The Way We Spend Our Days Is the Way We Spend Our Lives

Monday, May 14, 2012

"Pain is a Reliable Signal"

(I am stealing this title from a high school classmate of mine who put out a very good album with the same name. You can listen here.)

On Friday morning, while he was packing for a trip to Duke to watch my sister graduate from her nursing program, my dad suffered a serious heart attack. He said that he felt perfectly fine one second and the next he felt a pain so excruciating that he knew he needed to get to a hospital immediately. This from a man who almost died in his own bed from pneumonia and pride. Twice.

We were lucky. My mom got him to the hospital quickly (though we learned that the thing to do is call 911 because the EMTs can begin treatment immediately en route) and he was able to get a stent placed immediately. It took a bit of testing to determine that he had suffered a heart attack; his initial EKGs revealed little at first and left my dad apologizing for the trouble he was causing the same hospital workers who, fearing he would not survive, were asking him about a living will.

My mom called me when I was on the road taking Andrew to school. The kids were listening to my side of the conversation. "Who is in the hospital?" Andrew demanded, and then added passionately, "It better not be Papa!"

Dad looked really bad when we got to the hospital to see him and the staff was predicting he would not be discharged until Wednesday. We even saw him eat a banana, which was truly alarming. He wondered at first what the heck kind of hamburger it could possibly be. On Saturday evening, Brigham and Agustin gave him a blessing. The next morning the doctor felt he had made huge improvement and could go home Monday. He looked perfect today, back at home, and he says he feels just as he did before the heart attack. He will undergo bypass surgery in a couple of weeks.

When we were in the hospital, (the boys donned their marine corp costumes from Halloween to rally him: "He will say, 'Oh, I am proud of myself, I am a marine!'" predicted Andrew happily as he got ready. It was totally their idea) I noticed the Wong-Baker Pain Scale.

My dad had reported an 8 on the pain scale upon admittance, which means that a normal person would have reported a 10. I obviously noted, because I am obsessed, how perfectly the pain scale analogizes to Motherhood, with the children substituting for pain, and realized that I am often at an 8 (children interfering with basic needs--sleeping and eating) and some other number, even 0, simultaneously. I thought about how it was lucky my dad's pain was acute enough to overcome his pathological insistence on avoiding aid of any kind. I thought about the panic I felt at possibly losing my dad. I kept thinking all day Friday about how much my life would change, how much I would miss him, how much my boys would miss him, if he were taken from us.

Papa is such a huge part of our lives. He loves his grandkids so much and would do anything for them--and basically does, the only exception being that he will not deviate from his daily 10:30 am brunch appointment at McDonalds, but he will invite any grandkid along and pay for their hot grease meal. (Post heart attack he is open to trying out Arby's or Wendy's; he suggested getting hotdogs at Costco on the way home from the hospital today. This is actually a positive evolution in the man who thought butter had protein (2001--we had to get out the nutritional label to convince him otherwise) and that rice was a vegetable (Andrew set him straight).) Even when the kids are causing me to register at a 10 on the Wong Baker scale, they somehow never seem to bother him (probably because any tendency to be annoyed is overpowered by a satisfaction and amusement in knowing that he can just look on while his daughters have to deal with it.)

From the reading of depressing poetry about bunnies caught forever in traps and men who will never recover from WWI to the ever-willingness to jump on the trampoline, go on walks, fail to rub in hugely excessive amounts of sunscreen slathered on your face, obsession with hamburgers and television and Civil War maneuvers and conservative politics, life would just not be the same without Dad.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

extemporaneous thoughts, with a little debbie downer mixed in for good measure

I have noticed a rash of people asserting that it is likely that there are animals out there that are smarter than people, but we just don't know it because we don't speak their language. Just to be clear, I am pretty pro-animal rights. I am not out there throwing paint on fur coats, but I am sorta on their side and I've donated to ACPA in my day. I do think that some animals are a lot more sophisticated than we ever knew (like elephants--they recognize the bones of their family members), but it just seems a little crazy to say that there are animals out there that are smarter than people. One guy on an NPR broadcast breezily asserted that octopuses would be ruling the world if it were not for their lack of opposable thumbs, and the interviewer was happy to learn that interesting new true information. This whole line of reasoning seems obviously wrong and crazy, and yet I keep hearing it nonchalantly accepted all over the place.

Porter is obsessed with "doing homework" all over everything. He calls it "EIEIO." It is horribly adorable and sometimes he desperately cries out in his sleep, "EIEIO!" I always wonder what, specifically, he is dreaming.

I realized today that I am in the ranks of annoying people whose needs will always escalate to match the resources. I will never feel I have enough. I am hoping that realizing this and admitting it will help me to correct it. Also, I think this revelation will be surprising to people who see me or my home or the interior or exterior of my car in real life. I definitely do not dress or carry myself like I have this affliction. The hunch of my shoulders under my dirty and wrinkled shirt as I slouch over to someone to file an awkward remark to a cheerful acquaintance does not scream "Materialistic!"

It is pretty unfair, if you think about it at all, isn't it?

Which reminds me: I am the Hester Prynne of drivers. While I am not responsible for the giant ugly "bonk!" (Porter's term) on the back bumper of the car, I deserve for it to be there. The shocked and dignified other mothers at Andrew's school have encouraged me to repair or paint the bumper, but I deserve to outwardly advertise on my car who I really am. I keep getting in these ridiculous accidents. I rear ended someone last week. I scratched the paint on two other cars in the last 6 months. I am really proud of myself for installing my own mailbox a few months ago, but I only had to do that because I backed over it first. I am Mayhem. Interestingly, the common denominator in each incident, besides me behind the wheel, was that I was driving in a city (DC or Baltimore) on the way to a medical appointment for Will. That is your cue to feel sorry for me. Oh, the other common denominator is that two of my victims have claimed physical injuries. I hope that the mills of God do grind exceedingly fine, because both incidents took place under miles per hour, and one had no car body damage at all. >

also, this really is how my kids are, too, so the photo is perfect.

Relatedly, I have realized that the joys of home ownership over renting have been greatly exaggerated in my own mind. I wish we were still renting, looking for The One. Buying a house really is just like getting married. If you buy a project with high hopes of renovations, or deluded fantasies that you won't notice or be bothered by the roar of traffic night and day coming over the freeway wall in your back yard since it has that cute kitchen, you will end up with buyers' remorse when you see too late other homes in your price range that had both. Fortunately I realized that I did not want to marry a project, but unfortunately I was a little desperate when it came to houses. (But I am a huge complainer since our house is great, I would never have thought I would have ever owned it and we are totally blessed to live here). The marriage-home buying analogy is possibly superior to the Parable of the Cave and I could probably write a dissertation on it.

Back before I had children, I thought that I would want to have that kid who can write his own talks and then read them flawlessly from the pulpit when he is in Kindergarten. The kid who is reading precociously in preschool and has other savant-like academic qualities. Of course, things like that are great. But I no longer am harboring desires to sculpt my kids into anything other than the best versions of who they just are. It is freeing to sort of drop out of that race, so to speak. They don't need to be geniuses; they need to be hard-working. They don't need to be the star of the team; they need to have good sportsmanship. I need to teach them to have good manners and be thoughtful and honest boys who live the gospel. I am starting with getting them to not jump all over people's couches within the first three minutes of entering their homes, and trying to find better responses when Andrew asks me, in the context of an argument over why he cannot watch tv on Sunday and his declaration that he would rather be undergoing strenuous testing at school than sit through church, how we even know we are worshipping the right God, anyway.

Relatedly, again, you will learn more about parenting from Cesar than from any other human on earth. Even Nanny Jo, and I am only slightly exaggerating.

I sometimes feel pangs of sadness that I never really did anything with my law degree, or other pursed with any seriousness my other ambitions. Having children can make it more difficult to pursue such things. But I also realized that if I watched less tv and went to bed earlier, the day would not be far off when I could organize myself enough to have hopes and dreams to pursue. I also realized, and this type of realization hits in the small moments, like today when I was jumping and peeing on the trampoline with my kids that they are the best, most important legacy I could ever have, the only thing that will really mattered that I have done, even if I were to find success in other parts of my life. Which I won't.

I gave Will another lesbian haircut yesterday. Brigham is now calling him Butch. I really need to post a photo, but this old one from his singular visit to the Hair Cuttery will have to do. This is what he was looking like, days ago. He has such cute hair and I always think I am going to do a better job than I am.

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

where can we live but days?

"What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields."

I wake up each morning, usually late, with just a couple of goals in mind for that day: be firm but patient (I have a harder time with the latter); have fun with them.

I used to have many, many goals: Will must eat X number of calories; we must be to school by 8:50; I must exercise; X number of reading lessons for X number of minutes; well-groomed self and children . . . the list goes on and on and only gets more revealing and probably boring.

I am not saying that goals are bad things. It is important to be goal-oriented, I think, and I am, I think. It is also important that our goals be about things we can control (how can I control Will's caloric intake? Sort of a frustration-inducing goal, since I am not ultimately in control of that.) I guess I am only saying that I am finding that I accomplished fewer of the most important goals in service to the lesser ones (Good, Better, Best, anyone? That is suddenly coming to mind). We did get to school early more often than we do now, but I was almost never patient in the morning on those days. Sure, I still try to be punctual for school, and we usually are, but I am no longer going to make punctuality more important than keeping my spirit calm and happy (and those of my little guys, too!). Now when we are late, well, that's life and getting mad at myself or the boys isn't productive; (getting up earlier and having lunch already made is.) More broadly, when I seek to be happy with them, I find that I do more of the things that matter most, even down to prayer and scripture stuff. I am getting lost in the weeds of my thoughts here because I keep wanting to clarify and explain and hedge. So I will just stop. Take it or leave it, right?

Today was Wednesday, so I went to the library on autopilot for storytime followed by fun in the park. Since it is May, the Concert in the Park series is in full swing. Usually we are not in the park anymore by the time it starts up, since meals are so much easier at home, but we lingered for what was to be one song when we saw friends, and ended up staying for the whole thing. We got home after 1 and barely had time to get through a lunch session before having to load back up to pick up Andrew. No naps, no downtime of any sort, delayed lunch.

Porter, tapping his foot to the music.

But today it was worth it. I just couldn't bring myself to pull Will out of that park. He was so happy, dancing and jumping and playing with friends and meeting new ones. It was just kid rock, with even a little children's rap thrown in, but it may as well have been Mozart or something for the way it seemed to lift all of our spirits. It reminded me of how to be a good mom, what a happy day is supposed to be like, little things to do and make part of these years. Will was just so happy. When I put him to bed tonight, it was so nice to know that his day was filled with that kind of joy.

Not all our days will be filled with sunlight and music and dancing outside with friends, but when they can be, I'll grab them up.

Friday, March 23, 2012

something is coming between us

Porter is really wonderful in many ways, but sleeping well is not his strong suit. He is currently potty training (against my will) and will be the first child I know to use the toilet before he can 1) sleep through the night, 2) speak in a complete sentence or 3) not acquire half of his calories through nursing. The photo is a little misleading in one important respect, though. That baby is usually cuddled up against me, not Brigham. And he is usually attached. But somehow it doesn't fill me with the despair that Andrew's less-terrible but similar sleeping patterns caused. I guess just because I know it will end pretty soon. I think.

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

andrew's gratitude list for today

We have implemented a few new things around here involving chores and charts and stickers and the dollar store. One other thing we have added to the rotation is that I have the kids tell me a few things that happened that day for which they are grateful. I started doing this after I listened to a podcast that basically said that happiness in life comes down to just being grateful, and how important it is to cultivate a sense of gratitude in our personalities, and that we can do this by simply making a short gratitude list each day. But it has the added benefit of being a good way to get little boys to spill their guts about a day that I might not otherwise know much about (in Andrew's case, that is, since I know everything that happens to Will).

So here is Andrew's Thankfulness List for Today:

1) That Papa came over with his night vision goggles.

2) That we went to the park after dinner and stayed until it was dark.

3) That I got ice cream after school with Aunt Katie.

4) That Kenny said he was my friend again. (Kenny and Mihir, Andrew's two best friends at school, felt that the nonsensical noises Andrew insisted on making were "so annoying" that they told him they were not his friends anymore. At that point Andrew just stood there, watching them play and feeling sad. About 2 min later, Kenny told him he was just kidding and that they were still friends. Then I got to learn all about how they are now playing soccer at recess, practicing for a match-up with the girls and some other details of Andrew' social life at school. It was really cute.)

His gratitude list made me realize how lucky we are that we live so close to my parents, that my parents love the kids so much and look for experiences to share with them, that we have a park in our neighborhood and that my sister is in town and has been so helpful and loving to the kids. I have a tendency to focus on the negative sometimes, and let the fact that my son won't eat a single bite of food (we have experiences a regression from my previous post) to cloud out so many other positive things in our lives.)

Sunday, March 04, 2012

a few moments to remember later

On Friday I took Porter and Will to Tuckahoe Pool with Papa and Katie. While my dad and sister worked out, I had planned to swim with the boys, even though the shallowest part of the pool was 3 ft. Things went downhill upon arrival. The pool was completely divided into lanes, leaving no area for open swim. Then Will complained that the water was too cold (upon dipping just a foot in) and I briefly pictured myself packing us up and heading to the McDonalds drive through for lunch instead of trying to make swimming work out. I am trying to have a more can-do spirit, so we just hopped into the one empty lane and tried to make the best of it. It was not long before the life guard came by to let me know that the kids were not allowed to wear life jackets in the water for safety reasons. That was rather frustrating, but I removed Will's jacket and replaced it with a noodle (apparently those are allowed), but being a spirit of the law kind of person when push comes to shove, I left Porter in his. I planned on actually lying to the lifeguard and telling him that the jacket was built into the baby's suit (we do have one like that) if he bothered me again with my attempts to prevent a drowning that morning, but he didn't pursue the issue. Will, Porter and I then began swimming laps together in one hilarious train. I had to offer Will a nickel to swim various lengths. I think I owe his 80 cents or so now. In the end, I held on to Will's noodle and Porter basically sat on my chest in great distress while me made our way back and forth. I thought about how I swam in those very lanes when I was 10 years old on the swim team, wishing for practice to end, and here I am feeling all of my almost 35 years with two of my kids. Life is too short. An old woman who had invited us to leave our lane to join her much larger one watched us with a sad sort of smile and parted our company with a little injunction of "They are beautiful; enjoy." She and i were on the same wavelength.

Eventually, Porter began calling out, "Help! Help!" His vocabulary is very limited and that was the best match for vocalizing his inner turmoil which probably consisted of "I am cold and this life jacket is bunching up around my neck and I am not having fun at all and I want to get out of here." When he finally would be placated no more by my reassurances and just burst into sobbing, we went back to the shallow end of our lane and played little jumping games. When the adults were finished working out, we hit the MdDonalds drive through and headed home for a quick lunch and clean up before going out to Andrew's school to read a story and help with a craft (Dr. Suess's birthday, you know). There was an episode of pooping on the floor in there, but we made it on time to the class to read (Horton Hears a Who) and help out with the craft. We listened to A Series of Unfortunate Events in the car on the way home and Andrew wouldn't get out upon arrival, he was so interested in it (I am, too).

Since it was Friday night, we ordered our typical pizza and watched our weekly movie. Once again I had failed to return the netflix dvd in time for movie night, so we had to stream something. We settled on Frogs and Toads and it was perfect. We watched it right there at the table on my laptop (we were just going to try it out while we ate as part of our selection process, but they were so riveted we just kept it on). It was the very first movie Porter sat through every minute. I loved watched his little baby hands reach out in the darkness to bring his cup of milk to his little shadowed lips. Andrew was so distressed when the little boy ran away from his mother that he literally had to turn away (I have instilled too much fear about the dangers of not being with your mother!) and I was impressed, once again, at how little and innocent these boys are. And so grateful for our little happy days. I just don't want to forget any of this.

My legs are the tiniest bit sore today.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

hair and other important topics

I would blog more if I had an easier way to upload photos onto my laptop. I cannot insert the card anywhere, so I am sorta stuck. Any suggestions?

Moving on, pinterest is starting to make a lot of sense and provide much guidance in my life. Since having kids, my hair has turned curly. (Now might be the right time to explain that my self worth started to free fall after I embraced not making even the most minimal effort with my appearance 6 weeks ago, and I found that my mental health required a more balanced approach to the issue. I just can't pull of effortless!) Apparently this phenomenon is known as "hormonally curly hair." Anyway, the problem is that it isn't curly enough (or straight enough).

(right after embracing the curl, Porter's 1st birthday party last april). It is more wrinkled than anything, and the haircut I got last spring increased the wrinkling, causing me to put away the flat iron and try to go with the curly look.

My strategy has been to wash my hair at night and sleep on the towel-dried result. It sort of works some of the time. Occasionally I have supplemented with curling irons and so forth, but generally this takes too long. So when pinterest introduced me to the sock bun technique, I tried it that very morning.

The girl has gorgeous hair, so I worried that the technique would not translate well to the less well-endowed tresses like mine. My assessment is that if your hair is really long, it will work great. My results were good, but my hair is too short for it. Because it all gets piled on top of your head, most of undermost layer will not make it into the bun. I had to take a curling iron to those sections. But it does work and it is super easy. I also found this technique and I think this might work better for medium length hair like mine. I will do it tonight and report back tomorrow. I like this girl because she is faster and doesn't talk too much and waste my beauty-learning time. I like the results she gets here, but she does it with a curling iron and I really am looking for short cuts. She says it only takes ten minutes, but it would take me 30, I am sure of it.

In more important news, we had a great weekend. Yesterday we did yard work together and then went to the Maryland side of Great Falls park. I probably enjoyed watching my kids clambering over the rocks even more than I enjoyed the waterfalls. Andrew had made his own bow and arrow and quiver, which he brought and wore at the park. Everyone commented on it which thrilled and embarrassed him. I am just so happy to see that, even though he no longer wears capes and believes he has superpowers (he thought he could shoot lasers out of his hands if he knelt in the park and prayed first--was it wrong that I told him it worked??), he is still doing little boy things. The bow and arrow deal has been around for probably 2 years. I wish he would get back into setting traps all over the house. This little phase goes so fast! I had a lot of thoughts and ideas about helping them to foster hobbies and interests that will enrich their little lives (rock collecting is an obvious one, from the haul we brought home, but so is rock climbing, which is doable, too).

Now I am off to enjoy some quality tv with Brigham, who did not go to sleep last night at all btw, and yet he was the one to go to church with the boys this morning while I slept until 11:30. He didnt even wake me up, since Porter had a terrible night and he heard me dealing with him. I don't deserve him. He is even better than Rick, from The Walking Dead, our new favorite tv show. I am thinking of giving up on Downton Abbey. My desire to disappear into 19th and early 20th century upper class Britain still cannot get over how dumb this escapist program is.

Happy Sunday!

Saturday, February 18, 2012

media matters

Is it possible that you have not heard the big story about Mitt Romney transporting the family dog in his wind-resistant kennel atop their car one day in 1983? I have seen it everywhere. At first I thought that he had just strapped the dog down sans protection given the uproar, but despite having customized the crate with wind-shields--not to mention that the dog was totally unharmed--Romney is getting a lot of coverage as an animal abuser.

Ok, I do not think I would transport my dog for a few hours in this way. Given who I am, the crate would fly off the car and cause death and injury to many. But to give a little perspective on this, do you know how animals unfit (by size) for the passenger compartment travel on airplanes? Every year, thousands of pets are crated and put in the cargo hold where there is no temperature control, where luggage shifts and rolls, and where is is impossible to check on the animal? It sounds awful, but thousands of Americans do it every year. It has been the standard way to bring your pet with you on a cross country move (or vacation).

The real rub for me, though, is how biased our media coverage is. NPR has devoted more time to covering how Romney transported his dog for a few hours on a trip that took place 3 decades ago (resulting in no harm or injury to the animal, and which method was superior to the standard method for airline travel today) than it did to Obama's radical position opposing comfort care to dying babies who survived their abortions for a few hours. And the people who are beating their self-righteous chests over Romney's wholly unharmed dog will defend Obama's stance on the Born Alive Bill (and his subsequent lies about it) for the rest of their lives, once they hear about it. And the media will exploit a political non-issue like the 1983 car trip while giving Obama a pass time and again on policies that would offend or disturb average Americans.

I am really not a one issue voter, but I hate abortion. Try reading about how it is done and not coming away with a deep sadness and sense that a terrible wrong is being done. I cannot understand how more Democrats do not try to extricate their party from pro-abortion position. I know the preferred term is pro-choice (while those who prefer it still use anti-choice or anti-abortion to refer to the pro-lifers), but when you consider the lengths they go to to prevent women from accessing information relevant to their decision (they hate consent laws--you can't pierce your ears without a parent, but pro-abortion activists think girls should get abortions without them, and condemn mandatory sonograms before accessing an abortion) it fits. Choices are best made when one has as much access to as many facts as possible. Wouldn't it be better for a mother to decide against having an abortion when she obtains more facts than to have one and regret it when she later learns more relevant information?

Unfortunately, for the unborn and for the voters, an even-handed accounting of the facts is hard to come by.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

does this mean i am throwing in the towel?

photo credit to the baby. there are five more for the following 5 seconds of that experience; i could basically post an almost-video of me sitting on the floor. he is like a sports photographer. also, i wear those slippers out of the house. they have a semi-solid sole.

In the same vein as the previous post, it occurred to me today when I wore what basically amounted to pajamas to the library and saw a really pretty and stylish acquaintance of mine and felt no shame, that I don't know who I am anymore. That is a big change from a few years ago, and I realized suddenly that I have changed a bit, without noticing, over the last few years. I am not saying that all of these changes (or any!) are positive. I just don't have room in my life right now for my old ways. I am sure that will change again. Do not feel judged if you are a classy person who looks nice most of the time, or do any of the other things I used to do (or wish I could do) but mysteriously no longer think to do. I was once you, or aspired to be. I still think you look great, I am just no longer inspired to try, too.

nothing to do with the topic, but fun to note that porter shares andrew's love of riding in the backpack while brigham operates loud, heavy equipment. it was the only way he stopped trying to wrestle the blower from our hands.

1) I don't take much time to groom for the daily grind anymore
I used to put on makeup every. single. morning. I did not leave the house. I know I was doing this two years ago when Andrew started preschool bc I remember being late bc I could not drop him off and see everyone looking the way I look wtihout my bare minerals! If I am going out for some sort get-together with other women or with Brigham, I will (maybe!) put makeup on in the car on the way. But just for my life at the park, store etc. No. That is the first thing I scratch off the list. If I had a list. Now I am just glad to know where the car keys are (in the car, of course! best place for 'em).

2. I don't wear jeans.
This is a subpart of 1) but it is a more recent development. Over the break when we all got sick I wore sweatpants all week, and then I just couldnt go back. I have never worn tight or uncomfortable jeans, but still denim is not as cozy as sweats. I bought some yoga pants that are passably attractive and that is that. I look like I am always on the way to the gym even though I never am.

he's happy because he has the camera again. he knows he is taking photos. he has bangs over his face for another reason.

3. I don't care about being social
This is tricky to word because I don't mean to imply that I don't care about being friends with people. I guess I just noticed that earlier in my parenting years (like two years ago for sure), making friends with other moms was really really important to me. I was always interested in having another family come over to have dinner or spend time, and I needed weekly playgroups and other forms of mom-socialization to sustain me. I still enjoy those things, but I just don't really think about them anymore or make plans for them. I hope that doesn't mess with the kids' social lives!

we are pants-optional around here.

4. I am not self-conscious about my parenting. I know I am not perfect, and suddenly I am ok with other people knowing it, too. I do my best and I don't find myself cringing when my kids are being awful in public, or even wondering what the other parents think of me. I think I just assume all kids are awful sometimes, and all parents, too. It used to matter to me if my son could deliver his scripture from memory without being ridiculous into the microphone. Now I feel a little ashamed that I took that too seriously. What's a 4 year old boy to do when the opportunity to make wonderful, shocking noises into this coveted instrument suddenly becomes a tactile reality? I used to feel nervous to get together with old friends with my kids in case my children embarrassed me. Now that isn't even a thought. Maybe I just am beyond shame or something.

Maybe that is exactly what it is for all four of these.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

checklist mom-ing

Porter wears a given outfit (usually a sleeper, but apparently not always a sleeper) for 24 hours. He can often be found in this pose.

I think that I have overall improved as a parent over the last six years (poor Andrew!). My expectations for everyone and everything have become more realistic, for one, which has been huge for me. I am more realistic about how much sleep to expect (for myself), how much time it will take to do things, what is developmentally appropriate for each age and stage (no more being embarrassed that my 20 month old will occasionally strike me about the face or trunk or frustrated/worried about tantrums or other behaviors I used to think were a) unique to my emotionally disturbed or undisciplined kid and b) permanent. It doesn't make me crazy that the house is just going to be sorta messy during the day, and overnight here and there. I learned that an hour of happiness in front of the tv is so worth avoiding the parental tantrums that might ensue without it every once in a while, and that weekly field trips to museums were more of a pain than a payout. I know you all want me to go on to paint a clearer picture, but that will have to do.

But I also realized this week that while my stress level has gone down with my expectations, so have a few other things that were good and worthy. I basically used to live my life as if I were running a preschool. We had lessons, did a daily craft, went to the park to blow of steam. Every day. The kids were happier and my life was easier to live. Now that Andrew is in school and we are in the middle of making some good progress with Will at the dinner table, we have more constraints on our time that leave us more homebound, and somehow I am have become less preschooly. With Andrew in full day school, our center of gravity has moved up to the next level, even though I still have a toddler who could really use the home=preschool schedule. It doesn't help that there are three instead of one or two, now. Poor Porter definitely gets read to less often than the other boys. (Our bedtime reading is Harry Potter, for goodness sakes.) Yesterday I pulled out the crafts for some cutting and gluing, and I realized it had been almost a month since our last such session. I resolved to be better.

This morning I listened to this Freakonomics podcast and it reminded me of two books I read that were supposed to change my life but instead turned into mental shadows that scold me on occasion: Better and The Checklist Manifesto.

It also reminded me not to be lazy about enforcing pre-meal hand-washing, another detail that has unjustly slipped when our axis turned toward the elementary level of parenting (mostly because Andrew is now faithful at it on his own?). It also reminded me of the lesson I have learned from our issues Will, which is that eyeballing and estimating can yield grossly incorrect assessments. You have got to write everything down and do the math.

So I decided to make a list of things to check off each day for myself. I have a Mom Chart to go right next to the Boys' Chore Chart (which I hope ends up on the floor less often than their does). Living this way is not really my personality. My personality is much more laid-back and lax (the positive spin--or can I say "side"?) to being a bit sloppy. I need a bit of a report card over my shoulder to keep my accountable, to show me that even when I feel like I haven't done things well enough because I have been in bad temper or whatever millions of ways I misstep every day, I can at least see that I have met my realistic goals. I am not worried about losing the forest through the trees, or becoming too letter of the law while losing the spirit of it. I am definitely a spirit of the law person by nature, and I need some built-in letters to make sure I stay on track ("You can't understand the spirit of the law until you have lived the letter, Elder," wrote the wise dad of a fellow idiotic missionary).

I shouldn't publicize, because it just shows how much I have lowered the bar. Also I don't feel like taking a photo and going through the whole rigamarole of uploading it. Trust me, you probably already do all these things.

Gotta, go--Porter's nap time is passing me by!

Saturday, January 21, 2012

obama and abortion

This election is about the economy, and I am gathering my thoughts to tackle that complex issue. I know no one is paying attention to abortion this time around, except for conservatives who don't like that Romney used to be pro-choice.

But, on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade, I can't help but bring up Obama's record on abortion because it raises several huge red flags. In this single issue, Obama shows himself for the radical he is (more protective of abortion rights than any other national politician), unwilling to tell the truth about it, and pathologically accuse those who reported the truth on his record of "lying," all the while knowing that it was he, not they, who lied.

Obama has eloquently stated that "no one is pro-abortion," an attempt to distance himself from the moral implications of a practice that is becoming increasingly difficult to defend as medical technology advances and 1) makes unborn babies viable at earlier ages and 2) provides clear photographic evidence that unborn babies are not just masses of cells, but tiny humans who feel pain. Yet Obama has gone further than any politician in fighting limits on abortion, even when it meant dispensing with basic humane treatment of dying babies.

When he was a state senator, Chicago nurses came forward and testified that they had found babies that had survived an abortion attempt thrown into soiled linen closets and left to die. The state immediately tried to enact legislation to stop this, hoping to mandate comfort care to babies born alive after a failed abortion. Obama found such care too threatening to the right to choose, and not only voted against the bill, but railed against it on the floor of the state house. When confronted about this during the '08 elections he simply lied. You can read about it here.

This article on factcheck.org has all the details. The article's rhetoric demonstrates some pro-choice bias (using the term "anti-choice" instead of "pro-life") and concludes that whether Obama embraced infanticide rests on one's definition of the term. Obama did not embrace infanticide, the article states, so long as infanticide is the killing of a viable baby (as opposed to simply doing nothing while watching a nonviable, but living, baby die), but admits that Obama really did reject comfort care to babies born alive after a failed abortion, that those Obama accused of lying were actually telling the truth, and that he was the one misrepresenting the law and the facts.

Here is Obama's moving argument against requiring medical staff to not dump living human babies into dirty clothes hampers as they were dying: “As I understand it, this puts the burden on the attending physician who has determined, since they were performing this procedure, that, in fact, this is a nonviable fetus; that if that fetus, or child, however way you want to describe it—is now outside the mother’s womb and the doctor continues to think that it’s nonviable but there’s, let’s say, movement or some indication that, in fact, they’re not just coming out limp and dead, that, in fact, they would then have to call a second physician to monitor and check off and make sure that this is not a live child that could be saved.” This, he argued, was too much to ask of a doctor performing abortions, and it could also, as he put it, “burden the original decision of the woman and the physician to induce labor and perform an abortion.”

When the identical bill went before the U.S. senate, it passed unanimously. Only Obama found a bill that explicitly stated that it did not limit abortions in any way but simply required comfort care be given to babies born alive after a failed abortion was so much of a threat to the right to choose that it would be better that dying babies be left to die in piles of dirty clothes than to encumber the right to choice with a duty to provide humane care. Of course, rather than say so, he lied again, claiming that the state bill did not contain the same neutrality clause (basically stating that the law would not impinge of Roe v Wade) that the federal bill contained. The truth was that he killed off in committee the state bill that contained identical language to the federal one, lied about it and then accused those who correctly called him out on the facts liars. Fact check has it all spelled out clearly.

I know this is not going to come up in the election. It barely came up last time and Obama's lies were believed (the truth is so monstrous that it is incredible) and the media covered for him. So he got away with it and the issue died. I get that people are not voting on social issues this year and maybe no one cares about this. But it just speaks volumes to me about the man we have elected.

Friday, January 20, 2012

changes, or why i should be taking more footage of them

(not posed)
A couple of months ago, just before he turned 4, Will, who had been silently mouthing words in the family room, suddenly piped up with an observation: "Mom, your name is the only one in our family that you can say without moving your tongue!" Then he demonstrated. I found myself copying him to verify. He meant, of course, "Mom," not Alexandra. But he was right. Even "dad" requires some different placement of the tongue. I should have know he was up to something.

Shortly after that, his sweet little pronunciation (or mispronunciation) of 'r' changed. He used to sort of swallow the r, in that very typical way of young kids. He is "foe" not "four," etc etc. But suddenly he began over-enunciating his rs. He was fouRRR, now. Did we want to go to the stoRRRRRe? And now his little brother is PoRRRRRteRRR. He had performed speech therapy on himself and in the couRRRRse of a few weeks he had gone from his sweet mispronunciation to funny over-enunciation and now perfect pronunciation of r. He explained that he had to do this because he wasn't saying his words coRRectly. He was tired of me sometimes being confused about what he was communicating to me. I don't even notice anymore, we are that used to the change. I even thought to myself when he was going through the transition that I needed to videotape him speaking, because he would still slip back into old ways, and I wanted to capture it before it was extinguished. But I just didn't. I found some footage of him at his birthday breakfast declaring himself to now be "foe," but it is so short.

The least I can do is record now that it happened over the Christmas season. And though I have printed it here before, this poem has taken on special relevance.

Saying Goodbye to Very Young Children

They will not be the same next time. The sayings
so cute, just slightly off, will be corrected.
Their eyes will be more skeptical, plugged in
the more securely to the worldly buzz
of television, alphabet, and street talk,
culture polluting their gazes' pure blue.
It makes you see at last the value of
those boring aunts and neighbors (their smells
of summer sweat and cigarettes, their faces
like shapes of sky between shade-giving leaves)
who knew you from the start, when you were zero,
cooing their nothings before you could be bored
or knew a name, not even your own, or how
this world brave with hellos turns all goodbye.

Perhaps this is the silver lining to Porter's failure to develop the power of speech? (He has about 10 or 12 words).

Sunday, January 08, 2012

light at the end of the tunnel

The hardest aspect of trials for me is not knowing how long they will last. When Will first was recommended to have an ng tube placed, Brigham and I were relatively cheerful about it. We did not relish the idea, but we felt optimistic that it would finally help him put on the weight he needed to be healthy and that it would be relatively short-term. The tube was placed in January of 2009; I was sure it would be done with by July. The time came and went and nothing really changed. He didn't even make progress in his growth. It was like we just substituted his po calories for tube calories. I really think that is what happened. And now we had to deal with vomiting, tube replacements every few weeks, skin breakdown under the tape, food refusal and the fear that his tube would get snagged or pulled (this happened more than it should have) or be put down too far, or not far enough. It sucked. But still we were not that worried, more burdened by the duties of its maintenance.

Then January of 2010 came and we switched doctors to a man who went on high alert. He was sure we were doing something very wrong, yet he seemed mystified by the problems we were experiencing (incredulous about Will's vomiting episodes and food refusal). Accusatory that I had not gotten Will in to a full-time treatment facility (6 weeks long, out of town), judgmental that I was pregnant when I was so clearly failing with my current kids. That was when we started to lose hope that Will would just grow out of this. We got really stressed and Will's struggles with food seemed to intensify. We were bolusing him constantly, and he threw up multiple times a day.

By the fall of that year, we had switched doctors again to someone who thought to prescribe antacid to get the vomiting under control (it worked, but by now it was August) and had his g-tube placed. His g-tube surgery brought out the saddest little boy I have ever seen. I think he felt betrayed by us when he had been promised this miraculous transformation and he awakened to a thick foot long tube hanging out of his stomach (you can see it in the photo below). He wouldn't walk for a week, he couldn't keep anything down. He developed a facial tic. He lost weight. We did a feeding treatment out of town and he made some progress, but not enough to be kept on for the second week. The therapist said he seemed depressed and that we would be wasting our money and our opportunity to use the facility and that we should go home. A month later his tube was pulled out of his stomach when he was playing a climbing game in the back of my parents' car. More trauma.

Will grew well during the rest of that year and into 2011, but it was only because of the tube feedings. But we were happy and relieved that at least he was healthy and growing. We started to despair that this was our new life, and to despair that maybe we were looking at years and years of daytime tube feedings and nightly hook-ups to a feeding machine, diapers, soaked sheets and clothes. We felt so sad for Will that one of life's great pleasures--food--was his deepest aversion, and that he had to face it multiple times a day. It was like a disability, a type of blindness.

I told him on New Years this year when we shared our family resolutions that I knew this would be his year of not needing his tube anymore. I thought there was a 50-50 chance of making enough progress that we would only need to supplement at night, which would be life changing in itself. But Will was so happy at this news of mine. He believed me, I guess.

He also came down with the flu. While this meant 24 hours of sickness for the rest of us, for Will it meant 7 days of vomiting and fever. He ended up with strep and double ear infections. We couldn't feed him anything other than pedialyte and he lost weight like crazy. We failed to order more enteral supplies and ended up without his night bags, too, for a few days. We felt like the worst parents.

I don't know how much of it was my declaration of faith that Will would make progress this year and how much was the total cessation of tube feedings (which we have tried periodically and in many forms before to no avail), but Will has been eating totally normally all week. He has asked for new foods and declared his approval of them. We have not had to bolus or supplement at all. Maybe it is too soon to say that he has turned a corner, but the change in him is so stark that I can't help but feel that he has. We used to be so pleased when he would take a bite or two of something without throwing up or complaining. Now he is eating things he used to claim to hate (like chocolate cake), and eating them in appropriate amounts.

This is life changing for him and for us. I was worried about whether I could send him to kindergarten. I was worried that he would always feel different and strange, always hate food, always feel a little sick from the bolusing needed to keep him healthy. It seems that all of that might be in our rearview mirror now. It came on like a miracle.

I am praying that he will keep this up, and that maybe he can even forget about his life of hating food and he can continue forging his way into a new adventure of tastes. Maybe even one day he will be fat. A mother can dream.

Saturday, December 03, 2011

the new drew

A couple of weeks ago, Andrew woke up one morning a changed child. Brigham and I are thrilled--and terrified that he will wake up with the switch flipped again and revert back to the way he was.

At the beginning of the school year, I had to institute a mantra: "If you cannot do your duty, at least go floppy." This was in reference to the fact that Andrew would refuse to awaken, and then refuse to dress himself. Reasonable enough, right? I was willing to meet him in the middle: if only he would just not resist me when I dressed him and readied him for school. Many was the morning in which I would finally cram him into his uniform only to return to the room a few minutes later and find him naked. I was not in a good place during those weeks.

He now wakes up to his own alarm at 7am (parenting tip: giving them ownership of their own schedule in the form of a really cool alarm clock is a very effective strategy.) He dresses, brushes his teeth and then comes and gets me up. We meet downstairs where he has started preparing for breakfast (I have been leaving the cereal down low in hopes and dreams that this day might arrive). He cleans up his dishes and is in the car on time. When we get home from school, he immediately does his homework, while wearing his uniform-- to stay in the spirit of things, he more or less explained. He meticulously cleans his room each night and observes that "your room doesn't really look good until you have made up your bed." I feel like I am living in a dream.

But there are still shadows of his old self, too. The other day he was counting his money in his piggybank. "YOu know where I get all my money, mom?" "From doing your chores?" I ask, knowing that we really never established any sort of payment system.

"No," he told me. "I get it from careless people who leave it lying around."

Well, even if his behavior modification has come from some recognition that sloppiness yields getting taken advantage of, I will take it. I will not complain at all.

Friday, December 02, 2011

andrew's anti-smoking campaign

At dinner the other day somehow the subject of smoking came up. We took the opportunity to remind Andrew that he is never to smoke. Andrew agreed that he would not, and provided the following three reasons to Aunt Abby as to why he would not:

"First, my mom told me not to.

Second, it makes you die.

Third, I am too young."

Just when I think that I have no real authority in the house, I at least know that on some level you appreciate my instruction.

today

Sometime after Andrew got home and before the pizza arrived (as per our usual Friday night), I came very very close to locking myself in my room and taking a bath with the baby (who is probably not really a baby baby at 19 months, but he couldn't be left alone dumping water from cup to cup at the sink for too much time, right?).

Andrew was upset because we were not going swimming (per our usual Friday afternoon), Will was crying because Andrew was obstructing our ability to go to the park, Porter had dumped probably a quart of water all over the counter and floor by now but I just didn't have the strength of soul to stop his little napless determined self.

But somehow I didn't yell or cry, and somehow Andrew just stopped moaning about the pool and got dressed to go to the park and we made it there with everyone more or less pulled together emotionally.

We immediately met a truly wonderful dog. He bounded over to us with his tennis ball and before we knew it the kids were using the owner's ball thrower to play fetch. Chewy ended up following the kids all over the playground and I briefly entertained unreasonable thoughts of owning a dog, so long as he could be so kid-friendly and awesome as Chewy. I also found the little sweater I bought full priced (over priced) for Porter the night before we had our family photos taken and as a result have felt the need to wear every day to get our money's worth. It had sat at that park for a few days and rainy nights while my disorganized and messy self hoped it was just overlooked in the car. But there it was, no worse for wear at all.

After getting super weird for the kids while pushing them--a row of puffy-coated (red, navy, green)--on the swings and them laughing hysterically and me wondering how my behavior was shaping or warping their senses of humor and whether I should reign myself in a bit and then discovering that the pizza man has called me twice and must have arrived before the time I had asked (which is fine, but which I must mention to show that I was not irresponsible for once) we left. And we left happy.

Will did end up throwing up (for the second time today) the few bites he choked down and all that milk (8 ounces!), Porter did resume his spot at the sink on his learning tower/watering station and my headache did resume and rage, but somehow we really did all stay in good moods, even if I had to miss out on Fantastic Mr. Fox while putting Porter to bed and cleaning up 4 plots of vomit that stopped right at the bathroom door. At least there is something to be said for Will's previously professional-level vomiting downgrading to typical kid never reaching the toilet throw-up. There are some things in life you don't want a 4 year old to be very good at.

I can't help but think that I wish I had a nice, faithful retriever at my feet as I type. Maybe my husband just needs to get home.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

now he is six

Andrew turned six on Tuesday and I believe this was the most emotional I have been about a birthday. It is probably not a coincidence that this is also his first year of full-day school. It truly is a new era in our home and while Andrew is learning and growing and all that he is doing is good and appropriate, we miss him pretty terribly. I still can't believe that his years of being very young have passed. It all went so quickly! If only I had known just how fast it would be over.

At six, Andrew is an extraordinarily helpful and mature little boy. He takes wonderful care of Porter and is a reliable friend and playmate to Will (though their relationship can, and has once done so during Sacrament meeting in front of a very stern member of the congregation, disintigrate into a fistfight.) Remembering that Wednesday is Will's class at the National Botanical Gardens, his first question upon entering the car at pick-up was to inquire of Will how it went. Today when another physical altercation erupted and both boys had to cool off in their rooms, I overheard them apologizing to each other and making up over their walkie-talkies.

Andrew has risen to the very real challenge that Kindergarten has brought on; he is reading wonderfully and is working hard on his handwriting. He says that math is is favorite subject, recognizing that it is an important skill for his current ambition of becoming a pilot/astronaut. He writes his 7s backwards extremely reliably. I find it endearing.

He loves to ride his bike in the cul-de-sac with our neighborhood friends. He prefers showers to baths, now, but he is not showering solo just yet. He now enjoys the "shower-bath" with his brothers. He initiated a pattern in our home of turning on his Christian rock music (from the Bible camp he attended over the summer) after bathtime when we are getting ready for bed. Porter loves to dance to it so much that Andrew calls the music his "Porter Magnet." He loves to build with legos, trio and magna-tiles and to play with his helicopter. He loves listening to Harry Potter each night before bedtime. He still likes being around us (his parents) and even informed us point-blank that he was "jealous" that we were Will's primary teachers and not his.

Andrew has always had a silliness to his personality and a love of fun. Recently his class was cutting pictures from magazines of items they needed for their wagon trip were they to be pioneers. Andrew glued toilet paper, a tv, a cell phone and a few other gadgets and fun things to his page. He thought it was hysterical. When I asked him what he would really bring, he told me food, a blanket and a hatchet.

We still do "songs and rubs" every night. Brigham sings him some missionary songs, but I have stuck with my original three: Amazing Grace, You are My Sunshine and As I Have Loved You.

I have more regrets about how I have parented Andrew than I do about Will and Porter. I am a better mom now than I was, and I wish I could re-do many, many moments in his little life. He is a sweet, very sensitive, funny and energetic little boy and I love him so much. He was my first little companion, and he has only gotten more and more companionable as he has gotten older (well, most of the time).

A month or so ago, Brigham and I had the following email exchange about Andrew:

From Alexandra to Brigham:
Brig, Maybe it was a good thing that i crashed the mini because I do not think it could have navigated the extensive flooding on the way home from Reston just now. It was really scary and at one point it felt like we might not make it through one of the big lakes on rt 7. Finally home. Also fortunately, though I had awakened porter to go, he was so tired he fell asleep again on the way and did not wake up again until a few miles from home.

Andrew was in a great mood but then began verbally abusing me when I told him that he could borrow, but not have, my small point and shoot camera. He is in his room blasting Christian rock as we speak.

Love you and I am worried about your travels home tonight. Be so careful.

Love
Woober

From Brigham to Alexandra:
Soon that Christian Rock will be Megadeth, and Andrew will be strong enough to punch holes in the walls. We have so much to look forward to.

Andrew had a wonderful time at his birthday party and was filled with joyful avarice about his presents. He told me today that the coolest gift he got was the walkie-talkie set from my parents. He then told me that the helicopter I got him was "the kindest" gift. Porter had broken the one he received when he was 2 (!!) and had played with reliably over the last four years. He was heartbroken when Porter broke it, so I replaced it with the version Costco puts out now and waited for his birthday to arrive to present it. I loved that he felt that it was so kind of me to replace it.

While it is honestly hard for me to believe that he is as old as he is (I feel like he should be 4), from the things he says and the observations he makes, I feel like he should be a lot older than 6.

Monday, October 17, 2011

haunted house

My first step was to look up Martha Stewart halloween decor so that I could copy. I liked the idea of the witches brooms forming and X across the door, so when I saw such brooms at the thrift store last week, I was sure to buy. They were a serious pain to hang and I think I should get credit for my resourcefulness (I untwisted wire hangers). I repurposed some items from last year, moving last year's mantle display of the bat and associated cave to the door frame. I was going to hang some of the other bats we cut out from MS templates but it is supposed to rain later this week and I can't go to all the trouble of hanging them and taking them down again. They will appear shortly before the wicked night itself.

Will declared the porch "not spooktacular at all!" and we decided to do more. Some might say that this is where we got sloppy, but I say let the children decide what is truly in keeping with the spirit of Hallow's Eve. So we made two spider webs, one on each door frame. Will placed the plastic spiders in it.

Do you see the white pumpkin peeking out of the basket? So sppoky.

I am torn between believing in utter restraint in Halloween decorating and getting totally crazy and in the spirit. Sure, less is cuter, but is that what the season is all about?

Friday, September 30, 2011

love according to andrew

a conversation

me, nursing the baby while andrew does homework at the kitchen table: "Porter always wants me to kiss the bottoms of his feet while I nurse him."

andrew, without looking up: "well, you love him, so why don't you just do it." and a nonchalant little shrug.

i have the most interesting conversations with a little boy who is just about to turn six.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

thoughts i keep coming back to

I keep a private blog of our family life, and was looking through it the other day when I found this post from early 2008. That was when I was in the throes of sleep training and heated sibling rivalry (one-sided, as Andrew had a hard time accepting his first little brother). I feel I have developed as a mother in many ways (though we never made much headway on the sleep issue; now it seems funny to me that i even seriously tried), mainly in that I am less anxious about some of the behaviors because I realize so much is just a stage rather than a personality disorder, but some of the thoughts still resonate with me so much. And some are even sadder now because the chapter has closed a bit on that phase of my parenting with Andrew, to whom these paragraphs were addressed.

(Andrew, 11 mo on Middle East trip)

You have been repeating many of the things that i say. One thing I hear echoed back at me is: "Its too late. Too late!" I do say that to you when I give you a chance to comply and you don't until after I have already let that fateful "three!" fall from my lips. But I am also realizing that it applies to a lot more than just whether you get your LIghtnings back.

Soon it will be too late to have these days of a 2 1/2 year old boy who adores me and a tiny little baby back again. Too late to cuddle iwth you on the couch. Too late to have you want to sit in my lap and listen to stories. Too late to teach you gentleness through gentleness. Too late to show you that you are loved, that you are capable. Too late to enjoy our days together.

I realize that all is not lost and that I can (and do, I hope) show you that you are loved and are capable and that we are a happy family. But I also realize that these things will not automatically happen, that I can possibly waste teh days of my probation as a mom, that I can miss out on the chance to bond with you, to help you grow into a happy and productive adult, someone with confidence. It happens all the time, doesn't it? And no one intends for that to happen. We all go into this parenting thing so well-meaning.

You know, I really don't know what I am doing here, in this parenting thing. It is all a big experiment, every day, every struggle. I am guessing at what the correct method of handling a prescribed situation is, and I think you don't realize how lost I sometimes feel, how lucky and grateful I feel when something I have dreamed up seems to work.

It is still an experiment, and now that I have entered the Elementary School Phase of parenthood, I have a whole new curve to navigate. Back to School Night tonight was interesting for many reasons, one of them being the opportunity to see the different types of parents. I don't think I am much of a Tiger Mom, unless becoming grouchy counts. I just want my kids to be interested in the world, and confident in their ability to seek out and pursue the things they love. I am so glad to have the Gospel in our lives to help me in my efforts.

Despite all my mistakes and fumblings, we have had such a happy little time together. Remember?