Winter Sunset
Play-Doh
Home Work
TV Dinner
Potted
There are a few downsides to living in a multi-dog family. The first is the hair. WORD, the hair. On the worst days, it is infused with a life of it's own, and while it hasn't attacked us in our sleep yet, I know it's just biding it's time. I have the best vacuum ever, and while Mr. Dyson (yes, I call him by his proper name, he prefers it that way) does a bang-up job, the dogs find perverse joy in walking behind me as I vacuum, shedding a new trail.
Another downside of the dogs is the fact that on occasion one (or more) of them decide that being housebroken is overrated. While I am loving the hardwood floor for it's cleanability in this respect, the dogs are onto me. They seek out the few scatter rugs that I have and pee on them. On purpose. Not all the time, thank goodness, but enough.
Micah doesn't help with this problem of Who Peed On The Floor! because when he decides that going diaperless is so five minutes ago and needs to pee, he just pees. I am once again on the floor wiping up a mess.
Try not to be jealous. There are plenty of puddles to share.
So while in the kitchen the other day, we've been catching whiffs of urine. It was unappetizing. We determined that the rug at the sink had a wet spot on it, and tossed it into the washer.
That was Day 1.
Luke was eating breakfast and smelled The Nasty. Being a 9 year old boy, he wondered if A) Micah wet the bed and he smelled from that, and B) if he accidentally wet himself and didn't know it. Of course, being a 9 year old boy, he didn't share these thoughts with anyone until the next day. Nine year old boys are fun that way.
That was Day 2.
Today we were shopping all day with my parents while Micah was in school and the dogs were in lockdown. We came home, unpacked bags, let the dogs outside, and smelled It. And that's when Becky leaned over to smell the flowers that I had on the kitchen counter.
When your nose is right there in the blossoms, you could close your eyes and easily imagine that you're in a truck stop restroom. Someday I will ask God why orchids need to smell like urine.
On Day 3 we moved those flowers to an obscure corner of an unused room.
Contradictions
On Wednesdays I pick Micah up from school and take him to speech therapy. We have a happy little We-Time lunch from a fast food joint, I wait for him while he's being therapized, and then I drop him off at school again. It's been our mid-week thing for a year and a half now, and it's oh-so-routine.
Back at the school upon the return from therapy today, Mr. Independent took off to the door without me. One step, two steps, I was trying to catch up to him when he turned around and growled at me. I'd tried to get him to take his stamped paper from therapy into school to show his teacher, but he didn't want much to do with that idea. Did he change his mind? He was pointing to the van.
And then it dawned on me. Micah wanted to go into school all by himself because he's too big to need his mama to hold his hand and walk him to class.
Unfortunately, I needed to sign him back in at the office, so allowing him complete freedom to be himself wasn't an option. I followed from a distance, watching him open the heavy doors and slip inside. He rang the bell to be allowed through the second set of doors. He knows to wait for the buzz before opening them, and when he was granted entrance he walked himself right to class where he greeted his teacher and took off his coat.
He never knew that I followed him the whole way to class. He never knew that a tiny piece of my heart sighed as it realized that it was no longer needed.
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Tonight as I was tucking Micah into bed, he had a hard time just laying down and getting comfortable. He was repeatedly told to lie down, to stop tapping the bunk above him, to be still. And then it dawned on me. He wanted Luke to sleep beside him instead of above him.
I laid down beside Micah for a moment to explain to him that Josh would be coming to bed in a little while; he wouldn't be sleeping alone. He reached over to touch me, feeling for the bare skin of my hand at the end of my sleeve-clad arm. He needed the reassurance that his mama was right there with him.
A little piece of my heart sighed as it realized that it was still needed after all.
The Toddler's Last Stand
Bedtime is a battle royal in most families of toddlers. I did know that one family who said their kids actually asked to go to bed every single night, and then followed through with it happily, but I can't remember if they were real or a figment of my imagination.
The right half of my brain tells me that this happens because kids are tired, and when kids are tired they get cranky and belligerent and downright bullheaded and unruly. Introduce something that they're not liking so well and you've just given them permission to have the Meltdown Of The Month.
The left side of my brain tells me that kids tantrum and stall at bedtime because it's one last opportunity to make Mommy's head explode that day. Seeing Mommy's head explode is lots of fun.
While Micah is now sleeping in a big boy bed all on his own, he still has the very important job of making bedtime Not So Fun For Anyone. Micah takes his job seriously, too.
Tonight, after I fought to get him up the steps, I had to track him down to put his PJs and diaper on. As I was changing him I saw that he drew a fun picture on his belly with markers. Being fresh out of wipes upstairs, I herded him to the bathroom where I attacked his tummy with a warm wash cloth.
It's funny how fast grumps turn to giggles when you're washing a tummy.
We headed down the hall to his bedroom where he proceeded to choose Just The Right Book to read. This is the boy who has zero interest in books. How can I tell him to put the book back and get to bed if he's reading? I know it's a stall tactic, but he employed it wisely. We read two books together and then I tucked him into bed.
It's probably a really good thing that toddlers aren't in the workforce. Their mad procrastination skills coupled with their super cuteness would effectively bring the world to a screeching halt.
Father Time Drives a Race Car
It's a sad fact that kids grow up too fast. As parents, I feel that we are entitled to a certain amount of whining about it. As far as I've been able to tell, parenthood happens like this:
Wow, I'm pregnant! How exciting!
Pregnancy sucks. I hate being sick.
I will never be pregnant again. And I mean it this time.
Gosh, I hate being pregnant. Those women who say they glow and blossom are liars. Lying Liar McLiar Pants.
Wow, I'm pregnant! How exciting!
Pregnancy sucks. I hate being sick.
I will never be pregnant again. And I mean it this time.
Gosh, I hate being pregnant. Those women who say they glow and blossom are liars. Lying Liar McLiar Pants.
(Am I the only one with whom pregnancy seems to drag on forever?)
Our baby is here! Isn't he precious?
*blink*
How can it be that my newborn is walking already?
*blink*
My baby is in kindergarten. Who took my toddler?
*blink*
High school is difficult for everyone, dear. It's just a few years and then we'll be through it.
*blink*
And the next thing you know, you are seeing your little ones off to college and out of the house. Or so they tell me. I haven't gotten to that last stage yet, but I know that the day will come when one of my kids will move out. I think.
And yet, despite the fact that I know this, I am completely caught off guard when I see the kids growing before my very eyes. Micah is growing at the rate of bamboo this school year. He blew through nearly 2 clothing sizes since last summer, and is no longer sporting that cutesy toddler look. In it's place is a very grown up looking little boy.
Feel free to mourn his loss with me.
2005, not my garden. I wish.
2006, not a fake backdrop. That is the beauty that we call At The Cabin.
2007, my house for once.
2008, not my backyard. Thank goodness. It's beauty is stunning, but I have an irrational fear of heights.
2009, not our ball pit. That would be Idlewild's.
Last weekend, and I'm not sure that's my kid. Where did my baby go?
And That's Why I Have So Many Dogs
As your angelic newborn discovers a will of his own, you as a parent discover your Super Powers. This takes a while, with much trial and error, to discover exactly what it is you're gifted at, but eventually it'll come to you. Among the super powers of parents are The Look, The Evil Eye (also known as the Stink Eye), and The Glare.
You'll notice all of those involve the eyes. Eyes are powerful weapons in a parent's arsenal. Never underestimate them.
With a single glance, you can tell the children to knock it off. By raising the eyebrows you can convey the message that you meant it. NOW. Raising one eyebrow typically means "dude, you are in grave danger of losing your life in 3, 2, yeh I thought you'd want to stop that."
Life and death lie in the power of the stare. Without ever uttering a word, you can single out which of the children you are speaking to (with nary a word), what it is they are to stop doing, and the time frame in which compliance is expected.
The comic strip super heroes only wish they had powers so great.
The bad thing is that these powers fade. Your glory may last for a few good years before your kids get smart enough to realize that Mom is giving The Look because she really can't lay hands on you in public without fear of CYS rappelling down from the ceiling and slapping her with a law suit.
Once the kids figure this out, a mom's super powers quickly begin to fade. What once struck fear and instant obedience into kids will temporarily make them slightly more compliant. And then, a day will come when they will laugh at your fiercly waggling eyebrows.
That is the day that you will realize the dogs still believe in your super powers. The Look never gets old with a dog. That is why they are man's best friend.
Reunited Feels So Good
Micah lost one of his Woody dolls for a few days. Despite tearing the house apart from basement to bedrooms, he just wasn't found. Woody rocks the game of hide-n-seek.
And then, just as mysteriously as he disappeared, Woody showed up. Apparently hiding for days on end gets lonely and boring. Micah was a happy camper.
In this picture, you'll see one Woody telling the other where he's been, and promising to never leave like that again. It was quite the touching scene.
And here we witness the Happy Dance performed by the cowboys. Ballet has nothing on Woody, reunited with his best friend. It was poetic.
The end.
Turning 39. Again.
So today was my birthday. If I was a year older for everyone who wished me a happy one on Facebook, I'd be pushing 162. (Thanks, everyone!) This tells me several things. First of all, Facebook is pretty quick to share personal info like that. (I know there are settings for that kind of thing, and I quite frankly don't care who knows when my birthday is. Still, they're free with the info.) Second, that I have the best friends ever. And third, I am the worst friend. I can't recall sending someone good birthday vibes through FB, because I suck that way.
So last year my dear MIL reminded me that I'd be turning 39, which I totally believed for all of five minutes before my husband talked me back down to 38. He's a dear that way. This year, though, I'm 39. For real.
Next year I'll probably turn 40. This doesn't bother me in the least, mostly because every day is a fun one. With kids like these, who wouldn't want to just keep living the good life?
Of course, it's the verbal one of those two children who said "who was even alive in 1977?!" To which I replied, "Um, I was 6 years old in 1977." She answered, "Really? You're that old? 1977 was like two decades ago." So I had to correct her and say, "no, more like almost 4 decades ago." So then she said, "wow, I had no idea you were that old. I think of 1977 and think 'ancient history.'"
So I had no choice but to post that picture of her. And this one, also.
And as a reminder that one shouldn't mess with their geriatric mother, I'll post this one, too.
She claims that she was forced to don the attire, although I'm not buying it. There's no way that cute little boy could wrestle her down and make her put weird clothing on. She claims he said "please" and she had no choice but to comply. I could totally believe that because that boy's wily ways are all too well known to me. But I choose to believe that the picture tells a more accurate story. See him calling her a freak as an aside?
(And see that be another grand example of his right side of the mouth thing? For all those whom I've left hang, I apologize. I will see a specialist in March and question him on that. For now, I have no answers. Tune in next season...)
Mustache Growth at Age 6 In 5 Easy Steps
1. Choosing blue Play-Doh over green will keep people from thinking that you really just need a tissue.
2. Stretch the Play-Doh into a long roll across your upper lip. Effectively blocking off your nostrils is a small price to pay - you have a mouth for backup breathing, after all.
3. Pasting the Play-Doh onto your skin firmly will prevent it from falling off when you meet chicks. That would just be embarrassing.
4. And ta-da! A fine mustache at the tender age of 6. Be jealous.
5. The really sweet part is that shaving is a breeze. No razor required. In fact, not much of anything is required.
Dear Specialist, It's Me, Micah's Mom
When Micah talks, he has a thing with the right side of his mouth. His right side is more animated than his left. And he puts his hand up to his mouth on the right side only. Weird. I'm sure specialists just love to see me when a lot of my questions consist of "why does he do that?"
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The winner of the FREE 8x10 canvas (only) is Lisa from Smacksy. Yeah, you! Congrats, too. If you'll email me whatever pic you'd love canvas'd, I'll get that ordered for you. I can't wait to see it.
The Light Comes On
I've mentioned before how Micah has the need to dwell in darkness. At random times through the evening, all lights have to be off. Also at specific times in specific movies. And when I say all lights, I mean all as in the living room, the kitchen, the entire downstairs, and the whole house in general. Dark is dark.
Sometimes we deal with it and let him have his fun, because kids need to play and pretend. But sometimes we actually have things to do, like make dinner, and then we need lights so that mommy doesn't cut off her finger with a sharp knife. At those times we deem it necessary to go head to head with Stubborn.
The other night, during one of the Dark Moments, I wasn't complying. I needed a light to read with, and sitting in the dark with a book open on my lap just wasn't going to work for me. I told Micah no, continued reading, and listened to him tantrum his way out of the room and away from the Evil Mother.
You win some, you lose some. He lost that one, but that's life.
It wasn't three minutes later that Micah came into the living room wielding a flashlight. He handed it to me, and pointed to my reading lamp. While it's not the easiest way to read, I was more than glad to comply. The thinking skills and problem solving Micah just exhibited? Amazing.
I fear we sorely underestimate that child.
Saturday Shots Will Turn You Into a Winner!
Towed
Intensity
New Colors
Retired
The Plow Truck
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No, that's not me in the picture. Nor is it my husband. It's some stranger on the street, because that's even creepier.I know that National De-Lurking Day was days ago. I also know that you were incredibly busy commenting all over the blogosphere and were sick of it by the end of the day. (Or was that just me?) I'm just as curious as everyone else, however, about who lurks here and how many readers I actually have. Feel free to comment - I'd love to meet you.
For coming out of your shell and timidly waving, I have a little something for you. Maybe. Every commenter will be entered in a drawing for a FREE 8x10 photo on *canvas. Your photo, my photo, someone else's photo that you've asked permission to use - whatever you want. One lucky winner will be drawn and announced on Monday, January 18.
*This is a photo on a canvas only - not stretched on a frame. You can buy an art canvas at Michael's to mount it yourself. Or frame it, either way.
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Go to Sarcastic Mom's site for a complete list of Weekly Winners.
Opening Hearts
When our daughter was just 2 years old, and I was due any minute with our first son, Sam's younger brother was in a fatal accident. We had an emergency babysitter come watch Becky while she slept, and spent the next few hours at the hospital trying to come to terms with the news we'd just been delivered.
The tears flowed unchecked.
The shock kept us from rational thoughts.
The hurt and pain just wouldn't go away, whether it was daylight or dark.
And that night when we got home from the hospital, knowing that life would never be the same, Sam and I walked up the stairs of our apartment and into the room of our daughter. Without saying a word to each other, we both knelt by her bed and just started at our child, thanking God for what we had.
When tragedy is that overwhelming, it quickly becomes clear what is most important.
With the horror taking place in Haiti, all I can think of are the children. If adoption fees could be waived, and the 2 year waiting process could be eliminated, just to get those children out of the way of danger and into homes that would care for them, I'd be the first to raise my hand and set an extra place at my table.
In reality, why is this even an impossibility? Ginny at That's Church has visas to get orphans into the country. She just needs a plane.
The Biggest Question I've Ever Asked Myself
Because my body decided to be weird, I had reason to take a pregnancy test recently. I'm not, so just stop that already. I never thought I was, really, but nine weeks is a very long time with no unwelcome visitor, and being of childbearing age what else was I to think? Things have become normal again, which either means that the holiday stress was way more than I figured it for, or I'm older than I realized.
But all that gave me reason to think about things that I'd never had reason to think about before. Things like having another baby, and how it would impact our lives, and what Micah would think of a younger sibling, and where on earth we'd put another kid, and how we'd feed it. (You read that with rising panic, right? Because that's how the thoughts came tumbling out of my head.)
And then a thought whispered itself into the chaos, arresting all panic with it's weight. What if we had another child with a disability?
When Micah was born, the shock of his diagnosis rocked our world. I call it the Snow Globe Effect. Our lives were turned upside down, shaken, and set upright again, and we were expected to pretend that nothing was amiss, although pieces of what was previously our normal life were falling around our feet.
In the past six years we have found a new normal for our family. It looks more like a spontaneous and random bowing to fate, but we've adjusted. And we're loving our new life, with Micah at the center. If you would have told me, six years ago, that one of our children would call the shots on a daily basis in both big things and small, I would have scoffed. We're the parents; our children don't rule us. Yet, here we are, following Micah to therapies and specialists and meetings. We sit through IEPs and have become experts at navigating the hospital's surgical wing, and we're still using diapers and sippy cups even though our youngest is closer 7 than 6.
Life will never be normal again. I've never wondered what it would be like if it were, because that wouldn't change things. I simply go on, taking one day at a time, and wondering, instead, what may be rather than what could have been.
So when my head asked the well-founded question, no doubt motivated from that fear of what might be, "what would you do if you had another child with a disability?" my heart was quick to answer, "love it." From the depths of my being, peace overwhelmed me. I would welcome the possibility of another someone to disrupt our lives. We would find a new normal. Again.
The only thought that still lingers is one that baffles me. Why was I taken aback by my complete acceptance? Isn't that how it's supposed to work?
Gray is a Big Unknown
I've read about a cure for Down syndrome. This is astounding news. The premise being that kids with Downs are born normal, but neurological memory deficits prevent these kids from collecting learned experiences, resulting in delays.
Science is nothing if not interesting.
Scientists have realized that certain drugs will boost norepinephrine signaling, thereby allowing kids to collect and modulate information. This would mean, of course, that there would be a vast improvement of cognitive functions.
You know that part of Down syndrome includes mental retardation, right? And this is helping to overcome that part of the disability. Awesome doesn't even begin to describe it.
This would most definitely help with things like potty training, and book learning, and grasping intangible concepts. This would be life changing for not only the kids (or adults) with Down syndrome, but for their care takers as well.
But here's where I'll put in a plug for being the worst parent ever.
As far as I can tell, Micah doesn't seem to mind being Micah. He can't talk, so I can't ask him if he feels slighted by fate. But I know from parenting him that he is absolutely 136% sure that he can do everything that his brothers can. And for the most part, he does.
And I know from parenting him that he's a very happy little boy. He doesn't seem to be frustrated by the fact that he has Down syndrome. He's not sitting around depressed and moping. He's not ashamed of who he is and refusing to go out into the public eye. In fact, much the opposite is true. Micah loves being Micah. He makes friends everywhere he goes, he's happy in almost every situation, and he lives life to the fullest.
There are many days that I wish I could be as well adjusted as my handicapped son.
So how much of his persona comes from who he is, and how much comes from his disability? If you've spent any time around people with Downs, you'll know that many of these same wonderful qualities seem to go hand in hand with the syndrome.
So if I were to change the way Micah's brain works so that he could someday live independently, or mainstream in school, or talk - would that change who he is? Would cognitive retention also tell him that not everyone is his friend and he needs to be cautious and mistrusting of people? Would he learn, like everyone else, that life is unfair and he has a right to grumble for getting the short straw?
Would he not really be Micah anymore? Because if that's the case, I wouldn't like that at all.
My son was born with a disability. It's a part of who he is. I can't change it, and he can't change it. We have both accepted it. I applaud science for continually trying to find cures and improve lives, but I know that I would have to think long and hard, and somehow find a way to consult Micah about it, before I'd make a decision in favor of curing his Downs. Even one part of it.
We're all entitled to our own thoughts on this, but in the end the choice is mine to make, and Micah is the guinea pig. That's a game with high stakes, and one that I'm not willing to play without a lot of prayer and heavy consideration.
And yet, science is amazing.
My Resolve
I don't do resolutions for the new year. I used to, years ago, because it was the in vogue thing to do. I learned early on what everyone eventually does - resolutions will be broken. It's the heroic few that resolve to do something and actually commit to that for an entire year. I bow to them, but I am not one of them.
That being said, I do contemplate what I would like to have changed from last year, and think about how I should work on that for the coming year. It's only smart to learn from mistakes. Some things that I'd love to accomplish this year include finishing projects that I begin, keeping the house withing the hygienic range, taking more time to play with the kids, and whipping my sorry self back into a shape other than well rounded.
I don't commit to these things, though, because I know me. I know that 365 days is a very long time, and somewhere around day fifty-something-teen I'll lose sight of my goal, and stop. I will tell myself that I'm just taking a break, and that I'll pick up the diet again in a week or so. That I'll play with the kids when school is out. That I'll mop the floor after the rain is over. And that is the beginning of the end.
Instead of making commitments to things that I won't keep, I use the beginning of the new year to work on me. I remind myself that sometimes laying aside the goals simply means I've stumbled. I remind myself that getting back up and finishing the race is what counts, not winning. I remind myself that I'm not doing these things for me, I'm doing them for my family.
I have turned around the way that I look at things because of this new attitude. I relish the days that the kids are in school, because I have time to finish projects and catch up on laundry. I love the days that the kids are home because I get to spend more time with them, laughing and playing.
At the end of the year, what I want is for the kids to say "this was the best year ever!" I'm pretty sure that will come about because their mother chose to see the positive in every situation, and kids model what they see.
I'm not committing to anything, but I'm going to keep trying. It's all I can do.
Wii or We? Gah, the Choices!
We are not a technical family, the Rocking Pony one. We love to watch VCR tapes, we have a used PS2 that our son saved to buy for himself, and our teen daughter just got a cell phone at Christmas.
But I came to the realization this week - you know, after the Christmas holiday came and went - that we, as a family, may benefit from a Wii Fit. I mean, how fun would it be to bowl or play tennis or whatever else it is that you can do with a Wii (I wouldn't know, we don't have one) with the kids? And we'd get fit doing it! So with that goal in mind, I have listed on Ebay everything that we don't need. Everything. I cleaned closets to find things that we don't need, in order to raise money for a Wii and a Wii Fit Board. It's for the family's togetherness.
But one has to get in shape to use a Wii Fit because I hear tell that it is the Smack Talk Queen. (It's a girl, because I'm one.) I have been spending a lot of time in the basement on the exercise equipment. (I know, grumble-grumble indeed.) And because I spend time there, the kids follow. While I'm working up a stink, the kids are working on their instrumental skills. I work out to the beat of the drum and the strumming of the guitar.
When the kids tire of serenading their mother, they turn to basketball. Investing in those hoops was genius of us. As was the air hockey purchase. I don't get the full workout that I should sometimes because I am compelled to play hockey with the kids. There's nothing like air hockey with 5 pucks at once to get some action going. And giggles. Boy-howdy the giggles. And when the exercise time is over, I realize that we all got a workout. And we all had fun. And although we have a TV in the basement, it's rarely turned on.
And then I realized, after selling half of everything that we own, that we don't need a Wii Fit. We are becoming fit as a family, playing together and being active.
You know what I think we'll be doing this week? Flooding the patio and making an ice hockey rink. We'll use our well earned money for helmets and hockey sticks. I think, looking back years from now, that the kids will remember the fun we had as a family and be glad for it. I mean, what kind of special memories are made with a joystick in your hand?
Saturday Shots
Waiting.
Hello, cupcake.
His and her pillows. How sweet.
Finally. A use for the macro setting when there are no flowers.
Animal and his puppetmaster.
Taming the Pirate.
Driving Age
Becky will be 15 soon, and the single biggest thing on her mind nowadays is the fact that she'll be eligible to drive next year.
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
You're probably laughing. I'm the one that needs time for a breathing exercise, and you're laughing hysterically at my impending doom.
Moving on.
Driving with Becky is a whole lot of fun. To clarify, that's me driving, and Becky narrating.
"Come on, mom! You could have made that. If I was driving I would have pulled out."
"They're driving so slow, just pass them." (It's not a passing zone, dear.) "So. I'd pass them anyway if I was driving."
"There is no train in sight, just go around the bar and cross the tracks."
"Slow drivers annoy me. I'll never drive slow when I get my license."
These statements do nothing to inspire my confidence. In fact, I'm making mental notes every time one of these Stupid Statements are uttered. For every one that I hear, I'll bump back her driving age a year. At the rate she's racking them up, we're now at the point where we'll be bartering with her future husband to allow her to get licensed somewhere around her 36th birthday.
Provided she's married by then.
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