Monday at 3 o'clock I suddenly believed. I believed from the core of my soul. Prior to 3 o'clock I would have said I believed and would have thrown information at you in order to make you believe as well. But deep inside where you hide the things you don't want to think about ....I doubted. I doubted that Sensory Processing Disorder was real. I secretly wondered if one day we were going to find out it was all made up, like immunizations and autism. I doubted myself and my ability to pick quality doctors who would tell me the truth. I still believed that it was my parenting that had messed John up. I believed that it was me that had screwed my own son up so badly he has four separate diagnoses.
And then 3 o'clock happened.
We needed to leave for John's OT appointment and he was still in his pajamas. I told John to get dressed in his clean clothes and I walked away.
He came screaming down the stairs, red faced, hot tears wetting his shirt collar. He was jumping in the air, flopping like a fish out of water, spinning and grabbing, yelling something over and over. Finally I understood: "It hurts."
He was out of control. He would jump and his entire body would arch backwards as his feet left the floor. He was clawing at the inside of his legs and shaking uncontrollably. He started to hit himself in the head. He started pulling on his penis. His face was pulled into a grotesque mask of pain.
I started trying to get the clothes off of him. In my head I was a frantic fool, repeating, "Off Off Off. Just get it off off off why doesn't he just tear it all off? Where are the scissors? Can I rip the pants? OFF." Finally I was able get my arms around him and squeeze him long enough that he could take a breath and tell me that he couldn't take the clothes off, because he had to go see Miss Beth, his OT. I suggested he wear his pajama's. That was not acceptable and everything began again.
At some point I just sat back and looked at him. I looked at my perfect and wonderful child and saw the pain he was in. I saw him pull his beautiful blonde hair. Leave welts on his rosy skin. See his collar turn deep blue form his tears. I saw him curl up in the fetal position on the dirty floor and just sob. This was my baby. The baby I helped and soothed through feeding therapy, through asthma and pneumonia. The baby I could soothe then. But could not now. This was pure pain, all centering in him, in his body, in his nervous system. This is was John's own personal pain.
And I couldn't fix it. Taking the clothes off meant we weren't going to see Miss Beth. Keeping the clothes on meant we weren't going to see Miss Beth. We couldn't win. I called the office and tried to tell them we'd be late, with John yelling in the background. I started to cry. Here I was, my child needing to come to them - for real- and we can't get there because we are so beyond help. I talked with Miss Beth and she had some suggestions. She talked low and calm to me, asked me to go to a dark room, sit on the floor with him, squeeze as he would tolerate, and would it be helpful if she wore her pajama's? I already think the world of this young lady, but my respect for her grew ten fold.
I was doing everything right. Nothing I was doing was making it worse or causing it. We were in a dark room, I was barely speaking and when I did it was a whisper. I was holding him tight when he pressed against me and releasing him when he leaned away. I was pounding him on the back the way he likes and offered the swing, weighted blanket, trampoline and chewy. I WAS DOING EVERYTHING AND STILL NOTHING WAS WORKING. This wasn't poor parenting. This was my little boy who desperately wanted to see his OT, but his pants were setting his legs on fire. He was so distraught that he began pulling on his penis; of which he has no memory. This was my child who's legs were on fire but he couldn't wear his pajama's out because that is embarrassing. He couldn't wear shorts because it's now fall.
THIS is not poor parenting.
THIS is not my child wanting control.
THIS is not my child being difficult.
THIS is my child with a Sensory Processing Disorder, along with ADHD, anxiety and Dyslexia.
THIS is what he looks like. THIS is how he feels. THIS is real.
BUT. This isn't WHO he is.
He is the child who suffered on the floor, yet dragged himself to the van and made sure we got to see Miss Beth. She greeted us with warm smiles and soft voice and took us to the smallest room where she knew John would feel most comfortable, even though he normally prefers the largest. She had the lights low and was ready. He was subdued, she respected that. She provided suggestions and helped him into equipment that wrapped against him and gave his body the input it needed. He is the child who pushed through and climbed ladders he couldn't in May. He is the child who dashed up the slide without one misstep. He is the child who designed a series of traps, then maneuvered himself through it in a way he could not have done 3 months ago. He is the child who craves this sensory time he has with Miss Beth and somehow pushed the pain aside long enough to see her, play with here and then come home to quickly shed the painful clothes. Miss Beth did her job. But to me, as she helped my son, it was so very much more
It was a terrible day. Worse than any day where he 'just' rages. I saw him in pain. Undiluted, uncontrolled pain. And I couldnt' fix it.
And THAT is the worse day.
(And if you are wondering about this OT angel, Miss Beth, she works at All The Difference here in Wilmington. It's the only facility like it in the area and a gift from God)
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
What Homeschooling a Child with Special Needs Means
As I talk with friends who home-school 'typical' kids, I've come to realize some interesting things. Our days are vastly different. I cannot fathom their days nor them mine. But I found a new friend who has a son who is incredibly similar to John. And hearing her talk about her struggle and what the day looks like for them made me laugh and tear up with joy. Because I'm not alone.
And I thought I was.
It was then I realized I didn't know any of this stuff about home-school and special needs kids before I became a mom that home-schools a kid with special needs. Homeschooling a special needs child was some vague notion about a mom with a child with Down's Syndrome or Cerebral Palsy. Certainly not me. Oh, how God laughed. There are so.so.many things I didn't anticipate or even give a thought to in regards to home-school and a special needs child.
What I did not anticipate was a child that was so needy I'd cry with anger and sympathy for myself and empathy for him. I did not anticipate needing Sensory Breaks in the swing, on the trampoline, in the tent or BodySox. Those breaks eat into our day. And while I *know* that he does so much better when he takes those breaks, it doesn't mean that I have stopped watching the clock and trying to guess when we'll be done. I did not anticipate having to work one on one so much with him that I then worry and feel massive guilt about the time I miss with the girls.
I also never anticipated the sheer amount of guilt I'd harbor. That it would make me scream. That it would make me stand in the shower and sob.
Homeschooling a child with special needs means I wash the same set of clothing and pajama's every.single.day for 8 months. And when the weather turned cold yesterday I started to sweat and stutter as I tried to casually suggest he wear pants instead of the same pair of shorts he's worn since April.
It means that I get pissed at him every day. Every day. I get angry that he has these needs. Why can't he just wear clothes? Why does he have to swing before, during and after math, science and reading?(Hello Sensory Processing Disorder.) Why can't he just do.his.work. Stop bargaining. Stay at the table. STOP TALKING OH MY LORD JUST STOP TALKING. (Hello ADHD) Why is he asking about lunch/dinner/if I'll wash his clothes/are his pajamas clean? AGAIN. (Hello anxiety.) Why can't I simply read his journal? He truly worked hard on it and now I can read only about half of what he's written. (Hello Dyslexia). And after I've gotten angry at him? I get angry at myself because what kind of monster of a mother gets that upset with her child who cannot help feeling/doing/saying any of things??
ME.I do all that.
Homeschooling a child with special needs has made me needy, lack confidence in all areas of my life and crave acceptance. I want my husband to systematically acknowledge all the things I've throughout the day; from school to house work and dinner. I've gained 15 pounds and need to be affirmed every day that I still look OK. I need every person I know to be completely accepting of my son, what we are doing and all of my choices. I hope fervently that I hear, "Excellent! You're doing such an incredible job! I know this is hard, but you are working on this and it's getting better. I'm so proud/impressed/in awe of you," every time I tell someone about a new therapy we are trying, a change I've seen, if I'm considering or not considering medicine, that essential oils are starting to sound less crazy to me or that I've decided to live on a farm in Greenland because I heard that might help.
And yet.
I do love this. Somehow, amidst all this craziness, all this chaos and all these tears, I see that this is what we're supposed to be doing right now. For unknown reasons (well, to me. God certainly knows), this is what our life is meant to be. At the end of each day I am spent. Emotionally, physically and mentally I'm useless. But if I look back on the day I can see glimpses of what we're fighting for. I see John completing 2 pages of math, accurately, in 10 minutes. I see him taking a Sensory Break when he needs it, not when I demand it. I see Violet grabbing John and squeezing him tight to relax him, then reading his history to him. I see Sarah asking him to play a math game and the two of them having a blast. These are small moments, but I cherish and cling to them as the day ends and I start to worry about the next day.
Nobody told me this stuff. (And there is so much more.) But even if somebody had told me?
We'd still be right here, doing this.
And I thought I was.
It was then I realized I didn't know any of this stuff about home-school and special needs kids before I became a mom that home-schools a kid with special needs. Homeschooling a special needs child was some vague notion about a mom with a child with Down's Syndrome or Cerebral Palsy. Certainly not me. Oh, how God laughed. There are so.so.many things I didn't anticipate or even give a thought to in regards to home-school and a special needs child.
What I did not anticipate was a child that was so needy I'd cry with anger and sympathy for myself and empathy for him. I did not anticipate needing Sensory Breaks in the swing, on the trampoline, in the tent or BodySox. Those breaks eat into our day. And while I *know* that he does so much better when he takes those breaks, it doesn't mean that I have stopped watching the clock and trying to guess when we'll be done. I did not anticipate having to work one on one so much with him that I then worry and feel massive guilt about the time I miss with the girls.
I also never anticipated the sheer amount of guilt I'd harbor. That it would make me scream. That it would make me stand in the shower and sob.
Homeschooling a child with special needs means I wash the same set of clothing and pajama's every.single.day for 8 months. And when the weather turned cold yesterday I started to sweat and stutter as I tried to casually suggest he wear pants instead of the same pair of shorts he's worn since April.
It means that I get pissed at him every day. Every day. I get angry that he has these needs. Why can't he just wear clothes? Why does he have to swing before, during and after math, science and reading?(Hello Sensory Processing Disorder.) Why can't he just do.his.work. Stop bargaining. Stay at the table. STOP TALKING OH MY LORD JUST STOP TALKING. (Hello ADHD) Why is he asking about lunch/dinner/if I'll wash his clothes/are his pajamas clean? AGAIN. (Hello anxiety.) Why can't I simply read his journal? He truly worked hard on it and now I can read only about half of what he's written. (Hello Dyslexia). And after I've gotten angry at him? I get angry at myself because what kind of monster of a mother gets that upset with her child who cannot help feeling/doing/saying any of things??
ME.I do all that.
Homeschooling a child with special needs has made me needy, lack confidence in all areas of my life and crave acceptance. I want my husband to systematically acknowledge all the things I've throughout the day; from school to house work and dinner. I've gained 15 pounds and need to be affirmed every day that I still look OK. I need every person I know to be completely accepting of my son, what we are doing and all of my choices. I hope fervently that I hear, "Excellent! You're doing such an incredible job! I know this is hard, but you are working on this and it's getting better. I'm so proud/impressed/in awe of you," every time I tell someone about a new therapy we are trying, a change I've seen, if I'm considering or not considering medicine, that essential oils are starting to sound less crazy to me or that I've decided to live on a farm in Greenland because I heard that might help.
And yet.
I do love this. Somehow, amidst all this craziness, all this chaos and all these tears, I see that this is what we're supposed to be doing right now. For unknown reasons (well, to me. God certainly knows), this is what our life is meant to be. At the end of each day I am spent. Emotionally, physically and mentally I'm useless. But if I look back on the day I can see glimpses of what we're fighting for. I see John completing 2 pages of math, accurately, in 10 minutes. I see him taking a Sensory Break when he needs it, not when I demand it. I see Violet grabbing John and squeezing him tight to relax him, then reading his history to him. I see Sarah asking him to play a math game and the two of them having a blast. These are small moments, but I cherish and cling to them as the day ends and I start to worry about the next day.
Nobody told me this stuff. (And there is so much more.) But even if somebody had told me?
We'd still be right here, doing this.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Sometimes I'm An Awesome Homeschool Mom and Teacher.
We ended our school year in a fast and furious twister of appointments, testing and reviews. It was stressful and insane and I hated every moment of it. There wasn't enough school getting done, the kids weren't learning anything and would therefore be hoodlums, living in my basement or in a van by the river for life.
I didn't have any patience. I was well aware that I was turning my kids into the $15 an hour McDonalds' workers I was actively disgusted with. They were going to be barely literate, understand minimum math, know history only from their birth date forward and be weird. We were engaged in mundane errands for hours on end, so no socializing was happening. That was surely going to negatively impact them - just as everyone had been telling me.
The school room was a disaster of papers, half finished year end projects, crafts, rough drafts of papers with the final draft having been lost. The floor had been used as a garbage can for the scraps of a diorama. There was a mug with the sticky residue of tea collecting dust on the table.
In short, it was sickeningly messy and unorganized. Complete chaos.
When we 'officially' ended our year, I slammed my binder closed, turned off the lights and walked out of the room. I did not pick up one thing - not a scrap of paper, not the tea stained mug. I left it all to continue collecting dust. I kept my head turned away from the doorway whenever I walked past. If I didn't see it, I didn't need to deal with it. Then one day I was hauling laundry past the door and forgot to look away. My eyes roamed over the disaster and I thought, "Wow. Look at that. A LOT of learning was going on there. That's a cool diorama-- is that a well so the crops can be watered? I can use the rough draft of the William Tell paper, she took good notes on what to correct and add. Nicely done, Kim, nicely done. Look at this room. What a success!" (OK, it may not have been that pretty, but you get the idea.) And then I walked away, smiling.
That quickly I learned an important lesson. While I'm actively homeschooling I am in a constant state of second guessing myself. Of worrying that whatever we're learning is not enough, is too in depth or not in depth enough. I'm afraid that I'm failing my children, my husband, myself and society in general. Because if my children do not become a successful dancing and cooking attorney (Violet), a dolphin researcher who experiences and stars in the next Dolphin Tale (Sarah) and a Master Builder with a masters from MIT and working for Lego (John), well, then, I've failed.
Makes sense.
When the year is over and I'm 'simply' planning for the next year, I am a freaking ROCK STAR HOME SCHOOL MOM. I know that what I'm doing is the absolute best thing for my kids, my family, and yes, for society. I know that nobody else can teach my kids as well as I can - well except for science. We have to farm that subject out. But I can teach them about nouns, ancient Rome, Gettysburg, sentence structure and spelling. I can assign research papers and create a rubric for it, then correct a rough draft and grade the final paper - and it will be incredible. . Violet did her first paper on Baryshnikov and she still talks about what she learned. (And his feet. Good lord. Google his feet. Or... don't.) I can help John focus, I can get Sarah to write wonderful journals. I can get Violet to work things out for herself instead of assuming I'm going to feed her answers. I can do all those things. I can. I know this.
And here's something funny. I have a pretty extensive teaching degree. I can teach kids age birth-21 years of age with special needs. I can teach kids in grades KDG through 8th grade in self contained classrooms. I can teach kids with mental impairments, emotional impairments and developmental delays. In all of these situations in a classroom I would be given a curriculum. Let's read that again, shall we? I would have a curriculum if I were teaching in a brick and mortar school, chosen by a school board (is that who picks?) for an entire district of children. Here, at home, I.Have.A.Curriculum. Only this one is chosen by a mother who intimately knows her children's individualized needs, strengths and weaknesses and makes her choices based on those. Well. Then this scenario should be vastly more successful.
So why do I not know this while teaching? *sigh* I don't know. But I'm going to try much harder to remember this feeling, to remember this knowledge and this confidence. I've got until August to get it in my brain -- wish me luck.
I didn't have any patience. I was well aware that I was turning my kids into the $15 an hour McDonalds' workers I was actively disgusted with. They were going to be barely literate, understand minimum math, know history only from their birth date forward and be weird. We were engaged in mundane errands for hours on end, so no socializing was happening. That was surely going to negatively impact them - just as everyone had been telling me.
The school room was a disaster of papers, half finished year end projects, crafts, rough drafts of papers with the final draft having been lost. The floor had been used as a garbage can for the scraps of a diorama. There was a mug with the sticky residue of tea collecting dust on the table.
In short, it was sickeningly messy and unorganized. Complete chaos.
When we 'officially' ended our year, I slammed my binder closed, turned off the lights and walked out of the room. I did not pick up one thing - not a scrap of paper, not the tea stained mug. I left it all to continue collecting dust. I kept my head turned away from the doorway whenever I walked past. If I didn't see it, I didn't need to deal with it. Then one day I was hauling laundry past the door and forgot to look away. My eyes roamed over the disaster and I thought, "Wow. Look at that. A LOT of learning was going on there. That's a cool diorama-- is that a well so the crops can be watered? I can use the rough draft of the William Tell paper, she took good notes on what to correct and add. Nicely done, Kim, nicely done. Look at this room. What a success!" (OK, it may not have been that pretty, but you get the idea.) And then I walked away, smiling.
That quickly I learned an important lesson. While I'm actively homeschooling I am in a constant state of second guessing myself. Of worrying that whatever we're learning is not enough, is too in depth or not in depth enough. I'm afraid that I'm failing my children, my husband, myself and society in general. Because if my children do not become a successful dancing and cooking attorney (Violet), a dolphin researcher who experiences and stars in the next Dolphin Tale (Sarah) and a Master Builder with a masters from MIT and working for Lego (John), well, then, I've failed.
Makes sense.
When the year is over and I'm 'simply' planning for the next year, I am a freaking ROCK STAR HOME SCHOOL MOM. I know that what I'm doing is the absolute best thing for my kids, my family, and yes, for society. I know that nobody else can teach my kids as well as I can - well except for science. We have to farm that subject out. But I can teach them about nouns, ancient Rome, Gettysburg, sentence structure and spelling. I can assign research papers and create a rubric for it, then correct a rough draft and grade the final paper - and it will be incredible. . Violet did her first paper on Baryshnikov and she still talks about what she learned. (And his feet. Good lord. Google his feet. Or... don't.) I can help John focus, I can get Sarah to write wonderful journals. I can get Violet to work things out for herself instead of assuming I'm going to feed her answers. I can do all those things. I can. I know this.
And here's something funny. I have a pretty extensive teaching degree. I can teach kids age birth-21 years of age with special needs. I can teach kids in grades KDG through 8th grade in self contained classrooms. I can teach kids with mental impairments, emotional impairments and developmental delays. In all of these situations in a classroom I would be given a curriculum. Let's read that again, shall we? I would have a curriculum if I were teaching in a brick and mortar school, chosen by a school board (is that who picks?) for an entire district of children. Here, at home, I.Have.A.Curriculum. Only this one is chosen by a mother who intimately knows her children's individualized needs, strengths and weaknesses and makes her choices based on those. Well. Then this scenario should be vastly more successful.
So why do I not know this while teaching? *sigh* I don't know. But I'm going to try much harder to remember this feeling, to remember this knowledge and this confidence. I've got until August to get it in my brain -- wish me luck.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
180 Days: Achieved (along with some grey hair)
I've sat down to write a post a thousand times since my last one, only to be distracted by a voice, a spill, a crash, a text, a phone, a project, a need to feed someone.
Such is happening as I write. BRB.
To continue....a load of laundry to be switched or folded or put away, dinner to make, an errand to run, a child that needs to get to an activity.
I'm exhausted. I'm aggravated. I'm annoyed. I'm frightened.
This year was wonderful. It was completely wonderful. We've had many days where we laugh and dance and do cool projects. Where we get our work done early and then watch a movie. Where I've seen the kids pulling together and getting along better. Where I've seen better manners appear and the kids mature.
In some ways it was harder than I anticipated - scheduling and maintaining so many different activities was ridiculous. But it was not as overwhelming in the beginning as I expected. Not that it wasn't overwhelming, because it was, just not "WHAT AM I DOING EVERY DAY IS A FAIL" that I was anticipating. Oh, I've had days like that, but not every day, not every week.
So, I'm caught off guard as this past month has unfolded and reared it's ugliness in the form of all I worried about when we decided to home school.
There have been tears, yelling, begging, bribing, stomping, icy silences, aggressive ignoring, rudeness, nastiness and yes, swearing.
And that's from me.
John is having horrible temper tantrum's that are sending us to therapy. They are epic. They push me over the edge. He kicked me on Friday and I slapped him.
That's when I picked up the phone and called a dear friend and sobbed. Then I cancelled the sleepover all three kids had planned. As I sobbed -again- to another friend when I told her I was cancelling John's sleepover with her son, she told me that those things happened to her. The frustration, the anger. That her kids had lashed out and hit her at times as well. She let me know that I was not alone, these frustrations happen to home school moms. Hearing her tell me that she, too, has gone through these emotions and days was so incredibly reassuring, because I always see her as the ultimate in calmness. As I cried to yet another friend when I called off Violet's sleepover my friend offered to take Violet for the night, reducing the number of children pecking at me. (If you're keeping count, that's 3 friends called and cried to. Plus another 1 who I spoke with later in the day. Thank you God for loving friends.)
As I get overwhelmed I start to seriously worry on two different levels. One, worrying that I'm not doing a good job if I'm this stressed out. Two, scared that my depression is going to swallow me up, because feeling overwhelmed and angry was a big part of my daily emotions when I was so sick with it. Which meant that on Friday I was overwhelmed, and then overwhelmed because I was feeling overwhelmed. That was productive.
I spent a lot of time thinking this weekend. I realized that I've been so hell bent on proving that I can do this, that I'm successful at this, that I can do fantastic projects with the kids, that I'm able to keep our schedule and cook, clean, maintain friendships for both me and the kids, to work at my Internet job, that I've lost the ability to just be. To just sit back at home, have a glass of wine and read a book without making lists in my head about what I didn't do, what I need to do and what I know is not going to get done. I remembered that in September, October and November I took an hour every afternoon to sit down, eat lunch and read a book. In December I became worried that we were behind and started using my lunch hour to do laundry and surf Pinterest for activities. Any 'me' time was replaced with looking at lesson plans, cleaning and re -cleaning the school room, and obsessively reading posts about home school tricks in Facebook groups. All of this has not led to a clean home or home school room. It has not lead to laundry being done or dinners cooked. In fact, I haven't cooked a good, balanced dinner in about a month.
This has to stop. I need to take a deep breath. I need to just be. I need to close up the lesson plans, clean the school room one last time, grab an iced coffee, my swim suit and sit by the pool while the kids swim.
Sarah is done school today. Violet and John will be done on Friday. Our binder review is next Thursday and then The School of Kuhl is officially closed. We will reopen in August.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Homeschooling Is Like Having An Infant
Really. It's like having a four week old needy, crying, pooing, peeing, eating, sleeping, cooing, smiling, chubby rolls, sweet baby feet and that precious new born smell baby.
When we were thinking about doing this whole home school gig I talked to over a dozen people who home school. I asked questions about expectations, work load, schedules, doubts, achievements. I asked about 'me time,' grocery shopping, chores, play dates and date nights. During all of that, I never once asked about the feeling of home school. What would my emotional state be like at the end of the day? I never thought about it. I mean, I knew it would be emotional in the sense that we would struggle with the suddenness of being together all the time and feel frustrated, even angry, but I never thought about emotion outside of that.
Then one day, as I stood in the middle of the school room looking around at the chaos, I realized that it all looked vaguely familiar. Clothes were strewn around the house, glasses of water sat on random surfaces, crusts and peels of lunch were scattered on the island. Dinner had been planned but was sitting in the freezer. I'd rubbed my eye-make off at some point, lost a slipper, was carrying a clean bath towel to fold in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. It was five o'clock. Sarah walked in the room and without turning around I said, "You must go away. Must. You can't talk to me. For the love of all that is holy, do not touch me. When will your father be home? Is it bedtime?" She eyeballed me and left. It was at that moment that I realized: Home schooling is like having an infant.
Remember when your kids were infants? Your day went something like this: Get up. Nurse baby, shove food/coffee in your mouth. Change a diaper. Smile at sweetness. Nurse. Change a diaper. Rock crying baby. Remember laundry. Nurse baby. Change a diaper. Actually change laundry. Rock a crying baby. Put baby down for nap. Get dressed and remember laundry. Perhaps pull out food for dinner. Locate cold coffee. Get wet and hungry baby up from 'nap.' Change and nurse baby. Coo and smile over baby rolls and sweet cheeks. Nuzzle incredible baby smell. Ah. Change diaper and bathe baby. Nurse baby. Locate still cold coffee and shove food in mouth. Wander the house looking for shoe/pants/shirt/purse because you'd like to leave the house. Baby cries. Laugh at self. Husband gets home and you are wrecked. You hand off baby and run for cover. Crawl into bed. Husband reaches over for a cuddle. You punch and glare at him because DO NOT TOUCH ME. You are touched out. You can feel baby sleeping from the down the hall. You can hear the laundry rotting in the washer and wrinkling in the dryer. The dust bunnies are playing tag in the hall and mice are dining on the kitchen floor. You lie awake and listen to your house while planning what you will get done tomorrow.
Now substitute in: Feeding children. Allowing bathroom breaks. Refusing TV. Reminding children about chores. Violet helping John with his spelling without being asked. Forgetting your own chores. Snack time. Spilled paint. Not being able to find a city in Russia and getting lost in Google Maps Street View. Snack time. Laundry! Dinner - grilled cheese it is! Losing a broom. Repairing a vacuum, Snack time. Spontaneous science. Markers on the counter that aren't washable. Giggles and tag inside. Husband home. Glares at children because after 12 hours together they still want to touch you and talk to you. They still want to look at you, and STOP looking at me. I can feel your eyes on me. Into bed and listen to the house. And plan all the things you will get done tomorrow.
Deep breath.
And still.
For many of us we do all this - the infant part and the home school part - and then willingly chose to do it all over again. Because in the end it's worth it. It's worth all the lost sleep, the crazy house, the lost items. It's worth it because of the random smiles, the laughs, coos and sweetness. It's worth it because in the end we know that it's going to be incredible. And that is what keeps us going, me going, when I'm looking at a towel in one hand that I have no memory of picking up, my coffee is ice cold and I can't remember why I'm in that particular room, I can take a deep breath, (attempt) to relax and hold tight to knowledge that it is worth it.
When we were thinking about doing this whole home school gig I talked to over a dozen people who home school. I asked questions about expectations, work load, schedules, doubts, achievements. I asked about 'me time,' grocery shopping, chores, play dates and date nights. During all of that, I never once asked about the feeling of home school. What would my emotional state be like at the end of the day? I never thought about it. I mean, I knew it would be emotional in the sense that we would struggle with the suddenness of being together all the time and feel frustrated, even angry, but I never thought about emotion outside of that.
Then one day, as I stood in the middle of the school room looking around at the chaos, I realized that it all looked vaguely familiar. Clothes were strewn around the house, glasses of water sat on random surfaces, crusts and peels of lunch were scattered on the island. Dinner had been planned but was sitting in the freezer. I'd rubbed my eye-make off at some point, lost a slipper, was carrying a clean bath towel to fold in one hand and a cold cup of coffee in the other. It was five o'clock. Sarah walked in the room and without turning around I said, "You must go away. Must. You can't talk to me. For the love of all that is holy, do not touch me. When will your father be home? Is it bedtime?" She eyeballed me and left. It was at that moment that I realized: Home schooling is like having an infant.
Remember when your kids were infants? Your day went something like this: Get up. Nurse baby, shove food/coffee in your mouth. Change a diaper. Smile at sweetness. Nurse. Change a diaper. Rock crying baby. Remember laundry. Nurse baby. Change a diaper. Actually change laundry. Rock a crying baby. Put baby down for nap. Get dressed and remember laundry. Perhaps pull out food for dinner. Locate cold coffee. Get wet and hungry baby up from 'nap.' Change and nurse baby. Coo and smile over baby rolls and sweet cheeks. Nuzzle incredible baby smell. Ah. Change diaper and bathe baby. Nurse baby. Locate still cold coffee and shove food in mouth. Wander the house looking for shoe/pants/shirt/purse because you'd like to leave the house. Baby cries. Laugh at self. Husband gets home and you are wrecked. You hand off baby and run for cover. Crawl into bed. Husband reaches over for a cuddle. You punch and glare at him because DO NOT TOUCH ME. You are touched out. You can feel baby sleeping from the down the hall. You can hear the laundry rotting in the washer and wrinkling in the dryer. The dust bunnies are playing tag in the hall and mice are dining on the kitchen floor. You lie awake and listen to your house while planning what you will get done tomorrow.
Now substitute in: Feeding children. Allowing bathroom breaks. Refusing TV. Reminding children about chores. Violet helping John with his spelling without being asked. Forgetting your own chores. Snack time. Spilled paint. Not being able to find a city in Russia and getting lost in Google Maps Street View. Snack time. Laundry! Dinner - grilled cheese it is! Losing a broom. Repairing a vacuum, Snack time. Spontaneous science. Markers on the counter that aren't washable. Giggles and tag inside. Husband home. Glares at children because after 12 hours together they still want to touch you and talk to you. They still want to look at you, and STOP looking at me. I can feel your eyes on me. Into bed and listen to the house. And plan all the things you will get done tomorrow.
Deep breath.
And still.
For many of us we do all this - the infant part and the home school part - and then willingly chose to do it all over again. Because in the end it's worth it. It's worth all the lost sleep, the crazy house, the lost items. It's worth it because of the random smiles, the laughs, coos and sweetness. It's worth it because in the end we know that it's going to be incredible. And that is what keeps us going, me going, when I'm looking at a towel in one hand that I have no memory of picking up, my coffee is ice cold and I can't remember why I'm in that particular room, I can take a deep breath, (attempt) to relax and hold tight to knowledge that it is worth it.
Monday, September 23, 2013
When You Can't Say What NEEDS To Be Said
Oh, I have stuff that needs to be said. Honest? So, so honest. Necessary? Like you wouldn't believe. And hurtful? Yes.
But for a lifetime there has been hurt going on, one person consistently hurting others, holding people hostage with the hateful behavior, the irresponsible cutting remarks, the careless words that cause tears and more anger.
And I'm so, so done. This is unfair - the stress of events where everyone is together, the worry of "What will happen? Will there be a blow up? Will it just be covert nastiness?"
However, the repercussions of saying something, of calling this person out on their hatred and telling them NO MORE are scary. Telling them that I, and my family, will not participate in this hurtful drama anymore may be worse than remaining quiet. Which creates a vicious circle - the behavior holds us hostage, yet confronting this behavior may cause such nastiness that I am afraid, thus holding me hostage.
So, do I go the passive - aggressive direction and just avoid all future contact? Leave them to their crowd where this behavior is evidently acceptable? Or do I call them out on it and tell them exactly why they won't be seeing us?
I just don't know. Perhaps I should wait until I'm contacted for something and then say, "No, and this is why."
Again, a vicious circle that I desperately want to end and I'm of course obsessing over.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Ch-Ch-Ch-Cha-Changes . . .
Well. It's been quite some time since I last posted. I've meant to a thousand times -- I have had some great happenings to share about my kids and their never ending antics. Some deep thoughts I wanted to discuss about depression, the after effects and advice - giving. But in the end I kept silent. Not because I didn't want to share or talk about it. But because I've had another, huge, crazy, life and life style changing decision on my mind.
Around January 5 I turned to my husband and said,
Listen to me, don't give me a knee-jerk answer. Hear me out, then let's talk, think and pray about this: What would you say if I said I think I want to home school?
::deep breath::
He looked at me very calmly and said,
I think we should talk about it more. Research it and then research it some more. Talk to everybody we know who home schools. Then see how we feel.
After some more deep breaths, I called Diana and probed her brain about it, why they have decided to home school Bella, how her mom home schooled some of her siblings for a time. Then I made a list of every family we know who home schools. I talked with nine families who actively home school or have graduated children from home school and are now in college. As I was talking with them I discovered numerous other families in our church who had graduated children from home school years ago. I talked to our friends, I asked a bagillion questions. I asked about how their days are scheduled - are they scheduled? How do you get chores done? How does dinner get made? Errands? Appointments? Alone time? How do the siblings get along after being together so much? What about subjects that you, as the mom, have 'aged out' of? As in, I cannot teach high school chemistry. I found a home school 'school' that offers higher level science, math, Spanish, history and geography as well as art and gym. I was pointed in the direction of numerous co-ops, Internet support groups, field trip clubs, choirs, book sales, conventions. I was given more catalogs for curriculum's, supplies and activities than I can remember. I found on-line friends that home school and pointed me in the direction of more groups/blogs/books than I could read. Some of what I read was incredibly positive and happy and unicorns. Some it was depressing. And most of it was real.
So I talked with our friends again. And prayed more.
And then we said the words:
Let's home school.
::headexplosion::
We talked to the kids about it at the end of April - that's how long it took us to decide. This decision to home school was harder and took more thought and planning than deciding to have children. No joke.
So we talked with the kids and they all, without exception, screamed and cheered and laughed when we told them. That was such a relief!
Since then we have been talking about what their biggest fear is about home school and what they are looking forward to the most. Sarah doesn't have any fears and is excited about field trips- every day. We've had to talk about that misconception quite a bit. John was only concerned that he wouldn't get gym, music or snack. I reassured him that we'd play outside, I'd let him eat and we'd figure something out for music. Violet is looking forward to getting school done in a few hours versus an entire day, and is most disappointed in missing the fifth grade dance next year. Those are all easy things to deal with.
We've had many, many questions about our decision, why we're choosing to do this now, to not continue with public school. The most common, and honestly, most insulting question has been, "What about socialization?"
We socialize our dogs. Our children? We do fun things with. We take on field trips. We do every day, normal things in public. Plus, my children are in multiple different activities - Sarah and Violet dance, swim and play softball. John swims and plays soccer. He'll start cub scouts in the fall. The girls will sing in a choir. Violet will attend the home school 'school' for art. We're not removing our children and ourselves from society and moving to some remote island in the middle of nowhere to live solitary lives.
It comes down to the fact that this decision is the best for our family at this point in time. We want to spend more time with the kids - I realized that I get five hours a day with them. Five. And those hours are spent yelling at them to hurry up and get out of bed, get dressed, eat breakfast, get out the door, get home, get changed for dance/swim/softball/soccer/whatever, eat a snack/dinner, do homework, get in the car, come home, take a shower, stop talking, get in bed, stop talking, sleep, be quiet!
Which all adds up to us not enjoying our children on a daily basis. For us, we decided we wanted to change this. This is not a judgement on families who do not choose to make this change. It is simply the right decision for us, for right now. We'll do this year and then evaluate where we are at the end of the year.
So. Here we go. The 'school' room is being painted this week. We have a large table. Maps. A white board. A great book case. And an incredible curriculum that all of us are excited to dig into.
And yes, we're also a little scared. But I found that as soon as we verbalized our decision my major fears and doubts disappeared.
Crazy.
Around January 5 I turned to my husband and said,
Listen to me, don't give me a knee-jerk answer. Hear me out, then let's talk, think and pray about this: What would you say if I said I think I want to home school?
::deep breath::
He looked at me very calmly and said,
I think we should talk about it more. Research it and then research it some more. Talk to everybody we know who home schools. Then see how we feel.
After some more deep breaths, I called Diana and probed her brain about it, why they have decided to home school Bella, how her mom home schooled some of her siblings for a time. Then I made a list of every family we know who home schools. I talked with nine families who actively home school or have graduated children from home school and are now in college. As I was talking with them I discovered numerous other families in our church who had graduated children from home school years ago. I talked to our friends, I asked a bagillion questions. I asked about how their days are scheduled - are they scheduled? How do you get chores done? How does dinner get made? Errands? Appointments? Alone time? How do the siblings get along after being together so much? What about subjects that you, as the mom, have 'aged out' of? As in, I cannot teach high school chemistry. I found a home school 'school' that offers higher level science, math, Spanish, history and geography as well as art and gym. I was pointed in the direction of numerous co-ops, Internet support groups, field trip clubs, choirs, book sales, conventions. I was given more catalogs for curriculum's, supplies and activities than I can remember. I found on-line friends that home school and pointed me in the direction of more groups/blogs/books than I could read. Some of what I read was incredibly positive and happy and unicorns. Some it was depressing. And most of it was real.
So I talked with our friends again. And prayed more.
And then we said the words:
Let's home school.
::headexplosion::
We talked to the kids about it at the end of April - that's how long it took us to decide. This decision to home school was harder and took more thought and planning than deciding to have children. No joke.
So we talked with the kids and they all, without exception, screamed and cheered and laughed when we told them. That was such a relief!
Since then we have been talking about what their biggest fear is about home school and what they are looking forward to the most. Sarah doesn't have any fears and is excited about field trips- every day. We've had to talk about that misconception quite a bit. John was only concerned that he wouldn't get gym, music or snack. I reassured him that we'd play outside, I'd let him eat and we'd figure something out for music. Violet is looking forward to getting school done in a few hours versus an entire day, and is most disappointed in missing the fifth grade dance next year. Those are all easy things to deal with.
We've had many, many questions about our decision, why we're choosing to do this now, to not continue with public school. The most common, and honestly, most insulting question has been, "What about socialization?"
We socialize our dogs. Our children? We do fun things with. We take on field trips. We do every day, normal things in public. Plus, my children are in multiple different activities - Sarah and Violet dance, swim and play softball. John swims and plays soccer. He'll start cub scouts in the fall. The girls will sing in a choir. Violet will attend the home school 'school' for art. We're not removing our children and ourselves from society and moving to some remote island in the middle of nowhere to live solitary lives.
It comes down to the fact that this decision is the best for our family at this point in time. We want to spend more time with the kids - I realized that I get five hours a day with them. Five. And those hours are spent yelling at them to hurry up and get out of bed, get dressed, eat breakfast, get out the door, get home, get changed for dance/swim/softball/soccer/whatever, eat a snack/dinner, do homework, get in the car, come home, take a shower, stop talking, get in bed, stop talking, sleep, be quiet!
Which all adds up to us not enjoying our children on a daily basis. For us, we decided we wanted to change this. This is not a judgement on families who do not choose to make this change. It is simply the right decision for us, for right now. We'll do this year and then evaluate where we are at the end of the year.
So. Here we go. The 'school' room is being painted this week. We have a large table. Maps. A white board. A great book case. And an incredible curriculum that all of us are excited to dig into.
And yes, we're also a little scared. But I found that as soon as we verbalized our decision my major fears and doubts disappeared.
Crazy.
Friday, March 1, 2013
The Golden Globes and Modesty: A Lesson For Violet
Ok, so this is post is no longer timely, as the Golden Globes took place in .... January? But I'm feeling that old need to blog again, and this is still on my mind . . .
Violet is 9 1/2 years old and we keep her young. As young as possible. Some of the things we avoid include shows where the characters date -- if she's not of dating age we don't think she should be watching shows where the characters are. We avoid shows with swearing - I was excited about Scott Baio's new show (because, hello, Cha Chi!), but within the first 10 minutes he was saying 'damn' and 'hell.' This may not seem like much to you -- and I'm not judging you for that. We just feel, for our children, it's inappropriate. We've avoided, as best we can, the whole fat vs skinny deal and stressed being healthy. Last Spring we had to approach the needing a bra for the first time and buying clothing that I didn't pick out off the rack at Target or Kohls. She and I have talked some - her leading the discussion - about what it feels like to 'like' a boy (maybe, she wasn't sure. It was so ridiculously cute.).
But, we haven't had to delve deep into modesty. She wears a uniform to school and dresses/skirts to church and mostly jeans and cute tops otherwise.
And then I had the bright idea to have her watch The Golden Globes Red Carpet show with me. Because the dresses and hair would be such fun for us to see together.
Ummmm . . .
I reached for the remote to change the channel as the first partially exposed breast popped (ha) up on the screen, only to discover it was in the other room. Violet's eyes were huge and her mouth was hanging open. And I suddenly realized that this was the perfect, natural way to start a conversation about modesty, avoiding an awkward conversation started out of nowhere.
So I said, "Wow. Look at that. That dress is kind of low cut."
She looked at me and said, "What is that crease on her chest? Are those breasts? Why is there a dent between them?"
Ahhh, cleavage.
So we had a discussion about cleavage. In which I had to demonstrate how it is made. Good times, people.
She wanted to know if she'd have that some day, and would she have to show it off?
When all the 'key hole' necklines started appearing she leaned forward and openly oogled the women. Then she turned to me, horrified, and said, "Is that the side of her breast? Will it fall out?" So we talked about fabric tape and how they were all taped in to avoid a 'wardrobe malfunction.'
She had questions about how tight some of the dresses were and how the women could possibly walk in them. Then one of them tipped walking up some steps and we giggled together.
Then she said, "Why is that women dressed like a man? The one next to girl in purple hair?"
I busted out laughing, I will admit. She was talking about Kelley Osburne and Ross, who do the fashion 360* mirror deal. I told her his name was Ross and he most certainly was a man. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Mom. Listen to his voice! That is a woman!" I couldn't argue that he sounded like a woman, so I just said that was just how his voice sounded.
We continued to have a great conversation about the dresses, the hair do's and which ones she found pretty. Then Jennifer Lopez walked by.
Violet about choked.
She looked at me, completely shocked and said, "MOM! That woman is naked! On TV!"
I explained that she wasn't naked, that there was a lining in the dress, so she was actually covered, it just looked like she was naked. Violet stared at J Lo some more and asked, "But WHY would you want to look naked? On TV? In front of people?" So we talked about how different people find different clothing appropriate. I did my absolute best to not be judgey while still teaching her what we find appropriate and what God finds appropriate.
It was so hard. What I wanted to say was, "You will NEVER dress like that! Turtle necks! Floor length skirts! Heavy tights! No make up! No skin! Most of these women look like whores!"
Instead, we acknowledged what parts of the dresses were pretty, what colors we liked. What hair do she'd like to try out. All in all, I have to say I feel like this was a parenting win. Every now and again we have those moments.
The sad part of this? The next night I watched some of Joan Rivers best and worst dressed review. Every single woman that was covered - that didn't have cleavage up to her neck or her breasts exposed to her belly button, was ridiculed for not dressing appropriate to her age, for being dowdy and most were put on the Worst Dressed List. The women, namely Jennifer Lopez, who had exposed breasts and slits in their dresses up to their crotch, were declared to be 'true Hollywood elegance,' the 'epitome of what a star should look like,'
Not that I would take Joan River's advice on what to wear, but what a sad statement this is for our society.
Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox now and tell you that while most of dresses did not impress me, I thoroughly enjoyed the Golden Globes themselves and think Tina Fey and Amy Pohler should host every single awards show from here on out.
Violet is 9 1/2 years old and we keep her young. As young as possible. Some of the things we avoid include shows where the characters date -- if she's not of dating age we don't think she should be watching shows where the characters are. We avoid shows with swearing - I was excited about Scott Baio's new show (because, hello, Cha Chi!), but within the first 10 minutes he was saying 'damn' and 'hell.' This may not seem like much to you -- and I'm not judging you for that. We just feel, for our children, it's inappropriate. We've avoided, as best we can, the whole fat vs skinny deal and stressed being healthy. Last Spring we had to approach the needing a bra for the first time and buying clothing that I didn't pick out off the rack at Target or Kohls. She and I have talked some - her leading the discussion - about what it feels like to 'like' a boy (maybe, she wasn't sure. It was so ridiculously cute.).
But, we haven't had to delve deep into modesty. She wears a uniform to school and dresses/skirts to church and mostly jeans and cute tops otherwise.
And then I had the bright idea to have her watch The Golden Globes Red Carpet show with me. Because the dresses and hair would be such fun for us to see together.
Ummmm . . .
I reached for the remote to change the channel as the first partially exposed breast popped (ha) up on the screen, only to discover it was in the other room. Violet's eyes were huge and her mouth was hanging open. And I suddenly realized that this was the perfect, natural way to start a conversation about modesty, avoiding an awkward conversation started out of nowhere.
So I said, "Wow. Look at that. That dress is kind of low cut."
She looked at me and said, "What is that crease on her chest? Are those breasts? Why is there a dent between them?"
Ahhh, cleavage.
So we had a discussion about cleavage. In which I had to demonstrate how it is made. Good times, people.
She wanted to know if she'd have that some day, and would she have to show it off?
When all the 'key hole' necklines started appearing she leaned forward and openly oogled the women. Then she turned to me, horrified, and said, "Is that the side of her breast? Will it fall out?" So we talked about fabric tape and how they were all taped in to avoid a 'wardrobe malfunction.'
She had questions about how tight some of the dresses were and how the women could possibly walk in them. Then one of them tipped walking up some steps and we giggled together.
Then she said, "Why is that women dressed like a man? The one next to girl in purple hair?"
I busted out laughing, I will admit. She was talking about Kelley Osburne and Ross, who do the fashion 360* mirror deal. I told her his name was Ross and he most certainly was a man. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Mom. Listen to his voice! That is a woman!" I couldn't argue that he sounded like a woman, so I just said that was just how his voice sounded.
We continued to have a great conversation about the dresses, the hair do's and which ones she found pretty. Then Jennifer Lopez walked by.
Violet about choked.
She looked at me, completely shocked and said, "MOM! That woman is naked! On TV!"
I explained that she wasn't naked, that there was a lining in the dress, so she was actually covered, it just looked like she was naked. Violet stared at J Lo some more and asked, "But WHY would you want to look naked? On TV? In front of people?" So we talked about how different people find different clothing appropriate. I did my absolute best to not be judgey while still teaching her what we find appropriate and what God finds appropriate.
It was so hard. What I wanted to say was, "You will NEVER dress like that! Turtle necks! Floor length skirts! Heavy tights! No make up! No skin! Most of these women look like whores!"
Instead, we acknowledged what parts of the dresses were pretty, what colors we liked. What hair do she'd like to try out. All in all, I have to say I feel like this was a parenting win. Every now and again we have those moments.
The sad part of this? The next night I watched some of Joan Rivers best and worst dressed review. Every single woman that was covered - that didn't have cleavage up to her neck or her breasts exposed to her belly button, was ridiculed for not dressing appropriate to her age, for being dowdy and most were put on the Worst Dressed List. The women, namely Jennifer Lopez, who had exposed breasts and slits in their dresses up to their crotch, were declared to be 'true Hollywood elegance,' the 'epitome of what a star should look like,'
Not that I would take Joan River's advice on what to wear, but what a sad statement this is for our society.
Anyway, I'll get off my soapbox now and tell you that while most of dresses did not impress me, I thoroughly enjoyed the Golden Globes themselves and think Tina Fey and Amy Pohler should host every single awards show from here on out.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Doing What I'm Told . . . And Trusting God
I don't even know how to begin this post. I've already started crying. But after talking with my therapist and psychiatrist they recommended that I write about it. So I'm going to listen and do what I'm told.
We've all written posts about Sandy Hook, have prayed and done random acts of kindness in honor of those precious lives.
It's been 3 weeks since this horrific event.
It wasn't me that lost the love of my life.
But I'm grieving more than I've ever grieved.
More than even my 3 miscarriages - which almost sickens me.
I've avoided all news about what happened - I'm at least smart enough to know that information will not help in this situation. I've managed to quickly scroll past pictures of those babies lost and descriptions of funerals, information on what actually happened.
And still, I'm plagued by intrusive thoughts of 'what ifs' and 'oh, Jesus, why, why, why?'
I've stood in my shower and yelled at God, sobbed and started taking Xanax again at bedtime.
I have stopped crying every time I look at my children. But when I kiss them goodnight, when they are sleeping soundly in their beds, when they are warm, safe and wrapped in my love? I get choked up and my mind races.
The first thing I think of when my eyes open in the morning is the parents and the overwhelming grief they are experiencing.
Because when I first heard the news we all thought it was a kindergarten class that was lost, I immediately fixated on John - because he is in kindergarten and I volunteer in his classroom. And an entire class of these amazing little lives were gone.
Then I learned it was a first grade classroom. So I transferred my obsession to Sarah because she is in the first grade and I've been in her room, on field trips with these sweet, sweet children, and how could this be gone in an instant?
I'm completely aware that I'm transferring my worries, my fears, from one child to another. Which my therapist and psych say is a good thing. It means I'm paying attention to what my mind is doing and beginning to understand what my brain does when I'm overwhelmed with grief and fear.
I did give Sarah and Violet good, appropriate information on what happened. Violet heard some worrisome information while at dance and around older girls, but we talked about it and she was reassured. Since I couldn't talk about it without crying, we also talked about grief and being sad about something when it hasn't happened directly to you.
I'm talking to God about this constantly and holding onto the knowledge that this, somehow, in some way, is His plan. But, even with this knowledge, I question continually and argue that even one soul saved from this tragedy does not justify what happened.
I'm furious with God and this didn't happen to me.
I'm grieving deeply and somewhat inappropriately for the parents, family and friends of these perfect lives lost.
I'm praying that by writing about it I will be able to get some of this grief out and onto this paper, pour it into this instead of into my heart and mind. When I write about my depression that is what happens - I'm able to acknowledge what happened and begin to move on. Perhaps this will be the same.
I don't know yet, because I'm sitting here wiping tears off my face and feel no release.
The only thing I do know is I've cherished my children and our moments together more than I thought possible. I thought I cherished them before - I was mistaken. This injustice has taken my love for, my feeling of being blessed for my life and babies, my patience with them and acceptance of who they are to a whole new level.
But even if that is part of God's plan from this - that we all experience these feelings? It's not enough.
My heart breaks numerous times daily for Sandy Hook and all of the victims. I know it stretches across the country with relatives and friends of those incredible lives lost. I pray almost continuously for them and think about where they are.
And I'm well aware that this is, on some level, going too far.
My psych says that I take my grief for one thing - something that has happened to me such as losing memories when I was so sick, my fear for Violet when she had the meningitis this summer, and instead of dealing with it then, in the moment, I shove it down and then it overwhelms me when something else happens. Then it all comes out - somehow safer when I'm feeling for somebody else and not me.
Messed.up.
I'll let you know how or if this helps.
We've all written posts about Sandy Hook, have prayed and done random acts of kindness in honor of those precious lives.
It's been 3 weeks since this horrific event.
It wasn't me that lost the love of my life.
But I'm grieving more than I've ever grieved.
More than even my 3 miscarriages - which almost sickens me.
I've avoided all news about what happened - I'm at least smart enough to know that information will not help in this situation. I've managed to quickly scroll past pictures of those babies lost and descriptions of funerals, information on what actually happened.
And still, I'm plagued by intrusive thoughts of 'what ifs' and 'oh, Jesus, why, why, why?'
I've stood in my shower and yelled at God, sobbed and started taking Xanax again at bedtime.
I have stopped crying every time I look at my children. But when I kiss them goodnight, when they are sleeping soundly in their beds, when they are warm, safe and wrapped in my love? I get choked up and my mind races.
The first thing I think of when my eyes open in the morning is the parents and the overwhelming grief they are experiencing.
Because when I first heard the news we all thought it was a kindergarten class that was lost, I immediately fixated on John - because he is in kindergarten and I volunteer in his classroom. And an entire class of these amazing little lives were gone.
Then I learned it was a first grade classroom. So I transferred my obsession to Sarah because she is in the first grade and I've been in her room, on field trips with these sweet, sweet children, and how could this be gone in an instant?
I'm completely aware that I'm transferring my worries, my fears, from one child to another. Which my therapist and psych say is a good thing. It means I'm paying attention to what my mind is doing and beginning to understand what my brain does when I'm overwhelmed with grief and fear.
I did give Sarah and Violet good, appropriate information on what happened. Violet heard some worrisome information while at dance and around older girls, but we talked about it and she was reassured. Since I couldn't talk about it without crying, we also talked about grief and being sad about something when it hasn't happened directly to you.
I'm talking to God about this constantly and holding onto the knowledge that this, somehow, in some way, is His plan. But, even with this knowledge, I question continually and argue that even one soul saved from this tragedy does not justify what happened.
I'm furious with God and this didn't happen to me.
I'm grieving deeply and somewhat inappropriately for the parents, family and friends of these perfect lives lost.
I'm praying that by writing about it I will be able to get some of this grief out and onto this paper, pour it into this instead of into my heart and mind. When I write about my depression that is what happens - I'm able to acknowledge what happened and begin to move on. Perhaps this will be the same.
I don't know yet, because I'm sitting here wiping tears off my face and feel no release.
The only thing I do know is I've cherished my children and our moments together more than I thought possible. I thought I cherished them before - I was mistaken. This injustice has taken my love for, my feeling of being blessed for my life and babies, my patience with them and acceptance of who they are to a whole new level.
But even if that is part of God's plan from this - that we all experience these feelings? It's not enough.
My heart breaks numerous times daily for Sandy Hook and all of the victims. I know it stretches across the country with relatives and friends of those incredible lives lost. I pray almost continuously for them and think about where they are.
And I'm well aware that this is, on some level, going too far.
My psych says that I take my grief for one thing - something that has happened to me such as losing memories when I was so sick, my fear for Violet when she had the meningitis this summer, and instead of dealing with it then, in the moment, I shove it down and then it overwhelms me when something else happens. Then it all comes out - somehow safer when I'm feeling for somebody else and not me.
Messed.up.
I'll let you know how or if this helps.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
After Shocks
So . . . I haven't been around lately, at all. Not on Facebook, not really on Twitter and definitely not here. And I've missed it all. But something more pressing has been keeping me occupied, and once it was under control, well I'd kind of lost my mojo. Again.
You all know that all three of my children had viral meningitis this summer. Oh the joy. Violet had it the worst because we didn't know what was going on -- we initially thought it was just a stomach virus. Since she went the longest without treatment it took 2 1/2 days to get it all under control. Which left her with some side effects we had no idea were coming.
About 6 weeks after the meningitis things started getting weird with her and then they got violent. She had such raging tantrums that I was forced to empty her room because her toys provided ammunition to launch at me. She screamed. She jumped on her bed. She yelled strange insults at me. When she'd done this twice in a row I sought the help of a dear friend, Lisa, who knows so much about brain function, environmental issues, allergies etc. Her son has mild autism and she is a wealth of knowledge. As I cried to her about Violet's behavior, she started questioning me about other things, and we made a list of symptoms and dates they started. What resulted was a timeline that started after her meningitis.
Things I saw included violent temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches and a fear of doctors. I made an appointment with her pediatrician, talked with her teacher, my therapist (who is also a child therapist) and social worker at her school. Then I started to research all this myself.
Meningitis.com and The Mayo Clinic as well as several other sites listed after effects of meningitis: temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches and a fear of doctors.
What? Not a single doctor told me took for after effects. And I didn't research the meningitis while she was sick because I knew I'd get all sorts of scary, ridiculous results.
I called two friends of mine who's family members had experienced meningitis. I simply asked, "What happened after the meningitis?" One said, "You mean like behavior changes or tantrums?" What? She knew? And the other told me her brother had headaches for 6 months after.
We had blood tests done to rule out any other problems such as a hyper active thyroid. We had an MRI done. Saw an ENT. Everything was normal.
We went to the therapist and started to work on the actual behaviors -- because even if they were a result of the meningitis we couldn't live our lives walking around just waiting for the next explosion and all nervous about it.
So. Time has passed. She's been to see the therapist twice now. Talked with social worker who gave her some books on anger to read. We have 'anger rules' up in the kitchen and her room. She's earning toys back. She takes melatonin to get to sleep each night. She questions whether or not she's going to have 'a needle' every time we go to the doctor - and remember, we went to the pediatrician, had blood drawn, were sedated for the MRI then went to the ENT. So she's very worried. She is very clingy and tends to do it more around a lot of people. She's tantrumed in front of two of her friends -- who thankfully had experienced similar behavior in their own home so they just shrugged it off.
At first this consumed me. I searched the internet for hours. I talked to my friends. I asked for many, many prayers. I talked extensively about it to my therapist. My anxiety level has shot through the roof.
But I'm starting to see the other side now. She's doing much, much better. She hasn't had a full on tantrum in about 3 weeks. She's beginning to learn that she needs to take a break from us when she starts to feel angry.
So this are starting to get better. Our home life is pretty normal now, no eggshell walking and no searching the internet for hours.
I think we're going to be okay. :)
You all know that all three of my children had viral meningitis this summer. Oh the joy. Violet had it the worst because we didn't know what was going on -- we initially thought it was just a stomach virus. Since she went the longest without treatment it took 2 1/2 days to get it all under control. Which left her with some side effects we had no idea were coming.
About 6 weeks after the meningitis things started getting weird with her and then they got violent. She had such raging tantrums that I was forced to empty her room because her toys provided ammunition to launch at me. She screamed. She jumped on her bed. She yelled strange insults at me. When she'd done this twice in a row I sought the help of a dear friend, Lisa, who knows so much about brain function, environmental issues, allergies etc. Her son has mild autism and she is a wealth of knowledge. As I cried to her about Violet's behavior, she started questioning me about other things, and we made a list of symptoms and dates they started. What resulted was a timeline that started after her meningitis.
Things I saw included violent temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches and a fear of doctors. I made an appointment with her pediatrician, talked with her teacher, my therapist (who is also a child therapist) and social worker at her school. Then I started to research all this myself.
Meningitis.com and The Mayo Clinic as well as several other sites listed after effects of meningitis: temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches and a fear of doctors.
What? Not a single doctor told me took for after effects. And I didn't research the meningitis while she was sick because I knew I'd get all sorts of scary, ridiculous results.
I called two friends of mine who's family members had experienced meningitis. I simply asked, "What happened after the meningitis?" One said, "You mean like behavior changes or tantrums?" What? She knew? And the other told me her brother had headaches for 6 months after.
We had blood tests done to rule out any other problems such as a hyper active thyroid. We had an MRI done. Saw an ENT. Everything was normal.
We went to the therapist and started to work on the actual behaviors -- because even if they were a result of the meningitis we couldn't live our lives walking around just waiting for the next explosion and all nervous about it.
So. Time has passed. She's been to see the therapist twice now. Talked with social worker who gave her some books on anger to read. We have 'anger rules' up in the kitchen and her room. She's earning toys back. She takes melatonin to get to sleep each night. She questions whether or not she's going to have 'a needle' every time we go to the doctor - and remember, we went to the pediatrician, had blood drawn, were sedated for the MRI then went to the ENT. So she's very worried. She is very clingy and tends to do it more around a lot of people. She's tantrumed in front of two of her friends -- who thankfully had experienced similar behavior in their own home so they just shrugged it off.
At first this consumed me. I searched the internet for hours. I talked to my friends. I asked for many, many prayers. I talked extensively about it to my therapist. My anxiety level has shot through the roof.
But I'm starting to see the other side now. She's doing much, much better. She hasn't had a full on tantrum in about 3 weeks. She's beginning to learn that she needs to take a break from us when she starts to feel angry.
So this are starting to get better. Our home life is pretty normal now, no eggshell walking and no searching the internet for hours.
I think we're going to be okay. :)
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Politics and Facebook
I'm a republican. But I don't think Obama is evil. Do I agree with his politics? Not quite. I also don't think Romney is evil. Do I agree with Romney? Not quite.
So who am I going to vote for?
I don't know.
Then, after reading my Facebook feed this morning I decided. I'm totally voting for Obama.
Then I got deeper into my feed . . . and decided I'm totally voting for Romney.
Because these Facebook status' verbally ripping Obama and Romney apart really made me think and change my point of view
*snort*
Here's what those status updates did do:
Convince me that Republicans are going to vote for Romney because Obama is an evil man.
And also convince me that Democrats are going to vote for Obama because, duh, Romney is an evil man.
Mind? Blown.
So, who am I voting for on November 4?
I don't know.
So who am I going to vote for?
I don't know.
Then, after reading my Facebook feed this morning I decided. I'm totally voting for Obama.
Then I got deeper into my feed . . . and decided I'm totally voting for Romney.
Because these Facebook status' verbally ripping Obama and Romney apart really made me think and change my point of view
*snort*
Here's what those status updates did do:
Convince me that Republicans are going to vote for Romney because Obama is an evil man.
And also convince me that Democrats are going to vote for Obama because, duh, Romney is an evil man.
Mind? Blown.
So, who am I voting for on November 4?
I don't know.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
3 1/2 Years . . . You've Come A Long Way, Baby
September marks the 3 1/2 year 'anniversary' of my first stay in a mental hospital. July 2013 will mark four years. Each September, as the kids start back to school I'm flooded with memories of the day I fell apart and went in that first time. I was obviously a complete mess, but I honestly didn't know it at the time. It wasn't until I was laying in my bed, sobbing and begging my friend to let me go to sleep and never wake up that I truly realized how much trouble I was in.
My memories of that time period, when I was so sick, are fuzzy at best. But that day is crystal clear, burned into my brain.
The day started like any other day. My husband took Violet to school and I muddled through the morning with Sarah and John. I didn't get dressed. I may have dressed them, but it's very likely that I declared the day a 'pajama day' as an excuse to not get anyone dressed.
I made the kids breakfast and then left them to play while I sat on the sofa. They dumped out a box of Quaker Oat Squares all over the floor and then broke my favorite pie dish -- how they got to said dish I have no idea.
And that? Was it.
I broke. I lost it. I started crying and couldn't stop.
I put them down for a early nap and contemplated all the meds I had at hand.
I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't recognize the shattered woman staring back at me. She was unshowered, greasy, and red faced. Heavier than I remembered, with messy hair and sloped shoulders. Lines were etched around her mouth and eyes.
My eyes. How they haunt me. I study my reflection still, looking for any traces of those eyes.
By the grace of God, I decided to call my friend, Jen, instead of taking any pills. I crawled into bed and sobbed to her about the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that nothing in life was good -- and how that didn't make sense. I had three beautiful children. A loving husband. How could I not feel happy?
But the truth was I hadn't felt joy, happiness, anything, in months.
She talked me into calling my husband or perhaps she called him. This part I don't remember. I do remember her staying on the phone with me until he got home. She told him what to do, where to take me.
And he did.
I spent three days in the hospital. I cried for a day in the half.
I faked my way through it, that stay.
And it didn't take.
9 months later I'd be back.
My memories of that time period, when I was so sick, are fuzzy at best. But that day is crystal clear, burned into my brain.
The day started like any other day. My husband took Violet to school and I muddled through the morning with Sarah and John. I didn't get dressed. I may have dressed them, but it's very likely that I declared the day a 'pajama day' as an excuse to not get anyone dressed.
I made the kids breakfast and then left them to play while I sat on the sofa. They dumped out a box of Quaker Oat Squares all over the floor and then broke my favorite pie dish -- how they got to said dish I have no idea.
And that? Was it.
I broke. I lost it. I started crying and couldn't stop.
I put them down for a early nap and contemplated all the meds I had at hand.
I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't recognize the shattered woman staring back at me. She was unshowered, greasy, and red faced. Heavier than I remembered, with messy hair and sloped shoulders. Lines were etched around her mouth and eyes.
My eyes. How they haunt me. I study my reflection still, looking for any traces of those eyes.
By the grace of God, I decided to call my friend, Jen, instead of taking any pills. I crawled into bed and sobbed to her about the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that nothing in life was good -- and how that didn't make sense. I had three beautiful children. A loving husband. How could I not feel happy?
But the truth was I hadn't felt joy, happiness, anything, in months.
She talked me into calling my husband or perhaps she called him. This part I don't remember. I do remember her staying on the phone with me until he got home. She told him what to do, where to take me.
And he did.
I spent three days in the hospital. I cried for a day in the half.
I faked my way through it, that stay.
And it didn't take.
9 months later I'd be back.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Remember That One Time Where I THOUGHT I Texted My Psych?
That one time I was wrong??
Yeah.
I texted my psychiatrist (because she's awesome and gave me her cell number for just these times) and said:
This is Kim. Can you please call me when you get a chance? I'm having some problems with my anxiety level and am leaving for vacation on Sunday.
Oh, and I used my first AND last name.
Then, about 20 minutes later I got this message:
I just wanted to let you know this came to the wrong person
OMG. And then I died a little and tried to hide. So I texted Diana who was embarrassed for me.
I texted back:
Ugh. Thanks & so sorry
I wanted to scream.
Then, later I received this message from that same wrong number:
No problem just wanted to make sure you got the help you need. Have a great vacation.
And then I died a lot.
So I copied it and sent it to Diana.
Who promised me she wasn't laughing. Which made me smile. And remember that I won't actually be seeing this random person I'd just told about my anxiety.
So now? I'm telling all of you.
You're welcome.
Yeah.
I texted my psychiatrist (because she's awesome and gave me her cell number for just these times) and said:
This is Kim. Can you please call me when you get a chance? I'm having some problems with my anxiety level and am leaving for vacation on Sunday.
Oh, and I used my first AND last name.
Then, about 20 minutes later I got this message:
I just wanted to let you know this came to the wrong person
OMG. And then I died a little and tried to hide. So I texted Diana who was embarrassed for me.
I texted back:
Ugh. Thanks & so sorry
I wanted to scream.
Then, later I received this message from that same wrong number:
No problem just wanted to make sure you got the help you need. Have a great vacation.
And then I died a lot.
So I copied it and sent it to Diana.
Who promised me she wasn't laughing. Which made me smile. And remember that I won't actually be seeing this random person I'd just told about my anxiety.
So now? I'm telling all of you.
You're welcome.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Mojo
I seem to have lost my blogging mojo this summer. Right now I feel as though I've told my story. I like in some ways I'm just floating through my blog and skimming others blogs.
I don't understand it, or know what to do. I love blogging. I love reading others blogs. I find inspiration, ideas and advice in them. I laugh and cry as I read so many of you all.
And now I'm kind of lost it seems.
I was insanely jealous of those who were at BlogHer who I so wanted to meet. But then I thought . . . did it make sense that I wanted to be there so badly when I haven't really blogged all summer? Yet, I was definitely jealous. The meet ups, the networking, the sessions. And yes, the swag (not gonna lie, the pictures I've seen are amazing!). And I've got so much going on in my head and heart that I want to share, but I feel like I don't know how to share it anymore.
I guess that's my mojo, taking a long walk.
So, for now I'm trying to relax about the not wanting or needing to blog -- and I've felt the need for the past two years to talk on here. So that's really hard to understand.
But I've decided that until I feel true inspiration, have real ideas and stories to share, I'm not going to force it. You'd all sense it was wrong and I wouldn't enjoy this. I miss this.
Thank you guys for your support, comments and love. It does mean so very much to me.
I don't understand it, or know what to do. I love blogging. I love reading others blogs. I find inspiration, ideas and advice in them. I laugh and cry as I read so many of you all.
And now I'm kind of lost it seems.
I was insanely jealous of those who were at BlogHer who I so wanted to meet. But then I thought . . . did it make sense that I wanted to be there so badly when I haven't really blogged all summer? Yet, I was definitely jealous. The meet ups, the networking, the sessions. And yes, the swag (not gonna lie, the pictures I've seen are amazing!). And I've got so much going on in my head and heart that I want to share, but I feel like I don't know how to share it anymore.
I guess that's my mojo, taking a long walk.
So, for now I'm trying to relax about the not wanting or needing to blog -- and I've felt the need for the past two years to talk on here. So that's really hard to understand.
But I've decided that until I feel true inspiration, have real ideas and stories to share, I'm not going to force it. You'd all sense it was wrong and I wouldn't enjoy this. I miss this.
Thank you guys for your support, comments and love. It does mean so very much to me.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Six Weeks
Wait, isn't that the title of an old, dirty movie?
Moving on.
My sister in law, my brothers wife, has been in Michigan for four weeks. She'll be gone two more weeks. That's six weeks.
Ugh. I'm dying. She's gone, my niece is gone.
Kerry!! :)
When she was here we'd talk almost every day, do the 'pop in' deal with each other. She'd watch my kids and I'd get Caitlyn. Oh, how I adore that child. When she left she was just barely up on all fours. Now she's cruising furniture and has a tooth.
*sob*
Plus, ya know, Kerry is gone!
When we talked every day I'd get to bounce all my crazy ideas off her, and she'd bring me back to reality. She'd encourage me when I doubted myself. She'd remind me of how far I've come in two years.
As I'm writing this I'm not sure what I provided her. I do know that I adore her and love her with all my heart. Perhaps I haven't told her that enough or expressed it well.
What I do know is I'm missing her terribly and cannot wait until she comes home.
Moving on.
My sister in law, my brothers wife, has been in Michigan for four weeks. She'll be gone two more weeks. That's six weeks.
Ugh. I'm dying. She's gone, my niece is gone.
Kerry!! :)
When she was here we'd talk almost every day, do the 'pop in' deal with each other. She'd watch my kids and I'd get Caitlyn. Oh, how I adore that child. When she left she was just barely up on all fours. Now she's cruising furniture and has a tooth.
*sob*
Plus, ya know, Kerry is gone!
When we talked every day I'd get to bounce all my crazy ideas off her, and she'd bring me back to reality. She'd encourage me when I doubted myself. She'd remind me of how far I've come in two years.
As I'm writing this I'm not sure what I provided her. I do know that I adore her and love her with all my heart. Perhaps I haven't told her that enough or expressed it well.
What I do know is I'm missing her terribly and cannot wait until she comes home.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Photographs and Memories
Today I have the honor of guest posting over at John's place: Daddy Run's A lot, about my perfect children. :) If you haven't been reading John then you are really missing out, so go! Check him out.
Over here, I'm talking about depression and healing.
I've told you before about how I literally lost two plus years to depression. I have huge chunks of my memories just gone. I see pictures and have absolutely no recollection of the event, have no idea what the event even is sometimes. The grief has been overwhelming at times to know that I've missed so much.
But the other day I made the most wonderful discovery: I took a thousand pictures during that time. It's as if part of me knew I wasn't truly connected and was missing things. That someday I'd crave those moments. So I took a bajillion pictures. Even if I don't have the memories in my head, I have them in scrapbooks.
I think taking pictures was my way of participating at that time. Since I had zero energy or want to get up and involved, I become the photographer. Therefore I could sit and snap pictures or just walk around after the kids as they explored the zoo, museums and ordinary daily things. How could I run through the sprinkler with the kids when I had to take pictures? So I remained an observer.
But I have those pictures. I have pictures of everything. That farm trip, the Children's museum, swimming. Silly faces and temper tantrums. I have the memories in concrete form.
This is incredibly healing for me.
And sometimes the pictures bring back the real memories, which an unexpected and beautiful gift.
Over here, I'm talking about depression and healing.
I've told you before about how I literally lost two plus years to depression. I have huge chunks of my memories just gone. I see pictures and have absolutely no recollection of the event, have no idea what the event even is sometimes. The grief has been overwhelming at times to know that I've missed so much.
But the other day I made the most wonderful discovery: I took a thousand pictures during that time. It's as if part of me knew I wasn't truly connected and was missing things. That someday I'd crave those moments. So I took a bajillion pictures. Even if I don't have the memories in my head, I have them in scrapbooks.
I think taking pictures was my way of participating at that time. Since I had zero energy or want to get up and involved, I become the photographer. Therefore I could sit and snap pictures or just walk around after the kids as they explored the zoo, museums and ordinary daily things. How could I run through the sprinkler with the kids when I had to take pictures? So I remained an observer.
But I have those pictures. I have pictures of everything. That farm trip, the Children's museum, swimming. Silly faces and temper tantrums. I have the memories in concrete form.
This is incredibly healing for me.
And sometimes the pictures bring back the real memories, which an unexpected and beautiful gift.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Competitive Much?
I am not that competitive. Honest. And when it comes to my kids and sports I work at being even less competitive because I first want my kids to have fun, then be good at a sport/activity.
Or so I thought.
Tuesday night the girls had a swim meet and they <em>love</em> swim meets. Sarah looks like she's wrestling alligators in freestyle and violet is so busy smiling as she does backstroke that she barely placed in the first two meets. But we all have fun and that's all I care about.
*snort*
Then Violet got bumped from a race by another swimmer on our team. Which is completely fair- the other girl swam faster in time trials.
Then Violet touched the wall before the other girl. Only the timers didn't call it that way.
Oh, I'm competitive.
I was all whisper angry to my friend. All, "what? Violet's score doesn't count? She touched first! It counts! Second place! She took second!"
Cue total junior high behavior.
Then the other girls mom came to me, all loudly mad and rolling her eyes. And said, "I don't know why they called my daughter in before yours. Violet had that race."
Oh.
Then I was beet red and horrified at my behavior. Thankfully only my friend Tonya heard my juvenile rant.
Competition stinks. Or perhaps I totally stink at competition.
Or so I thought.
Tuesday night the girls had a swim meet and they <em>love</em> swim meets. Sarah looks like she's wrestling alligators in freestyle and violet is so busy smiling as she does backstroke that she barely placed in the first two meets. But we all have fun and that's all I care about.
*snort*
Then Violet got bumped from a race by another swimmer on our team. Which is completely fair- the other girl swam faster in time trials.
Then Violet touched the wall before the other girl. Only the timers didn't call it that way.
Oh, I'm competitive.
I was all whisper angry to my friend. All, "what? Violet's score doesn't count? She touched first! It counts! Second place! She took second!"
Cue total junior high behavior.
Then the other girls mom came to me, all loudly mad and rolling her eyes. And said, "I don't know why they called my daughter in before yours. Violet had that race."
Oh.
Then I was beet red and horrified at my behavior. Thankfully only my friend Tonya heard my juvenile rant.
Competition stinks. Or perhaps I totally stink at competition.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Going Old School
So. Violet, Sarah and I are battling lately. This is getting to be old, hearing me say this, right? I've allowed them to become very disrespectful of my husband and myself. So much so that two people have commented on it.
You have no idea how humiliating that is.
But I had no idea on how to fix it. I'd take Violet's ipod away and she'd read -- which she loves. And I don't feel right taking away reading. I'd restrict t.v and she'd play with her Barbies and not care that she lost t.v. Sarah just screams.
So I was at a total loss.
I thought I had a moment of parental genius the other day when she told me that playing was boring and I decided that I'd teach her what boring was. So she cleaned her room all day long - seriously. From 10:30 til 2:30 she dusted, put toys away and organized her closet. Only in the end she declared, "Look at my room, it's awesome!" So, kind of a fail there.
I discussed my frustrations with a friend, one who had noticed the disrespect - the eye rolling, the laziness, the outright refusal to complete my requests- and she told me what she used with her kids, what had worked.
Writing lines. Bible verses specifically.
Hmm.
So I talked to my husband about it. To the girls about it. Then spent the afternoon reading Ephesians - the book that seems to deal the most with obedience and children - and we got started. I copied down a few verses on cards, put them in a box and prepared myself.
And Violet promptly began being rude to Sarah.
I, somehow, calmly handed her a card and the pad of paper. Had her read the verse out loud to me: Ephesians 4:29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.
I asked her if she knew what it meant. She did not. I had her write it twice, then we discussed it again. And she understood part of it. We had a true discussion about what it meant to speak kindly and helpfully. Later, she started in on Sarah and I said, "Violet, what did you write earlier?" She kind of tilted her head and said, "This? This is unhelpful. Huh."
It was a tiny 'aha' moment.
And it also reminded me -- big time- that I need to speak in a way that helpful for building others up according to their needs -- especially my children.
Today Sarah started in on something, I can't even remember what. And I, again, somehow calmly, handed her the verse Ephesians 6:1 Children obey your parents.
She had a fit and refused , but I stuck it out. Eventually she wrote it down two times and handed it to me -- nicely.
I think the key is I stick to this and remain calm. Remain calm.
So today, it was a success.
Here's hoping tomorrow is as well.
You have no idea how humiliating that is.
But I had no idea on how to fix it. I'd take Violet's ipod away and she'd read -- which she loves. And I don't feel right taking away reading. I'd restrict t.v and she'd play with her Barbies and not care that she lost t.v. Sarah just screams.
So I was at a total loss.
I thought I had a moment of parental genius the other day when she told me that playing was boring and I decided that I'd teach her what boring was. So she cleaned her room all day long - seriously. From 10:30 til 2:30 she dusted, put toys away and organized her closet. Only in the end she declared, "Look at my room, it's awesome!" So, kind of a fail there.
I discussed my frustrations with a friend, one who had noticed the disrespect - the eye rolling, the laziness, the outright refusal to complete my requests- and she told me what she used with her kids, what had worked.
Writing lines. Bible verses specifically.
Hmm.
So I talked to my husband about it. To the girls about it. Then spent the afternoon reading Ephesians - the book that seems to deal the most with obedience and children - and we got started. I copied down a few verses on cards, put them in a box and prepared myself.
And Violet promptly began being rude to Sarah.
I, somehow, calmly handed her a card and the pad of paper. Had her read the verse out loud to me: Ephesians 4:29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.
I asked her if she knew what it meant. She did not. I had her write it twice, then we discussed it again. And she understood part of it. We had a true discussion about what it meant to speak kindly and helpfully. Later, she started in on Sarah and I said, "Violet, what did you write earlier?" She kind of tilted her head and said, "This? This is unhelpful. Huh."
It was a tiny 'aha' moment.
And it also reminded me -- big time- that I need to speak in a way that helpful for building others up according to their needs -- especially my children.
Today Sarah started in on something, I can't even remember what. And I, again, somehow calmly, handed her the verse Ephesians 6:1 Children obey your parents.
She had a fit and refused , but I stuck it out. Eventually she wrote it down two times and handed it to me -- nicely.
I think the key is I stick to this and remain calm. Remain calm.
So today, it was a success.
Here's hoping tomorrow is as well.
Friday, June 22, 2012
It's Best Said With A Song
I know this is an old song, 'Unwell' by Train. But on days when I'm remembering how deep and dark that well was . . . this song says so much. I wish I'd heard it back then. I crave it on days when I'm feeling off. And yet am strangely afraid of it. It says everything I ever felt, in a way I can never express. I've heard that the lead singer struggles with mental illness and this is why this song strikes such a chord with those of us who also struggle -- because he knows. He gets it.
Today was a great day . . . but not every day is. This song reminds me that some days are good, some are bad, and I will be well again.
All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me that
I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good
For something
Hold on feeling like I'm heading for a
Break down and I dunno why
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then You'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Talking to myself in public
And dulging glances on the train
And I know I know that they ‘ve all been talking about me
I can hear their whisper
And it makes me feel that there must be something wrong with me
After all the hours thinking somehow I‘ve lost my mind
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I've been talking in my sleep
Soon they'll come to get me
And they're taking me away
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little impaired I know
Right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
And how I used to be
How I used to be
I'm just a little lonely
How I used to be
How I used to be
I'm just a little unwell
Today was a great day . . . but not every day is. This song reminds me that some days are good, some are bad, and I will be well again.
All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me that
I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good
For something
Hold on feeling like I'm heading for a
Break down and I dunno why
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then You'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Talking to myself in public
And dulging glances on the train
And I know I know that they ‘ve all been talking about me
I can hear their whisper
And it makes me feel that there must be something wrong with me
After all the hours thinking somehow I‘ve lost my mind
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I've been talking in my sleep
Soon they'll come to get me
And they're taking me away
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little unwell
I know right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy
I'm just a little impaired I know
Right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
And how I used to be
How I used to be
I'm just a little lonely
How I used to be
How I used to be
I'm just a little unwell
Friday, May 25, 2012
Why I'm Afraid You Were Depressed
I'm afraid you were depressed - even though it could be a bonding and educational relationship for us both.
But I'm afraid you were depressed.
(And I'm afraid to tell you I was depressed and stll struggle with depression/anxiety.Which is totally ridiculous becuase I tell the world here (or, like 12 of you). I mean, I spill everything about my struggles with the lowest of my days from years ago. And yet . . . )
I'm afraid to tell you I still struggle with depression/anxiety because I'm afraid you'll tell me you do as well. Which is silly, because you might be able to help me cope. You might even reveal you still struggle.
I'm afraid to tell you all this because I fear that you were depressed and managed it better than I did. I'm afraid that you didn't sink as low as me. That you held it together better. That you didn't neglect your house, your husband, your friends, yourself, your children, like I did.
I'm afraid that when you say, "I was depressed, too." And tell me your story I'm going to think, "No. No I cannot share. Because now you will know the truth. You will know why we weren't friends so many years ago. You will know why our girls weren't friends from birth. You will know why my house is still being remodeled. You will know why my kids misbehave. I was depressed and let things get so out of control that I'm only now regaining control."
I'm afraid of these things and so many more.
I'm so afraid that you were depressed.
But I'm afraid you were depressed.
(And I'm afraid to tell you I was depressed and stll struggle with depression/anxiety.Which is totally ridiculous becuase I tell the world here (or, like 12 of you). I mean, I spill everything about my struggles with the lowest of my days from years ago. And yet . . . )
I'm afraid to tell you I still struggle with depression/anxiety because I'm afraid you'll tell me you do as well. Which is silly, because you might be able to help me cope. You might even reveal you still struggle.
I'm afraid to tell you all this because I fear that you were depressed and managed it better than I did. I'm afraid that you didn't sink as low as me. That you held it together better. That you didn't neglect your house, your husband, your friends, yourself, your children, like I did.
I'm afraid that when you say, "I was depressed, too." And tell me your story I'm going to think, "No. No I cannot share. Because now you will know the truth. You will know why we weren't friends so many years ago. You will know why our girls weren't friends from birth. You will know why my house is still being remodeled. You will know why my kids misbehave. I was depressed and let things get so out of control that I'm only now regaining control."
I'm afraid of these things and so many more.
I'm so afraid that you were depressed.
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