jubyred

Red Light Green Light

Since the day my son was born, he has had a lot to say.  I have come to accept this fact about him.  He came prewired that way.  I am a firm believer that children are who they are and our job, as parents, is to nurture the best of them and allow them to blossom within that.  My job is not to turn him into someone else or to make him feel ashamed of who he is, but to try to foster an environment where he feels loved and accepted and celebrated for his true self.  It's what everyone deserves.

That being said, my kid just won't shut up.  I mean it in the most loving way.  Really, I do.  I have been told by no less than four teachers now, by six grandparents, and by complete strangers.  He is insightful and bright and his perspective is often quite remarkable for a kid of six.  But I'm not sure his first grade teacher needs to hear it all day long as she tries to prepare his class for all the upcoming standardized tests. 

Just as in Kindergarten, he begins each day on the color Green.  As infractions occur, he can be moved down the line to Yellow, then Blue then Red (at which time a letter is sent home detailing his behavior).  All last year, and towards the beginning of this school year, he was mostly a Green kid with a few Yellows thrown in for variety.  But over the past two months, the Greens are few and far between. 

I got in touch with his teacher and we spoke at length about his overly-social behavior.  He is completely distracted by everything and everyone.  When he is one on one, she said it's like talking to a ten year old.  He's reading at an accelerated level and doing well academically, but simply cannot seem to keep his commentary to himself.  His behavior is disruptive to the other students.  And of course, the main concern is that, very soon, the school work will not be as easy as it is now for him and he will lack the essential skills of paying attention that he will need in order to learn new material. 

So, we spoke at length and now have numerous (like three a day) conversations with him about how to behave.  We have extolled the benefits of Silence.  We have bribed him for good behavior and punished him for bad behavior and none of it has made any bit of difference.  I have recently threatened the loss of Trick or Treating in an effort to make him take it seriously. 

Each day, he comes home with his school agenda and he is required to draw a circle of the color he got for the day.  If he gets anything other than Green, he makes it a sad face, sometimes with commentary like, "Sorry."  But the strangest thing happened after speaking with his teacher last week.  His agenda mysteriously disappeared.  We looked in his backpack but no agenda.  The first day, he told me he got on Yellow.  The next day, we knew he was on Red because a letter came home that we had to sign and return.

Then yesterday, he came home and announced that he got Green! Drew had the kids fed by the time I got home and when I walked in, the two kidswere sitting at the bar eating popsicles.

-Hey Mommy!  Guess why we're eating popsicles even though it isn't a dessert night.

-Hmmm...I'm not sure.  Why?

-We're celebrating because I got Green today!

-That's excellent!  I am so proud of you.  I knew you could do it.  I'll have to call your teacher and ask her how it went today!

-Oh, well. uh, let's see...(rubbing his chin) Let me think, did I get Green or did I get Yellow?  I'm trying to remember now. 

-You don't remember what you got? You seemed pretty sure that it was Green a minute ago.

-Well, I had my mind on something else.  I might have been distracted.  now that I think about it, maybe it was Yellow.

-Hmmm.  Well, here we are celebrating your Green.  You got a popsicle and Daddy and I have been praising you.  How do you think we should handle this since you didn't actually get Green (looking at his half-eaten popsicle).

-Um, well (quickly slurping it down as he's talking to me), throw away the rest of my popsicle?

-Do you think that would be fair?  Since you didn't really earn that privilege?

-Um (slurp slurp) I guess so. Only (slurp slurp bite slurp), it's almost gone and, uh, (slurp slurp) now it really is all gone so uh, all I have is the stick. 

Thanks

My favorite thing GirlChild says these days is her use of the word "Lovin'," which I sort of started using in kind of a funny way.  But, since she's four, she thinks it's really a word we use.

It goes like this-

1. I get home and she runs to me (usually in an elaborate outfit that involves her swimsuit, some tights, a head band, and some high heels) and pulls my hand to the couch telling me to sit down and hold her because she "needs some Lovin'."

2. She trips and falls in the garage getting out of the car (this was last night) and is bawling.  I pick her up and carry her inside and hold her silently until she calms down. 

-All better now?

-Yes.  Lovin' made me better.

 And she hops down off my lap.

3.  Bedtime-She has been tucked in and kissed and sang to and I am downstairs watching TV or cleaning up the kitchen and I can hear her yelling from her room, "Mommy!  I need some more Lovin'!"

4. I see her in Mommy Pretend Mode, playing with her baby dolls.

-Whatcha doing, Sweetie?

-Oh, just Lovin'. I loved Her and Her and now I'm Lovin' Her.

Sailing Takes me Away

A recent conversation with Drew:

 

-I had a terrible dream about you last night.

-Uh-oh.  What was it?

-You were coming onto Alyssa Milano right in front of me.  You were scratching her head.

-I’m surprised they let me get that close to her.

-I’m serious.  And you were saying all these dirty things to her. Right in front of me.

-Like what?  And talk slowly.

-I mean it.  It was awful.  And that Christopher Cross song, “Sailing” was playing as you did it.

-Wow.

-Yeah, I know. And then later, when she wasn’t around, the song came on and I confronted you.

-Uh oh.

-I said, “I know what this song makes you think of.  I know you’re thinking of Alyssa Milano”

-I was probably just thinking of scratching her head.

-Well, whatever it was, it wasn’t good.  And then you told me I was worthless.

-Well, you had me in the beginning.  But no, Shan, I would never say that.

-Yeah, you were kind of a dick.

-Well, you have nothing to worry about.  I will never scratch Alyssa Milano’s head to any Cristopher Cross song.

-Hmmm.

-Honestly, I am only into Alyssa Milano in a normal way.  In a normal sexual way, ideally without ‘Sailing’ playing in the background.

-Ok, I’m down with that.  But if I ever hear that you scratched her head, I’m gonna be really hurt.

-Deal.

Uma Love

Last night, I showed Jill a picture on my phone of GirlChild.  She hasn't seen her in a while. And she says, "Oh my God!  She has wide set eyes!" (She does?) "Look, Steven...look at this picture of Shannon's daughter.  She has wide set eyes.  "  Steven asks the obvious question, "What does that mean?"  Jill says, "People with wide-set eyes secrete a hormone that make people love them.  It's why people love Uma Thurman."  I nearly spit my beer out.  It was so Jill.

So this afternoon, we were at a local festival eating gyros and I had mentioned the funny little Jillism to Drew.  We had just watched some teenage girls perform some really bad dance numbers on the stage and when it was over, they headed towards our seats when he says to me:

-Talk about some wide-set eyes (motioning to a leotard-clad 16 year old)
-Is there secreting going on?
-I'm feeling some secreting.
-Ok, down Boy.  I only got enough napkins for the kid's ice cream.  You're on your own if you make a mess.
-Oh no, I got some secreting to do.
-(Feeling drops on my arm) Is it raining?  Or is that you secreting?
-Oh, sorry, that might be me.
-I'm impressed. 

It Seemed like A Good Idea At The Time

My parents have been itching to have the kids down this summer.  Well, summer (as in School is Out) began Friday at 2:30 p.m.  By Sunday morning, they were on their way to Florida.

For a few weeks, since we planned this, I have been having Mom fantasies about a clean house and watching TV and not sweeping under the barstools and existing on nothing but Syrah and cake for days because I can.  Because I am a grown up. 

The timing worked beautifully as Drew has a work retreat scheduled for here and I can go and meet him, childless, for a few nights.  Lounge by the pool.  Stay up late having dinner.  Sleep in.  Heaven, I tell you.

So all day yetserday, I cleaned up their little messes and got all the dirty clothes off the closet floors.  Gathered the nightime water cups next to the beds, rescued the stuffed animals and stray socks from under beds, organized the playroom, cleared off the train table, and got Dora toothpaste out of the sink.

At around 8 p.m., I took a bath and hung out on my bed reading.  But it was sooo quiet.  Way too quiet.  Everything was so still.  The air did not move in that house.  So I went downstairs where drew had been working furiously on the computer in preparation for a presentation he's giving at this work retreat thing and he had lit candles.  Wow!  An open flame right there in the living room.  Everything was pretty and smelled nice. 

Except it was so quiet.  So, I sat there on the chair and looked and my pretty house.  All the candles.  Everything looking so grown up.  Drew walks in the room.

-Hey.  I thought you might have gone to bed.

-No.  I was just reading.  The candles look pretty. It's so grown up in here. Sigh.

-Yeah.  I know.  Do you want me to hand you the remote?

-Nah.

-You want a magazine?

-Nah.

-You're just going to sit there?

-God, it's so quiet without them.

-Just pretend that they are upstairs asleep.

-I can't.  I am so aware that they are gone.  That I don't need to be quiet.  That no one will get out of bed and ask me for anything.  I don't like it.

-I thought you were excited about this.

-I was.  And now I want them back.

So I meandered upstairs and read a bit and did finally drift off to sleep and today it doesn't seem so dramatic now that I've spoken to them on the phone.  Tonight, it will be quiet again.  But maybe it will be nice.

How Many Licks Does It Take?

Over the last month or so, I have been having a series of tests taken.  The short version is that I had been having some dizzy spells and as a result of lookign into that, it has been discovered that my blood pressure is pretty low and non-reactive like it should be.  I'm also convinced I have a brain tumor, but that is another story.  I'm scheduled for more tests and a neurology appointment tomorrow so I'll know more then.

I'm making fun of it only because I'm sure that nothing is wrong, obviously.  But all the tests have prompted some funny conversations in my house. A friend of ours is a cardiac nurse and her husband works with Drew.  What's funny is that her experise ends up getting filtered through her husband and then mine.  In other words, I'm getting very skewed versions of what she's saying. So last night, Drew starts telling me that her advice is for me to eat more salt.  You know, if people with high-blood pressure are told to avoid salt, then what I need to do is really get serious about my salt intake.  Maybe sodium supplements?

-Like, maybe we could get a salt lick in the bedroom?

-Yeah, that would be good.  I would encourage that. 

-Then you would have something to bug me about and remind me of all the time (which is a reference to the fact that I am constantly reminding him of everything). 

-Oh yeah, I like that. "Shannon, you still need 50 more licks.  Now get in there and get some licking done!  Don't leave that room until you're done licking." 

-Like it would just be sitting on a pole?  What does a salt lick look like?

-Uh, I'm picturing a big hunk of salt like the chalk things you rub your hands on when you play pool at a bar.  Kind of a dome shape?

-No, I think it's more like a big cylinder, like maybe 10 inches long, 3 inches in diameter on a big pole just standing over there in the corner.

-Actually, that's much better.  Let's go with your vision.  Tell me about it again.  Slowly.

It Must Be Me

One of the things I love most about my husband is his unshakable belief that we were meant to have beautiful, perfect family moments.  He believes they will revolve around traditional events like Thanksgiving dinner, Easter Egg hunts, Saturday afternoon picnics, and this week, decorating the Christmas tree.

As for me, I have long known that those are the least likely moments when we will achieve any sort of family synchronicity.  I document these events with photos and video and try like hell to make it appear as though that's the way it occurred (perhaps fooling our memories down the road into believing it), but it never ever happens.

Case in Point: Last Easter, it was about 30 degrees so we were all freezing because I neglected to bring parkas to the egg hunt.  I also didn't bring baskets, so the kids ran around with Target bags fighting with one another over the candy and crying.  Easter at church, Drew left halfway through the service with both kids and never returned, leaving me sitting there alone while he had two screaming kids in the car.   Good times.

Last weekend's tree decorating extravaganza was no exception. 

I asked Drew to take BoyChild to get the tree.  Already, he's disappointed that we aren't all going to the farm to pick out the one to cut down.  I don't know how he could have a good memory of that.  My memory is chasing kids around the trees, freezing, then a long drive back with cranky kids.

But he agreed to expedite it a bit since I gave him full authority to choose a good one.  Which he did.  Hours later, we finally managed to get the mammoth tree up.  And straight.  Without knocking any holes in the walls. 

The anticipation, however, of getting in those boxes of sparlky, breakable shiny things, was too much for our children to bear. GirlChild showed up to the event in a princess dress (of course) and immediately started pulling things out.  Dropping them.  Pulling wings off angels.  Legs off Santas.

For the next hour, all I heard was the sound of me bitching...

• Please put that down.
• We'll get to that in a minute.  Let us get the lights on first.
• Okay, did you hear me when I said to put it down?
• If you drop that, it's going to break.
• That can hurt you.  Give it to Mommy.
• Does that belong to you?  No?  Then stop touching it.
• Do you want to decorate the tree or not?  Okay then please do what I ask you to do.
• Why don't ya'll go to the playroom and I'll come and get you when we're ready.

After a while, I had to excuse myself before a vein in my head exploded and I started screaming uncontrollably.

It seems like if it wasn't for me, maybe it would look like a storybook.  Drew just sails through it.  Not a word. No anxiety. Everything is fine.  I mean except for the periodic loud sigh and look he gives me for being Debbie Downer.

I guess I just realize that it's a lot of pressure for things to be perfect just because the calendar says it's a certain day.  The most perfect moments come when we least expect them. Tuck-ins at night.  A long drive that goes well.  A good day at the playground.  Bowling with the kids.  Seeing a deer on our hiking trail.  Hearing the kids tell a joke.  And I never have the camera for those moments. 

 

The Peanut Pickle

It has begun.  My utter hysteria over Kindergarten beginning tomorrow.  Stranger than my freak-out is the fact that it has taken me totally off guard.

On Friday, I left work early to pick up BoyChild from camp and take him to his Kindergarten orientation.  Now, keep in mind that he has been to two schools now.  School Number One was a little Montessori classroom with 14 kids and 2 teachers.  Period.  School Number Two was 6 classrooms and a handful of teachers who all knew my children. 

Kindergarten is a million kids, about 800 teachers, and 2000 administrative staff.  There are, oh, I'd say 50 doors leading into the school, and every one of those people are out to get my kid.  Oh, wait, no, that was my li'l nightmare last night.

In truth, I am feeling okay about this whole "some dude who may or may not be jacked-up on Meth is driving my only son to school five days a week" thing.  Sure.  No problem. No, this week's freak-out is the inevitable peanut allergy issue.

I arrive in his classroom and briefly meet his teacher.  She introduces herself using her first name which totally throw me off.  Then she points to where he will be sitting.  She hands him a bag of goodies and then goes to greet another family who has arrived.  First item in the bag, a big ole chocolate covered ALMOND.  Not a good sign.

Really, I understand.  I do.  If you don't have a kid with a nut allergy, it's not in your brain.  I don't fault her so much, but FUCK.  Have you picked up a fucking newspaper in 5 years?  Plus, it totally forces me to be THAT mom.  "Nice to meet you Ms. Pain in my Ass.  But don't worry.  After I smile sweetly at you, I'll just take out my teacher frustration on your vulnerable child."

-Hi.  I think I filled everything out correctly.  This is probably a  good time to mention that he has a peanut allergy (handing her the candy).

-Oh, well, that's an almond.

-Yeah, same thing in his body.  Peanuts, almonds, pecans---allergic to all of them.

-OH!  NO!  REALLY!!!??? (directs all of this to him)  Well, I guess we should keep you away from them then, huh?  How allergic is he?

-Well, he's been tested.  According to his allergist, pretty allergic.  Any ingestion could lead to anaphylactic shock.  It has the potential to be fatal if not treated.  He's pretty good about asking, but we should probably arrange a time to talk about this more if you haven't had a student with this allergy before.  With the right precautions, it's very manageable.  (I can see her eyes are on the door as other families file in.)

-Uh, yeah, okay.  I'm sending him some stuff home on Monday so you can just fill out the form in there.

-Uh, okay.  Is that all I need to do?

-Yep.  Ok, little guy.  It's nice to meet you.  See you on Monday!!

I went and met with the woman in charge of the cafeteria after that.  The basic gist is there are peanuts everywhere.  Cookies, brownies, in salads, sandwiches. 

Next stop, the school nurse.  Filled out a form aso she can keep an Epipen in there for him.  Did I mention, the nurse's office in on the whole other side of the school?

Okay, so here we are. Deep breath.

I have printed up and laminated little cards with his picture on it and emergency instructions that I will distribute to all his teachers-Art, PE, Computer, and Music.  The cafeteria will have one, the school nurse, and the front office. They look like mini-WANTED posters with the words "I AM ALLERGIC TO PEANUTS" on one side and the signs of a reaction and instructions on the back.

I have loaded up his class with every possible snack so hopefully no one else will ever have to bring any in.  He is taking his lunch everyday and has been lectured no less than 10 times on food-sharing and precautions to take.

On his first day of school, he's taking a story book geared towards kids his age about peanut allergies.  Hopefully his teacher will read it to his class.

Short of that, I'm not sure what else to do.

It's a fine line.  I don't want him to feel different.  But shit, everyone is different. Maybe it's good that he gets that now.  I have no idea.  Thank God he's hyper-social and we don't have to deal with any ADD issues or learning difficulties on top of this. 

I knew this day was coming. I guess I just anticipated that it would be about the normal stuff--the letting go of my first child and all of that.  I hate that those feelings, which I'm also feeling in mass amounts, is all jumbled up in this freaking allergy crap.

I am calling the allergist this week and having them schedule a food challenge ASAP.  Basically, they give him a small dose of pure peanut extract and we wait.  If he reacts, they are prepared to treat him.  If not, we figure out if we're safe.  Given his last 2 tests, I think it's worth a shot, terrifying as it might be.

If he was ever in the clear, I don't think I could convince him it's okay to eat peanut butter.  I probably wouldn't even try.

Verbatim

While tucking in BoyChild Friday night:

Mommy, just so you know, if you're looking for my shorts, they’re in the dryer because I had an accident.

Okay.  What kind of accident?

I can't tell you.

Of course you can.  You can tell me anything.

No, I can’t tell you this.

Do you want to know a secret?

What?

Sometimes grown ups have accidents too.

They do?

Sure.  Everyone has accidents.

Well, I had one today and I kind of peed a little in my pants.

Okay.  Why do you think that happened?  Did you just hold it too long and you couldn’t make it to the potty?

No.  I could get to the potty.

Then what happened?

The teacher had already cleaned it.

You didn’t want to go in the bathroom because she was in there cleaning it?

No, if I went pee in there, she’d have to clean it again after me and that would be extra work for her.

Oh, Sweetie.  That was very thoughtful of you, but she’d rather you use the potty than have an accident.

But I didn’t want her to have extra work. 

I know, but next time, just use the potty, okay?  As long as you flush, it’s no extra work for her.  Okay?

Okay. But my pee just had to come out.

Yep.  That’s how pee works.  (a phrase I never thought I’d say)

Just like babies.  When a baby wants to be born, it just comes out, right?

Yep.  That’s right.

But, mommy, how DOES the baby come out?

Uh, well, I went to the hospital and there were a lot of nurses and they helped you come out.

I know, but HOW?  Where did I come out?

Oh, right, well…(here we go)…you were up in my tummy, right here, and there’s a tunnel that comes out down here and you came right out of it.

Wow!  Really?

Yep.  And you used to be connected to me with a long tube from your belly button.

Yes, but I have one more question.

Okay.

How do you MAKE one? (Oh, Jesus…here it is.  The question)

How do you make what?

I was wondering…how do you MAKE a computer?

Oh, well, you’ll have to ask Daddy that.

Hit Me Up, Mommy

At exactly 2:23 a.m. BoyChild stood next to my side of the bed, hand over his ear, screaming that it hurt.  So, I got out of bed and dosed him with some ibuprofen and some ear drops and managed to get him settled.  Then I reset my alarm clock to wake up an hour later, aware that I'd be spending the morning at the pediatrician's office rather than stuck in commuter traffic.

As expected, he had an ear infection.  Make that two.  Two ear infections.  One in each ear.  It's always a nice touch when the doctor looks in there and says, "Oh, wow!  That's not good!"  Like, okay, just take my heart out of my chest and stomp all over it because I'm a shitty mother for somehow not telepathically being so in tune to my son's health that I could know, with no symptoms or signs that his little ears were all infected.

Anyway, he gave us the obligatory antibiotic prescription and I dropped the kids at school since he wasn't infectious and seemed fine.  Guilt guilt guilt ensues.  I should be home with him. He had no fever.  Was in no pain.  But if I were still a SAHM, I would have kept him home. 

So, after work I went to pick up his prescriptions (4 of them!) and as it turns out, the drug store didn't have the stuff he needed.  Three drug stores later, I finally came across a Pharmacist who could do some math and change the dosage on 100 mg stuff to make it seem like the 200mg stuff that was prescribed.  So, he takes 2 tsp a day instead of one. Of course this took an hour to accomplish as I'm driving to each place in my sweaty and rain-soaked boot camp gear freezing my ass off in the air conditioning.

So, I finally get home at like 9pm and find Drew reading to the kids in GirlChild's room biding his time until I show up with meds and pullups for GirlChild's sleep/pee fest.  I load up the little plastic mouth syringe thing they give you at CVS and dose the boy.  GirlChild immediately starts in...

My mouth hurts.  I'm sick.  I need some medicine, too!

No, Sweetie.  You aren't sick.   Dr. Anderson looked in your ears and they are fine.  This is just for your brother. We don't take medicine if we're not sick, remember?

Huge tears.  Wide open mouth crying.  "But I waaaant medicine!!!!"

She ended up settling for a chewable vitamin which probably only perpetuates the problem.  God, they are like a couple of junkies when it comes to medicine.  They make that stuff so sweet now, that anytime I break out the grape-flavored Tylenol, my children start jumping and squealing with delight.  "More!  More!  Can I have some more!?"

Having had the opposite experience of having to pry BoyChild's mouth open to get some medicine in him, I suppose this alternative is preferable, but it is a bit disconcerting to watch your children beg for the meds and make up illnesses to get it.