I Was Not A Good Mom This Morning

I'll fully admit that I was not a good mom this morning. That said, I could have been much worse. I didn't yell. I didn't touch a child. There were no emotional or physical scars left. But I'm still angry and irritated - albeit perhaps somewhat irrationally so, as the wee ones are only 7 and 8. But... it's reality.

And this?  This was the breakfast table at 8:30 after the wee ones had boarded the bus for school.  On the plus side, I didn't have to make myself breakfast because there was plenty sitting right here.

 I didn't get a full night's sleep because I woke up from an utterly bizarre dream at 4am. That isn't an excuse, but I know myself, and I get crabby when I don't have sufficient sleep. Compounded with things that don't go as they could, my temper can flare, and getting the wee ones ready for the bus has been a struggle all week.

 At 7:10 this morning - an hour and ten minutes before their bus was scheduled to arrive to pick them up for school - I headed into Mister Man's room, where I found both the wee ones in their pjs, quietly playing. As they spotted me, the whining began that they hadn't had enough time to play. I'm used to it. I get the same whining every morning, no matter what. But, Mooooom, Mister Man whined in his best two year old voice, I was just about to start a game.  Sorry, Kiddo.  It's time for school, so I need you to get dressed.

Little Miss began picking up her Puffles and gave me a hug before heading to her room to change.  Mister Man chose to crawl under his covers to hide.  I explained that I wasn't playing that game and they needed to get dressed and come down for breakfast just like they have done for the past six years. (My emphasis now, not then.)  I got breakfast orders and headed downstairs to make breakfasts and lunches for everyone except me.

I didn't hear noises that sounded like anyone getting dressed.  In fact, the noises sounded like Star Wars Fighter Pods being connected and unconnected.  I sighed and continued on my way, deciding that maybe today was the day for natural consequences.  If they weren't down by the time I finished with breakfasts and lunches and was ready to head upstairs to get myself dressed, I would send them down and they could eat what they got to by 8am - still leaving them nearly a half hour to eat.

As I boiled water in a kettle to help keep the Thermos warm for the honey chicken Mister Man was getting in his lunch, I heard a new noise, one that included giggling.  The wee ones were not coming down to breakfast - which was now sitting on the kitchen table getting warm (for Mister Man) and cold (for Little Miss) - but instead were playing with the nightlight in the hallway, changing its colors.  My blood pressure started to rise.

By the time I finished with lunches and set the lunches and snacks for school on the steps for them to pack into backpacks, there was still nary a child in sight, although I had explained that breakfast was ready and sitting on the table.  I climbed the stairs to find the wee ones wrestling in the hallway, presumably over control of the nightlight, atop the sheets I had just washed and folded but not yet put away.  They decided to go eat breakfast.

While I was getting dressed, the wee ones called to me.  Meow - who is not allowed near the table when anyone is eating because I don't like begging, nor do I want to encourage him to think people food is his food and yes, everyone in the house knows the rule - had managed to knock Little Miss's milk over with his tail.  I closed my eyes and continued getting dressed, deciding benign neglect at this point was better than blowing my top.

By the time I finished getting dressed - note, no makeup or hair or even teeth brushed for me yet, as that happens after the wee ones are off to school - and headed downstairs, I was doing deep breathing exercises.  It was now 8am, and I had milk to clean up.  Mister Man was sitting at the table reading a magazine (another no-no) and hadn't touched his breakfast.  Neither child had socks on.  Mister Man didn't have his glasses.

I reiterated what still needed to be done: lunches and snacks into backpacks, breakfasts eaten, vitamins taken, teeth brushed, socks on, glasses on, shoes on.  Oh, and that they didn't have much time left.  Little Miss - knowing this wasn't going to end well - quickly got up and put her dishes away and headed on to her next tasks.  Mister Man gave the verbal agreement and continued with his magazine.

When the bus pulled into our driveway at 8:20am, Little Miss was ready... except for her unbrushed hair.  She managed to escape out the door before I could catch her and so now is at school looking like she has a pet rat who sleeps in her hair.  Mister Man had to be sent upstairs while the bus waited (thank goodness this isn't the regular bus that waits for no one) for his glasses.  And socks.  And I'm pretty sure his reading log never got filled out.

And they were off to school.  I'm still angry that the cat was apparently on the kitchen table and knocked over milk.  And that Mister Man chose to read a magazine at the table instead of eating his breakfast.  And that they were wrestling on my clean sheets.  And that they were playing instead of getting ready for school as they'd been asked to do and as they know they have to do every morning.  And that Mister Man was throwing attitude at me about getting ready - from the time I explained that he needed to get dressed until the time he stomped back down the stairs with his glasses and socks.

But I didn't yell.  I didn't threaten them with anything.  I didn't say anything mean to them.  And obviously I didn't physically touch them.  That feels like such a hollow victory.

I'm not sure why getting ready has been so difficult this week.  I'm not sure if it's the "extra time" we now have since the bus comes 20 minutes later than the time we used have to get out the door.  I'm not sure if they simply need more sleep.  I'm really not sure what it is.  Yesterday, I resorted to spoon feeding Mister Man his breakfast like he was a baby because he was taking so long.  He didn't like it.  Neither did I.  Today I went a different route of benign neglect that still wasn't being the good mom I want to be.

So on Monday, we're going to try something different.  This weekend, I'm going to sit down with them and explain what I was unhappy with and why today.  And we're going to talk about what needs to happen at what time.  Both the wee ones have small whiteboards, and I'm going to use them as checklists for the wee ones because I can't keep reminding them to move move move every five minutes.  I'll leave them outside their rooms at night, and they can carry them with them as they get ready in the morning.

Something has to change.  And as the parent, it has to be me.  I will raise independent and responsible children one way or the other.  How do you ensure that you get everyone out the door in the morning?

The Tooth Fairy Ran Out Of Money

You know how children are somehow your genetic miniatures even in ways that shouldn't be genetic?  The first time Mister Man had ice cream, he picked up the bowl when it was empty and proceeded to lick it clean.  I swear he'd never seen me do that, but yet he somehow innately knew that when something's that awesome, you don't let a drop go to waste.

And then there's Little Miss.  Mister Man will let a tooth be loose forever before it finally falls out when there's barely anything left holding it on, simply because he's afraid of the pain - or he has to have me pull it because there's another tooth growing behind it.  Little Miss?  Not so much.  Suddenly late this spring, her two front teeth were gone.  You saw how I had to fake our Christmas card early, right?

I thought we were done with losing teeth for awhile.  And then in the middle of August, Little Miss announced that she had just lost another tooth.  None of us even knew it was loose.  Just like me, the second she got a loose tooth, she worked it until it fell out.  I now had a peg tooth daughter.

I asked if she had any more teeth loose.  She assured me she didn't, and I settled in to have at least a few weeks where I wouldn't have to worry about another tooth popping out.

The night before school started, Little Miss came downstairs with another tooth in her hand.  I stared at her in disbelief, but she truly had another hole where a tooth should be.  We are, by the way, hiring her out as a human jack o'lantern this Halloween if anyone needs one.

I sent her upstairs to put the tooth under her pillow in the special bag we have, as she does each time.  And then we all went to bed.  She said nothing the next morning, and it took me another day before I realized that the Tooth Fairy had not come.

As soon as she headed off to school, I sped upstairs to check on the status of her tooth.  I lifted the pillow only to find ... nothing.  There was no tooth.  I asked her when she got home what had happened, and she simply shrugged.  That's when I found out that she hadn't put her tiny little baby incisor into anything but instead just laid it under her pillow.

The next day, I did a thorough scouring of her room.

What can I say?  The girl likes to sleep with her toys.  All of them (including the cute cat).  I was lucky that she didn't have her rubber duck collection or Toy Story toys in bed with her, as she usually does.  Unfortunately, under no mattress, nor tucked behind no toy, nor rattling inside no mattress was a tooth found.

So now what?  The tooth is gone.  And the Tooth Fairy rule is that there has to be a tooth for an exchange, right?  The wee ones decided that Little Miss simply lost her teeth too fast and she ran out of money.  What's your theory?

Yes, He Really Is Autistic

Thursday was not a good day. It started off all well and good, but by the end of the day - for the first time in my parenting history - I was alone in my bedroom sobbing. Things just hit at the wrong time.

Mister Man is autistic. He's very high functioning, and he attends Catholic school with no support, but he's still autistic. That's why I pick him up to take him to twice weekly therapies. And yes, when he's playing or when you observe him long enough, it's obvious that he's "different" from the other kids. Most of the time, I can, unconsciously perhaps, pretend that all is well and that maybe he doesn't truly have autism. He does.

Thursday afternoon, I got an email from his teacher. His teacher doesn't like email and only sends email if there's something brewing. Apparently he's been "making decisions that are having a detrimental impact on his ability to do his work effectively" although there was no other specific information behind that. He also had disappeared on the way to Mass on Wednesday, then jumped out from behind a pillar to scare his teacher on Wednesday. The teacher had provided him with a life learning lesson (part of their discipline) to talk to me about, but he had failed to do so. And Thursday a boy at recess took a ball he was playing with, so he had started hitting the child. Repeatedly. He spent time with the assistant principal and was told he was staying in for recess on Friday and perhaps again today.

I had thought the new year was going well. On Tuesday, Mister Man came home so excited because he had earned four tickets (rewards for outstanding "something" - generally behavior) that day, something he had never done before. Wednesday, he hadn't earned any more tickets, but he told me it had been a great day and went into detail about what he'd done and who he'd played with. Apparently not. The email burst the bubble of my day. We have talked to him more times than I can count about how he is not allowed to hide and try to scare people because - as part of his autism - he doesn't get when it's ok to do that and when it isn't, so most of the time he tries it, it's an inappropriate time or place. And he isn't a hitter. He's never been a hitter, but this year, behaviors like this are coming out, and I don't know where they're coming from.

That afternoon was also to be Mister Man's first day trying out the "big kid" class at tae kwon do. His dojo has two programs - a little kid program where they start at five years old and learn a lot of the basic moves and the first form, but also start to learn to listen and follow directions well and begin to develop a sense of responsibility before moving to the big kid class at around age 7, once they've completed the "black belt" and all its stripes in the little kid class.

When Mister Man tested for his black belt in the little kid class early this summer, there were three kids testing with him - two moving to a red belt, the belt below him, and one moving to a black belt with him. At the end of the test, the instructor asked the other black belt if she wanted to move to the big kid class because she was ready. Mister Man wasn't even though he's eight. He's had all the stripes on his black belt since mid-October, and still the instructor waited. Her goal was to move him over with two or three other students at the start of the new year. Now.

And so he had his first class in the big kid room on Thursday. It was a standard class, plus him, a brand new student to tae kwon do who was obviously younger than him, and a child who is a purple belt (two below where Mister Man is) with only a couple stripes there. As I sat and watched the class, I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes. He didn't belong there. When the class did kibon - the first form that they learn, and one Mister Man has known for over a year now - he was moving in one direction by the end of it while the entire other class was moving in another. He didn't have the strength still to keep his knees bent while standing in various positions and awaiting instructions. Between punches, he would have his arm almost straight up in the air, looking around him - even after an instructor would walk to him and manually correct his arm position. His kicks were less kicks and more a foot swatting at something near his ankle, again even after an instructor demonstrated specifically for him and worked with him on them. And when they played the "belt game" at the end of class? That was the worst. Each child was given two very short white belts, which they were told to tuck into their existing belts - picture flag football. Every child did as instructed, except Mister Man. He removed his belt - the only one to do so - and tried tying the short belts, which didn't work. Then he tried wrapping the belts, both of them at once, around his waist and putting his original belt atop it. The instructor eventually had to come and fix all his belts for him. If he had the awareness to look around and see what the other kids were doing, he could have saved himself this. But looking around and seeing what others are doing is essentially his problem - he doesn't have that instinct or understanding, and my explaining it to him does nothing.

As the students exited the class at the end, the owner stopped the purple belt. She handed him the new uniform for the big kid class and told him he was going to those classes from now on. Mister Man wasn't handed a uniform. She told me that she would talk to the instructor of the big kid class to get his feedback. But really, I knew. By the end of the class, I knew what the response from the instructors would be. He doesn't belong in the big kid class yet. He needs to return to the little kid class - the only child there who has his black belt with all the stripes. He doesn't need to gain any more skills there, but he needs to continue maturing. And that breaks my heart.

As I climbed into the car, I was already fighting back tears. All I want for my children is for them to find what they're good at and to be happy. Mister Man adores tae kwon do, and he was so excited to move to the big kid class. Except that he isn't, but when I asked him, he had no idea that he'd done anything that didn't warrant him staying in the class. Instead, I had to prep him that maybe he would have to wait a little longer and tried to give him some examples of why.

What's so frustrating for me is that he is almost a completely neurotypical kid. He's so close to fitting in and getting it, but yet he doesn't. He's a smart little cookie and as sweet as pie, but there are things that he just can't do, but because he looks and acts so "normal" most of the time, everyone raises their expectations. Coupled with the issues at school, my expectations were fully dashed, and I was crushed.

As we drove home, he told me about what had happened at school, too. When the child took the ball, his first instinct was to hit. He didn't ask the child for the ball back. He didn't involve a teacher. He didn't walk away. All the social stories we work on about what to do in various situations flew out the window, and instead he hit the child. In my head, all I could hear was "What more can I do?" ringing over and over. And for that moment in time, I had no answer.

When we got home, my mom was just arriving with Little Miss. My mom blew off my concerns of the tae kwon do after a sentence with an essentially "oh well" type answer. And then there was a misunderstanding over her pronouncement that Little Miss's coat was dirty, and my mom refused to tell me the story of why it was dirty. And then she tossed out a catty, "When I make a commitment, I keep it" - something I knew was a dig directly at me.

And my day was done. Fortunately I'd prepared dinner for the wee ones - although it hadn't finished cooking when I had to leave for tae kwon do, so in desperation I had put it in the oven on a timed cook in the hopes that it would be done when we arrived home. Check it out. Another failure on the day on my part. I put the dinner on the table for the wee ones and excused myself, something I've never done before. I couldn't sit with them. I couldn't eat dinner. I was just done.

And for the first time in my life as a parent, I went upstairs and closed myself in my bedroom and sat on the floor to cry. I was absolutely and 100 percent feeling sorry for myself, but knowing this didn't change it. I was so frustrated and so ... done. It seemed that no matter my efforts, nothing I was doing was the right step or the right path. By the time the wee ones had finished dinner and started getting themselves ready for bed, I was able to face the world again. I wasn't happy by any stretch, but I could at least give them their requisite hugs and kisses and tell them I loved them before again retreating to my bedroom for some solitary - because my husband wasn't home yet, of course - self-pity time.

On Friday, the day dawned bright and sunny. And the good news is that it was a new day. A different day. Nothing had changed but me. I had a good discussion with Mister Man about what he needed to do when he stayed in for recess, and I braced myself for what the instructor would say on Saturday when we went in for our tae kwon do class. I talked with Mister Man with the understanding that Wednesday and Thursday had been really hard days in school and that might have led to some of his issues with the new tae kwon do class. I learned that he was really excited about trying the new class and that he was also very nervous. Put all that together with an autistic child, and of course you have a recipe for disaster. I prepped him that he might have to stay in the little kid class for a bit longer, but I also explained that he could show maturity in talking to the owner and telling her what he had told me, which might grant him the opportunity to try the big kid class again.

Thank goodness for sunny days. Thank goodness there's always the dawning of a new hope and another try. Thursday is not a pit that I want to live in, nor could I. Because yes, Mister Man does have autism. And I can't forget that. That was my problem - pretending in my head that everything was "normal" when it wasn't and can't ever be. And that's ok.

Smile For The Camera!

You know how people joke that the younger children always gets "less" than the firstborn. There aren't as many photos, the baby books aren't as filled, they get the hand me down clothes and toys. Not in our house. Little Miss is in fully as many photos as Mister Man. And since I haven't started with his baby book, I feel no (additional) guilt that she's behind on that one, either. Since she's a girl and he's a boy, the only hand me downs are - shhhhh - a few pjs and t-shirts. I'll completely cop to the books and toys though, since how many Legos can one person have in a house anyway?

That doesn't mean she gets fully equal treatment, unfortunately. I've posted about him on my blog ten percent more often than I've posted about her. And more to the point, when Mister Man lost his first tooth, I posted about the event with photos pretty quickly. Little Miss? Not so much.

I did post about her loose tooth awhile ago - though mostly because it was a pretty funny story. That was almost a month ago. Her tooth grew progressively looser, and she was determined to pull it out herself. The thing was holding on barely by a thread. When we went to Florida, I was paranoid that her tooth would fall out when I wasn't there as my parents went down with them two days before I arrived. Silly me. A week later, the tooth was still in her mouth, and she was going to pull it out when she got to school. She came home, and the tooth was still there. As it was the next day. And the next. I wasn't too worried, though, since she didn't have the new tooth growing in behind the loose one the way Mister Man did.

She finally came home from school a week ago Monday with her tooth in a treasure box. Or she would have except that she took her tooth out on the bus and promptly lost the box. Amazingly, she didn't lose the actual tooth. And yes, the Tooth Fairy came that night and left her a quarter in the little pink bag under her pillow.

Ummm yeah. It only took me nine days to post about her losing her tooth. (Note to self: For the baby book, Little Miss lost her first tooth on October 24, 2011.) Sorry, Peanut! Worse? I still don't have a photo of her showing that missing tooth. That's not to say I haven't tried. "Smile, Peanut!" I cried at her. "Where are those teeth, my dear?" "C'mon, show me that beautiful smile!" I kept at it. And failed.

This was as close as I got.

We'll keep working on it. After all, I don't want to have to pay for her therapy in another fifteen years for having heaped all the attention on Mister Man!

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First Day Of School: Mom Fail

This week was our first week of school. I got the wee ones up and ready bright and early for their first day. We have a tradition that we take pictures on our front step the first day of every school year. It's so fun to look back over the years (ok, so it's only been four) and see how much they've grown. They are now taller than the door handle. Much taller.

I ushered them outside for our photo shoot, just in time before we had to leave to pick up carpool and get to school on time. I grabbed my camera as I headed out the door and got them arranged on the front porch.

I turned on my camera and looked through the lens. Oddly, I couldn't take a photo. I pulled the camera away from my eye to puzzle it out. Oh. Hmm. "Battery Exhausted" flashed away at me.

I sighed and mentally cursed myself for not having oh, I don't know checked the battery or simply charged it just in case because this was a Big Day. Grumbling, I ran inside, having the brilliant idea to simply use my point and shoot - hoping against hope that this camera had battery to spare.

Unfortunately, the point and shoot has seen better days, and the photos it now takes aren't exactly the best. Evidence?

So ummm because I wasn't satisfied, I decided to "recreate" the first day of school on the second day. Because my camera battery had now been plugged in for 24 hours and there was no way I was failing again. Do you think they'll notice in ten years that this was taken on a Mass day because Mister Man is in his full uniform and that it was therefore not truly a first day of school picture?

I sure hope not. I'm going with the same theory for when I make up errr guesstimate the information for their baby books. Someday. Eh, just sign me up for Mother Of The Year and be done with it.

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