If I Can Remember That...

Every time I turn around you are there. If I leave a room you find me. If you are forced to go up to bed without me you scream my name as you are carried away. There are days that I think you are over this fear, days that I believe that you finally understand that I will always be here for you. There are days that I can actually walk to the bathroom, go inside, close the door, and enjoy a few minutes of privacy without you trying to break in. I can hear you out there, you know. I hear you asking "Where is Mommy?" and then I hear you walking towards the closed bathroom door. Your footsteps unmistakable, I double check that the door is locked and then call out to you. "I'm right here, baby. Give me a few minutes. I'll be right out." You don't give me a few minutes. You turn the knob, testing it. You stick your fingers under the door. You talk to me as though I am not in the bathroom, as though you have no concept of privacy.

There are days that I can now be in the kitchen while you are in the family room. You wander in every so often, ask for a hug, get a drink, and wander back out. I watch you still, you know, even when you are in the next room. I value my time alone, but I watch you nonetheless, your past behavior having instilled in me a type of hyper vigilance of my own. I always need to know what you are doing, where you are. So in a way, I get it.

Sometimes I can get too comfortable with you. Sometimes I think you are "over it". That maybe, just maybe, we have accomplished something here, you and I, and you have finally learned to trust.

The other night you and I were alone. Your dad had collected your older brother from the tree out front and took him off to run errands, leaving you and I alone. I pulled out the fruit for the frozen fruit salad you wanted to make, and gave you a big bowl. You were so calm and thoughtful. You poured the cans of fruit into the bowl, adding the frozen strawberries that you and your brother had picked earlier in the summer. You chopped bananas with your kid knife and mixed everything perfectly. You gathered the plastic containers and carefully spooned the fruit mixture into each bowl, snapping the lids on proudly. You were calm, thoughtful, and 100% focused.

As you stood on your little stool at the counter I moved around behind you, cleaning up the kitchen. We chatted about the day we picked the strawberries. We talked about how long it might take for the fruit salad to freeze. I moved from the kitchen to the laundry room, putting towels in the washer and hanging up a stray set of car keys I had found on the kitchen counter. I was gone maybe 20 seconds. As I turned around I nearly tripped over you. You stood in the hallway, your hands sticky, still holding the spoon you were using to fill the bowls. "Where are you going?", you ask me. "'I'm not going anywhere.", I respond. "I heard the keys.", you say. I explain that I was just hanging them up. You look up at them, eying them suspiciously. "You and I are home alone, kiddo. I can't go anywhere without you!", I remind you.

You stand there, in the hallway, sticky fingers and dripping spoon, until I finish what I am doing and move back into the kitchen. For the next hour, until your daddy comes home, you stick right by my side. And then, at bedtime, I decide not to leave the house, and you scream my name as Daddy carries you up the stairs. My heart breaks, again.

Here I was, starting to relax. Here I was, thinking that you were having a great night. Calm, thoughtful, focused. You were having fun, cooking and spending one on one time with Mommy. But there it was. Your hyper vigilance. There it was, just hanging out there right under the surface, where it must always be. The moments of calm trick me into thinking that you have finally caught on, that you truly understand that we are a family. And maybe you do, but you are still that same scared little boy I held close to my heart in that hot orphanage, day after day.

A few days later I mentioned your hyper vigilant key moment to my husband. "That is so sad.", he said. And it is, sad. But it is also a good reminder to me. A reminder that you are not yet there, not yet ready to be pulled away from me. You get on the school bus happily each morning, following your older brother up the steps and sitting in your assigned seat. But then, on most days, you cause havoc in your kindergarten room. You settle down and go to bed easily if I am not in the house, but if you know I am home you scream and carry on as though you may never see me again. What are you thinking? What goes through your mind when you act out in school? What are you thinking when you are being carried off to bed? I cannot fill you up, despite how much time I give you. I give you all I can, giving until I feel depleted. You are literally stalking me, and there are days that I just want to hide from you. There are days that I actually do hide from you. (shhhh...) But when that happens, I simply need to remember that day in the laundry room, with the keys. I need to remember that look in your eyes when you thought I was leaving the house. I need to remember how you can go from calm and focused to scared in a heart beat. I need to remember that you have two years of hyper vigilance practice on me. I have only been doing this dance with you for three years. You have been doing it your entire life.  I need to remember that even a simple activity like cooking together in the kitchen can end in a reminder of your abandonment fears. If I remember that, then I can get up tomorrow, early early, when you wake me up at the crack of dawn, and I can hug you tight. If I remember that I can take a deep breath the next time you rattle the locked bathroom door, your questions continuing even though I am not even in front of you any longer. If I remember that I can smile as I talk to your principal on the phone, listening to notes from your school day. If I remember that I can take each moment as it comes, which, it seems, is what you do. If I remember that, I can stop and love you where you are. Wherever you are, every day.

Sharp Sticks at the Breakfast Table

School has started! Oh my goodness, people, can I tell you how excited I am that this summer.is.finally.over. OVER! I know, I know, we had a great time these past three months. We managed to complete nearly every activity on our Summer Bucket List. Swimming, family roadtrip to the beach, biking, hiking, ice cream, fire flies- oh yes, we did it all. My boys went to a NASCAR race and to museums. We definitely made the most of our summer. (Planning, people! It is all about the planning! Stay tuned, our Fall Bucket List is coming soon!)

But in between the ice cream and the swimming were a lot of moments of chaos. Normal, for us. Raising kids can be chaotic for every family. And I swear that raising boys is just louder and dirtier. So raising two boys, one of who is a little RADish, is all chaos, all the time. You get used to it.

But now, at least until the school starts calling with concerns over the RADish, now is MY time. I get my quiet house back. My peaceful work day. My ability to think and to use the bathroom on my own. Heaven, people. Seriously, this is how low I have sunk. I think being able to walk to the bathroom without having to sneak and not having my heart stopped five times a day by a five year old running at my office door in an attempt to break in is heaven. H-E-A-V-E-N.

So today was the first day of school. By the end of last school year my oldest son had regressed to eating sugary cereal and cheese and crackers every morning for breakfast. Getting protein into this kid is not easy. This year, I have planned. I prepared ahead of time. I have searched and searched for interesting, healthy, protein packed breakfasts. I know I won't be able to stave off the Lucky Charms forever, but one day at a time, right?

Today we ate our breakfasts off skewers. That's right, sharp sticks at the breakfast table. Tomorrow? Maybe fire...



This morning's skewers held together strawberries, grapes, waffles, and scrambled eggs. I cooked the eggs in mini muffin tins, in the oven at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. They pop out as cute little scrambled egg muffins, which are super easy to pop on a skewer. Add a little ketchup and syrup for dipping and a great breakfast was had by all!

What did you have for breakfast on your first day back to school?

breakfast success!

 

 

simply "Do the next thing"

Part Three in the "Extended Family Beach Vacation" series. You can read part one here.  And part two here.


Today is Wednesday. We leave on Saturday morning for our big family trip to Florida. You know I am more than a little worried about pretty much every facet of this trip. Actually, I think the word "worried" is an understatement. Let's review the facts:

• We have never been on a trip longer than two days since we became a family of four. That's three years of weekend trips only. Three years of mostly unsuccessful weekend trips.
• Our little RADish thrives on routines. And even then the chaos is lurking right around the corner.
• Both of the boys pretty much have absolutely no ability to entertain themselves in any way.
• I am really really tired of riding in the front seat while my body is twisted around tot he back so that I can hold on to one kid to stop him from hurting the other kid. I am seriously too old for that.
• We have never successfully navigated a night at a hotel as a family of four. Although I have a friend who was just mentioning some sort of "noise violation" she may have received on a recent hotel stay, thanks to her kids, so maybe our overnights haven't been so bad...
• We seem to travel with an entire zoo of stuffed animals. This is not really a problem, I just find it really really annoying.

So we have planned, and then planned again, and then threw out the plan and started over with all the planning. We have thought through every possible scenario. "What if a zombie apocalypse comes and we can't get the youngest on board with running away as fast as we can?"  Oh yeah, we have a plan for that.

Which brings me back to today. It is now Wednesday. We leave on Saturday. My desire to take this trip rises and falls with the moods and behaviors of my youngest son. Earlier in the week? Dreading the trip. Last night I deposited my beloved children into their father's hands while I got my hair done and shopped for beach toys. Alone. So today the dread is lifting. Excitement is starting to build. Maybe we can do this. After all, we have:

• rented a car with three rows, so that the RADish can freak out all he wants without being able to actually touch anyone.
• loaded two iPads with games and movies and thrown out all rules about electronics in the car. these iPads will be turned on before we even leave the driveway.
• also thrown out all rules about eating in the car. snacks, snacks, and more snacks. if he is eating, maybe he won't be screaming.
• purchased large, round, totally dangerous longer lasting suckers. hopefully these will serve a dual purpose- both in keeping mouths quiet and in providing the sucking motion that helps my youngest regain regulation. unfortunately, once he is dis regulated it is very hard to bring him back, and he refuses to take the needed "sensory breaks" to keep his system regulated. I'm hoping to trick him into this with the suckers.
• put a plan in place for bedtime in the hotel, on our way to Florida and back. a cocktail for me in the hotel lobby while I play games with my oldest son and wait for the "he's asleep" text to arrive from my sweet husband.
• thrown out all my planning for fun on the way. I have given up and not purchased little treats to be lovingly handed out at certain points of the trip- 50 miles, when we count 10 red cars... these games, while fun, always end badly and my husband has pleaded with me to not put too much planning into making this trip fun. our new motto?

 "Let's just get through this!"

 

 

 

I am confident that once we get to our destination we will encounter a whole new set of challenges. And we will take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time. We will simply do the next thing. A very good friend of mine recently used that phrase when describing a difficult time in her life. And I agree. We will make memories that will last a lifetime, and my little guy will have so much fun. He will dig in the sand, swim in the ocean, ride on a boat, eat ice cream.... Hopefully spending an entire week with his extended family will allow the love we all have for him to seep into his battered little soul.

 

 

Yesterday I watched my youngest son wind himself up while the dishwasher repairman was in our kitchen. He was hyper active with excitement, jumping around and generally getting in the way. After a few comments from the repairman my momma bear kicked in and I found myself fiercely protecting this child of mine. This same child who drives me to the edge of sanity on a regular basis. This same child who forces me out of the house every single night at bedtime. Who at times rages so hard he lashes out at me, physically. Who, when angry, follows me around the house, purposely trying to upset me so that I turn on him, proving to him that he is right about love and filling the room with the negativity he is so comfortable around. I can cry, scream at my husband, wake up in the middle of the night worrying, leave my bed to join him in his, because while he is sleeping I have the rare opportunity to just "be" with him, without him getting so hyper he pulls away. Yes, I have earned the right to all of these actions and feelings. But no one outside of our small circle has those rights. And especially not a repairman passing through our kitchen.

 

 

Every time I feel these protective feelings kick in I am flooded with peace and the knowledge that I can do this. I can get through today. I can get us all through two days on the road. I can enjoy a week with family on a beautiful beach. I can do it, one day, one hour, one minute at a time. I can just do the next thing. 

 

 



Road Trippin' With The RADish

Part Two in the "Extended Family Beach Vacation" series. You can read part one here.



Tomorrow we will be loading up the car, delivering the puppy to her "hotel", and driving to Pittsburgh for a family wedding. We will be gone just two days, dragging ourselves home Sunday evening. A trial run, so to speak, for our upcoming week long beach vacation.

We have traveled as a family before, on these small weekend trips, and every time a few things go right and a lot of things go wrong. We are slowly putting together our "tool kit" for life on the road with our youngest son. Anxiety, RAD, and sensory issues swim together in a pool of normal five year old boy mischief, which sits in the backseat next to a seven year old who can never turn off his brain and who is, and I quote, "always in need of technology or (his) head hurts!". I ask you, what can go wrong?

We have tried sticker charts and behavior rewards. Charts have been ripped and rewards thrown back in my face. But we must keep trying, right? I am not the one who is operating from a place of fear, so I am the one who must figure this out.

Tomorrow when we hit the road each boy will have a "good times" book, where we, or they, can write or draw pictures of the good stuff. No stickers, no goals, just compliments and praises. My boys are competitive, so this just might work. And if it doesn't, then so be it. If it is ruined in a tantrum I will survive. I am much stronger about this sort of thing than I used to be!

My MZW LOVES all things USA so his good times book should bring a smile to his face!

 

 



Each of us, Daddy and Mommy included, will have a visor clip as well. One thing I have noticed on these long drives is that all of us tend to lose it. We each have our own behaviors and we each have moments that we wish we could get back. And all of us, every single one us, needs to be held accountable. I want my boys to see that I struggle as well, and that I am not above reproach just because I can drive the car or buy wine. (mmm, wine...)

They are not fancy, because they might not last. I'm OK with that!



If behaviors ratchet up the clip is removed. If atonement is made, the clip goes back up. Everyone who has a clip on the visor when the car stops for a break gets a treat. Easy peasy. And visual, something very important for my little RADish.

Normally these types of rewards and consequences do not work for attachment challenged children. And we have seen our share of techniques not working. But my little guy is slowly coming around, and while he still frequently cannot be forward thinking enough to learn from his mistakes, he is starting to respond. Starting. A little glimmer of hope. We hang on to what we can, don't we?

So we are ready. This trip includes a large family wedding, loud reception, lots of car time and an overnight stay in an unfamiliar hotel. All of these could easily set off my youngest, so the Sensory Bag is also packed.

• Sensory brush
• Squishy bumpy light up hand held ball
• Play-Doh with beads buried inside and tweezers
• Essential Oils
• Matchbox cars (because they are quiet, small, and let's face it, fun to drive over well decorated wedding reception tables)
• Chewy necklaces
• Brain Works app for sensory break ideas
• Melatonin (because I am no fool)
• Beyond Consequences book
• Parenting the Hurt Child book

Wish us luck- we are off!