Month: November 2007

My four kids sit at the kitchen table, each in their assigned places. I never intended to portion out the territory around the table, it is just something they did for themselves. Woe betide the sibling who dares to trespass on another’s chair. Many a heated battle has been waged over such infringements. But today there are no battles. Today they are happily working on a craft project together. Not even the limited supply of fuse beads can cause contention today. Kiki announces that she needs all of the black beads and all the other kids happily acquiesce.

I stand for a minute and watch them, four heads leaning together over our kitchen table. I am aware as I watch, that I am in a golden moment. I have no babies to make endless demands upon my schedule and energy, but all of my kids are still here at home rather than dashing off out into their own lives. I am truly fortunate. I want to lock today in memory because when I blink they’ll grow again. I know this because they’ve done it before. This is not the only time that I’ve stood in recognition of a golden moment. I’ve had them rocking babies or playing with toddlers or walking kids home from school. Some moments I only recognize as golden in retrospect. But today I see the moment for the treasure it is and I savor it.

At first the four kids are silent. Each one focused on the careful placement of beads. They have no thought for conversation. After a time, Gleek begins humming and Patches attempts to tell a knock knock joke. But the children seem to recognize the noise as an intrusion and they voluntarily decide to play the “quiet mouse” game. “One! Two! Three! Quiet mouse go!” and they all attempt to be the quietest child at the table. It does not last long, quiet mouse never does, because there must be some negotiations over the beads.

Fortunately our table is small enough that everyone can reach the beads easily. There have been times when I’ve lamented the small size of our kitchen table. It has no room for guests, only six places for the six of us. Today this will not matter. We’re going elsewhere for the Thanksgiving feast this afternoon. We’re going to a house much better arranged for hosting large groups. We’ve done Thanksgiving here before, but it feels wrong not to seat everyone around a single table. The kitchen is filled with the warm smells of pumpkin and apple pie. I baked them this morning to take with us when we go. The warmth of the oven is welcome because the temperature dropped two days ago. It now feels like winter outside rather than the gloriously mild Fall we had been enjoying for months.

I lean against the stove to soak in the radiant heat and look outside at the cold. There are birds squabbling over our feeder. Kiki notices them too. “Look Mom! A chickadee!” There is indeed a little mountain chickadee out there among the finches and sparrows. He looks dapper with his black hat and creamy front. Kiki smiles with delight. Lately Kiki has been the one keeping the feeder filled. I’m glad. I love to have birds chirping near our back door, but I so often forget to fill the feeder. I see it empty and feel sad that my life has become so busy that I don’t take time to feed birds. Now Kiki keeps a chittering flock near our window at all times. And if she sometimes scatters seeds across the deck as I’ve asked her not to do, I turn a blind eye. Seed husks on the deck are messy, but I’m willing to pay that price for birds. We can always sweep later.

“I’m done!” Kiki announces. She carefully takes her creation and places it on the counter for me to iron. She heads downstairs for her timed turn with a video game. Soon Link is done too. He dashes off to watch his sister play. The golden moment has passed. Or has it? Have I just moved into a different golden moment that I don’t recognize? The kitchen still smells of pies and there is a holiday feel in the air. But I don’t think it requires pies or holidays to make moments golden. It just takes someone pausing to love the treasures that they have, rather than running around in an attempt to find more.

Howard placed his lunch plate in the sink. He turned to me and said “I think I’ll go have a nap.”

Patches jumped down from his perch on a stool and ran, giggling, for the master bedroom. Howard took off after him with cries of “Oh no you don’t! That’s my spot!”

I remained in the kitchen alone, listening to the sounds of deep male laughter mixed with little boy giggles. I’m not sure exactly what shape these games take, because I’m not invited to play. I know it starts with Patches attempting to get into Howard’s nap spot before Howard does. After that I think there is blanket and pillow stealing. I’m sure tickling enters into the games somehow. Mostly I know that they both love it so much that the games sometimes last for 40 minutes or more. I love that Howard and Patches have this mid-day time together. I love that Howard sometimes announces his intention to nap, not because he is tired, but because he wants to play with his son.

Of all the developments in our self-employed lifestyle, I have most loved watching the emergence of play in Howard. He plays with all his kids in ways that he did not before. The other kids don’t get naptime games because they are in school, but there is more silliness and laughter in our house than before. Howard teases the kids and they tease him right back.

“You know what I want?” sighs Kiki, who was hoping for cookies.
“A Monkey!” announces Howard with a grin.
Kiki rolls her eyes because she knows that monkeys are a standard answer for all kinds of queries. “No Dad. I already have a monkey. Her name is Gleek.”
Had Gleek heard the conversation, she undoubtedly would have announced proudly “I’m a monkey because I climb!” But Gleek was not present, so instead there followed a discussion about the advantages of actual monkeys over human ones.

Monkeys sometimes make it onto our grocery lists. I then cross them out and write “No Monkey!”

This weekend Howard has plans to bring out his War Machine figs and teach Link how to play. Kiki often sits in Howard’s office after the other kids are in bed and keeps him company. Gleek gives Howard giant monkey hugs. They each play with Howard in different ways and I love it all.

I have had a really hard time getting moving the last few days. The Me of last week made all these plans about what would be the best use of time, but the Me of this week is feeling rebellious. I don’t want to do what I told myself I should do. Or rather I do want to have done these things, I just can find the motivation to do them right this minute.

Much of this stems from the fact that I don’t know when the books are going to arrive. I’m hoping they’ll arrive early next week. If they do, then next week becomes very busy and I’ll kick myself for the things I didn’t get done this week. But if the books do not arrive next week, then I’ll need to have things to do to distract myself from the lack of books. If I do all the preparatory things this week, then I may have nothing to fill the emptiness of next week. I say “nothing,” I will have many things to do, they just won’t be helpful in getting books mailed out on schedule and so in the twisted logic of a “waiting” mind-state those other things won’t count.

I somewhat resolve this by moseying my way through shipping tasks. I really want to go into high-energy mode and get stuff done, but I know that I can only sustain high-energy for a limited period of time. Thus I’m not allowed to go high-energy until we have a firm date on book delivery. Then I’ll know how to manage my flow of energy so that I don’t burn out too soon.

My kids get home from school in just over two hours. At that point I am officially on vacation. I will only be doing the minimally necessary business tasks while the kids are out of school. I need the break and the kids need my time and attention. They need the attention now because between the arrival of books and the end of the book release party I’ll have very little to spare.

So here I sit. Not on vacation yet, but not feeling like doing any of the non-vacation things which need me to do them.

Yesterday was our church Primary program. This is the once-per-year event where all the children sit on the stand to sing songs and take turns speaking a few assigned lines into the microphone. I look forward to Primary program Sunday because it is the one week of the year when someone else has to make my kids behave themselves.

We arrived at church and Link proudly took his assigned place on the stand with his class. Gleek and Patches are both part of the younger group whose classes were asked to sit with their parents for the first part of the meeting. Kiki settled in on the bench, secure in the knowledge that she had grown too hold to be in Primary anymore. Gleek did not settle. She sat perched on the edge of the bench, waiting for time to go up on the stand. The moment they asked the younger kids to come up, she was gone.

Patches was not quite so ready to leave the safety of our bench for the stand. He frequently has trouble letting go of me on Sundays. We’ve been solving the problem by filling his shirt pocket with fruit snacks to ease the transition. When I filled his pocket yesterday I did not realize that Patches’ assigned place was in the center of the front row, right behind the railing. He sat down and immediately began to chomp his way through the fruit snacks. He dutifully stood for the songs, but continued to chomp rather than sing. The chewing kept his mouth busy, but his hands could not be idle. He marched his fingers back and forth along the railing. Fairly quickly these little finger men proved themselves to be ninjas as they jumped and attacked each other in full view of the entire congregation. Nothing like songs about Jesus with the visual accompaniment of open-mouthed chewing and hand ninjas. I probably should have been mortified, but Howard and I were too busy trying to keep our own laughter below the radar.

Patches’ failure to sing did not negatively impact the performance because Gleek sang loud enough for three kids. This added to our amusement, but also to our amazement because Gleek was completely on tune. I didn’t know it was possible for a six-year-old to belt like that. In between songs Gleek did a pretty good job of being reverent. Or at least I hope she did because she was on the opposite end of the stand and I couldn’t really see what she was up to. There was that one loud THUMP because she fell off her chair, but over all she did well. This was much better than last year when I had to walk up front and remove a misbehaving Gleek from the stand.

The program continued and I calculated whether Patches would finish his fruit snacks before it came time for his class to recite a scripture. He did run out, but the empty mouth did not result in more program participation. He did not sing or recite on cue. Instead he started making exploding sound effects for his hand ninjas. Periodically he would stop and wave to Howard and I. Then he would wink and give us a thumbs-up. He was obviously very pleased at how well he was doing. We would smile and wave back and attempt to indicate through pantomime that he should fold his arms and sing. Our pantomimes had minimal effect. The ninjas continued to make appearances throughout the 40 minute program.

In truth Patches really did do well for his age. He was not the only four-year-old in that front row who played with his fingers or studied the ceiling or turned around completely to watch the kids behind him. I watched Patches’ antics and knew that half a dozen other parents were watching him, grateful that this time it was not their child who was the spectacle. I love that our congregation understands what can reasonably be expected from children in the reverence department. I’m glad the congregation is tolerant because I really was doing all I could to quell the ninjas without marching up to the front, which would have been a much bigger disruption than a child quietly amusing himself by playing finger games.

On the way home from church, I praised all of my kids for their efforts. They really did try their best and all felt really good about how they did. But next year I think we may have a little pre-program discussion about appropriate behavior while sitting on the stand. It would be nice to be the amused/sympathetic parent who is watching someone else’s child’s antics.

Last night when I answered the phone it was for Kiki. She came bounding up the stairs, snatched the phone from my hand, and dashed to her bedroom to chatter for nigh 30 minutes. This is typical behavior for a 12-year-old girl. At least I’ve heard that it is. It is not typical behavior for Kiki. Mostly when people call for her she is off the phone in less than two minutes. She has no interest in chatting for hours about boys or clothes or even movies. But recently she met a couple of new friends who actually share her interests. Apparently when the topic is Anime, Kiki can giggle and gab with the best of them.

The major topic for last night was the slumber party that is being held tonight. Kiki has been angling to go for days now. I hadn’t given her a solid answer because I had not met the parents in question. There is no way I’ll let my child spend the night at someone else’s house unless I’ve met them first. So last night Kiki put me on the phone with her friend’s mom. Within two sentences a realization clicked into my head. I remembered running into a former neighbor at the school band concert. I realized that I was now talking on the phone with this same former neighbor. I lived around the block from her when Kiki was two. We used to get together to share the joys and travails of parenting toddlers. I lost track of this former neighbor when she and I both moved away from the neighborhood. Apparently we both moved where our kids are attending the same junior high school.

After this joyous discovery, Kiki and her friend spent a further 15 minutes discussing how amazingly cool it was that they’d played together as babies. I’ll go drop Kiki off for the slumber party tonight and take a few extra minutes to catch up with my friend. Funny how the eddies of life bring people back together again.

I stood and looked down into the bassinet. I’d forgotten how small babies are when they’ve just arrived. A wash of thoughts and emotions flowed through me as I contemplated the infant boy. The foremost emotion was a desire to touch. I wanted to rub my hand across the soft down covering his tiny head. I wanted to feel the little warm head cradled in the palm of my hand. I wanted to hold the baby up against my shoulder and smell the scents that only babies have. I wanted to close my eyes and rock the baby. I wanted to remember what it was like when the baby I held was mine.

The second thought was a flood of memories that remind me why I’m currently glad not to have an infant. Adapting your life to meet the needs of an infant is hard. It is one of the hardest things I have ever done. I remember the emotional turmoil and physical exhaustion that accompany having a baby. People always talk about diapers, as if disposing of waste is the hardest thing. Diapers are easy. When they smell, you change them. Much harder was all the anticipation. The planning ahead and nudging feeding times so that they nestled with the other events of the day. The staring at a rash on your baby’s skin and trying to figure out if it matches the descriptions of common harmless infant conditions, or whether it matches that other description of a rash you should take to the doctor immediately. The exhausted frustration when baby falls asleep after an hour of crying only to wake again 10 minutes later. Feeling totally overwhelmed at the contradictory advice; all with the direst warnings about possible irrevocable consequences if I got it wrong. I wondered how I was going to manage the rest of childhood if I could barely handle feeding, diapering, and rocking to sleep.

The baby’s mother let me hold him for awhile. I did tuck him up on my shoulder and hold him close. I think that once you’ve had a baby, those sensations are forever wired into your brain. Holding a baby, I can remember the soft glowing times amidst the hard times. In fact the remembrance of those glowing moments assaults me and almost makes me wish to have it back again. It was wonderful and it was hard. I don’t really want to do all of it again right now, but I would not trade the experiences for anything. Even better, I have all the children that my four babies grew into and they continue to grow and delight me every day.

I handed the baby back to his mother. She cradled him close and I watched her for a moment. He is her first baby. She still has ahead of her so many of the experiences that are behind me. Joy and heartache both await her. I sought for something helpful to say. I finally settled on “Have you had the moment where you’re holding your baby and bawling because you feel like your life is over and you feel guilty because you’re supposed to love your baby but you just don’t because he ruined your life?” Tears came to her eyes as she answered that yes she had. There may be new parents who never feel that, but every time I’ve asked, the new parent always answers yes, relieved to not be alone.

Expectant parents go to classes, and read books, and try to prepare all that they can. This is like trying to learn how to swim by standing at the side of the pool practicing arm and leg motions. Babysitting is like splashing on the steps of the pool. When you finally have your baby, you’re thrown off the edge into the deep water. All that preparation may help reduce the panic, but nothing prepares you for the sensation of the water and the knowledge that the bottom is a long way down.

This mother is fortunate. She has lots of close friends and family nearby to help her. She has people to lend her more rope when she reaches the end of hers. I had that too. I know there are many new parents who don’t and I wonder how they survive. It takes a village to raise a child. It takes a village to keep the parents sane while the kids grow up. I had, and continue to have, villages for my kids. Now it is my turn to be part of the village for others. It is time for me to put my experiences to good use. Parenting is like a refiners fire, excruciating and transforming, but what survives is much stronger than the sum of what went in.

Today has been both good and bad. Note the lack of superfluous capitals there. Not Good and Bad, just good and bad. Nothing amazing happened. Nothing awful happened. There were just the little ups and downs that fill so many days.

The downs:

Spending hours on end sorting invoices until my brain was exhausted.

Not having a book to escape into.

Having to leave the sorting unfinished because I ran out of time and had to leave for cub scouts.

the running, screaming, door-slamming chaos that is so typical of childhood games.

Link slamming a shopping cart into the back of my heel so hard that I was limping for the rest of the shopping trip.

My throat is a little sore, I hope I’m not getting sick.

Feeding the kids ramen for dinner because I had no energy/time to cook.

The ups:
Buying lunch for Patches and I, then sitting with him at the kitchen table while he chattered about all the thoughts that crossed his mind. He’s fascinated with the concept of reading and we read the ketchup bottle with great seriousness several times.

Kiki made a very logical suggestion that saved hours of shipping preparation work (“Mom, can’t you print those 1200 insert sheets on the computer instead of handwriting them?” Duh. Of course I can. It just completely failed to occur to me.)

Kiki came home from school and plopped Gail Carson Levine’s Fairest in front of me. She checked it out from the library and says I can read it first.

Driving off with Link to cub scouts only to discover that the mysterious thing pressing against the back of my leg was the neighbor’s cat who’d sneaked into the car while I was not looking. I stopped and opened the window to allow the kitty to jump out and run back home. (We’d only gotten about 50 feet down the road.)

Getting to walk around outside while my cub scouts picked up trash in the school yard.

My kids playing giggle-games together without arguing.

Gleek picking up three times as many toys as I asked her to do.

Link going shopping with me and cheerfully helping me load and unload groceries. He also talked cheerfully with me the whole time.

Finding clementine oranges on sale.

Freshly baked cookies from dough I didn’t have to make first.

Gleek requested to read her first chapter book. We’re starting with Junie B Jones.

Bedtime ran smoothly with no frustrations or upsets.

Howard had a productive day too.

Funny how a few inconsequential bad things completely over shadow the day until I sit down and line them all up like this. I started this entry grumpy and whiny. Now I want to go hug all of my kids and tell them how happy they make me. It’ll have to wait until morning though because most of them are asleep, which is in itself a happy thing.

I was setting up our Wii console so that Patches could play a video game when I found the message. It was a little memo that Link wrote for himself. It read “I like Bestfriend.” He wrote similar notes several days running. Link still misses Bestfriend even though they moved away more than a year ago. Looking at that note I thought about the long journey that Link has taken this past year. A year ago this month we chose to medicate Link for ADD. It was a decision we approached with great trepidation. It was, and continues to be the right decision for our family. Link flourishes. He is no longer constantly scolded for things undone. He has more confidence in himself and in his capabilities. He is catching up in so many of the social and emotional arenas where he lagged behind for so long. He is capable of examining his own emotions and working through them. It made me so glad to find this little memos. They are evidence to me that Link is acknowledging his emotions and dealing with them rather than avoiding them as he used to do. This is good.

Now I need to be making more space in my schedule to talk to Link about things. He needs quiet one-on-one conversation just as much as his noisier-pushier siblings do. I need to create quiet times where the two of us can talk. I’d like him to be able to turn to other people with his sadnesses as well as writing notes on a video game console. The more he connects with people here and now, the less he will miss Bestfriend who is gone. Link has grown so much and yet he still seems so much younger than his peers. I need to extend myself more to help bridge that gap.

Whether or not we are consciously aware of them, anniversaries are important. They carry emotional freight both good and bad. Last Sunday I passed an anniversary. It was one year ago that Howard and I decided to put Link on medication for ADD. The one year mark is a good time for me to pause and assess the results of that decision. It was not a decision we made lightly. I was frankly frightened. Even after the medication proved to be a great boon to Link, I worried about what the costs would be.

A year later Link is still on medication. It is hard for any of us to remember what it was like before. We’ve all adapted to the more focused Link and he has finally been able to learn some things that were beyond him before. He has learned them well enough that he is still able to do them when he is off the medication. The major side effects have been suppressed appetite and difficulty settling down to sleep. We make sure that he is off the medication every other weekend or to have a chance to sleep and eat lots. The doctor helps me monitor closely his health and development.

For Link continued medication is the right choice. He still has social, emotional, and some educational catch up to do. He probably will not completely catch up to his peers until he is adult. That is a typical developmental pattern for ADD brains. But I’m trying to minimize painful experiences as much as possible. I can’t take them all away. That wouldn’t be good for him either. We all need painful experiences so that we can grow from them. Right now he is struggling with recess. He keeps getting left out of games and being at loose ends. I’m trying to talk through that experience with him and help him find his own solutions. He also needs practice speaking. This means I need to be sitting down and having him read out loud to me. Not just that, I need to be talking to him about things. I need to be having conversations with him.