and inlaws) 

It is a guarantee in my house that if I need my kids to get ready quickly for any reason, they will move at sub-visual speed.  Quirky scientific phenomenon in which the subject moves so slowly as for all movement to be visually imperceptible.  I watch them for ten minutes and I don't even notice them twitch.  NOTHING.  Even before embarking on a new career as a single mother last summer, mornings were my domain alone.  Before J and I split, he worked an earlier schedule than I did, so the kids were mine to deal with.  I've written before about my struggles with our mornings.  I'm getting better at dealing with them, but they are a continual challenge to me.

In Runkel's book, after he explains to you that yelling at your kids puts them in the position of being responsible for calming YOU down, which is not really their job (hint, it's YOURS, grownup person), he then discusses natural consequences and how instead of being responsible for our children, we are responsible to them.  TO.  THEM. Which means letting them learn that their behavior has consequences. Imagine how differently people who employ this method parent.

As much as I fail and do exactly what Runkel says not to (yelling), I was also a little bit pleased and gloat-ish after reading the chapter on consequences, because it is a technique I have been working on with some success for our morning routines.

I got so tired of trying to wrangle them out of bed and get fed and dressed so that I could get animals fed and dress my own self in time to catch my carpool.  Mornings were a daily exercise in frustration.   I'd ask them to do something and ten minutes later they'd still be staring at the TV, openmouthed, with the half-eaten plate of waffles still sitting in front of them.  It was making me feel insane.  Gradually I realized that I was the one bearing the consequences of their choices not to be ready, and that it was time to change to equation.

I found my egg timer.  (I really have one.  I used to bake.  And cook too.  Then I had kids.)  When I ask them to wake up, I set it for 10 minutes.  That's how long they have to stumble into the kitchen in time for me to prepare their breakfast.  If they don't get out of bed before the timer goes off, they're on their own, because its now MY time to get myself dressed and prepared for work.  No, they won't starve.  But they won't have warm breakfast.  They can have whatever they can make for themselves,which includes pop tarts, cold bagels, yogurt and assorted other prepared items.  After I'm ready for work, Child 1 and I "do meds."  I find if we make a game of it, she resists less.  She takes a pill, then I take one of mine.  She's always happy because it takes me longer (I have more stuff I take).  And she also knows that the consequence is either a beloved toy goes in long term timeout or a planned activity is canceled (birthday party, play date, time with grandma).  So we do our meds.  Then after I have fed the dogs, I go to feed horses.  By this time they need to be done with breakfast.  As I go outside, if they have not already gone and started dressing themselves, I remind them that by the time I return from feeding the horses they should be dressed and ready to go.  When I come back in and put the dogs away in their crates, if they are not dressed with shoes and coats on, then they will go to daycare/before-school care in their pajamas.  And bare feet.  If it is embarassing and uncomfortable, it's only so for them.  Not for me.  I bring their clothes with them, and they can change when they get there.

The nicest thing about this method is that I don't have to yell.  I don't have to get mad, or frustrated.  No matter what THEY do, as long as I follow my schedule, I will be on time.  The unpleasant consequences are theirs to bear.  Sure, I might have to listen to some whining, or crying because they're going to be embarassed in front of their friends or because they really wanted something warm for breakfast and not a cold Pop-Tart.  But I can listen to a few minutes of crying or whining without feeling like I have to make it stop.  It's not fun,but its tolerable.

The best thing?  Its working.

The first day that Child A didn't get out of bed on time, she started to cry and whine about wanting her breakfast.  I forced myself to calmly continue getting ready for work and to let her stew in her own juice.  I gently reminded her once or twice that she was still free to go get something for herself to eat.  Eventually, after about 10 minutes, she actually did!  She got out of bed, stopped crying, went to the kitchen, and looked for food.  She asked me if I would come help her reach the peanut butter, which I did, and then she MADE HER OWN BAGEL.  With peanut butter. 

First best?  She was SO PROUD of herself.  And I was proud of her too.  What started as a potential tantrum instead turned into a learning lesson and a clear example that she was capable of doing big-girl things.  On her own.   Two years ago I guarantee you that she would have still been screaming about breakfast an hour later.  Today?  So much better.  So incredibly much better.

We still have room for improvement.  Little Man has gone to school three times so far in his pj's, including today.  He does not like to comply with requests.   I am learning that I can control myself and not get mad when they don't listen to me.  I'm not 100% successful yet, but I'm better than I was.  The morning stress level is diminishing for all of us and the days that I climb into my carpool feeling like a wrung-out washcloth are fewer and farther between.  Its worth noting. 

I hope I never stop learning what my kids have to teach me.  I am a better person today because of them. 

Stop Lights and Street Signs and Traffic! Oh My!

In between my years in the lovely state of Washington, I had the misfortune joy of living in The Garden State for almost a decade.  Prior to living there I had been in Seattle for a number of years, so the concept of traffic was not unknown to me. However, Seattle has always had a fairly decent public transit system for those living on the outskirts of the metro area, so commuting wasn't too bad.  New Jersey was like moving to another planet.  Where all the drivers are on crack.  And carry guns. And public transit is nonexistent.

My first job was a temp position at a large corporate office in Woodbury.  I was commuting there from Toms River, so the drive usually took about an hour.  Without traffic it might have been a half hour hop skip and jump.  But the Garden State Parkway, while green and rather pretty in the southern reaches of the state, is aptly named.  Park.  Way.  The only thing worse than the aggressive drivers and the toll booths were the places where a local throughway would merge onto the Parkway, or where the Parkway would suddenly go from five lanes to three.  That was where life got a little dicey. 

Its not hard to imagine why the highways would be crowded, in a tiny state stuffed full of seven and a half million people.  What's amazing about New Jersey drivers is their innate ability to drive twenty miles an hour over the posted speed limit (yes, that would be about 85-90) and weave back and forth, avoiding the right lane drivers and the New Yorkers.  Where it gets truly mind-boggling is when you reach a stopped patch of traffic.  How there aren't MORE accidents is beyond my feeble mind to ken.

After enduring far too many years of snarls and jug-handles and summer beach traffic and middle-fingered turn signals, I moved to the center of Washington State, to work at a winery.  Most people, when they think of Washington, think of Seattle, with mountains and evergreens and lakes and ferries and big islands (Vashon, Bainbridge, Whidbey).  One of the truly great things about Washington, though, its the diversity in both geology and climate.  West of the Cascade Mountains (a/k/a The Wet Side, Home of the Moss People), is green and often gray.  Rain and drizzle are what we natives TELL you it does all the time, but anyone who's visited the Pacific Northwest between June and September knows that we are all really lying.  We just don't want you to realize how pretty it is and actually MOVE here.  The Dry Side of the state stretches from the eastern slope of the Cascade mountains all the way across to Idaho.  Here you will find long valleys, beautiful rivers, stretches of dry, arid desert, bare mountains and wheat country. Trees?  Not so much.  Mostly in the populated areas and planted around rural homes as windbreaks.  The conditions in the Yakima and Columbia valleys, as it turns out, are ideal for viticulture, and so Washington currently boasts hundreds of estate wineries, most of them located within an 80 mile radius of where I now live.

The winery where I work is far outside of city limits.  The closest town is little more than a small  conglomeration of a few houses, mobile and manufactured homes.  Aside from the winery, land for miles around is devoted to farming.  There is an organic dairy, and circle upon circle of onions, corn, mint and hay.  Its a 45 mile drive each way from my home to my office down in the warehouse, and most days I take a vanpool with five other people.   We have pretty good public transit in the Tri-Cities, despite being very rural.  With lots of people working out at Hanford, across the river at the chemical depot in Umatilla, or at many of the area farms, we have a very robust vanpool system.  For three days a week it costs me approximately $50-$60 per month, then one day a week I drive myself in, one day a week I telecommute.

The vanpool takes the "boring" way, down I-82 and then out highway 14 along the Columbia River.  Once we get to the river, its less boring and rather pretty.  But along I-82, there is nothing but dirt, tumbleweeds and sage. Occasionally it is very foggy, but aside from the random coyote sighting, that's about the only variation.  On the days I drive myself, I take the scenic route, up Weber Canyon and through the Horse Heaven Hills.  For the first year or so, I was bowled over on a daily basis by the contrast between my new commute and my old New Jersey commute.  Picture New Jersey.  Picture five lanes of the GSP ground to a standstill for hundreds of feet, waiting to squeeze five lanes through three toll booths.  Then look at this:

  

In that fourth picture you can actually see a semi trailer ahead of me and another semi approaching on the cross street.  That's what I now refer to as "traffic." 

I can't imagine going back to New Jersey, or to any city, for that matter.  Yes, spoiled I am. 

  

It never fails

I'm out of town, so what is my son doing?  Puking his guts up, of course.

Its rare that some sort of disaster or illness fails to befall him whenever I set foot on an airplane.  He managed to survive my Atlanta trip last year relatively unscathed, but the trip I took the year before I literally had just left the house and was parking my car at the airport when J called to report that he had "taken a ride on the dog" and fallen off.  He broke his arm that time, poor guy. 

I feel a twinge guilty that I'm not there to rub his back and put cold washcloths on his neck while he hurls, but I am confident his dad has it under control. 

Having a nice, relaxing, easy-paced time in Arizona.  The retired folk do not lead much of a night life, so I have been getting to bed early every night and without having the dogs to wake me, have been sleeping fully for the first time in a while.  It seems rather odd not to have too much to do, and I think my parents are getting a little annoyed that I can only sit still for about five minutes at a time before I'm up looking for something else to do.  Fortunately there is a gym here at the over-55 community my parents are in, so I have been able to keep up on my workouts. 

So far our days have had a fairly easy routine:  Up around 6:30, coffee & news.  Breakfast.  Walk 2 miles with mom.  Then we have the Trip of the Day.  Friday, of course, was Los Algodones, yesterday was the Arizona Market (HUGE flea market, FUN) and today dad came with us and we took a drive to Lake Martinez and had lunch at this unnamed restaurant/bar.  From the looks of it you wouldn't dream of eating anything they might serve there, but the food was actually not too bad, and there was a troop of quail running around the cactus garden in front of our window.  After Trip of the Day, around 3-ish, I go sit in mom's chair out back and take sun for anywhere between 15 and 30 minutes, until it gets so hot I can't stand it.  Off to the little gym for a quick workout, back to the house for a shower, and then its cocktail hour.   Trying to teach all the Snowbirds to drink Columbia Crest, with relative success thus far.

It is truly a life of leisure, and I can't decide if I MISS my crazy life at home or if I am just so used to it that it FEELS like I miss it.  Because I really do miss it.  This is too quiet for me.  I'm clearly not ready to retire anytime soon!