Appa and I aren't really "fru-fru" people. We are fair-weather organic consumers, don't bat an eye processed foods, and love our over-the-counter medicines in a variety of dye-laden flavors (although, for the record, I have made a massive effort to remove dyes and HFCS from our purchases). It's not that we are skeptics of a more natural, holistic lifestyle (far from it, actually), rather, we just aren't enough of believers to make the financial and emotional commitments.
But faced with the ever-increasing ticking clock that demands something be found to help Little Bug with his focus and impulses, we've started throwing everything at the wall to see if anything sticks. The honest truth is that medications are likely, but if we can supplement some of his needs with something other than medication, that is worth any amount of money or commitment to us.
So after some chats with some friends whose opinions and knowledge I value and respect (and admire so so much) regarding essential oil therapy our developmental pediatrician recommended, I invested in two small, but expensive bottles of oils. One was a blend for calming, and the other is an oil that has been proven effective for increasing focus in children with ADD/ADHD, a component of Little Bug's needs that we need to address soon.
Honestly, when I opened the box and found the two itty bitty vials, my stomach dropped. This was going to end up in the pile of fails along with weighted vest, chew sticks, the lamb clock, mouth vibr@tors, benick bands, speech whistles, the tummy time spinner, etc. When you have spent 3 years throwing crap at the wall with little sticking, it makes you jaded. So yes, I admit, I had buyer's remorse before ever opening the oils.
For about a week, I sort of muddled around with the oils, applying them on Little Bug's neck sometimes and just expecting it to work. Finally, I figured I needed to give it a real go to at least rule it out before our next meeting with our doctor. So I read up again on the studies and took steps to learn how to best administer the oils for maximum effect.
Wouldn't you know, the last 6 days have been great. Sure, Little Bug still has a lot of needs that can't be overcome with oils, but there has absolutely been a change in his actions and demeanor in the last few days. He sat through Korean class in a pretty age-appropriate manner with a big smile on his face, and he has been willing to sit and color or chat or work on a puzzle longer and without the constant fidgeting. His "fits" are decreasing in frequency and intensity. When he inhales the oil he seems to truly calm down a bit. Call me crazy, but it seems to be making a positive and tangible difference.
Could it be a coincidence that the day we started using the oil was the day he started swinging into a good stretch? Yes. But the change has been enough that we ordered a special diffuser for his bedroom (of course the oil we need to use is too thick for traditional oil diffusers), a clay necklace for continuous inhalation during the day, and are pulling the oils out throughout the day. Because if something makes our son's road just a little bit easy for him to walk, we're going to commit to it.
There is something so exciting about finding something that actually helps increase Little Bug's quality of life. I'm so grateful to be surrounded by such well-rounded people who can give me perspectives that I might not otherwise find.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Pendulum Swings
Saturday: Little Bug wakes up and has a wonderful music class where he participates and controls himself. He's happy and having fun. I breath in a deep sigh of relief.
Saturday afternoon: Little Bug begins to fall apart, throwing things, crying hard, whining, and unable to listen and control himself. Appa and I exchange sad looks before trying hard to make him comfortable and give him activities to work off some energy. It doesn't work, and he goes to bed exhausted and sad. Actually, the whole family does.
Sunday morning: Little Bug wakes up very uncomfortable in his skin. Appa cuts his rare and much deserved b-ball session short to come home and support us. Little Bug is cycling through emotions fast and furiously and is really unhappy and unpredictable. I steal a moment with Appa and tear up as he hugs me because we hate seeing my boy so unhappy.
Sunday afternoon: We go outside to get some air and Little Bug gets on his tricycle, give it a couple good rocks, and then starts pedaling.
PEDALING.
Little Bug has never really pedaled before, or even shown any real interest. Then Sunday, in the midst of a very long stretch of bad days, he just decided that pedaling was the best way to ride his bike and made it happen. I happened to turn in time to catch the moment, and just like his first steps years ago, my heart stopped a bit before I started running towards him screaming praises and excitement. I will never, ever forget his face as I crouched low to his and started showering him in kisses. His cheeks were cold and red from the almost-snowing weather, his eyes were bright with excitement and joy, and his smile was one of his most authentic, joy-filled big smiles--the kind I don't realize are so rare until I see one. It was one of those moments where we both know he just broke through another milestone, another big skill that isn't just a stepping stone, but a full skill.
It was easily a moment I will never forget. I'm so proud of him.
But the pendulum swings in extremes in our world, and although it swung so high in that moment, the truth is it was coming from a low place and went back there fast making Sunday another rough day overall.
I share this for two reasons. First, we're deep in pendulum swings right now and writing it down simply makes me feel more in control and helps me remember for every bad weekend, there are more good weekends. But most important, I share it because in the midst of a terribly hard weekend, I want Little Bug to know how strong he is, even at age 4, to fight to swing the pendulum to something high. His fighting spirit is what has and will help him continue to rise above his limitations to reach his full potential.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Everything Would be Easier with a Secret Handshake
You'd think after a number of years parenting a child with behavioral special needs, I'd know a thing or two about how to approach another mother in a similar situation. But I don't.
There is a little boy and his mom that attend the same "gym" class Little Bro and I attend. It took very little time for me to figure out that the no-need-to-attempt-participation approach the mother took to circle time and the stuck-like-glue helicopter mama approach she took to free play was a finely honed survival routine meant to maximize her son's freedom and enjoyment while protecting him and others from his behavioral challenges. THAT was easy to spot, since Little Bug and my finely honed survival routine is like second nature now. For the past few weeks, I've gone out of my way to smile and interact with this mother and her little boy, simply because it's clear others are learning to steer clear. But she's too busy helping her son have a positive experience, and I'm too busy chasing my fearsomely fast younger child around the gym to have a conversation that extended past the most basic of pleasantries with her.
Last week her son took a younger kid down. Hard. It happened so fast she simply couldn't stop the movement. I saw all the moms (and the teachers) momentarily pause in horror before trying to pretend they didn't see anything more than a little "oopsie" between two buddies. Worse, I saw the "how dare you" glare from the younger boy's mother before she could compose herself. But what made my heart hurt most was the look on the mother who had been so vigilant and patient and determined to make sure her son was able to have a normal gym experience. She seemed so defeated in that moment that she had failed her son by not protecting him from himself.
And I can identify with that feeling with every fiber in my body.
For the rest of the class she kept a wide berth from everyone else. Her son exhibited some behavior during his restraining time out that likely embarrassed her more, not just because of his screaming and thrashing, but having had to do it myself a number of times, having to hold your child in a restraining time out is a pretty awful thing to have to do in front of strangers who don't understand.
After class, I loitered a bit. I wanted to reach out to her in some way, to express in some form that I understood and that Little Bro and I were looking forward to seeing them again next week. I wanted to let her know that I understood how hard to is to take your child to an environment where they don't excel or fit in, where the protective buffer of understanding and accommodations isn't there. Where their challenges tend to be highlighted more than their many strengths and strides.
But I didn't know what to say. "Hi, I noticed your son clearly has special needs. Mine does, too. So...yeah" didn't seem like a great pick up line.
It felt wrong to force her to further acknowledge her son's challenges, and it felt wrong to invade my son's privacy and reduce him to "another special needs kid" just to make someone else feel better. So I just caught her eye and said good bye to them both by name.
But what I wish I could have said to her was this:
I know what it feels like to have your child struggle to have everyone else see what you can see...the amazing, strong, special child who just wants to be friends but isn't always able to show it the same way others do. I know what it feels like to have to be a mother other people secretly judge for being over-protective, too strict, unfun, and low-key because that is what your child needs to stay balanced. I know what it feels like to watch your sweet, loving child accidentally hurt another child in a way that doesn't look accidental. I know what it feels like to have so much progress derailed by a moment. I know what it feels like to see your child picked last, or not at all, in the toddler game of life. I know how it feels to dread going into another day of battle and to see your child miss opportunities.
And I know what you know...despite (or rather, because) of all that, you're a lucky mama and your son is a soul anyone would be lucky to call friend.
There is a little boy and his mom that attend the same "gym" class Little Bro and I attend. It took very little time for me to figure out that the no-need-to-attempt-participation approach the mother took to circle time and the stuck-like-glue helicopter mama approach she took to free play was a finely honed survival routine meant to maximize her son's freedom and enjoyment while protecting him and others from his behavioral challenges. THAT was easy to spot, since Little Bug and my finely honed survival routine is like second nature now. For the past few weeks, I've gone out of my way to smile and interact with this mother and her little boy, simply because it's clear others are learning to steer clear. But she's too busy helping her son have a positive experience, and I'm too busy chasing my fearsomely fast younger child around the gym to have a conversation that extended past the most basic of pleasantries with her.
Last week her son took a younger kid down. Hard. It happened so fast she simply couldn't stop the movement. I saw all the moms (and the teachers) momentarily pause in horror before trying to pretend they didn't see anything more than a little "oopsie" between two buddies. Worse, I saw the "how dare you" glare from the younger boy's mother before she could compose herself. But what made my heart hurt most was the look on the mother who had been so vigilant and patient and determined to make sure her son was able to have a normal gym experience. She seemed so defeated in that moment that she had failed her son by not protecting him from himself.
And I can identify with that feeling with every fiber in my body.
For the rest of the class she kept a wide berth from everyone else. Her son exhibited some behavior during his restraining time out that likely embarrassed her more, not just because of his screaming and thrashing, but having had to do it myself a number of times, having to hold your child in a restraining time out is a pretty awful thing to have to do in front of strangers who don't understand.
After class, I loitered a bit. I wanted to reach out to her in some way, to express in some form that I understood and that Little Bro and I were looking forward to seeing them again next week. I wanted to let her know that I understood how hard to is to take your child to an environment where they don't excel or fit in, where the protective buffer of understanding and accommodations isn't there. Where their challenges tend to be highlighted more than their many strengths and strides.
But I didn't know what to say. "Hi, I noticed your son clearly has special needs. Mine does, too. So...yeah" didn't seem like a great pick up line.
It felt wrong to force her to further acknowledge her son's challenges, and it felt wrong to invade my son's privacy and reduce him to "another special needs kid" just to make someone else feel better. So I just caught her eye and said good bye to them both by name.
But what I wish I could have said to her was this:
I know what it feels like to have your child struggle to have everyone else see what you can see...the amazing, strong, special child who just wants to be friends but isn't always able to show it the same way others do. I know what it feels like to have to be a mother other people secretly judge for being over-protective, too strict, unfun, and low-key because that is what your child needs to stay balanced. I know what it feels like to watch your sweet, loving child accidentally hurt another child in a way that doesn't look accidental. I know what it feels like to have so much progress derailed by a moment. I know what it feels like to see your child picked last, or not at all, in the toddler game of life. I know how it feels to dread going into another day of battle and to see your child miss opportunities.
And I know what you know...despite (or rather, because) of all that, you're a lucky mama and your son is a soul anyone would be lucky to call friend.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Valentine's Day
It's no secret that I'm not a crafty or particularly creative mom. I struggle with inventive and ambitious and out-of-the-box. But one of my resolutions for 2012 was to change that by starting small and specific...holidays.
This year I wanted to celebrate each holiday with my kids in a memorable way. I wanted to begin a tradition of whimsy and fun and celebration year round. I can rock Christmas, but the rest of the holidays are pretty bland around our parts, so I'm focusing on decorating and doing something special on the actual holiday. Nothing big really, but just a little pizazz to liven life up.
For Valentine's Day, I decorated with tacky glittery hearts, candy hearts, and some other little trinkets. I doubt my toddlers noticed any of it, but it made me feel like I was at least attempting to acknowledge the holiday. They did, however, acknowledge the bright red pancakes I made for breakfast and the heart-shaped pizzas they got to make for dinner. The pink milk was a little off putting for them, however. Simple simple things on my part that made a big impact on them.
So I encouraged by managing to provide some interesting aspects of Valentine's Day for my little ones. It was fun for all three of us, and I can see it easily becoming a tradition to make heart-shaped food each year.
Next up: St. Patrick's Day. I've already got my tacky glitter items ready!
This year I wanted to celebrate each holiday with my kids in a memorable way. I wanted to begin a tradition of whimsy and fun and celebration year round. I can rock Christmas, but the rest of the holidays are pretty bland around our parts, so I'm focusing on decorating and doing something special on the actual holiday. Nothing big really, but just a little pizazz to liven life up.
For Valentine's Day, I decorated with tacky glittery hearts, candy hearts, and some other little trinkets. I doubt my toddlers noticed any of it, but it made me feel like I was at least attempting to acknowledge the holiday. They did, however, acknowledge the bright red pancakes I made for breakfast and the heart-shaped pizzas they got to make for dinner. The pink milk was a little off putting for them, however. Simple simple things on my part that made a big impact on them.
So I encouraged by managing to provide some interesting aspects of Valentine's Day for my little ones. It was fun for all three of us, and I can see it easily becoming a tradition to make heart-shaped food each year.
Next up: St. Patrick's Day. I've already got my tacky glitter items ready!
Friday, February 3, 2012
11
Dear Little Bro,
Yesterday as you and I laid quietly in your warm bed as you were waking up from nap, we started counting. You can count to 10 in a million different ways (fast, slow, monster voice, scream, whisper, etc.), but 10 was your cap.
So I told you the next number after 10 was 11.
You rolled the number around on your tongue, tried it out in sing-song and loud variations, and then let it loose with a super fast 12345678910......11!
And just like that, you learned something new. Something you will never, ever forget. I find that fascinating. One thing I have learned over the past few years is to never take the miracle of learning for granted. So to watch it happen, something so memorable as a number, was neat for me. It's one of my favorite parts of being a mom, and your zest for learning is so exciting to experience.
Just wait until I let you in on the mind-blowing news about a certain number 12!
Yesterday as you and I laid quietly in your warm bed as you were waking up from nap, we started counting. You can count to 10 in a million different ways (fast, slow, monster voice, scream, whisper, etc.), but 10 was your cap.
So I told you the next number after 10 was 11.
You rolled the number around on your tongue, tried it out in sing-song and loud variations, and then let it loose with a super fast 12345678910......11!
And just like that, you learned something new. Something you will never, ever forget. I find that fascinating. One thing I have learned over the past few years is to never take the miracle of learning for granted. So to watch it happen, something so memorable as a number, was neat for me. It's one of my favorite parts of being a mom, and your zest for learning is so exciting to experience.
Just wait until I let you in on the mind-blowing news about a certain number 12!
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Intentional Mothering
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I've been an unequal mother to my boys recently, or perhaps ever since Little Bro came home. With Little Bug in school for most of the week, Little Bro gets full days of Mommy time. Little Bug, however, comes home from school and has to share the time he does have with me with his little brother. I mean, obviously brothers spend time together with their mom. But Little Bug...that became all the time he got with me, shared time.
Our home life is such that evening schedules are critical and must be done together. Little Bug needs an early bedtime, he can't occupy himself independently while I put his brother down to bed, and truly, he loves his brother so much that he doesn't want to be without him. We even do Little Bug's home therapies as a group. Simply put, we function in nearly every moment between school and bedtime as a unit of three.
Before Little Bro came home, I would pick Little Bug up from school and take him out to dinner at least once a week. There we would sit, just the two of us, watching trains go by and "talking" about our day. I think back on those moments and realize how special they were, and how much I miss that with Little Bug (I still have it with Little Bro).
When Appa comes home for the weekends, we try to soak up every moment with him and consequently, do very little not as a family unit. And although this is a good thing, it once again shafts Little Bug from quality one-on-one time. One of us taking him to the grocery store to relieve the double duty is hardly quality time.
I guess I just realized that Little Bug needs and deserves a little time with his mama without having to share her with anyone else. I'm shocked at how little of this precious time he has actually gotten in the last months. It makes me feel really crummy, actually.
But I have two kids and only one me, and the truth is having more than one kid really does make it very hard to have quality time alone. For me, the first step was realizing one of my kids was getting less and determining what I considered to be (and not to be) quality one-on-one time. The next step is hardest: actually making the time. Because for our family, it doesn't come organically. Little Bro doesn't softly plod off to play some educational game in one room while Little Bug and I can snuggle and whisper secrets to each other or play a game on his terms at his speed. I have to manufacture an activity for Little Bro and devise another activity removed from Little Bro's activity. Then I have to sell them both to my kids.
How is that working? Not super, but I am getting there. I don't love turning "Jake" on the TV for my 2 year old simply so he will leave me alone for a while. But when I have managed to get Little Bug alone and give him my special attention, he had blossomed. I attribute it in small part to some of his recent developmental successes, and I have definitely noticed an increase in his affection and desire to snuggle since I've made the effort to give him special time.
This matters. I can see it in his smile and his eyes and his off-handed or deliberate kisses and hugs. Having me matters to him. Even just the five minutes a night where we play a puzzle or take silly pictures on my phone make a difference to him and make him happy.
Sometimes I forget that I am the most important person in my kids' lives. It seems sort of pompous to go around thinking that you mean more to them than anyone else in the world, but really, it's true. My five minutes are worth hours of other peoples' time to my sons, and I need to start valuing my time the way they do. Intentionally.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Perspective
Today I was dragging Little Big and Little Bro through a long hallway in a children's wing of a large hospital. They had been woken from naps early and were tired, cold, and grumpy. Even grumpier was me, their seriously sleep-deprived mama (my own fault for deciding on a whim this week to paint our kitchen after bedtime), who was pissed off that we had to add yet another weekly therapy session that required me to shlup both my grumpy kids around at a really inopportune time of day. Classy and big girl, I know.
Bottom line, it was a three car frowny train barreling down that hallway about 7 minutes late.
A man and woman stood about 3/4 of the way down the hallway fussing in agitation over a large jogging stroller that was facing away from us. They seemed stress and unhappy and resigned, just like me. My thought as I approached them was literally "Man, I know how you feel. My kids are being pains, too!"
Then I reached the point where I could see their child in the stroller.
A child probably 3-5 years old with a trachea tube whose fragile looking body was having what looked like a seizure as her parents tried to keep her safe and comfortable in the moment.
Dear Me:
Shut the hell up. You have two healthy children who have every chance in the world to live out all the dreams you had hoped for them. Children whose needs are predictable and isolated and generally not impeding daily life. Get over yourself, hug your babies, be grateful, and send a prayer for quick peace for that family who just reminded you what real strength and challenge looks like.
Bottom line, it was a three car frowny train barreling down that hallway about 7 minutes late.
A man and woman stood about 3/4 of the way down the hallway fussing in agitation over a large jogging stroller that was facing away from us. They seemed stress and unhappy and resigned, just like me. My thought as I approached them was literally "Man, I know how you feel. My kids are being pains, too!"
Then I reached the point where I could see their child in the stroller.
A child probably 3-5 years old with a trachea tube whose fragile looking body was having what looked like a seizure as her parents tried to keep her safe and comfortable in the moment.
Dear Me:
Shut the hell up. You have two healthy children who have every chance in the world to live out all the dreams you had hoped for them. Children whose needs are predictable and isolated and generally not impeding daily life. Get over yourself, hug your babies, be grateful, and send a prayer for quick peace for that family who just reminded you what real strength and challenge looks like.
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