Sassy and Special

Scene: Little Bug's bedroom as I was trying to get him into jammies while he was trying to apply stickers to his face.

Him:  "Moooooooom, stooooooooP."

It was articulated perfectly with a pop of teenage chagrin and annoyance.  In that moment there was no trace of anything but a boy telling his mama to back off.  So brilliantly 4 going on 14 that it took my breath away.

Life is changing.

Two Secrets

Little Bug's medication has messed with his sleep, and although we are no longer a closet co-sleeping family, most nights lately I have ended up in his bed at some point in the night.  He isn't a cuddler in the traditional sense, but he always has to be touching me with his feet.  Sometimes it is just his tiny toes against my thighs, and sometimes he burrows both his feet as far in between my legs as he can.

Secret #1: I will sometimes move slightly away from his touch just to have the lovely heart-melty feeling when his feet immediately follow me for contact again.

Secret #2: I adore the nights when I get to cuddle with my sleepy baby boy.  Screw the sleep training.

I Wanted This

Today wasn't one of those days, but I've had plenty of them recently that seem to start and end on a loud note.  The days when I count down the nanoseconds until bedtime, only to realize once the kids are asleep that I have no energy to spend on myself.

And then I try to remember (I try) that not so long ago I would lay in bed at night fantasizing about the day when I would be that worn out mother, energy sucked dry by chasing giggling children down aisles in a shoe store or emotionally tired from battling through an epic battle of the wills thanks to the Terrible Threes.

I wanted this.  All of this.  I wanted them.

I wanted to be the one who made their owies feel better, got the best laughs, and gave the best cuddles.  I wanted to be the one they called for when they were hurt or proud.  I wanted to be the one to teach them their letters, numbers, and manners.  But I also wanted to be the one cleaning up the blood from those owies, who inspired the fiercest tantrums, and who took the hardest whacks from an angry baby hand.  I wanted to be tired and overwhelmed and stretched outside myself.

For me, the path to motherhood was intentional. I wanted this.  Even the low stuff.

I look at the picture at the top of this entry and my heart swells.  It reminds me of that dream I had not so long ago where I would imagine a shadowy child bringing such joy and happiness to my life.  It reminds me of how desperately I wanted that dream. And then I look closer and I see the unmistakable gait of my big star, low and fast and hell bent on his destination.  I recognize the child and the reality that he is sleeping upstairs right now, recharging at a much faster rate than I will be for tomorrow's next round.

He's not a shadowy dream anymore.  He and his brother are real, beautiful children, and they are mine.  And for them, I will give up sleep, food, water, DDP, reading, or anything else I might need to in order for them to be happy and healthy and loved.

Well, not the DDP actually.  That's my secret weapon.

Like I said, I try to remember this when I'm counting to 3 for the millionth time in an hour or explaining why we can't pee on [insert local, body part, household item, etc. here].  Because there are dreamers out there right now whose shoes I was in not so long ago, and I know they would give anything to be the one that had the honor of raising my kids.

Simply put: I am lucky and happy to be a mama.

Dear Man Who Dared to "SHH" my Kids Today,

Botanic garden trams are meant to be enjoyed by families of all ages, not just aging old men and their preteen grand daughters.  If you have a problem with toddlers being on the tram I suggest one of the following options:

1. Take it up with management.  See how that goes over.
2. Choose to sit in one of the other two cars and 30 other rows that are not in front of four rows of families with small children.
3. Move to above mentioned other areas during one of the ample stops along the tour.

What I suggest you don't ever do again is turn to my family after my 4-year-old dares to point out some of the views and glare at my kid while saying "Guys, SHHHH" in the most abravise, aggresive, and intense voice possible. 

Because the thing is, my husband is a gentle and kind man, the the tone Appa used to shut you down was laced with "dare to speak to my family like that again and I might get in my first fist fight."  Trust me, the only way to bring out rage in my husband is to mess with his kids, and you "sir," came dangerously close today.

I'd have his back, too. I spent the entire hour seething at the back of your balding head.  My speech pre-bloodshed was going to be epic.  Just saying.

Respectfully,
The Mama

PS: Fried handlebar mustaches look good on exactly zero people.

Oh Sh!t

So I don't know when it happened exactly, and I'd like to blame it on residual trauma from a car accident a long time ago, but the bottom line is I know it was me.

I taught my kid to swear.

We noticed it a couple days ago when Appa made a hard stop in the car.  Instead of the usual laughing that we hear from the back seat, we heard our sweet 4.5-year-old exclaim "Oh, ohh, SH!T."

Appa and I whipped our heads toward each other and both knew in an instant that this was my doing.  I am less than the best passenger, and our 2-week vacation that spanned four states (including the very narrow and winding roads of the Oregon coast) featured many a tense car moment for me.

Appa was gallant and tried to convince me that he wasn't actually saying what it sounded like he was saying.  It was sweet of him to blame it on our kid's speech impediment, really.  I love that man.

But no, despite our attempts not to react to the curse, Little Bug has taken to using it whenever we stop suddenly or hit a bump in a road.  And since our entire street is torn up due to construction, the last 2 minutes of every drive sound like we have a sailor in the backseat.

I've tried to replace it with a snappy and fun "Wheeeeee!!  Wheeee!" and I've tried to be stern and tell him that the word isn't a good choice.  I've tried ignoring it and I've tried telling him that I am ignoring it.

But as is always the case with kids, he instinctively knows he's hit the taboo jackpot.  I can't get him to stop and I have no one to blame but myself (and perhaps Blink 182 for helping me develop my own potty mouth in college).

Sigh.  Sh!t.

Summer Lovin'

Joy. Relief. Hope.

That's what Appa and I have been feeling the last couple days.  Pure joy and relief and hope.  Our precious son has finally been able to shake the very disturbing emotional side effects from his latest dosage tweak, and in place of all that turmoil has come happiness. 

Little Bug's smile, literally one of my favorite things in the entire world, is back and wider than ever.  He is becoming more verbal, more creative, more confident, and more peaceful.  He is seeking out activities on his own and testing his comfort level away from me.  He is trying harder at challenges, instead of giving up and melting down (or not trying at all).  He is making up stories and pretending to be a cat and dog and chef and monster.  He is counting into his teens and singing songs from memory.

A couple days ago he hopped on the couch while I was in another room,  turned on his iPad, and played independently for over 15 minutes.  NOTHING about that last sentence is anything short of extraordinary for our status quo.

Last night he played, mainly alone, in our sandbox for over an hour.  ONE HOUR.  Never, other than sleeping, has he attended to a stationary activity for anywhere close to that amount of time.  And we had to bribe him out with food.  Which Appa and I were both loathe to do as we would have much rather continued to sit with stupid grins on our faces and watch him make "pumpkins" and laugh big belly laughs.

Is this all because of a pill?  Honestly, I think much of it is.

The pill isn't causing these changes in him, but it is giving his brain a little breathing room to really explore its potential and share that with us.  This child has been a super hero fighter from infancy, and my heart gets fluttery just thinking about how much more he is going to be able to accomplish in the coming months, and how proud and happy that will make him.

This dose we are currently crushing on probably isn't the right dose for him academically, but it's summer and he's only got one more week of hardcore summer school before we head off for a vacation filled with Grandmas and a summer of mainstream "fun" preschool.  Although Appa and I know he needs a higher dose, we've decided to let him enjoy his newfound happiness for the summer.

Little Bug deserves to have a summer filled with endless hours of sandboxes and bikes and laughter.  And I am so grateful that he's going to get the chance to have it.

Shh

Not that I want to tell anyone how to raise their kids, but....

When I was in high school, I took my baby brother (who would have been around 3 at the time) through the drive thru at Burger King.  The woman at the window had some pretty severe acne, and he very loudly started asking why she had chicken pox all over her face.  It was mortifying for her and me.  All I did was "shhh" him and tell him we'd talk about it later.  Anything to get him to stop talking in that moment.

But see, as an adult, I now realize that is usually not the best way to approach a situation like that.  I didn't stick up for that employee or educate my brother.  I just avoided the situation.

Maybe not exactly the same, but today as my little loves and I rode the elevator down from Little Bug's PT appointment, another little boy loudly and repeatedly called Little Bug "weird" as LB enthusiastically told the whole evaluator full of people about our plans to play with the hose at home.  This little boy and his very nice mommy likely didn't even understand what Little Bug was saying, but everyone there sure understood what the other boy was saying....including my son.

Weird.

And it hit me as his mom turned bright read and shh-ed him over and over that the correct response as a parent isn't always the easy one.  It's the right one.  And it's not the one where we get our kids to simply stop talking without explaining WHY they need to stop talking.

It should have been something along the lines of "he's not weird.......".  Because by just shh-ing him, she was (inadvertently, I am sure) validating the assertion that Little Bug was weird.  At age 4.5, it's not going to be really damaging to Little Bug's self esteem (which, if his constant declarations of being "handsome" are any indication, is pretty good), but as he gets older, having an adult validating those sorts of labels could really cut deep.

I'm trying to do this more in my own life, because I fall into this pattern all too often myself.  Subtle comments about adoption, special needs, intelligence, etc. are just so much easier to ignore, especially when said without any malice or intent.  But one day very soon, those subtle comments won't feel so subtle to my kids, and I need to be well versed in standing up for them in that moment, in front of everyone.  I don't want to be the one who validates with silence.

It doesn't have to be a big deal or aggressive.  I don't need to turn to that little boy and say "look kid, he's not weird and you're being rude for saying so" while crouching into mama bear position, ready to fight his mama for the honor of our sons.  But I can put on my happiest voice and say something like "he's not weird...he's just really excited about our plans this afternoon."

I guess my point is that I'm realizing it is important to push back on the little things in a positive way.  It's my job to nurture my sons' self images, to help them become confident and proud, and to make sure they feel loved, special, and unique. 

And sometimes that means tacking on the line that floats into your head but sticks behind the "shhh."