The shape of things to come..

        ~"And you, of the tender years can't know the fears

            that your elders grew by

           And so please help them with your youth, 

           they seek the truth before they can die."~ Graham Nash

         

     So..spring seems to be FINALLY showing itself in our little town...the snow has finally melted, the birds are singing...there have even been a few sightings of the reclusive (at least for most of the very long winter in Maine) very pale legs-in shorts (even though it's forty degrees)...But the most definite sign for me is...that we have IEP meetings.   I'm up to four a year now,,which is my limit..unless of course one of my chickens happens to need services..Which you know?...At this point, I would not be surprised.

 I have to admit-I'm over it. I just don't feel like doing them anymore. Of course that doesn't keep me from going..But really-it's basically the same thing every year-for every kid..You go in with a specific set of things that you want for your child-a.k.a.-everything possible, and in return, you are given things that are deemed necessary for your child's education. Some times it's very little-and sometimes it is a whole lot. I wish that IEP meetings were held in bars.."I'll take a whiskey and forty five minutes of speech therapy" 

  This year was tough. I have had to come to terms with some things that are hard to explain. 
                                    "Will he be able to get a diploma?"
                                     "I don't think so-probably not."

 Yeah..This shouldn't be a shock...but it is. It shouldn't hurt...but it does. It isn't really about a diploma..it isn't really about graduating...Honestly?  I don't much care. I don't worry about him-HE is great. The world however is a different story..It frightens me. I feel like the only thing we can do is to build him up..make him strong in who he is so that no one or no thing ever diminishes his light. That would be a tragedy. 

                                 "I have to die one day-unfortunately, it's inevitable."

 I have made that statement at least once a year in different IEP meetings for the past thirteen years. It is the truth and it is what drives me, I am going to die. I think that every parent worries about this at one time or another-for different reasons. I think about it a lot. Not in a morbid or creepy way-just...realistically.  I recently took a job for that very reason. All of my kids need to learn to be more independent,,and sure, I've heard "I liked when you stayed at home!" and "Why don't you call in sick?!" But I can't always listen to my subconscious. We all have to do things that are hard, like selling hemorrhoid creams and personal hygiene products.   My kids are fending for themselves a couple of hours a day..and it's a good thing. I'm not always going to be there to do their laundry or make lunches and cook dinner...hopefully it will be because I'm living in the South of France with Omar..and not because I'm dead...which I'm going to be one day (see?! I worry about this a lot) I think that they are enjoying this sense of freedom/independence..They are finding out that they are more capable than they knew. Mostly. We are having a few issues with "Who gets to be in charge"..and taking the time to read the list of chores that I have left them..but they are getting there..slowly. 

  So, I made it through another year of IEP's. We are getting what we think is necessary (services wise) for the kids. I'm lucky in that I have some very good people supporting them. There are things we need to work on..lots of things for me to worry about (besides my mortality) But I have hope..and humor and joy...and really great kids...and chickens that require nothing....so far.

Sleepless, Sleeping, and Sleepy in Maine..

~"If you want something other than the obvious to happen; you've got to do something other than the obvious."~ Douglas Adams

     

 I am very thankful for Friday this week.  I was talking with a friend this morning, and I remarked that being thankful for Friday now is so different from being thankful twenty years ago..funny how kids change everything. Twenty years ago, the weekend meant the end of the work week-now, it simply means that my schedule has changed. 

Monday through Friday mornings all start out the same.  My alarm goes off, I shuffle in a zombiesque fashion  to the coffee maker (hoping that I remembered to set the timer on it -and actually filled it, so that it is brewed and ready for me.) Coffee in hand, I feed the dog, check the weather, check to see if there are any school delays or closings, and then park myself in a chair and stare at nothing for the next thirty or so minutes. By the time I have had at least two cups..I am ready to start our morning schedule. Schedules are big at chez herd-especially in the morning. For if something is not done exactly to standard-if the routine is even slightly altered-there will be some form of hell to pay later. This actually applies more to the girls than the boys.

Sam and Oscar are easy to wake up. I go in to their room, I say "Boys, it's time to get up."..and they do.  Sure, they may groan a little-Oscar has lately started growling a bit..But, I take this all in stride.Both of them are growing like weeds-and they don't seem to be stopping any time soon..so, sleep is important to them. Which is funny considering that neither of them were able to sleep for much of their first four years or so of life. Oscar especially. Back then I didn't have the luxury of waking up and drinking coffee alone. I was always awake..or at least mostly awake. My coffee maker(s) (I went through many) was always on. Omar and I used to try and sleep in shifts-hardly ever at the same time.  He worked late afternoon until early morning..So, I would sleep when he came home-from about four until six..unless of course the boys were both awake...and then, we would..I guess, just deal with it together..Honestly, the memory has become kind of hazy over time.  I do however, remember thinking that I would sell my soul or an organ..or really, anything just for eight consecutive hours of deep uninterrupted sleep..I also remember thinking that my boys were never ever going to be able to...that this was our life-forever. (We did this for six and a half years.)  I think that it was the closest that I ever came to breaking-fully and completely. My boys needed so much back then-and I was doing my best..but-(as I think most parents feel at one time or another)my best could have been better. Would have, should have, could have..sometimes that's the mantra drumming away in my head. Some days it is louder than others..I wonder if I could have done more for them if I had been getting a full nights sleep-instead of just doing the best that I could with my very limited...everything. Yes, I believe that I am a good mother-but the reality of that time will always sting. That is my truth.

  Now, getting the boys up in the morning is joyful and easy-even with the groans and growls.  The girls however, are another story. With them-I start with an alarm clock.  I learned very early on that simply walking in and nicely suggesting they wake up, was perilous to my health.  They are mean.  The alarm clock serves as an initial wake up..they actually have to move to turn it off...which in turn wakes them just enough as to not bite my head off when I come in. This is important because the next step in the wake up process requires powerful oratory skill...and patience.  "Lil..it's time to wake up" I say quite cheerfully-yet calmly.."WHY?!" she replies in a demonic voice.."Because it's a school day.".."SO." .."Well honey, you have to get up so you won't miss your bus.".."I DON'T CARE." "But I do!" I chirp.."I have lots of things to do today..and you wouldn't want to come with me..and I can't leave you by yourself.." After a few more "why's" and "So's" on her part, she eventually comes around..turning into the cheerful girl that I know... Then, it is Zoe's turn.. Thankfully, by this time, I am fully awake and performing at peak capacity. Before I can even say her name.."I AM NOT GOING." "Come on Zo..you have to get up."

                                                               "NO."

"I have a lot of things to do today, and I know you don't want to come with me." Same line I use with Lily..except Zoe has figured it out. She KNOWS that there is a good chance that I am lying stretching the truth-AND with the sharpness of a C.I.A. interrogator she will ask "What things do you have to do?".. I have to think fast..because she requires an actual list-one that she will question-AND if it my answers are not to her satisfaction-she will call me on it.   Some days I just let her stay home. I admit-I don't always have the energy to fight her-especially when we go through this day after day. Most of the time though-she really needs the break. My quiet (at school) girl is easily overwhelmed by everything..only, she has a poker face at school. It is very rare if she lets anyone know that she's having a hard time.  Until she gets home-when, everything she has dealt with comes roaring out..  She has support at school! She has many things in place for when she feels like it is all too much.  Getting her to always utilize these services is our biggest hurdle.  We are working on it. For now though-letting her take these personal days is a tiny concession.  She deals with so much- that letting her have control over this one thing is something I have no problem giving her.

This whole waking up routine seems to be getting harder as the year progresses.  So much so that I am actually considering getting a nanny for myself.  You know, someone to make me coffee, make sure my hair is brushed before I go out..all the things a regular nanny does-only for an adult woman. I'll have to look in to it. I'm just glad that it is finally Friday..and that I can sleep in tomorrow.  As difficult as things can seem right now, they are so much better than they were ten years ago..It makes me hopeful for what another ten years can bring.   

I will NOT go gently into that dark unfinished bathroom...

~"Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about."~ Oscar Wilde









 As I was raking out the chicken coop this morning, I thought about about how having pets teaches kids responsibility..Then, I went into the house, cleaned out the litter box, fed the kittens, gave them water, walked the dogs...fed them...and then went back outside to feed the stray cat..who has taken up residence behind the chicken coop. The chickens don't mind..so I don't either..Then I went back into the house to start the days round of laundry..I looked at the area where my laundry room is SUPPOSED to be and..Well, did you ever have one of those moments-when your brain just screams "ENOUGH!"..I usually have a couple of them a day..I tend to ignore them-mostly because I am highly distractable...but this time? This time was different.  Sure, my kids failed that day in the pet care dept. Most of the time they are wonderful...sometimes they too just get distracted...and sometimes I get tired of reminding them..sometimes it is easier to just do it myself. They are kids, I am a mom-it is the dance that we do. As long as I lead..things will be fine.

  A few months ago, I longed for a space of my own.  I just wanted to be able to take a few minutes out of my day where I could just sit and..stare..drink coffee...collect myself. Soooo....with a couple of very handy friends(That we were paying!)-we started work on a downstairs bathroom(with a deep soaking tub) slash laundry room. I know-it doesn't sound glamorous...but it was going to be MINE. My domain..a place for me. Oh how I imagined slipping into a deep tub of fragrant bubbles while the spin cycle gently spins it's soothing siren song almost as if it is saying "Relax Kathleen...reeeeeellllaaaaxxx...let go...breathe...I will clean all your clothes for you..." O.K., maybe I'm getting a little carried away here. I doubt that I would have ever done that..I'm just not a "soaking in the tub" kind of girl. No, what usually happens is that I "plan" to take a nice long soak. I fill the tub..grab a book and some coffee..get in...and then promptly think "What now?" As I get out of the tub.   I am just no good at relaxing. But..BUT-the thought of being able to do so made me heady with anticipation! The thought alone counts for something-doesn't it?.

This is what the construction
looked like in May.

This is what it looks like
in August

As you can see here, construction has come to a halt. Not only has it come to a halt..my "Friends"-you know the guys that I was paying to help us?  They have disappeared off the face of the earth.  Well..no-that isn't quite true..Here, I'll share a text message I sent one of them...maybe it will help you to understand...

"Dear ****, Both Omar and myself know you are going through an awful time of it.  For that we are really so very sorry.  Wish there was something we could do to help. That being said, you guys do amazing work.  Really it is so beautiful and well designed-we couldn't be happier with what you all have done.  The problem is..well since May, it seems that the both of you have been under a black cloud.  Your truck has broken down, your work had more demands **** had a relationship end, you pulled your back out, you have your own relationship problems..Oh the list goes on..I have nothing but empathy for you guys.  The thing of it is..I can't live with my house this way anymore. I can't live with thinking maybe you will be here maybe you won't.  We started this project in March-August makes six months.  So what are we gonna do?  Should we just pay you for what you have done and get someone else in to finish? I know your life is crazy right now.  But you need to understand our position too," 

I didn't write every reason that they gave since May for not showing up...But lets just say if they had mentioned locusts and plagues, I would not have been surprised. Sadly, I did not receive a response to this text..nothing. Nada. So, me being me...wrote another one

.  "****, just wondering if you could take two seconds to respond to my last text? If you are done here, please do me the courtesy of being direct and honest and telling me.  I have treated both you and **** with nothing but respect.  I don't think that it is too much to ask that you treat me in the same way." 

  I did not get a response to that one either. Again, being who I am..I decided to see what I could find out. Was he sick, in the hospital? Did he lose his phone? I mean, these guys were part of our lives for a very long time.  I baked for them!  They got my kids off the bus on the day of my surgery!  I just didn't think that a friend COULD treat me this way. To not respond?  To not even say "Hey my life is crap right now-please understand?" Something HAD to be wrong. It didn't make sense. And then I saw...He's just been too busy! I mean, it takes time to post that you listened to 120 songs( all about heartbreak) via spotify on Facebook! Oh and the post about how a" hangover is gods worst invention"!  I think of the hours to come up with such a pithy comment! Far be it from me to mess with someones creativity. Especially by asking them to give me a simple response. How dare I?  

  So here we are about to start a new school year..and the bathroom isn't yet done.  I could live with that...if it weren't for all the other things going on.  Oscar is going to transition over to the middle school this year-a change that has him very anxious and worried.  We found out this week, that the head of special Ed. at his school has left for another position. Understand, I in no way blame her for leaving...just as I wouldn't be surprised if other spec. ed. teachers left. Kind of like rats off of a sinking ship..only they aren't rats...they are wonderful dedicated people.  But, the way that our district views disability (unrealistically) and the changes (budget cuts) that they have implemented..it makes it impossible to do their jobs the way that they want to. It makes it impossible for our kids to excel in the ways that they can. Then when the test scores come in..and they find the spec. ed. kids lacking..they will blame the spec. ed. teachers whose budgets they have cut to nothing.  It is a viscous circle-and the children will bear the brunt of it.

  It makes me wonder sometimes...I am teaching my kids to be responsible, well mannered, critical thinking people. Sometimes, especially for my kids on the spectrum-it is hard. Yet they persevere..they go out every day and face each challenge with dignity, grace..and a positive outlook. They are not quitters. Then I look at some of the "adults" around them. I wonder why my kids have to work so hard at these skills..and why we live in a world that is so insistent that they have them..when so many people-who don't have even a quarter of the challenges my kids face daily...get away with being irresponsible. It makes no sense.

   I guess that we will just get through this year the best that we can.... That we find someone to help finish up my unfinished bathroom...that we can sell our house..and maybe find a school district that values my kids as much or as close to how much that I do. Until then I will tend my chickens..and kittens..and dogs..and kids...and laundry...and dream about calgon one day taking me away..

When life hands you a vortex...

"You be the captain, and I'll be no one.

And you can carry me away if you want to."

Kasey Chambers

I don't know how it happens...it is an odd phenomenon. I know that I am not alone in this..there are others like me..Others struggling with this same problem day in and day out..I won't be silent any longer! I must tell the truth. There seems to be some sort of vortex in our house..an invisible hole, one that sucks away socks and gloves..not pairs..just one of each pair. I don't know how it happens. I watch very carefully. I am like a cat with a mouse hole. And yet, I now own fifty unmatched socks and twenty five right hands of gloves. I'm starting to wonder, is there an invisible one footed left handed thief among us?

Oh sure, I've heard similar stories. People making jokes about recovering missing socks..gloves..you name it. They are just covering up their fear. Fear of the unknown. You see, I have had these things disappear before my very eyes. It seems to occur with Sammy the most. I will be talking to him..he will have both gloves on..and then, all of a sudden..one will just be gone. Nowhere to be found. He hasn't moved, hasn't left the room-and yet, his left glove will be missing and we won't be able to find it-anywhere! Poof! Into the vortex. The really scary thing is, we won't ever find that glove again. It is starting to freak me out a little.



My kids (well, mostly Sammy) misplace things all the time.Hats, books...trombones.. I am a regular visitor to the lost and found box at school. This is why EVERYTHING they own is marked with their names in indelible ink. That way, they always know if something is theirs or not. This is most important to Oscar. He is fastidious about his things. He always knows where his shoes are, his hat, his gloves-everything. It is one of the constants he relies on to get through his day. Which is why I was totally blown away by what happened last week.



It was Friday, I was eagerly waiting for the bus. I thought that the kids would be excited as it was the weekend AND Oscars birthday was on Sunday. Birthdays are a big occasion at our house. Really, how often does anyone get to celebrate just having been born? (Personally, I celebrate having survived labor) On a cold winters day, nine years ago, after almost being born in a car, Oscar came barreling into the world at a whopping 9 lbs. 3 oz. (his sainted mother was too far along for an epidural to have worked) Did I mention celebrating the fact that I survived labor? Either way, I expected Oscar to be excited when he got off of the bus. Instead, I was met with a very upset and crying boy. Oscar, buddy, whats wrong?" "My hat...my hat..my gloves.."
"What about them?...why are you crying?" "They're lost..Sammy lost them..lost..they are lost"
"What do you mean-Sammy lost them..on the bus?" "No!! at the museum..Sammy lost them at the museum..my hat and gloves.." "O.K..we'll find them..come on, calm yourself.." "NOOOOO!!! I want my hat and gloves..I won't have my birthday..my birthday is cancelled..no birthday for Oscar!" "Come on Oscar, we'll find them...it's just a hat and gloves...we'll figure it out..it's your birthday Sunday..cake and presents!! It will be o.k." "NO! No birthday! no cake! no presents!" and up the stairs he went..to go yell in his room for a bit. Nothing I could do but let him. Trust him to get through this-even though my instincts screamed for me to run after him and fix it. sigh..."Sammy? What happened..how did you lose Oscars hat and gloves?" "I left them at the museum" (Sammy had had a field trip that day) "How could you leave Oscars hat and gloves at the museum? When you left home this morning, you were wearing your own!" "I know!..I thought I had lost mine, but when I got on the bus to go home, Oscar had them and HIS were missing!" Do you understand why I am freaked out now? Scared of this hat, glove and sock vortex that is overshadowing the lives of my family?

An hour or so later, a very calm Oscar came downstairs to talk to me. "Mama? It's o.k. that Sammy lost my hat and gloves. It was an accident" "It was bud, he didn't mean it. Do you feel better now?" "Yes." "I'm glad..a hat and gloves are just things. No need to get so upset about them. If Sammy can't find them...we'll get you some new ones...is that o.k.?" "O.K. Mama...uhhh..Mama? We can still have cake and presents right?" "Oh Oscar...come here and let me hug you..of course we'll celebrate your birthday! How could we not? It is one of the best days ever! And off he went. and off he goes..Three years ago, losing anything would have been cause for a major freak out. I look at my now nine year old in amazement. My curly headed flying boy...How much he has grown, how wonderful he is. Kids grow and develop at their own rate. The important thing is to simply let them.

I have however, decided to wage a battle against the sock, hat and glove vortex. To try and get back some of those things I have lost. So, if there is anyone looking for fifty or so socks or right handed gloves, please leave me a message. Maybe we can get together. I look forward to hearing from you.

Crazy comes to Maine

" A girls best friend is her mutter" Dorothy Parker


It has now rained here every day for the past two weeks. The kids have been out of school for one of them. There seems (according to the weather report) to be no end to this soggy mess. Summer recreation does not start for another week. I have been stuck inside the house with four very active children, three dogs, a cat, and a flooded basement.

Oh sure, I could send them out to play in the rain...in fact, that IS what I wrote about last week. However, now that they have the appropriate outerwear...foot wear..cover the entire body so that "not one iota of anything gets wet wear"...they don't WANT to go outside. Oh no...they want to be inside with me....next to me..following me..I have not had a single moment to myself. You might even say that I'm a little tense.

I love my children. I really do. They are interesting, funny, loving individuals. It is just that being with them twenty four seven for a full week in a leaky house full of shedding dogs can get a little tiring...grating...o.k. I'm overwhelmed! I admit it.

Sometimes, I wish that I could be like those other mothers...You know the kind. They do crafts...they bake and do projects. They are constantly looking for ideas to fill every waking moment with their children. But, sigh.. I am so NOT that kind of mom. I'm the learn to entertain yourself, go play outside it is a beautiful day kind. The go read a book, draw, ride your bikes, play on the computer, play with your enormous amount of toys....(and when exasperated)...help with the laundry...vacuum the living room..clean the bathroom sort of gal. Usually, they are more than happy to listen to my suggestions...especially when I threaten housework for their lack of anything better to do. Not so this week.

No, this was the week of fighting..days where the background noise was not of laughter and joy, but rather of "she stole my train, my car...my underwear." "He called me a baby"..."Sammy said Barbie doesn't have a vagina!-that's not polite!""I don't want to go to bed-I just got up!" This was the week when hell came to visit Maine. And oh what a week it was.

What started as a joyful occasion, (the end of the school year) quickly turned into a time of restlessness and distraction. My kids are used to having their time structured-now all of a sudden, they had time on their hands. My herd turned into a pack, and when they weren't fighting among themselves...they turned on me- An innocent mother! I did everything that I could to stop the madness. I gave them new markers, paper, play-dough...I bought Cocoa Puffs! Nothing seemed to work. Nothing that is -until I separated them. I put them each alone in a room-with toys of their choosing. I told them that they were NOT to talk to each other. That until they could learn to get along together, play together...and treat me like a human being, who by the way, works very hard for them.. they needed to be on their own....I fussed and complained, muttered and sighed. I had had enough! I was a tired woman on the edge of reason, and I think it scared them. Off they went-meekly, to the rooms I had sent them to.


It was the quietest 17 minutes of the week.


But it worked. It worked. Those few short minutes of quiet..of being alone helped them to center themselves....to calm down-to relax. To realize that it was much more fun to play together than to fight. Besides, by that time they were all hungry and needed some snacks. I told them that I was happy that they were all getting along-that all their fighting just plain wore me out. That if I were going to do the best that I could to take care of them-they needed to help out. That being part of a family was work-good work, but work nonetheless..on and on I went...will I never learn?

I was tucking Sammy into bed later that night when he said "Mama?...I think that you need to retire." "One day bud...Papa and I would like to travel and go places".."I think you should go to a retirement community".."What?!...no, bud...I don't look good in leisure wear..""No, I think you should be in a home".."A nursing home??" "Yes".."You want to put me in a nursing home?" .."Yes".."You don't want to take care of me in my old age???" "No Mama, it is just too much work."...sigh. I think that I need a vacation...my kids need a break. I must erase the idea of a nursing home...blue hair just doesn't suit me. Although retirement does sound pretty good.


I found a song for the week-or perhaps my life. It is really quite wonderful. If you know it-sing along..if not, I hope I turned you on to a wonderful singer/song.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mEfDSP4g_U -

Oh Mother...

I was driving home from the market yesterday, blessedly alone...When the song "Y.M.C.A." by the Village People came on the radio. It made me think of my mother. I had always found it funny that she, a devout catholic had liked that song. I think that she actually believed it was a catchy tune about the benefits of staying at the "Y"-which it was-though not quite in the way she thought....I find it odd, my mom has been dead for almost half of my life-and yet I am still so aware of her influence on me.. Mothers are powerful people. As I look at my herd, I wonder, how much of what I say and do will affect them. I wonder, what it is about me, that they will carry forward with them into adulthood? I hope it's my sense of humor.




Lately, two of my herd have been overly interested in death. Oscar in particular. He is having trouble understanding the concept-and as it was mothers day, he wanted to know what had happened to mine.



Oscar-"Where's your mom?"



Me-"She died a long time ago"



Oscar-"Where did she die?"



Me-"Where? do you mean how?"



Oscar-"Did she leave?"



Me-"her body didn't work anymore-it was very sick...so it stopped"



Oscar-"SICK??? will she get better"



Me-"No honey, she's done with her body"



Oscar-"DONE!!! Where did she go?"



Me-"...I don't know...are you worried about me leaving?"



Oscar-"No, your mom is dead... can I have a snack?"



Me-"Are you sure you're not worried?"



Oscar-"NO!"




I'm not going to stress myself out too much about it. Death IS a hard concept to explain. I am though, quite amused by all of the "death scenes" that both Oscar and Zoe have been staging. I'll just happen to be walking through the living room, and there will be Oscar, lying on his back-hands folded over his chest and his eyes closed. "What are you doing bud?... "just being dead""O.K. have fun-dinner is in fifteen minutes"...O.K. mama." With Zoe, it's a little bit different. "Zoe, I need for you to go find your juice cup" She will then throw herself on the floor and say "Zoe isn't here-she's dead"..."O.K., when you are done being dead, go and find your juice cup please."




It would be so much easier if kids came with there own instruction books. There are days when I think that I am doing a decent job raising my herd-and then there are days where I doubt everything. If there were such thing as a "mother report card", I think that I would do o.k.- a couple of "A's",mostly "B's". Although, I know that in the comment section it would state "doesn't play well with the other mothers" I don't know what it is-my methods, my ideas...my humor-it just seems to put some mothers off. Especially, when I talk about autism.




Autism is a big part of our lives, but it is not our whole life. Yes, there are certain things that we have to do in order for our boys to feel safe and comfortable . There are routines that we follow-steps that we take to create the best possible atmosphere for them to learn and grow. The rest of the time...I just let them be. I don't worry that they only eat about five different things-because for the most part, those five things are healthy. I don't structure their play time-I don't fill every moment of their day with activities. They may be on the spectrum-but they are kids first and foremost. They need to play, ride their bikes, dig holes in the dirt, invent their own games-and if they need to flap and stim at the same time-so be it! They are learning what is and what is not appropriate through that freedom.. The world is always changing, and they have to figure out how to bend with it-or at least wiggle a little. I am not always going to be around to guide them. Part of my job is teaching them how to guide themselves. My methods might be different, but it doesn't make them wrong. ( my goodness! the reactions I got when I told some parents that I had (with permission) flapped and eeeed alongside my son-I wanted to know what it felt like-to better understand.)




I have four very unique and amazing children. I am so proud of all of them. I look at my boys and see such growth-especially in the wake of the grim prognosis we had been given for them. I have such joy...and much hope. My wish is for them to look back one day and recognize that they have always been cherished and loved-thoroughly and unconditionally. Having a sense of humor wouldn't be bad either.

rack and glasses

I was putting my kids to bed the other night-I have a special good night routine, an unchanging ritual for each of them. They all vary from one another except at the end. I always say "I love you" before walking out of their rooms. They usually respond with an "I love you too." I say usually, because lately, my three year old has been adding her unique spin to it.

Me: "Night night don't let the..."

Zoe: Bed bugs bite."

Me:"Sweet..."

Zoe:"Dreams."

Me:"No more..."

Zoe:"Getting up."

Me:"I..."

Zoe:"Love you"

Me:"I love you too"

Then, as I was turning to leave...

Zoe:"I love your breasts and your glasses." she smiled, put her thumb in her mouth and turned over...

Me:"Ummm...Thanks..?"

My breasts and my glasses? O.k., I kind of understand the breast thing. Zoe has always been fascinated with them. When she was eighteen months old, she started putting little beanie baby toys down the front of her shirt. I thought that she was just being clever, that she had found a great way to carry her toys around. I even complimented her on this. "Hey Zoe-you are so smart! You figured out a way to keep your hands free and still carry your animals around...good for you!!" She looked at me(like I just didn't get it) put her hand on her animals and said "BREASTS!" So, I can understand her love of mine(sort of) They are interesting "sticky out" things-and she would like a pair of her own. (as a side note-I've got nothing special-just a standard issue set) But my glasses? I have a hard time comprehending that one...

When I picked out the frames for my glasses, I made the horrible mistake of having ALL of my children with me. Needless to say, I was a little preoccupied and not paying enough attention. I think that the sales clerk pulled a fast one. Seeing that I was so distracted, she convinced me that I "LOOKED FABULOUS!" in a wire rimmed pair that I had grabbed in an effort to just be done with it. I believed her. I did not realize that she was trying to unload back stock from 1973. When I returned to pick them up two weeks later, this time without children, the salesperson was nowhere to be found. She was probably hiding. I put them on and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked...well, does anyone remember those horrible macrame wall hangings popular in the 70's? The kind with owls on them? These glasses gave me the appearance of a person who could have designed them...as a self portrait. For some reason, the lenses make my eyebrows look unusually large and tufted. I seem to be perpetually startled-maybe because of the enormous bushy growths coming out of my forehead? I needed these glasses. So, I convinced my self that they weren't that bad. Perhaps I just needed to get used to them-perhaps I was over exaggerating. I walked over to the register to pay for them. The salesclerk gave me the total, and said "Are you o.k. with the amount?" "Yes...,Why do you ask?" "Because you look so surprised." "No, I sighed..it's just my eyebrows." I quickly left the store keeping my head down.

Zoe's admiration of my glasses confuses me-and she is not the only one. Oscar adores them as well. They are a frequent topic of conversation for him. "Mama, you're wearing your glasses?" "Mama you have your glasses?" "Are you wearing your glasses mama?" "You have your glasses on mama?" "Glaaassssessss." I am just thankful he doesn't comment on my breasts.

So now, I am faced with a bit of a problem. It is time for new glasses. How is this change going to affect my kids? I am the first face that they see in the morning and the last that they see at night. Sometimes, changing something as little as my glasses, can have a big impact-and sometimes, it does nothing at all. I am going to risk it. I am weary of appearing perpetually bushy eyed. This time though, when I go to pick out my new frames, I am leaving the kids at home.

The Easter Charade

Raising kids is one of the hardest jobs that there is. Everyday, is a different challenge, a new opportunity to teach and to learn. There are times however, when I struggle-I am at a loss as to what to do. It is at these times that I look for a role model. Someone who can guide me to finding the answers that I seek. It is times like these that I pull out the "big guns". I look to the person who has done it all. It is moments like this when I ask "What would Mrs. Brady do?"

I grew up watching "The Brady Bunch". In one half hour Mrs. Brady,( along with a little help from Mr. Brady and Alice the housekeeper) appeared to be able to solve any problems that her children faced. I often wonder what she would have done if one of "The Bunch" were on the spectrum. I think that it would have made for some fascinating television. Imagine, the school calling because Jan refuses to sit anywhere but under her desk? Or, Marcia's date arrives to find Bobby spinning and flapping in the living room? What sage words would Carol Brady have? How would she explain things to everyone's satisfaction?

I was pondering this the other night as I was putting the kids to bed. It was the night before Easter, and they were all excited. That is, everyone but Sammy. Sammy is terrified of the Easter Bunny. This fear goes all the way back to when he was eighteen months old. It was a few weeks before Easter and we were out shopping at the mall. When seemingly out of nowhere, a man with a GIGANTIC paper mache bunny head jumped out in front of us. I have, to this day, never heard Sammy scream so loud nor saw him move so fast. He flung himself on top of me-clinging and clawing his way up my body. I think that he was trying to get back into the womb.It took him months to calm down. Needless to say, he has been wary of the Easter bunny and any other character with a large head ever since. ( because their faces don't move.) This bunny phobia was not a problem at first. We simply didn't celebrate Easter. Now that I have three more children, one of whom is very aware of all that Easter can be.(.i.e. unlimited candy for the day ) I have no choice but to acknowledge it. At the same time-I had to make it acceptable for Sammy.

I tried to explain to him that I was the Easter bunny. That I bought the candy and set it out in baskets while he was sleeping. He interpreted this as meaning that I went and picked up the candy from the Easter bunny. He literally thought that I met the bunny in a secret location outside of the house and brought home the baskets. He believed me to be brave. This went on for years, and I admit(sigh), I did not try to persuade him otherwise. I was having way too much fun imagining what such an adventure would look like.....

I always pictured it as a covert maneuver. I would go outside-at midnight, dressed all in pastels. The night would be silent and still...I would stand in the middle of the street and light a cigarette with shaking hands...nervously waiting. In the distance, I hear the sound of floppy feet moving in my direction...I look up, and there standing in the moonlight, in all his cotton tailed glory, would be the Easter bunny. He gazes at me with his steely pink eyes...the wind gently blowing his enormous bow-tie. This, is a bunny who has seen things. He says nothing as he passes me the basket-and with a nod of the head and a flip of the ears, he is gone. Only the basket in my hands and the sound of hopping in the distance, prove that he had really been there. I walk quickly back to the house thinking-"Just who IS that mysterious lagomorph..and whats with the eggs?"

This year, things were different. Sammy was more nervous than usual. He startled at every noise.."Was that the Easter bunnies car?"..."He doesn't drive buddy-his feet are too big"..."I think I hear him on the roof!" "Sammy, he can't jump that high...and besides, you know that I won't let him in the house.." "Maybe he snuck in...maybe he's upstairs!!!" "No buddy-I promise he is not." Our conversation went on in this vein for a while. I felt that I had no other choice but to tell him the truth...explain it so that he could understand. I said "Sammy...can I tell you a secret?...You have to promise that you won't tell your brother or sisters.." He agreed. "Buddy, there is no Easter bunny. I buy the candy at the store, I buy the baskets, I hide it in my closet until you are asleep. Then I bring it downstairs....O.K.? Does that make you feel better?" His relief was palpable. I asked him if he was alright with this...if he wasn't a little disappointed,,that even though he was afraid, the fantasy wasn't real. He looked at me and said " It's o.k. mama, I never wanted to see that big headed freak again anyway." He rolled over and promptly went to sleep.

We had a wonderful Easter. The girls, stuffed themselves with chocolate...the boys, ate frozen pizza. I averted a crisis-and all without the help of Mrs. Brady. Although I do wish Alice were around, my house could use a good cleaning.

Bleacher wail..

March in New England brings melting snow, the desperate hope of spring and the youth basketball season to our little town. Every Saturday, parents of eight to twelve year olds gather in the school gymnasium to watch their children compete. This is my son Sammy's second year playing on a team. The games are short enough for him to keep focus (about twenty five minutes) and he enjoys being with the other kids. Every Saturday morning, I gather up the herd, and we make our way over to watch that weeks game.



My other three kids love going to Saturday basketball. For one reason. The bleachers. Those gigantic wooden structures, that unfold from the walls of the gymnasium, creating instant seating for a hundred or so people. I hate them. The person who invented these anxiety causing monstrosities, was definitely not a parent. What mother in her right mind would design something that rises fifty feet in the air with seating resembling an enormous staircase, WITH NO RAILINGS?! What is the FIRST thing that any kid wants to do when they see them?... Run to the top.... And then back down, fifty thousand times. My kids can be particularly creative. Simply running up and down is boring to them. No, they need to challenge the laws of gravity, to laugh in the face of danger...to age their mother. They will run up sideways and come down backwards, they will go up sitting and come down sliding. They will hop and twirl and play balance beam. They will come down backwards hopping on one foot with their eyes closed,while reciting the alphabet.They will do all this without regard to life, limb, or their mothers mental health. There is so much tension in the gym on Saturday mornings, and none of it is from the basketball being played.



I try to keep track of the game. I am there to support my son. It is just so difficult to both watch a game and keep your children from killing themselves. On the court, the boys, all attired in baggy shorts, run back and forth-all elbows and knees. Sammy gets the ball and immediately passes it to another player. This is a big improvement from last year. Back then, if he got the ball, he would giggle uncontrollably. Or, if he saw a friend on the opposing team, he would drop the ball in order to give him a hug. This year, he is much more focused. He passes the ball with intent...he picks a player to guard, and jumps up and down in front of him frantically waving his arms. Someone shouts "way to go Sammy!" My boy is appreciated.( There are definite attributes to living in a small town.) I on the other hand am twisting and turning, trying to watch the game AND catch any of my kids should they take a misstep.I am NOT poetry in motion. I am more like a bizarre contortionist who lacks direction. One eye on the game, and the other tracking the antics of three very creative acrobats. I think about covering them all in pillows-or at least duct taping them next to me.When, finally,the buzzer goes off. The game is over. There is no winner, they don't keep score. But, I feel like a champion. All of my children are walking out of the gym alive. We have survived another Saturday basketball game.


We are all quiet on the way home. They all played hard,and they are tired. I am exhausted. Seven more days until the next game. I wonder if it is wrong to pray for a snowstorm.

dancing at wits end

It's 5:30 a.m. on Monday morning. My husbands alarm clock finally stopped going off at fifteen minute intervals , I am about to drift into a deep sleep, when MY alarm clock starts ringing. I drag myself out of bed, stumble down the stairs and pour a cup of coffee. Lukewarm coffee. Because my husband lovingly poured it from the coffee maker into the carafe in order to keep it hot for me. Only, he didn't screw the lid on correctly-so now it is closer to cold than warm. I glance out the window-and to my absolute horror, at least two feet of snow has fallen...and is still falling. For the love of god-it is going to be ANOTHER snow day-the kids WON'T have school. It is now 5:45 a.m. Monday morning and already the week has been too long.

I think about going back to bed...and just as I begin to make my way up the stairs, I hear the herd starting to wake up..Which is remarkable, for had this been a regular school day, I would need to prod, poke, pull and threaten them out of bed. It never fails...if it is the weekend, a holiday, or any other day in which there is no reason to wake up early-they are up at the crack of dawn. I wonder if there is some unwritten rule or code. A law that tells children "Thou shalt not let thy parents sleep late." If I do by chance, try and go back to sleep, they will tip toe (like a pack of elephants) into my room, stand next to my bed, and argue about whether or not I am awake...They think that they are whispering...but a whisper to them is one decibel below shouting. Sammy, will try and make everyone be quiet."Shh, mama is sleeping!!...Oscar, will get anxious saying"Oh no we are waking up mama!!"...Lily will tell Zoe that she is a baby and needs to go back to sleep...Zoe will scream(her face two inches from mine-she is checking whether or not my eyes are open)...I will pop up from the bed saying "Why are you all shouting?!!" to which they will reply.."Mama's awake!"Can we eat...I can't find my socks...Zoe pushed me...Sammy told me I had to go to bed...I did not!"...this will follow me to the bathroom..to my coffee..until I can actually quiet them with breakfast..

I get dressed and quickly walk the dogs. I am hoping to get a workout in. Working out with four kids at home is an adventure. If I ever meet Jillian Michael's, I will ask her how many extra calories this burns. In addition to following the workout routine, I chase my three year old who runs off with my weights, do push ups with a five year old (and various stuffed animals) on my back...have a ten year old who is all elbows and knees( with the coordination of a headless chicken) trying to mimic what I am doing and all the while I am asking my eight year old to "Please stop hopping up and down in front of the television". It takes roughly 2 hours to get through this 45 minute workout..by then it is lunch time..and my kids are hungry...they behave as though they hadn't been fed in months...I also notice that none of them have gotten dressed...with the exception of my three year old who is walking around in just one sock...this is her idea of a fashion statement.

I give them lunch and quickly walk the dogs(again). I make a pot of coffee and avidly watch the weather report-dear god let there be school tomorrow! As I try to drink a cup of hot coffee..my kids all clamor that they are bored and want to go outside and play in the snow. Four pairs of snow pants...boots, coats..hats, gloves and 30 minutes later they are outside..As I look longingly at my coffee pot my oldest comes to tell me that the snow plow guy has pushed all of the snow in front of the garage(I now look longingly at the wine bottle)...On go my own snow pants, hat, gloves and coat..I trudge towards the garage ready to do battle with the 5 feet of snow blocking the door...when my three year old has to go to the bathroom. Into the house we go..off come the hat,coat, mittens, snow pants and into the bathroom she goes...and out she comes...on go the snow pants, hat, coat and mittens...out the door we go when..."mama, I'm cold, I want to go in..." followed by a chorus of "me toos"..I plead- "Doesn't anyone want to help me shovel the snow?""Come on! It will be fun!"(I try to look enthusiastic) They look at me as if I have lost my mind. They do however agree to "help". Help consists of my ten year old shoveling the snow that I have moved- back to where it was, my eight year old rolling in the snow I am shoveling,my five year old lying in the snow complaining that her legs are tired, and my three year old repeatedly needing her mittens put back on. Three hours, two snack breaks, and one snowman later, it is done.

We go back into the house where I settle the herd in front of the t.v. with hot chocolate and even more snacks. I walk and feed the dogs. I clean up the kitchen and put a load of laundry in.
Finally, I pour myself a big cup of coffee and think about sitting down with a book. When my oldest comes in and hugs me saying "I love you mama"..I hug him back saying "I love you too buddy."He pulls away, looks at me and says "whats for dinner? I'm starving."

I have a few options...I can cry...I can drink coffee and cry..or I can turn on music...I put on The Black Eyed Peas "Pump It" crank up the volume and watch as my kids start to dance..I see no other choice but to join them. It has stopped snowing, there will be school tomorrow. I dance all the way to the kitchen.