A Great Gift

Last week I found myself in a bit of a twilight zone moment. My 12-year-old son, Tom, was not acting like himself. He was acting, dare I say... like me.

"Tom, can you please help your sister with her seat belt?"

We were running around as usual, and I have come to depend on the hand that Tom can give me with his younger brother and sister.

"Lizzy, do your seat belt, and, I don't want to hear the itty-bitty voice."

I was surprised by the "tough love" approach he was taking with his sister. Tom is always so sweet and protective of her. He has always been under Lizzy's spell. This was a new tone for him to take with her.

"Tom, what is the itty-bitty voice?" I asked, very amused.

"Mom, you know when Lizzy acts like she can't do something and she just starts saying nonsense words and acting like she is helpless. That is the itty-bitty voice. I know she can do her own seat belt."

"I know you can do it yourself," he called back to his sister.

"OK Tom... I did it," Lizzy said, very pleased with herself.

Then Tom turned to my 6 year old Peter.

"You can do your own seat belt, too. You don't need me or mommy to do it."

My, my, I was so impressed. He was right, too. I know Peter can do his own seat belt. And, I have no problem being tough with all my children and insisting that they do things that they think they can't.

But, sometimes it is just easier to do it for them. Especially with Lizzy. She can be so entrenched in her own world that the effort to penetrate it for something minor doesn't always seem worth it.

But Tom was handling them both beautifully. As only a big brother can, he let them know that they no longer needed that kind of help.

Living in a special needs household can really be a trip!

Since I am dyslexic and have never been able to tell my right from my left, I have never believed in hiding the fact that we all have something that makes the world a little challenging for us.

I have been on top of my children's issues from the beginning of time. Each child was only a baby when we were lucky enough to discover their differences. Speech, ooccupational, and physical therapists have been a normal part of our lives since Tom was 18 months old.

"We are who we are" is a frequent phrase in our house. Living with people who, like me, all have some challenge can be frustrating at times. It can also be really funny.

My husband and I still laugh about the time we were having lunch on Christmas Eve about four years ago. Anytime we all go out can be stressful. It's not unusual for me to use phrases such as, "use your words... Take a breath... Car 54 where are you?" 

This particular day, each child really pulled out the stops.

Christmas can be especially touchy for us because of the dreaded holiday music. Tom has overcome almost all of his sensory issues. All, except his fear of high pitched sounds. Particularly a note that Josh Groban hits in "O Holy Night." 

We are probably the only people on the planet who threaten a child with playing a Josh Groban song to deter misbehavior.  

Peter was only a toddler at the time and unbeknownst to us had an ear infection. And Lizzy, whose special needs are the most extensive of the three, was very far into her own world. She was sitting in her chair talking to herself in her own "Lizzy language."

We were just wrapping up the meal when wouldn't you know it Josh Groban comes on the radio. Tom, who thankfully no longer screamed when he heard the offending "noise" put his hands over his ears.

As I was calming Tom down, (Take a deep breath, it's okay, get over it.) Peter started to get fussy so I reached over to pick him up from the high chair. He then proceeded to throw up all over me.

At that moment, we were the ideal American family. One kid holding his hands over their ears saying, "Mommy make it stop"; a second child completely in her own world; and the third covered in vomit.

My husband and I did what we always do in a tough spot, we hysterically laughed. Then, leaving the waitress a very big tip, otherwise known as "combat pay," hightailed it out of there.

I don't think we could even pretend to look like a typical family. And, that is OK with me.

I am used to being tough on my kids when I need to be and understanding their challenges when that's called for. I have certainly made my share of mistakes and can keep myself up at nights counting them. But since this is my story, I'm not going into them here.

I will let my kids tell there own tales of horror and list all the things I have done to mess them up. I actually look forward to it.

I can just imagine Tom being interviewed about his own Mommy Dearest book. A best seller for sure. I will sit proudly watching him on the TV in the nursing home saying, see, they said he would never write and there he his with own book!

Listening to Tom talk to his brother and sister that day I heard how I sound to him. And I watched his brother and sister listen and do what he knew they could do. In that minute I knew I had done something right with my kids.

Best Mother's Day present I could ever get.

Mommys Little Builder

My youngest child Peter is a marvel at building with blocks, train tracks, vegetables, paper cups, and anything else he can get his hands on. This may be fairly common for most five-year-olds, but it is very foreign in our family of five.

"Mom, do you think it's possible he was switched at birth?" my oldest, Tom, asked.

This was after Peter had set up his trains all over our playroom. He had complex structures set up with bridges and towers. It was amazing to behold.

"No honey, he was not switched at birth."

I completely knew what he was thinking though.

Poor Tom. He can name every President, knows every song the Beatles ever recorded, and can even outsmart his father over what baseball team won the World Series in any given year. But he couldn't build a tower if his life depended on it.

He has the hardest time with fine motor skills, as do I and his father. We are definitely challenged when it comes to hand-eye coordination or whatever is required to build even the simplest structures

"The apple does not fall far from the trees," is an expression I use often in notes to my children's teachers. I'm not used to one of my kids having a talent that is so foreign to his parentage.

He is my son though. He proved this a few minutes later the same day his brother was worried about a possible birth switch.

"Peter, what is wrong, why are you so upset," I say as I'm running down the stairs afraid that he fell or that his brother or sister were on top of him "playing."

"We did nothing to him," was my greeting from Thing One and Thing Two.

"He has this whole thing built and he couldn't get one little piece to fit and he completely lost it," Tom said.

"Well, you see honey, he is my child!" was my somewhat relieved response.

I may not be able to build, but I can certainly relate to at least wanting to lose it when something I've been working on does not go the way I want it to. My parents love to tell some legendary stories of how I would rip up a picture if I didn't think it was just right. 

Perfectionism has always been my middle name. And apparently it is Peter's as well. It's funny how much our children can take after us and baffling when they have traits we never dreamed we could produce.

Since I always felt a bit like a misfit, I was hoping that my children would possess traits I so sorely lacked. I felt that if my kids could run fast, play ball, or dance well, their lives would go smoothly.

I certainly hoped that my poor test taking and my dyslexia would skip a generation or two . I figured that since my husband got a 750 on his math SAT, it was possible that one of our children wouldn't struggle in school as I did.

So far that theory hasn't worked out so well. All three of our children have had to deal with different learning issues. Tom seems to have inherited my dyslexia and poor coordination. But he did get his father's gift for retaining facts. And he inherited a love of learning and exploring the world from both of us. He has the confidence and people skills that I wished I possessed.

Although my special-needs daughter has challenges I never had to deal with, Lizzy must have gotten a bit of my perseverance. She works so hard at everything. And she accomplishes things everyday that at times we feared were impossible. She also has a wonderful personality and an infectious smile, which I 'm going to take credit for because I can!

Then there is my builder. I don't think he will have the same academic challenges as his older brother and I did, but since he is still only in kindergarten I don't know yet. Language is harder for him than it ever was for me, or even Tom. But like his brother and sister, he is a very happy person. I'm going to take credit for this trait too!

As a parent, I so wanted my kids to have an easier time dealing with the world than I did. I didn't want to see them struggle with the simplest tasks and feel as if they too were put on the wrong planet.

But I have learned, and am still learning, that being a parent isn't about righting the wrongs of our own childhood. Or providing a struggle-free existence. It's about teaching our children to handle that which comes their way with the talents they possess.

Building metaphorical bridges to navigate the world successfully may be the one building talent I possess. And the one I can pass on to my children.
　
　

Parenting 101

My father taught me on of the best parenting lessons I ever learned, and I was only five at the time.

One of my favorite things when I was a little girl was to go to Eisenhower Park with my family. The park had a small petting zoo that included a pig pen.

Any time my two sisters and I disobeyed our parents, we would be warned that we would be sent to live with the pigs.

It was a threat that was made in a way that we knew they weren't serious, but just in case they were, we better do what we were told.

I can't remember what made me buck the system one fateful day after my father gave me his usual warning. But this time I decided to show him just how smart I was.

"That's fine daddy. Send me to live with the pigs"

My poor father didn't know what to do. This clearly was never a result my parents thought they would encounter. But once he made the threat, he had to follow through.

He made a big show of getting ready to take me to my new home. He got his coat... and his hat....and his keys. He hoped this would put an end to this and that I would realize that the inmates were not running the asylum.

I wasn't giving in.

I was having a grand time insisting that I was ready to go to my new home. I confidently said goodbye to my sisters and mother. Not knowing what to do, my dad took me to the car. I kept waving and laughing playing the game I knew I was going to win.

We got into the car and I was still waving goodbye and feeling pretty darn good about myself.

Then my dad pulled out of the driveway... and onto the street.

I am still 99.9% sure he wasn't going to let me live with the pigs, but I knew at that point that someone was going to have to end this. And that someone, was going to have to be me.

My father stood his ground that day and without yelling or laying a hand on me he let me know who was in charge. And it wasn't me.

I think of this story often whenever I'm tempted to ground my 12-year-old until he turns 30. He is an amazing child and I dearly adore him. As I did with my own parents, he knows he is loved and is very confident in that fact.

But he is starting to spread his wings and is determined to test the limits.

"I didn't go to chorus rehearsal today, I'm going to quit."

That was the opening salvo of our latest battle. I did my usual spiel of the need to keep commitments and deal with the consequences of our actions. In this case, it meant missing homework club. Unlike chorus, homework club requires no commitment and is just a fun place to do your homework and hang out with friends.

As the battle was heating up, I saw a letter from the school's principal. Thinking that this form letter congratulating him on his hard work at the winter concert was a sign from above, I laid the letter down to where he was doing his homework.

Suffice it to say, this did not bring the epiphany I was hoping for.

Quite the opposite. I can honestly say the Bill Cosby quote, "I brought you into this world I can take you out of it," came to mind. Especially when he started waving the letter in my face while threatening to tear it up.

I surprised myself, as well as my son, when I calmly took the letter from his hand and tore it up.

I'm not sure if I was right, but his behavior was clearly out of bounds and I felt the need to let him know who was in charge.

He continued to protest but listened to me and went to his room. When the dust settled, he came out and apologized. He was also looking for an apology from me. I didn't give him one. I told him that I loved him enough not to worry about his approval. I was his parent, not his friend.

The next day the pieces of the letter were still on the table. He looked at them and said, "I guess the letter meant more to me than I thought. I am sorry."

Being a parent is not for the faint of heart. Setting limits and following through can be the hardest part. It is also the most loving thing a parent can do.

I learned this at five when I almost joined a family of pigs.　

The Parent Jungle

One night a few months ago, the family was sitting around the table enjoying a nice weekend meal at home. Because my husband has a long commute and frequently doesn't get home until late on weeknights, the weekends are the one time we can all eat together.

We were laughing and enjoying each other's company when my five year-old just got up from the table and nonchalantly walked to where I was sitting. He then proceeded to spit out the contents of his mouth into my hand. For some unknown maternal reason my hand instinctively opened up. My husband looked up at me and without missing a beat said, "And we thought we would never go anywhere exotic."

We have been exploring the jungle's of parenthood for 12 years now. Everyday I am amazed and in awe of how each day can bring something so completely different from the next.

We have experienced such great joy. Watching our first son in utero dance around on the sonogram with the sound of his strong heartbeat in the background. Made all the more joyful since we had experienced previous pregnancies when the sonograms showed no heartbeat.

Seeing our daughter emerge with a huge shock of black hair and a scream that could shatter glass, knowing that at last our son was a brother.We were a family.

And laughing with complete delight when we found out we were having another boy after thinking our baby days were over. Having the wonderful feeling that someone was listening to our secret wish of having three, beautiful children.

Then there are the times when we questioned our ability to care for these precious people.

I will never forget the time my six foot husband took our first baby, then only six months, out of his crib. The "fly to mommy game" may have gone better if there hadn't been a ceiling fan in the nursery. I can still hear the sound of my precious baby's head as it hit the ceiling fan.

"Kathy, look at the baby," my husband said, in panicked voice.

"I am not looking if he has no head," was my hysterical response.

When my husband spoke with the pediatrician a short time afterward she said she knew it was a new father when she got the message: Baby hit head on ceiling fan.

Many a sleepless night has been spent tending to sick children or worrying over milestones not reached. There is nothing quite like being covered in toddler vomit to strengthen a marriage.

We have had weeks of panic as we have had to endure the wait of possibly devastating test results for our daughter. And we have had the frustration of sitting in a specialist's office only to be told they have never seen anything like our daughter and her still undiagnosed neurological disorder.

We have become partners in the truest sense of the word. We are the only two people in the world who know how the other one feels when it comes to our children. Laughter and tears have their own meaning in our world.

Little did I know, 19 years ago this Valentines Day, that when I said "yes" to marriage I was starting on a journey to a place more exotic than any jungle we could find on a map.