Transition

We are in it.

And it's hard to put into words what's going on, so smart me thought, huh, it's a labor word. I'll look it up. The first site on the list was Amazing Pregnancy.com, so being lazy, that's what I clicked on. Here's what they had to say about it:

During transition, you may feel unable to relax or to get comfortable.  While you may have handled labor well up to this point, it is at this time you are most likely to feel like you have no idea what to do, and that nothing is comfortable anymore....

Sometimes taking a bath or shower or rocking in a rocking chair may help you cope....

Sometimes as the pressure increases...you will feel the need or desire to push...

Some things you can do to avoid pushing if you (are) not ready:
-  Lift your chin in the air
-  Pant loudly
-  Don't hold your breath
-  Imagine a balloon above your face and try to blow it away from your face.


Startlingly apropos.

About six months ago, one provider after another told me some version of, "I don't really know why she's not responding/ I don't really know what else to do/ huh?" and I started wondering if this was finally the end of the road and we really were on our own, outside in the dead of winter with the wolves. Then one said, "I had one family who swore by Dr. Sl. He's a behavioral pediatrician who specializes in trauma's effect on the brain. He's expensive, and you won't be able to get in for a long time, but he knows what he's doing.

I called Dr. Sl. He's expensive. Shockingly so, to me anyway, at least for the evaluation. The answering machine message warned me to not expect a call back for a full two weeks. Then I got an appointment-- with a three month wait. We had gotten so desperate that Josh's only question was, "are you sure he knows what he's doing?" Fortunately, I was. He ran the Children's Trauma Center in our area, and at the time our girls were placed with us our agency was requiring evaluations there for children three and older. Dr. Sl was the first person to really explain to me exactly what had happened to Princess's brain.

In September we finally sat down with him. For four hours. The more he talked, the straighter up I sat. For every thought that had ever flitted across my brain, he had already developed an actual Power Point presentation. And compared to what he had dealt with, with moderate success, Princess is a cake walk. He told us that, with the work we had already done, Princess was where he expected a patient to be around the third or fourth appointment. And I started to breathe. He spoke about the changes he'd make in her medication. Lot's of teeny tiny, low dose changes. He said, "we'll talk in a week, and then in two, because honestly, by then we could be looking at a different child." And I bent over and sobbed. Dr. Sl handed me tissues while Josh patted me. "Don't worry," Josh said, "she knew she was going to do this."

It was the hope. I know no one can promise me any type of result. But for someone to say, you're here now, and I have ideas you haven't tried," well, it was like coming out of a stale room. "See," said the Still Small Voice, "I told you. I told you you wouldn't be doing this by yourself. Now do you see?"

And he was right. By the second week, things were different. Just slightly. Just enough. She is more relaxed, more confident, more self-possessed. She laughs and giggles. She has raged twice in the past month, instead of twice in the past day, the past hour. In October, she began caring about her school work. She hasn't had a stamp in her notebook for not bringing home her homework for three weeks. She has only one concerning grade on her report card, with a note from her teacher saying it reflects more of September's work than October's. I truly see a chance for healing.

Except for the rest of us. I felt my anxiety take a hike the last two weeks of October. I figured it was because November is a traumaversary for me related to Princess, and that's probably most of it. But then, at about the same time, Peanut hit the skids. And Peanut on the skids is a far, far, FAR scarier than than anything Princess has ever dished out. And suddenly Buddy cannot stand Princess. Can't stand anything about her. And our feelings do not make sense: she's getting better! She's not screaming, she's pleasant more often, and she's only annoying in the ways all third-grade girls are annoying, yet this, mad, this anger, this junk that's been pent up in us for years is starting to move down the large intestine, and you know where that comes out....

So, basically, the three of us are moving into the therapist's office. It's nice there. She has a great dog. And a Keurig. What else do you need?

Ever. For Any Reason

Two years ago Josh and I were badly betrayed by someone the children knew as well. This person had been outwardly kind to them, and there was no way to hide the betrayal from them, so they've had a great need to process it. Over. And over. And over. Every few months one of them (usually the Cuddle Bear) randomly brings it up, and I have to relive it. Big Girl Panties- ON! So again, last night, in the Suburban, again, from the Cuddle Bear.

Is he bad, Mommy?
I'd call it "dishonest" and "untrustworthy."
Is he mean?
(deep sigh)  Everyone has some good and some bad in them. How much of each has a lot to do with the choices you make. It's really hard to know what's in someone's heart. And it's complicated. People who act mean usually have had big hurts, too.

Quiet reflection (I think. It could have been nose-picking). Then Princess.

Like me?
Oh, honey. I don't think you're a mean person. I think when you act mean, it's because your big feelings get too big. I love you so much.
Yeah. You won't ever stop.

No. I won't. Ever. For any reason.

Calculating

Homework continues to be the o joy that it was last year. So far, there is only one difference, and that is that Princess did not give us a honeymoon during the review month of September.

Yesterday she had a math sheet that involved a calculator, and she had clearly been taught how to operate it in class. She did some of her general toying around (9+4+4+7+4+4+7+9 instead of 9447+4479, for instance), and then settled into doing it correctly. For about four seconds. Then came: "find the difference between the two numbers." When she asked me to check her work, here is what I saw crammed into the answer space (_____):

the first numer has a nine in the front and the seced numer has a nine at the end

So. Of course, like a good mom, I tried to explain that the problem was looking for a math answer, not an explanation, but it went over in the usual way. So I stopped and went back to my knitting. Because this was taking place in the Suburban, mind you. During Peanut's soccer practice. In the rain.

Pretty soon I hear: clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick
I hold out my hand.

What?
Hand me my calculator please.
Why? I was just pressing this one (=).
Yes. I noticed. But the thing is, I need my calculator not broken. So I can balance the checkbook and make Daddy happy. So since you're not using it for your homework, kindly fork it over.
But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?
Oh come on! We both know you're pressing the equal sign 5000x per second because you know I'll take the calculator and then you can yell at me for making you unable to finish your math sheet.
Uh-uuuuuuh!

(silence)


(more silence)


Mom?
Yes?
Can I play on the playground?
No...
Why?
Because your homework is not done.
BUT I CAN'T DO MY HOMEWORK BECAUSE YOU TOOK THE
Bwaaaa haha hahahahahaha hahaHAAAAAA! See?



I will say, Princess's speech and language processing therapy is obviously paying off. Because she is coming up with much better mean names to call me much more quickly.

Clearly, I've Done Something Right

and it's not often I can say that, so I think I'll say it again. Just to make myself feel good:

Clearly, I've done something right.

I find that major transitions, such as school beginning or ending, are excellent times to sneak stuff into the routine that you know the kids aren't going to be super crazy about. They're usually reeling from change and so bleary-eyed from either too little or too much sleep that they don't realize what you've done until it's too late.

This summer it was, "hey, guess what! Your new job is picking up and vacuuming the dining room/ living room/ family room/ kitchen!"
Them: "uh um uh um. Ok....."

Our typical pre-school routine in the past has been: 1. clothing and hygiene, 2. breakfast, 3. more hygiene, 4. play scream and jump on each other's heads, 5. listen to mom blow a gasket over getting our shoes on and tied.

This time, I decided to remove "play Scream and Jump on Each Other's Heads," and replace it with "Read Bible Quietly to Self."

This was not well-recieved.

Mainly by Buddy, who is very dedicated to his before-school hobby of covering the sofa in cornflake crumbs and watching PBS shows that he'd rather no one knew he liked. So I wasn't particularly surprised to hear the dulcet tones of his crabbing. I handed him a Bible below his reading level.

Fifteen minutes later I had to drag him out the door carrying his shoes.
After school I had to shut it on his hands to get him to get his cleats on for soccer.
Then he disappeared with it for several hours after dinner.

I tucked him in bed and reminded him lights-off was at 9:30.
At 9:31 he came tearing downstairs.

MOM! CAN I READ JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER? CAN I? JOSEPH IS ABOUT TO MEET HIS BROTHER AND THEY DON'T KNOW WHO HE IS!!!

Um. Ok. But then you CLOSE that Bible, Mister! One more chapter, and that's IT! No more God's Word for you tonight, do you hear me?

Um. So yeah.

Addictions

Today I got the accusation every mom dreads:

"You don't go outside with me because you're always typing on the computer to your little friends. Nyah!"

This summer I've restricted Princess's play with others to within my hearing. She gets irritated so easily (like because someone's breathing too close to her), and when she's irritated, it's zero to sixty in under two seconds. She can earn 15 minutes of unsupervised play time each time she uses her Calm-Down Card, but it's kind of hit or miss whether she has enough control to stop and do it. This restriction doesn't bother her too much with her sisters, but the neighbor's grand-daughters spend every other weekend at her house, and Princess watches for them to be outside like a death vigil. Then she follows me around chatting and complementing me for awhile before she gets down to the nitty-gritty:

"Did I earn any time yesterday?"

This question is only asked when she knows she did not.
The day before yesterday was hideous, requiring quite a bit of restraint and copious amount of spit dripping down my legs and face.
Yesterday, she played in a pool and ate popsicles.
So she figured she had "had a better day," and therefore, "earned time."

When she found out that she was, indeed, mistaken, she figured the next best thing was to inform me that I had to sit outside and supervise her.

When she found out that she was, again, indeed, mistaken, Princess yelled choice insults at me for several minutes. They included:

"YOU WON'T EVER SIT OUTSIDE AND WATCH ME BECAUSE YOU'RE ALWAYS TYPING ON THE COMPUTER TO YOUR (insert head waggle and finger quote-marks, which impressed me because I didn't know she knew how to use those) LITTLE FRIENDS!"

I was a little taken aback by this. Am I on the computer too much? I use F@cebook and read a couple blogs and check e-mail a few times. I'm part of a support group, and if the day is particularly bad I read what people are saying. So maybe I do? Is my parenting suffering? Are my children neglected? I started to worry. But then Princess continued:

"AND YOU'RE ALWAYS DOING LAUNDRY AND TAKING SHOWERS!!!!!"

Thank goodness! That cleared it all up for me. If my computer time pales in comparison to the time I spend on laundry and hygiene, I figure my F@cebooking future is safe for the time being.

Are You Ready for School?

We are one of the last states in the nation to begin school. One of the ways we try to keep out of bankrupcy is by getting people to come here and pay for stuff, but you have to have employees to take the money, and the only people who want to be paid to take money for just the summer and no longer are...

students.

So, while the rest of the nation is happily buried in textbooks and icky school lunches and maternal bliss, we get an extra week to freak out.

This year, the freak out is compounded by a new school. Princess started hers six weeks ago, Peanut four, and Buddy freaked out six months ago when we broke the news, and is mostly fine now. The Cuddle Bear is just happy that she is finally old enough to do something the other kids do, she really doesn't care where.

I started mine this week.

This, of course caught me off guard.

About mid-August, people start asking, so are you ready for school to start? as a conversation opener to moms. Suddenly, I realized that every time someone asked me, they'd slowly start to back away and then find something important on their fancy-pants touch-screen phone. That's when I realized my mouth had disconnected from my brain: my brain though I was saying, oh, I don't know. I like having them with me, but the reality was

SCHOOL! GAH! SCHOOL IS STARTING? NEXT WEEK? GAH!
Will my teachers like me?
Will I get in trouble with the principal?
Will I make friends?

What if no one likes me?

No. I'm serious. What if no one likes me? I'm in this horrible phase were no one has as many kids as me, so everyone I suckered into liking me with a boy Buddy's age has had all their kids in school for a couple of years and have gone back to work full time. All the parents of kids the Cuddle Bear's age didn't have enough kids to get to the Eh it's Not Really Dirty You Can Still Eat It Was it You Who Put the Dog in the Pot on The Stove That's So Funny stage, so they're slightly horrified at my parenting. And everyone knows middle kids get lost in the shuffle, so I'm not even sure Princess's and Peanut's classmates have parents. Top that with the economy that has lost three of my friends' husbands their jobs so they moved out of state for new ones, and you find that I know roughly one person in my community.

I am bored and lonely.
And I'm concerned that my social skills have deteriorated.
Am I going to have to *shudder* join the PTO?

Tell me it's not as bad as all that.

Kerrie, Friend of the Reframe

Me last year: For Pete's sake! Can't I be outside for five minutes without someone making someone bleed?!
Me today: Come on, you guys! Can't I be outside for fifteen minutes without someone making someone bleed?!

And that's how I knew things have gotten better on the whole.

It's hard to tell, you know. Kids don't heal on a continuum. It's more like that hose you found in the barn that hasn't seen the light of day since the owners before the previous owners. Tangles. Straight parts. Kinks. Then suddenly you realize there are less knots than there were when you started.

This summer there have been several reunions and weddings and things, and at each one there have been several people who love me who pull me briefly aside and whisper,

so how are things going?

I know what they mean, of course. But the first time I had to stop and think. I didn't really know.

Last summer (which doesn't really count because it was SO hideous because we were moving) sounded like this:
Me: Princess, please (insert menial day-to-day task every member of society must preform to avoid being committed to an institution).
Princess: Primal scream, primal scream, primal scream, whack whack whack, object flies through air, primal scream, primal scream. Kick Mom's shin. Grab Mom in places Mom is unaccustomed to being grabbed. Primal scream. Bite Mom's arm. Don't open mouth back up. Open mouth. Primal scream.

This summer has been more like this:
Me: Princess, please---
Princess: You make me do everything around here! You never make Peanut do anything! This is all your fault! I hate you! You're ugly and mean! You can't tell me to stop shouting! You're making me shout at you and be mean! If you wouldn't make me do stuff I wouldn't shout at you! I'll stop shouting at you if you give me a cookie.

So see what I mean?

I finally decided that yes, I guess things have gotten better. They are not really any more pleasant, but let's face it. Constant shouting, sassing, back-talk, grouching, and refusal is, well, not exactly normal, but closer to the elusive Range.

Embrace the reframe. You never know.