July 21, 2006

spilt milk

When Henry was a baby, I was constantly exhausted. Every feeding took over an hour; Henry was a slow eater and had to be burped often. He spat up, every single time, all over me and the chair and the floor. After I fed him, I had to pump, which took another 45 minutes. Because he was premature, we had strict instructions to feed him every three hours to be sure he was eating enough; later, when his reflux was diagnosed, we had orders to continue feeding him every three hours to be sure his stomach wasn’t too full. After his feedings he would cry and cry and cry, probably from the reflux. I remember nights when I fell asleep giving him his bottle or pumping. I remember other nights when I sobbed along with him because I didn’t know what else I could do for him and I was so fucking tired that I couldn’t even think straight.

I feel that way again today.

It’s hard for me to explain what is going on at my house. Henry has been having colossal meltdowns over the smallest things, and because I am the one who intervenes when he starts to fall apart, he is lashing out at me. I’m not comfortable talking in detail about this, because it’s really not about Henry, it’s really about me; Henry is six and he’s struggling to find his way in the world and for the most part he’s doing a damn good job. But it’s my responsibility to help him, and it is incredibly difficult sometimes. Like today.

The bottom line is this: there are behaviors that are not acceptable at our house, under any circumstances. We don’t tolerate what my friend Christa calls “ugly words,” for example. We are also not fans of any sort of extreme physical behavior–kicking, throwing toys, falling to the floor. Because Henry has pragmatic language difficulties, he will fall back on these behaviors when he is overwhelmed. He will, to put it bluntly, have a tantrum. But unlike a toddler, who lacks the verbal skills to do much more than just cry or thrash around, Henry pulls out the ugly words when he is frustrated.

I spend a lot of time helping Henry find strategies for articulating his feelings, strategies other than kicking and screaming and announcing that I am his “mortal enemy.” We practice saying, “I am frustrated right now because . . . ” or “I am angry because . . .” We practice starting our sentences with I instead of saying, “Charlie isn’t playing right!” or “You just don’t like me any more!” We talk about how our choices–the choice to use ugly words or have a screaming meltdown–affect the people around us. I’m trying to get Henry to understand that his friends will take his assertions that “You don’t like me and I don’t want to be your friend any more!” seriously. I’m trying to get him to understand that when he falls apart in a public place, we will leave.

He’s not really getting it.

Today we had plans to meet Wade for lunch at a little sandwich place we like. Charlie was excited about eating pizza with Daddy; I was looking forward to being out of the house and visiting with my husband.

We never made it to lunch; we stopped at the bookstore to play on the way and Henry fell apart. I sat him in a chair and tried to talk to him, but he continued screaming. I told him what his options were: he could go back to the children’s section and apologize to Charlie for throwing a train at him, and then he could sit and look at books or read with me, and then we could go to lunch with Daddy, or he could continue screaming and we would go home. He reluctantly agreed to apologize, but once we were back in children’s section he fell apart again. I packed everyone up and we came home; I called Wade and cancelled lunch. I tried not to cry.

This afternoon–after we had played in our rooms and played a pirate board game and spilled milk (again) all over the kitchen floor that my housekeeper had JUST mopped–we met Leslie and her boys at another bookstore. When she called, I warned her: we may have to leave. We’ll see how it goes.

We lasted half an hour and then Henry asked to go to the bathroom, alone, and I said no, I would walk back with him. And he screamed and stamped his foot. And then after the bathroom, I asked him to do or not do something, and he screamed and threw himself on the floor. As we were leaving, Charlie started to cry. “I want to STAY!” he sobbed. “So do I,” I told him. “So do I.”

I wanted to have lunch with my husband today; I wanted to have a nice salad and some fruity tea and some adult conversation. I wanted to visit with Leslie this afternoon in the air conditioned bookstore, which is cooler than my house. I wanted to help Charlie pick out a book or stuffed friend to get with his birthday gift cards. I wanted to go swimming or go out for coffee or do . . . something. Anything. I wanted my children to be polite and pleasant. I wanted us to have fun and be happy.

I did not want to spend the day hearing about how mean I am. I feel like I did when Henry was a tiny baby, when I knew I was doing all the right things and nothing was working. I was a good parent today; I was calm and peaceful and kind. I did not get angry; I did not yell. I did not say anything I would later regret. I was very specific about what I expected from the boys; I was very specific about what the unacceptable behavior was and what the consequences would be. I got down on my knees and looked Henry in the eye; I hugged Charlie and explained that he wasn’t in trouble and that we would find time this weekend to get his book and maybe go to lunch. I told both boys, repeatedly, how much I love them. I praised them when they played nicely and used nice words and took turns. I helped Henry practice saying, “I am frustrated because . . . . ” I said it myself a few times.

I spent most of the day wanting to lock myself in the bathroom and cry.

It is entirely possible that Henry’s behavior is a side effect of the medication we’re trying out; it is entirely possible that it is the result of his not sleeping well (which is possibly a side effect of the medication). It is entirely possible that it is the heat. It is entirely possible that it is something else altogether.

It is entirely possible that I am expecting too much of him. Or that I am expecting too much of myself. Or both.

I don’t think I can do this job any more. I don’t think I am qualified. I am tired and bored and frustrated. I feel like I did when Henry was a baby–like I am completely failing, despite my best efforts. I just keep moving forward and repeating myself and breathing deeply, because I don’t know what else to do.

July 19, 2006

walk the plank

A couple of weekends ago, Wade took the boys to the pool by himself. We’re at a tricky stage, swimming-wise, this summer, because Charlie can WALK in the big pool but not swim (because he won’t put his head under the water) while Henry can SWIM but not without careful supervision (because he occasionally just gives up and sinks). As long as both boys agree to stay in the shallow end, it is possible to lifeguard them both at once, but eventually Henry decides that he wants to jump off the diving board and then things get complicated.

Fortunately, on this particular Sunday, Wade ran into a friend of mine who was there with two of her sons, who are about the same ages as our kids. Henry and Jack swam together for a while, and then Jack decided that he wanted to go off the diving board. Henry had been doing a little dance routine that consisted of getting up on the diving board, walking to the end, carefully considering his options, and then walking back to the ladder and climbing down. No jumping. “I can’t do it,” he would tell us, “because I can’t swim.” And we would remind him that LAST summer, he jumped off the diving board all the time! and then swam to the side! all by himself! But he was unmoved. “I can’t do it. Maybe later.”

So the boys are playing together and Jack decided that he wanted to jump off the diving board and he wanted Henry to do it, too. “Don’t think about it,” Jack told Henry. “Just jump.” And it worked! And Henry has been very excited, both about the diving board and about Jack’s advice, ever since.

It’s a good philosophy, I think, this idea that you should just jump. One of Henry’s biggest dilemmas is a tendency to overthink things–he worries so much about what something will taste like or feel like that he can’t bring himself to just jump. For him, new things are akin to walking the plank; what is at the other end may very well be scary and dangerous rather than exciting and fun, and so, like the prisoner on the pirate ship, he hesitates and dawdles and bargains in the hope that someone will be able to reassure him that the other end of the plank is a smooth beach and not a sea full of sharks, or, even better, will rescue him and avoid the plank entirely.

He seems to get this from me.

Today we had a playdate with my lovely friend Krista, who is moving to Kansas City at the end of the month, which makes me INCREDIBLY sad. Her husband has already started his new job, leaving her here to pack their house and entertain their kids; this week, we have had two all-day playdates because it’s a long time between breakfast and bedtime and it’s hot here and she’s LEAVING and I will miss her.

Today she suggested that we go to the downtown library because it’s free and it’s air conditioned. And I took some deep yoga breaths and said, sure! that’ll be fun!

And then I admitted that my kids had never been to the library. Ever. Which might explain why they are illiterate.

I don’t know why we never go to the library; we go to the bookstore all the time, and we’re huge readers. But somehow the library always seemed complicated or . . . something. The library in my neighborhood is staffed by the Universe’s Meanest Librarians; the day I went in to get my library card, the librarian kept glaring at Henry (who was in the stroller, chewing on a toy and kicking his feet peacefully). It wasn’t a friendly welcome.

So when Krista said, “Do you want to go to the library?” my knee-jerk reaction was to think, oh god no not the library my kids will go berserk and the librarians will kill us with their laser glares. But the other part of my brain, the part that is not permanently crabby from the heat, thought no, let’s try it, it might be a good experience for all of us. So I said okay! We’ll be right over! After I stop at Starbucks and get coffee!

Because it was too early for liquor.

We drove downtown and parked and walked to the library and . . . had a great time. The kids played with the knights and the castle and the farm animals, and they did a puzzle or two, and then Henry asked to play with the computers so we set him up to play a Sesame Street game, and then Krista’s kids wanted to do that, too, and Charlie found two other little boys to play with and everyone was (relatively) peaceful and polite and busy and Krista and I got to VISIT and occasionally complete a full paragraph and it wasn’t hot and no one had a meltdown.

And by then it was nearly 1:00 so we took everyone to Panera and had lunch and Krista’s son made the boys laugh by announcing “My name is BOOGER!” four hundred times and Henry and Charlie serenaded everyone with the theme song from COPS (“Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do / Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?”) and I had a delicious turkey sandwich and then we went back to Krista’s house and played until Charlie came downstairs crying because Henry wouldn’t share and Krista’s daughter asked if she could take a nap.

That seemed like a good time to end our playdate.

The boys and I left the house at 9:00 this morning and came home at 3:45. We had haircuts and dropped off the dry cleaning and got coffee; we went to the library and a restaurant and our friends’ house. We (mostly) used our inside voices and our walking feet. We (largely) shared and played nicely. We sat in our seats for longer than I would have imagined possible. And when we left Krista’s house, both of my kids asked if we could do it all again tomorrow.

Just jump. I think that’s my new mantra. Just jump.

July 18, 2006

it is so hot here that all anyone can talk about is how hot it is here

Dear god I am so tired. So hot and so tired. I’m tired of pirates and superheroes, I’m tired of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, I’m tired of Mama can you wipe my bottom? and Mom can I have some milk? I’m tired of Clifford and Dragon Tales and Candyland and Chutes and Ladders. I’m tired of our yard and our house, both of which are so very hot.

I’m tired of weathermen who happily announce, “Today is going to be another scorcher!” and then say that a cool front is coming and temperatures will drop into the 90s, which is NOT COOL. I’m tired of having to keep a sweater in my bag because every place we go–the grocery, the bookstore, the mall–is freezing cold after the scorching outside. I’m tired of only having three things to wear because it’s too hot for most of the clothes in my closet.

I’m tired of children who refuse to play outside in the MORNING, when it is relatively cool, and instead wait until 5:00, when it is the HOTTEST it will be ALL FREAKING DAY and THEN announce, “Let’s go outside!” I’m tired of hot sweaty boys who cry when I won’t come outside with them and cry when I suggest they come in and cry when they DO come in because, “I’m all HOT and SWEATY!”

I’m tired of having the exact same conversation every single night with my husband, the one about how hot it is in our house and how despite our best efforts we cannot keep the damn house cool and oh my god Henry is going to die in his sleep because his room is so HOT and he won’t let us move the fan and should we call the heating and cooling people about putting some more freon in the AC unit and it’s so hot in here did you know that it’s 106 degrees outside are you serious my god it is so damn HOT. I am so very tired of that conversation.

This is the point, every summer, when I start to wonder how much more I can take. School is SO CLOSE, but slogging through this HEAT to get there just may kill me. The kids are sick of me, we’re out of things to do, and we’re HOT. Did I mention how hot we are?

This morning I counted down to the first day of school: 28 days. In 28 days, my first baby will start kindergarden, and my last baby will start preschool. I am looking forward to five full child-free days a week, days without peanut butter or pirates or butt-wiping. I am looking forward to getting work done and getting my nails done and getting laundry done. I am nervous about my children starting new schools; I am nervous about meeting new parents; I am nervous about this new phase in our life. Mostly, though, I am just ready to stop being hot and tired.

This summer, this one summer before we start the Rest of Our Lives, before we all get caught up in what comes next, I feel like we should be revelling in these last few weeks of summer, these last twenty-eight days. I feel like we should be playing at the park and the pool and in the yard; I feel like we should be hanging out with our friends and enjoying the chance to have playdates that go on all day. Soon we will be busy all the time with school and work and life and there won’t be time to talk about the weather. But right now, I’m tired of talking about the weather and I just want to get to what comes next.

July 17, 2006

thumbs up

When we were in Florida, my mom asked Charlie when he was going to stop sucking his thumb. “When I’m four, Nana,” he told her. “That’s pretty soon!” she said.

“Right,” he said, and went on his way.

A couple of weeks ago, we were talking about Charlie’s birthday and about how he would be four! and wasn’t that fun! And he said, “I don’t want to have a birthday. I don’t want to be four.” After a little prodding, we determined that while he DID want presents and a party, he did NOT want to stop sucking his thumb.

It’s hard to be Charlie; he wants to be a big boy, but he also wants to be the baby. And I want him to be both of those as well.

Charlie can do so many things on his own. He can answer the phone and squeeze his own toothpaste and get his own snacks. He can tell long complicated stories about Peter Pan and pirates. He can name a surprising number of dinosaurs. He gives the best kisses–”Let me smooch you, Mama” he says, wrapping his arms around my neck. This week he has been fascinated by stories of When You Were In Mommy’s Tummy. “What was I doing?” he asks. “Was I sucking my thumb?” Yes, I tell him, you were. “And I was giggling!” he says. “I want to get BACK in your tummy!” And he laughs and laughs.

Charlie wants to do everything Henry does. This spring, he asked when it would be his turn to go to speech therapy; the other day, he asked when he would go to Henry’s school. He parrots the way we talk to Henry, saying “Henry, this is MY story and I am asking you to LISTEN to me and RESPECT what I’m saying.” Lately he has been waking up at the ass crack of dawn, wanting to know if Henry is up yet. “Can I go GET him?” he begs. “I want to play with HENRY.” When Henry finally makes his way to the family room, Charlie greets him with a loud, cheery “GOOD MORNING, HENRY!” every single day.

Charlie has never met a food he doesn’t like; he will beg for fruit and vegetables. “Can we have broccoli tonight, Mama?” he will ask. He loves hot salsa and salt and vinegar potato chips and Poppycock. He can be bought with chocolate milk and Hershy kisses.

Charlie is my baby, and today he is four years old. He had a great time at his pirate pizza party (where the kids were well behaved and we never even got to the craft!) and today he ran and played with friends at a four-hour playdate. He told our favorite Starbucks barista that it was his birthday! and that he’s FOUR! and then he did a little happy dance for her. He has also announced, repeatedly, “I’m FOUR but I’m still sucking my THUMB!”

Happy birthday, Charlie Frog. I love you.

July 16, 2006

Deadbeat Club

I went to college at a small liberal arts school in then-rural Ohio (this was a few years ago; by now, Gambier is just another Columbus suburb). Everyone lived on campus; everyone ate in the dining halls. There were no strip malls or fast-food. No one had a cell phone. We went to class and studied and drank coffee in the bookstore and talked about what we were reading and what we did last weekend and what we were going to do this weekend. Those four years of college were the last time I was completely untethered. I mean that in a good way; not that I was lost or aimless or drifting, but that I was responsible only for myself.

In my senior year, eight of my girlfriends lived in a house together. I was an RA and lived in a freshman dorm. On the weekends, I would go to my friends’ house and lounge on the sofa while they all got ready to go out. We would turn the B52’s up loud and sing and dance.

I was good, I could talk
A mile a minute,
On this caffeine buzz I was on
We were really hummin’
We would talk every day for hours
We belong to the deadbeat club

Yesterday was like that. I met SJ and Crayonz (of the now-defunct Baby Lauren blog) in Tulsa for lunch; two hours of noshing and talking and nursing later, we weren’t ready to go home. So SJ plunked Baby Sam in his carseat and we headed to Old Navy, where we took turns carrying Sam around (and possibly leaving him under displays while we browsed) and making fun of the short short skirts (SJ: “What is with all these girls walking around with their vaginas hanging out? I DO NOT want to see your vagina”). We talked about our babies and our boobs and our blogs. There may have been some making out. There was a lot of playing with each other’s hair.

Dude, WHAT is Sam doing to Crayonz?

Quick, cover the baby’s eyes! SJ is flipping me off. She’s so sweet.

Crayonz: “Pucker up!”
SJ: “Dude, not in front of my baby.”

Crotch fruit! Although he looks more like crotch vegetable in his little peapod carrier.

SJ and Crayonz are both over a decade younger than I am, but hanging out with them was just like hanging with my college girlfriends (okay, except we were hauling a baby in a car seat with us, but otherwise! exactly the same!). Of course, when I told them that I owned a pair of gaucho pants when I was in the eighth grade, the FIRST time they were stylish, they started giggling about how OLD I was. Because they’re both, like, 12.

I needed a day of lounging with girlfriends. I needed a day of not being the mommy. I needed one day to be a deadbeat again. Now I just want them both to move to OKC and do that with me all the time.

July 14, 2006

Very Important Stuff Friday: things you didn’t know you needed to know edition

1. My oven is CLEAN. Clean enough to eat out of! Or cook in! And I did, indeed, cook in it tonight; I made some delicious chicken breasts for the boys. Henry took one bite and politely spat it out on his plate. Charlie refused to even touch it. But SO! VERY! CLEAN!

2. Easy Off is, as they claim, surprisingly easy to use. And apparently you can get it in a FUME-FREE formula, which I wish I had known yesterday, before I caused permanent brain damage to every single member of my family.

3. This was the FIRST time I’ve EVER cleaned an oven. When Wade and I moved out of our loft in Tacoma, my mother cleaned the oven, because I was pregnant and pitiful (I think I went to Starbucks and ate scones and read the New York Times while she took care of things). Of course, that was NOT the first place I had lived; I have left a string of uncleaned ovens in apartments and houses in, oh, at least three states.

4. This morning at breakfast, Charlie announced, “My birthday party is going to have PIZZAZ!” Yes, he said pizzaz, and yes, he was waving his jazz hands around as he said it.

5. This afternoon, Charlie slipped and fell in my kitchen while holding a mostly-full cup of milk. The milk went flying everywhere, but wound up, inexplicably, almost entirely on his head. HIS HEAD.

6. I’ll say it again: the boy fell down and spilled milk ON HIS HEAD. Jesus.

7. It’s 102 degrees here today. So what did I do? I cooked (see #1) and did laundry (see #5 and #6–milk smells, people!). Now I just keep asking Wade, “Is it really REALLY hot in here, or is it ME?” Apparently, it’s me.

8. When you tell people who live in the Seattle area that it’s 102 degrees where you are, they are rendered entirely speechless. Try it sometime! It’s fun!

9. I have a little crush on the Take Home Chef guy. This show is brilliant–they send the super cute blonde Aussie to your HOUSE where he flirts with you and drinks some wine and COOKS YOU A MAGNIFICENT GOURMET MEAL! I asked Wade what he would think if he came home to find me tipsy and flirting with the hott surfer; he said, “He cooks, right? There’s dinner at the end, right? Isn’t that how this works?”

10. I think that for our birthday craft we’re going to have the kids decorate treasure chests and spyglasses. I have an entire drawer full of cardboard paper towel rolls that they can cover with construction paper, and I think I can find little craft boxes and “jewels” to glue on them at Michael’s or WalMart. Doesn’t that sound fun? Or at least time-consuming? And not dangerous because I know from experience that it’s really really difficult to hurt someone with a paper towel roll.

11. Tomorrow I’m going to Tulsa to get away from these kids have lunch with two of my favorite blogging mamas. I suspect there will be much swearing and perhaps some talk of boobies. At least I hope there will be because this is as close as I’m getting to going to BlogHer this year.

12. I bought the domain name fridayplaydate.com today. I did! How crazy is that? Now one of you needs to tell me what to do with it.