Every day I ask the same questions. "How was your day, Mishka?" You lean back on me, warming my body with your fleece footie pajamas. Tonight you are playing with a bright orange lock you found on the floor of your older brother's room, where we are hanging out, in his big cozy recliner chair. Your brother was given this little lock by a friend at school. These kindergartners have big hearts and they are always sharing their treasures. I have no idea what items of his, or of mine, my super six year old has given away to his classmates. You concentrate on the lock, your tongue sticking out, trying to find the right combination that will make it magically lock into place. "Did you have a good day?" I try again. You ignore me and work the lock between your fingers. I place my hand on your head and turn it towards me, trying to to get a look at your beautiful brown eyes. You pull away, eyes locked on your hands. "Did you eat soup for lunch today, Mishka?" I know you did. We check the lunch menu every morning, you and I, and so I know that beef soup and peaches were on your plate today. Silence. Your tongue pops in and out of your mouth as you finally give up on the lock and toss it aside. I seize my chance before your mind is otherwise occupied. "Did you have a good time with Daddy tonight?" You spent the evening at church, hanging out with Daddy while your brother participated in the mid week childrens' program. Again, silence.
"OK, you don't want to talk about your day? Let's talk about something else. What would you like to talk about?" You think about this for a minute before answering with, "The bug on your bear." Ah. I retell you the story of a few weeks back when all four of us were in the master bedroom and your older brother and I noticed a scary looking bug sitting on my teddy bear. I remind you of how Daddy took a tissue and captured the bug, showing us that it wasn't a scary beetle like we thought but instead a harmless moth. "Bugs go in tummy?", you ask. I explain that bugs don't go into our tummies. You look scared. I assure you that bugs can be friendly. "Ladybugs scary?", you ask. "No, honey, ladybugs are sweet and come to visit every so often before flying away." I sing you the "Ladybug Ladybug" song. Only one verse, before you make that noise that only you can make, the noise that means "stop , something bad is coming". I stop.
I wonder how your day went. Your teacher told Daddy that you had a good day, considering your preschool program was closed today. You did well most of the day, only having a hard time at the end of the day. But I wonder what you are thinking. Most of the time you refuse to talk about your days, preferring instead to rehash an old story. You love to talk about the past, my Mishka.
This morning in the car you were singing to yourself the names of two of your friends from daycare. Over and over you sang these two names. "Are those your friends?" "Yes momma", you tell me. "What are the names of your friends from preschool?" "No friends at preschool, momma." I worry. I know that you have only been going to this preschool for about a month and I know that maybe some of the other children in your class aren't able to play like you do. But I also know that you don't like this new school. Are you learning to make friends? Will you be able to maintain friendships as you get older? Will you let others into your quiet world?
You climb off of me and start spinning around in a circle on your brother's rug. I sense you are on overload from our short conversation and I pick you up and carry you into your room, standing you up in your crib. I see you have managed to steal your brother's baby stuffed hamster and I watch as you tuck it gently under your blanket. You then take it out, bring it to your face and scream at it, then point your finger at it, saying "NO!" loudly. You then hug it and tuck it back in, next to you. Is this what love looks like to you, little guy?
Maybe tomorrow you will tell me how you day went. Maybe tomorrow you will allow me, for just a few moments, to live in the present with you. But if not, we can talk about whatever you want, little Mishka. Whatever you want.
Showing posts with label daycare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daycare. Show all posts
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
watching the bubble of innocence slowly dissolve
Sometimes it is physically painful to me to watch my boys learn the tough life lessons. Feelings that seem second nature to us as adults were often learned through heartache and confusion when we were small, and seeing my big four and a half year old struggle through learning these same lessons is so hard. I am proud and sad at the same time, which occasionally makes me wish I was one of those people who could just turn off my feelings. You know the kind- very little bothers them, life's lessons are just that, lessons, and certainly nothing to be feeling anything at all about. But I am not one of those people. When I was a young driver I hit a bunny on one of the winding country roads that surrounded my childhood home. When I got home I remember being so upset as I recounted the story to my mother, and I will never forget what my older sister said. "You know, that bunny probably just hopped off into the woods to die- you probably should have just backed over it again and killed it right then, to put it out of it's misery."
Now, my sister didn't believe this. She wasn't a masochistic bunny killer in her younger years. She was just being mean to her younger sister, a normal and favorite past time of older siblings around the world. But those words were devastating to me. The idea that that poor little injured bunny would drag itself into the woods to die stuck in my too sensitive brain for weeks after that day. And that is not the only snapshot of sadness I carry around. I have always been very sensitive and injustices, whether they happen to me or to someone else, have always stuck with me. Which makes it hard to watch my kids struggle to learn life's lessons. But I have to let them learn. I have to let them make their own mistakes.
Yesterday the day care/preschool held the Christmas parties for the children. Both of my boys' classes celebrated with a hot dog lunch, cookies, Jesus stickers, and a book gift exchange. I like the fact that the teachers ask for a book for the gift exchange and I took my time selecting age appropriate and fun books. My tiny toddler came home with a peek a boo type book featuring a dog, one of his favorite animals. Score! My four and half year old received a book that he likes, sure, but as he was telling me about his party in the car on the way home from school it was clear that there was another book that another child received that he would have preferred. He was sad as he told me about this other book, and I know it sounds crazy, but it broke my heart a little. He was well behaved during the party, he thanked his friend for the book he received and he didn't ask for the one he wanted. He understood that he couldn't have it. He learned a lesson about grace and thankfulness in a way that is so much better than me just explaining it to him.
But I learned a little lesson too. My big four and half year old's bubble of innocence is slowly starting to dissolve. He is aware of the news of the world. He knows that there was a "bad man" on the loose near his school once, over a year ago, and he still talks about that day every so often. He knows that something happened to the people of America before he was born that we remember every September and he went through a phase where all of his drawings included American flags for all those people who had "hurt loved ones". He has already lost his first grandparent and occasionally draws cemeteries, telling me that these are the stones we use to remember people. He still talks about his pet fish, Stewart, who swam away to the ocean through his bathroom sink. (don't judge me. we totally panicked when my husband accidentally poured the poor fish down the drain with the water from the fish bowl.)
He is such a sweet and loving little boy. I am not ready for that bubble to shatter completely. And I know, it will take time for that to happen. But he is going to be five years old in two months. He will start kindergarten next Fall. He will be riding the school bus and spending more time with older kids. I won't have as much control over his little world and who he interacts with, I won't be able to protect him as much as I do now. Which I am acutely aware of, and which made me want to drive my sweet little boy straight to the book store yesterday to buy him that book he really wanted. I didn't. But I really wanted to.
Now, my sister didn't believe this. She wasn't a masochistic bunny killer in her younger years. She was just being mean to her younger sister, a normal and favorite past time of older siblings around the world. But those words were devastating to me. The idea that that poor little injured bunny would drag itself into the woods to die stuck in my too sensitive brain for weeks after that day. And that is not the only snapshot of sadness I carry around. I have always been very sensitive and injustices, whether they happen to me or to someone else, have always stuck with me. Which makes it hard to watch my kids struggle to learn life's lessons. But I have to let them learn. I have to let them make their own mistakes.
Yesterday the day care/preschool held the Christmas parties for the children. Both of my boys' classes celebrated with a hot dog lunch, cookies, Jesus stickers, and a book gift exchange. I like the fact that the teachers ask for a book for the gift exchange and I took my time selecting age appropriate and fun books. My tiny toddler came home with a peek a boo type book featuring a dog, one of his favorite animals. Score! My four and half year old received a book that he likes, sure, but as he was telling me about his party in the car on the way home from school it was clear that there was another book that another child received that he would have preferred. He was sad as he told me about this other book, and I know it sounds crazy, but it broke my heart a little. He was well behaved during the party, he thanked his friend for the book he received and he didn't ask for the one he wanted. He understood that he couldn't have it. He learned a lesson about grace and thankfulness in a way that is so much better than me just explaining it to him.
But I learned a little lesson too. My big four and half year old's bubble of innocence is slowly starting to dissolve. He is aware of the news of the world. He knows that there was a "bad man" on the loose near his school once, over a year ago, and he still talks about that day every so often. He knows that something happened to the people of America before he was born that we remember every September and he went through a phase where all of his drawings included American flags for all those people who had "hurt loved ones". He has already lost his first grandparent and occasionally draws cemeteries, telling me that these are the stones we use to remember people. He still talks about his pet fish, Stewart, who swam away to the ocean through his bathroom sink. (don't judge me. we totally panicked when my husband accidentally poured the poor fish down the drain with the water from the fish bowl.)
He is such a sweet and loving little boy. I am not ready for that bubble to shatter completely. And I know, it will take time for that to happen. But he is going to be five years old in two months. He will start kindergarten next Fall. He will be riding the school bus and spending more time with older kids. I won't have as much control over his little world and who he interacts with, I won't be able to protect him as much as I do now. Which I am acutely aware of, and which made me want to drive my sweet little boy straight to the book store yesterday to buy him that book he really wanted. I didn't. But I really wanted to.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
mother of the year takes shoeless kid to Walmart to buy, well, shoes...
It was a sitcom kind of morning at the Wilkison household. I cannot shake this cold that I caught from my germ ridden loving boys. The older I get the less my asthma bothers me, but give me a cold and it kicks right back in. I was up during the night with an asthma attack which found me rummaging around in my sock drawer for an inhaler. And before you judge me about keeping meds in the sock drawer let me tell you that I used to keep my inhaler in my nightstand, before the kids and their hands that touch everything came along.
Thursday is one of the two week days that both my boys go to daycare/preschool. Both my boys. Gone. All day. I get to be home, alone. No diapers to change. No demands for juice. No playing with cars on the floor or singing Itsy Bitsy Spider 17 times in a row. I love my boys and this unplanned time at home with them has been a true blessing. I cherish my time with them. But like everyone else, I still need a break. So I live for Thursday. Nothing will stop me from driving those two boys to that school. How far will I go? This morning I nearly had to teach my big four and a half year old how to dial 911, and I actually dragged the boys into Walmart, one wearing only socks on his feet, to buy a pair of shoes to replace the pair missing in the sea of toys in our living room. I am exhausted just thinking about it.
In one hour this morning I managed to:
Thursday is one of the two week days that both my boys go to daycare/preschool. Both my boys. Gone. All day. I get to be home, alone. No diapers to change. No demands for juice. No playing with cars on the floor or singing Itsy Bitsy Spider 17 times in a row. I love my boys and this unplanned time at home with them has been a true blessing. I cherish my time with them. But like everyone else, I still need a break. So I live for Thursday. Nothing will stop me from driving those two boys to that school. How far will I go? This morning I nearly had to teach my big four and a half year old how to dial 911, and I actually dragged the boys into Walmart, one wearing only socks on his feet, to buy a pair of shoes to replace the pair missing in the sea of toys in our living room. I am exhausted just thinking about it.
In one hour this morning I managed to:
- take enough asthma medicine to feel as though I ran a marathon.
- feed my babies cheese puffs, fruit gummies, and Halloween candy for breakfast. (don't judge me. I worked hard to get them to school by morning snack time, which included apples today, so if we count that they also had fruit.)
- tear through my living room, which is covered in toys, looking for the baby's shoe. he is wearing hand me down shoes and currently only one pair of my older son's shoes fit him, so if we lose these shoes, well, that is how you end up racing through Walmart at top speed.
- race through an empty Walmart, at top speed, with the tiny toddler in the cart seat and the big four and a half year old race walking next to me, repeating "Mommy, I can't walk this fast. Mommy slow down!". The tiny toddler must have sensed the urgency because he did not attempt to stand up in the cart, his usual trick, one time. oh, and while I was there I remembered why I dislike Walmart so. Even empty that store annoys me.
- get my boys to school before 8:45 am, with coats, shoes, and lunches. score!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
will the two year old use the broom handle as a high jump pole?
As you know, I have returned to my quasi fly lady, semi made up totally by me household planning system. I have to say, I am loving it, and I am loving the fact that my husband loves how clean and pulled together the house has been lately. I do have to say though, if you miss a day of zone cleaning/organizing the work really starts to pile up. So you can imagine how backed up I was after missing, say, six days straight. Last week was the first week of my new part time stay at home mom gig, and I'm not going to lie to you, the week sort of got away from me.
I'm back on track now though. Yesterday I cleaned the master bedroom and both boys rooms, which included running the sweeper. I have to run the sweeper when Alex isn't around because he totally freaks out every time it is turned on. I am not sure where this fear is coming from; he was present in our hotel room daily when housekeeping was cleaning, so it's not like he has never seen, or heard, a sweeper before. He was even OK with it here at home, at first. But now, suddenly, he acts like a dog, screaming and running around while simultaneously trying to climb up my leg.
Today I cleaned both the master bathroom and the boys' bathroom, with Alex's help. Staying on track is a little harder with my tiny toddler around. Today he ran around the upstairs wielding the broom and hitting it on all the closed doors while I both cleaned the bathrooms and prayed that he didn't:
A. knock everything off the top of the dressers with the broom handle.
B. knock the shelf off the wall in the hallway. (the shelf was hung by me, so I'm not all that sure how secure it is up there.)
C. use the broom handle as a high jump pole as he catapults himself over the gate and down the stairs.
Bottom line: may not be perfect, but it's done, and it's getting done again next week so it's all good.
Here's the really cool part though. Every night before I hang out with my husband the toys are picked up, mostly, the kitchen is clean and the laundry is folded. (usually not put away, but that's a goal for another day.) It is really becoming second nature. And it is rubbing off on my family. Yesterday I had to pick up the boys early from daycare, (because one was sick, only he wasn't sick and the teacher didn't even know I had been called. that's right. stay tuned for that story.) The living room was covered from one end to the other with toys, sofa pillows, blankets, sippy cups... the mess had started to creep into the kitchen and I was tripping over mini electric pianos and tiny matchbox cars while trying to cook dinner. I started to sing the "toys away" song and before I knew it my big four and a half year old was on his feet, picking up the toys. I didn't even have to ask him!
After dinner I took my older son to Starbucks for "Mommy and Matthew" time and when we got back there were a few toys back out, from the two year old's play time with Daddy. After bedtime TV show, bath time, (which involved a trash bag to keep the big four and a half year old's splint dry and lots of shushing to keep the two year asleep down the hall), and cleaning up dinner I just left the living room. And this morning my amazing four and a half year old walked into the living room, stated "This room is a mess!" and began picking up the toys! Score!
So I am loving my new system. I have finished my family "control" journal, complete with a our family mission statement, weekly menu's, shopping lists, daily and weekly tasks and zone cleaning. I have also added babysitter notes for the boys and emergency contact information, including medical teams and such. (my older son sees at least five different doctors, so it's not so easy to keep them all straight.) And it is all in a binder with a picture of my boys slid into the front window, so that when it stands up on my kitchen counter it doubles as a picture frame. Some may think it's silly, but it's the little victories that make our days special, right? For me, it's all about control, and with my control journal at the ready I feel completely in control.
I'm back on track now though. Yesterday I cleaned the master bedroom and both boys rooms, which included running the sweeper. I have to run the sweeper when Alex isn't around because he totally freaks out every time it is turned on. I am not sure where this fear is coming from; he was present in our hotel room daily when housekeeping was cleaning, so it's not like he has never seen, or heard, a sweeper before. He was even OK with it here at home, at first. But now, suddenly, he acts like a dog, screaming and running around while simultaneously trying to climb up my leg.
Today I cleaned both the master bathroom and the boys' bathroom, with Alex's help. Staying on track is a little harder with my tiny toddler around. Today he ran around the upstairs wielding the broom and hitting it on all the closed doors while I both cleaned the bathrooms and prayed that he didn't:
A. knock everything off the top of the dressers with the broom handle.
B. knock the shelf off the wall in the hallway. (the shelf was hung by me, so I'm not all that sure how secure it is up there.)
C. use the broom handle as a high jump pole as he catapults himself over the gate and down the stairs.
Bottom line: may not be perfect, but it's done, and it's getting done again next week so it's all good.
Here's the really cool part though. Every night before I hang out with my husband the toys are picked up, mostly, the kitchen is clean and the laundry is folded. (usually not put away, but that's a goal for another day.) It is really becoming second nature. And it is rubbing off on my family. Yesterday I had to pick up the boys early from daycare, (because one was sick, only he wasn't sick and the teacher didn't even know I had been called. that's right. stay tuned for that story.) The living room was covered from one end to the other with toys, sofa pillows, blankets, sippy cups... the mess had started to creep into the kitchen and I was tripping over mini electric pianos and tiny matchbox cars while trying to cook dinner. I started to sing the "toys away" song and before I knew it my big four and a half year old was on his feet, picking up the toys. I didn't even have to ask him!
After dinner I took my older son to Starbucks for "Mommy and Matthew" time and when we got back there were a few toys back out, from the two year old's play time with Daddy. After bedtime TV show, bath time, (which involved a trash bag to keep the big four and a half year old's splint dry and lots of shushing to keep the two year asleep down the hall), and cleaning up dinner I just left the living room. And this morning my amazing four and a half year old walked into the living room, stated "This room is a mess!" and began picking up the toys! Score!
So I am loving my new system. I have finished my family "control" journal, complete with a our family mission statement, weekly menu's, shopping lists, daily and weekly tasks and zone cleaning. I have also added babysitter notes for the boys and emergency contact information, including medical teams and such. (my older son sees at least five different doctors, so it's not so easy to keep them all straight.) And it is all in a binder with a picture of my boys slid into the front window, so that when it stands up on my kitchen counter it doubles as a picture frame. Some may think it's silly, but it's the little victories that make our days special, right? For me, it's all about control, and with my control journal at the ready I feel completely in control.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
old macdonald had a hamburger
Sometimes my boys are just so hilarious, especially when they aren't trying to be funny. This was yesterday's conversation in the car on the way home from daycare:
MZW: "Mommy, what are we eating for lunch?"
ME: "It's dinner, honey. You already had lunch."
MZW: "Mommy, what are we having for dinner?"
ME: "Hamburgers and fruit. Will you eat a hamburger?"
MZW: "I LOVE hamburgers. (this is totally news to me.) Remember that time I ate my first hamburger? It was so delicious!" (so delicious?)
ME: "Where did you eat your first delicious hamburger?"
MZW: "At Old MacDonalds." (mzw has called "McDonald's" "Old MacDonalds since he learned how to speak. and yes, it is very cute.)
ALEX: "e i e i ohhhhhhh......"
MZW: "Alex, we are NOT singing right now! We are talking about Old MacDonalds!"
ALEX: "e i e i ohhhhhh......"
ME: "So, Matthew, where did you say you had that first hamburger?"
MZW: "At Old MacDonalds, Mommy."
ALEX: "e i e i ohhhhhh...."
Sometimes I am just convinced the neighbors think I am crazy.....
MZW: "Mommy, what are we eating for lunch?"
ME: "It's dinner, honey. You already had lunch."
MZW: "Mommy, what are we having for dinner?"
ME: "Hamburgers and fruit. Will you eat a hamburger?"
MZW: "I LOVE hamburgers. (this is totally news to me.) Remember that time I ate my first hamburger? It was so delicious!" (so delicious?)
ME: "Where did you eat your first delicious hamburger?"
MZW: "At Old MacDonalds." (mzw has called "McDonald's" "Old MacDonalds since he learned how to speak. and yes, it is very cute.)
ALEX: "e i e i ohhhhhhh......"
MZW: "Alex, we are NOT singing right now! We are talking about Old MacDonalds!"
ALEX: "e i e i ohhhhhh......"
ME: "So, Matthew, where did you say you had that first hamburger?"
MZW: "At Old MacDonalds, Mommy."
ALEX: "e i e i ohhhhhh...."
As you can imagine, this went on for some time. Every time one of us mentioned "Old MacDonalds" little Alex sang "e i e i ohhhhh" at the top of his little lungs. I spent the rest of the ride home coming up with reasons to say "Old MacDonalds" just so I could hear my little guy sing. Eventually Matthew gave up trying to tell him that it was NOT time to sing and just joined in. By the time we hit our street both of them were "e i e i ohhhing" at the top of their lungs....
Sometimes I am just convinced the neighbors think I am crazy.....
OR.......
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
four weird things and christmas planning
Yesterday was a weird day, all around. After seeing my boys off to daycare, preschool and work I drove up to Brimfield. I'll wait while you consult a map and figure out where the heck Brimfield is. Got it? I was making this 2 1/2 hour trip to meet the junk guy at my mother's home. Somewhere between the death of my father a little over ten years ago and her move to an assisted living two years ago my mother managed to turn her small cape cod home into a mess that would rival the set of "Hoarders". Everything in that home was important to her, much of it purchased via late night television shows. Credit cards can be very dangerous in hands attached to an Alzheimer' addled brain.
My sister and I had already removed any items we wanted and there was still what appeared to be an entire household there. So we called 1-800-GOT-JUNK to haul it all away. They arrived with three men and a huge truck, which,believe it or not, was not large enough. Their customer service, however,was really great. So I was watching my mother's belongings being shoved onto a truck; her life, basically being thrown away. It was surreal. But there was nothing left in that house I wanted. We already walked away with the old family photos, all the cleaning supplies, fifty roles of toilet paper, and one juicy family secret. Surprised? Just wait. If you have not yet had to clean out your parents' home just wait. There are secrets lurking in that attic or basement...
So the junk removal was weird. The nosy neighbor who wanted to take everything in Mom's home was weird. I actually saw him taking stuff off the junk truck. What is he going to do with two sets of cheap knives and three table lamps that don't work? I feel bad for his children. Cleaning out his home is going to be challenging...
The earthquake was weird.
I stopped by my sister's house to drop off a few item before I left town. After playing with her sweet dogs the little one went off by himself and started barking and growling to himself. That was weird.
And then, after my long day I received a call while driving home that was more than a little weird. It seems that my new job, which was to begin in a few weeks, has now been pushed off another month due to "restructuring". Great. I am now officially unemployed.
God doesn't throw us more than we can handle, so I know this will all work out. Here's what I will be doing while I wait for my potential new job to start:
My sister and I had already removed any items we wanted and there was still what appeared to be an entire household there. So we called 1-800-GOT-JUNK to haul it all away. They arrived with three men and a huge truck, which,believe it or not, was not large enough. Their customer service, however,was really great. So I was watching my mother's belongings being shoved onto a truck; her life, basically being thrown away. It was surreal. But there was nothing left in that house I wanted. We already walked away with the old family photos, all the cleaning supplies, fifty roles of toilet paper, and one juicy family secret. Surprised? Just wait. If you have not yet had to clean out your parents' home just wait. There are secrets lurking in that attic or basement...
So the junk removal was weird. The nosy neighbor who wanted to take everything in Mom's home was weird. I actually saw him taking stuff off the junk truck. What is he going to do with two sets of cheap knives and three table lamps that don't work? I feel bad for his children. Cleaning out his home is going to be challenging...
The earthquake was weird.
I stopped by my sister's house to drop off a few item before I left town. After playing with her sweet dogs the little one went off by himself and started barking and growling to himself. That was weird.
And then, after my long day I received a call while driving home that was more than a little weird. It seems that my new job, which was to begin in a few weeks, has now been pushed off another month due to "restructuring". Great. I am now officially unemployed.
God doesn't throw us more than we can handle, so I know this will all work out. Here's what I will be doing while I wait for my potential new job to start:
- hunt for another job, just in case something else goes wrong with the one I already have. Which really is a bummer, because the job I thought I was starting seemed like a perfect fit for my expanded family.
- pull the new little guy out of daycare, which he just started less than a month ago. Keep him home with me, part time, at least. OK, I am kind of excited about this!
- learn to stretch a dollar. even. further. This kind of sounds challenging.
- Clean out every closet in the house. This sounds horrible.
Start planning for Fall and the upcoming Holiday season. To do this I am reading an advance copy of "100 Days to Christmas". I have been asked to write a review of this e-book so stay tuned. It is a collaboration between the author and ListPlanIt.com, one of my favorite list making and planning websites. This new planning couldn't have come at a better time; now that we have two kids and one job (one and a half?),this is the year to plan, budget, and make it great!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
goodbye honeymoon, welcome back guilt
The Adoption Guilt is back. Actually, I don't think it ever left. I am actually waking up in the middle of the night thinking about the sometimes near constant moments of parenting horror I have experienced these past few weeks. Apparently, the honeymoon is over.
I love my kids. And both of them saw more tragedy in the first months of their little lives than I have experienced, well, ever. There is a reason behind every odd behavior. Maybe not every behavior from my big four and a half year old. (and yes, I know I have been referring to him as "the big four and a half year old" a lot lately, but this is how he sees himself, so I'm just going with the flow.) I am not so wrapped up into being an adoptive parent that I think that every mis-step on Matthew's part is adoption related. Basically he is aobnoxious rambunctious, active, always sometimes overly sensitive preschooler. He is going to melt down. And his melt downs do not usually result in a mommy melt down. Which is what I keep reminding myself. I can parent. If I do say so myself I am actually pretty good at it, most days. But this new twist in our family has totally thrown me for a loop. I seem to be one mommy melt down after another these days.
Yesterday after school the boys and I were sitting at the kitchen table, having a snack. Well, actually, Matthew was sitting at the table, having a snack. OK, you got me. Matthew was squatting on his kitchen chair, eating a Popsicle. How he does not tip that chair over more often is beyond me. (I know what you are thinking: how many times has he fallen out of his chair? I honestly cannot say. I have lost count.) So, Matthew is "matthew sitting" in his chair and Alex is half standing, half sitting in his high chair, screaming at me and pointing in the general direction of the fridge. I am also not sitting. I am standing in the middle of the room, halfway between the fridge and my boys, fighting back the urge to see if my two year old can catch a flying piece of cheese while I fight back tears.
Here is what the food hostage exchange looked like:
me: how about a popsicle?
toddler: yes. and he shakes his head "yes".
me: hand over popsicle.
toddler: throws popsicle on floor while saying "no no no."
(repeat this exchange for every color popsicle in the box.)
me: cheese? (I say this while holding up a slice of cheese and smiling my best fake smile.
toddler: yes. and this time he smiles.
me: hand over cheese.
toddler: throws cheese at brother while screaming and attempting to rocket himself out of high chair.
me: maybe you are not hungry? I make a move to lift him out of the high chair.
toddler: screams no and takes a swing at me while signing "eat".
repeat this scenario, oh, I don't know, fifty times and you will come to understand how I finally picked him up out of the chair, set him on the floor, sat down at the table and said to his older brother: "You saw him saying "yes" to all that food, right? What is the matter with him?" And Matthew, in his always spot on four year old logic replies "That kid is crazy, Mommy."
I wish. That kid is not crazy. He is frustrated with the language barrier. He is teething. He is hungry. He is trying to assert his independence. He is two. Oh my God, he is so many things. He is not a purposely trying to drive me crazy. Although sometimes he is. I swear, sometimes he really is trying to drive me over the edge. He gets this look in his eye and makes sure that he has my complete attention before purposely dropping his food over the side of his high chair. And if he is really mad at me he will scoop it up by the handfuls and throw it. He has a moody streak, this one.
And I know what some of you are thinking. He is 26 months old. He will survive if he misses a meal. He is old enough to learn that there are consequences to throwing food and throwing tantrums. And I agree. But he is adopted. He is still bonding and learning to trust us. He has food issues that most likely stem from day after day of not getting enough to eat. I was there, at his orphanage. I witnessed snack time and meal time. And it was heartbreaking. So there is no way I am letting this boy think he is being punished or go without eating. Now, if my four year old acted this way, yes, he would be removed from the table. But his food issues are a thing of the past.
But oh how quickly we forget. I barely remember the time, when Matthew had only been home a month or so, that he bit me so hard we both landed on the floor. I was holding him, his head resting peacefully on my shoulder, and we were standing at the refrigerator, with the freezer door open. He bit me. Hard. Startled I bent forward in an effort to both push him away and prevent myself from dropping his tiny little 16 month old body. When I bent forward I let go of the freezer door, allowing it to swing back closed. Only I righted myself and stood up before the door had closed all the way, which resulted in me smacking my head, hard, on the freezer door. That was when we both went down. I remember sitting on the floor, holding Matthew with one arm and my head with the other, crying. I am sure those tears were only in small part from the pain. They were from the days of constant grunting and temper tantrums at the dinner table. They were from the near constant biting of mommy only. They were from the arm and backaches of never. being. able. to. set. this. child. down. never. ever. They were from the night terrors and the fact that I couldn't figure out why he always smelled like pee.
Yes, there were a lot of tears back then. And then, one day, it all smoothed out. And now, the tears are back. They seem worse this time around. They probably aren't, but they seem worse.
Maybe it is because Alex is older than Matthew was when he joined his forever family. Maybe I am expecting too much from this little guy. Maybe I just don't remember the occasional lows our first few months with Matthew. It's probably a combination of both. I don''t know. But one thing I do know; whatever is going on is leading to major mommy guilt.
My mantra these past few days:
it is ok to be frustrated. it is ok to me tired. it is ok to be thankful when the boys go to daycare/bed. it is ok to walk away and tag daddy in. he is not trying to drive me crazy. this is probably harder on him than it is on me. it is ok to let him scream when I pry him off of me and into daddy's arms - I have it on good authority that he immediately stops crying when I leave the room. and maybe most importantly, this too will pass.
I repeated this mantra last night over and over and over again. I sounded like Atticus Shaffer from The Middle.
If this continues much longer you may find me muttering to myself in the grocery store or curled up in the fetal position in my kitchen with a Popsicle stick in my ear. Tonight when I pick the kids up I am going to try not to drag the big four and a half year old into my drama. I shouldn't really be asking him for his opinion on his brother's behaviors. That kid already has way too much power around here...
I'm planning to color my hair tomorrow. Not related to adoption guilt, just thought you would want to know.
I love my kids. And both of them saw more tragedy in the first months of their little lives than I have experienced, well, ever. There is a reason behind every odd behavior. Maybe not every behavior from my big four and a half year old. (and yes, I know I have been referring to him as "the big four and a half year old" a lot lately, but this is how he sees himself, so I'm just going with the flow.) I am not so wrapped up into being an adoptive parent that I think that every mis-step on Matthew's part is adoption related. Basically he is a
Yesterday after school the boys and I were sitting at the kitchen table, having a snack. Well, actually, Matthew was sitting at the table, having a snack. OK, you got me. Matthew was squatting on his kitchen chair, eating a Popsicle. How he does not tip that chair over more often is beyond me. (I know what you are thinking: how many times has he fallen out of his chair? I honestly cannot say. I have lost count.) So, Matthew is "matthew sitting" in his chair and Alex is half standing, half sitting in his high chair, screaming at me and pointing in the general direction of the fridge. I am also not sitting. I am standing in the middle of the room, halfway between the fridge and my boys, fighting back the urge to see if my two year old can catch a flying piece of cheese while I fight back tears.
Here is what the food hostage exchange looked like:
me: how about a popsicle?
toddler: yes. and he shakes his head "yes".
me: hand over popsicle.
toddler: throws popsicle on floor while saying "no no no."
(repeat this exchange for every color popsicle in the box.)
me: cheese? (I say this while holding up a slice of cheese and smiling my best fake smile.
toddler: yes. and this time he smiles.
me: hand over cheese.
toddler: throws cheese at brother while screaming and attempting to rocket himself out of high chair.
me: maybe you are not hungry? I make a move to lift him out of the high chair.
toddler: screams no and takes a swing at me while signing "eat".
repeat this scenario, oh, I don't know, fifty times and you will come to understand how I finally picked him up out of the chair, set him on the floor, sat down at the table and said to his older brother: "You saw him saying "yes" to all that food, right? What is the matter with him?" And Matthew, in his always spot on four year old logic replies "That kid is crazy, Mommy."
I wish. That kid is not crazy. He is frustrated with the language barrier. He is teething. He is hungry. He is trying to assert his independence. He is two. Oh my God, he is so many things. He is not a purposely trying to drive me crazy. Although sometimes he is. I swear, sometimes he really is trying to drive me over the edge. He gets this look in his eye and makes sure that he has my complete attention before purposely dropping his food over the side of his high chair. And if he is really mad at me he will scoop it up by the handfuls and throw it. He has a moody streak, this one.
And I know what some of you are thinking. He is 26 months old. He will survive if he misses a meal. He is old enough to learn that there are consequences to throwing food and throwing tantrums. And I agree. But he is adopted. He is still bonding and learning to trust us. He has food issues that most likely stem from day after day of not getting enough to eat. I was there, at his orphanage. I witnessed snack time and meal time. And it was heartbreaking. So there is no way I am letting this boy think he is being punished or go without eating. Now, if my four year old acted this way, yes, he would be removed from the table. But his food issues are a thing of the past.
But oh how quickly we forget. I barely remember the time, when Matthew had only been home a month or so, that he bit me so hard we both landed on the floor. I was holding him, his head resting peacefully on my shoulder, and we were standing at the refrigerator, with the freezer door open. He bit me. Hard. Startled I bent forward in an effort to both push him away and prevent myself from dropping his tiny little 16 month old body. When I bent forward I let go of the freezer door, allowing it to swing back closed. Only I righted myself and stood up before the door had closed all the way, which resulted in me smacking my head, hard, on the freezer door. That was when we both went down. I remember sitting on the floor, holding Matthew with one arm and my head with the other, crying. I am sure those tears were only in small part from the pain. They were from the days of constant grunting and temper tantrums at the dinner table. They were from the near constant biting of mommy only. They were from the arm and backaches of never. being. able. to. set. this. child. down. never. ever. They were from the night terrors and the fact that I couldn't figure out why he always smelled like pee.
Yes, there were a lot of tears back then. And then, one day, it all smoothed out. And now, the tears are back. They seem worse this time around. They probably aren't, but they seem worse.
Maybe it is because Alex is older than Matthew was when he joined his forever family. Maybe I am expecting too much from this little guy. Maybe I just don't remember the occasional lows our first few months with Matthew. It's probably a combination of both. I don''t know. But one thing I do know; whatever is going on is leading to major mommy guilt.
My mantra these past few days:
it is ok to be frustrated. it is ok to me tired. it is ok to be thankful when the boys go to daycare/bed. it is ok to walk away and tag daddy in. he is not trying to drive me crazy. this is probably harder on him than it is on me. it is ok to let him scream when I pry him off of me and into daddy's arms - I have it on good authority that he immediately stops crying when I leave the room. and maybe most importantly, this too will pass.
I repeated this mantra last night over and over and over again. I sounded like Atticus Shaffer from The Middle.
If this continues much longer you may find me muttering to myself in the grocery store or curled up in the fetal position in my kitchen with a Popsicle stick in my ear. Tonight when I pick the kids up I am going to try not to drag the big four and a half year old into my drama. I shouldn't really be asking him for his opinion on his brother's behaviors. That kid already has way too much power around here...
I'm planning to color my hair tomorrow. Not related to adoption guilt, just thought you would want to know.
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