Preparations...

The kids were playing in one of those gross play areas in Burger King.

They were playing Tag with some other kids and seemed to be having fun, until S suddenly moved away from the little girl she was playing with and sat by herself in a corner.

I didn't know why, until....

the little girl's brother quickly piped in, "That's her lucky hand!  She can do everything with it.  She can tie her shoes, and even do the monkey bars".

And then all of the kids  came over to take a look.

Except S, who ran down to K and I, to whisper to us, "That girl has a really little hand!  It kinda scares me!"  And we talked about how she shouldn't tell the girl that, because that would hurt her feelings.  (Apparently, she already had, as you'll read later.)  Maybe, she could just respond by saying, "That's okay if your hand is a little different.  Let's go play."  

At the same time, the girl didn't want to play anymore, because she "was hot".

By this time, I was literally teary.  Because I didn't want my kids to be those kids.  The kids that are completely un-accepting of others' differences.  And because I just heard Z say, nonchalantly, "It looks kinda like an alien to me..."

And so...

I called him down, and we talked about how that the word, "alien", is NEVER okay to say to anyone about the way they look.  We talked about how all people are different, and none of us look the same.

While I honestly don't think he meant to hurt the girl's feelings, (I mean, aliens are cool, right!?) he does not often think before he talks (I understand that....that very trait comes from me).

Z sat for a second, thinking, then went back up to ask the girl to play.

S sat a little longer, and had lots of questions about why kids' hands would look like that, so we talked (shortly) about how some kids' development is effected before they are even born, and we reminded her about the "bump" she used to have on her head and how that was different too, but that different is okay.  And not scary.

And we encouraged her to ask the girl, again, to play.

She went back into the play area.

But she wasn't playing with the girl.  She was sitting a little ways away.  Head down.  Gloomy.

And when she finally came down the slide, she burst into tears, sobbing loudly, and saying, "I feel bad because I told her that her hand SCARED me!" to which K replied, "Yeah.  Don't do that."

So she cried harder, and sobbed, "I'm SORRY!  I'm sorry....(sob, sob, snort)."

(And then she cried again in the van.  And again when we finally got home.)

And while I am not proud for not having prepared my kids to respond to that little girl's differences, I am proud of both of them for:

1). Going back and playing when I encouraged him to (Z)

and 2). Feeling SO SO bad for realizing that she hurt someone's feelings (S).

I said, "Ya know, S.  I know you will do things differently next time, and I am proud of you for realizing you hurt her feelings and for feeling so bad about it.  That makes me know how much you really care about people and about how they feel."

And then there were many more questions about why kids would WANT to hurt others' feelings.   "And why would kids tease her at school, because her brother said some kids are mean to her?"

I wondered, right then,  if you ever get over feeling, as a parent of a "different child", like you want to beat the crap out of every kid that looks at your kid the wrong way.

And I know my kids were the ones that were looking at her the wrong way this time, but we plan to prepare them to respond differently (gracefully) next time.

That's all we can do as parent, right?  Learn from the past and prepare for the future?

Super Boy

I am a little bit of a spoiled brat, maybe, and I often wonder why we don't see more miracles in our lives.  Why doesn't God show Himself to us?  Why were there a bunch of miracles in the Bible, but we see "none" of them today?

And then...

I recently brought Z to a mandatory neuropsychology assessment.  Because of the massive brain hemorrhage (and therefore shunt placement) he endured in neonatal, Z is evaluated every three years, to assure he is reaching developmental milestones.

Last time I brought him in, the neuropsychologist said to me, "THIS is not the boy I expected to see.  According to his charts, he has had quite a significant brain bleed....and I know he has cerebral palsy."
I wasn't sure what he meant, but he told me later, he was surprised at how well Z was doing.
The doctor was glad for his development, but Z did have some minor deficits then, mostly in fine motor skills and some processing tasks.  He was processing alot of things on only one side of his brain.  I wasn't worried.  I didn't really see any ways that those things limited him in any way, so I mostly blew it off.

THIS time, after his SEVEN HOUR appointment, the doctor said, "You have an amazing boy here.  His processing is even on both sides of his brain (which is good), the deficits I noted last time are no longer, and he is keeping up with his peers."

"All good things," I thought, "but not surprising."  (Of COURSE he was doing well!  Why wouldn't he be!?)

E'hem.

And the doctor went on to say, "I did not expect this from him.  Most kids with the level of brain damage he has endured are able to keep up with their peers for the first years of life.  They develop at a similar level (running his finger in the air at a slow, steady incline).  However, when their peers begin school, kids like Z develop on the same developmental path as they have been (slow incline), while their peers' progress more quickly and on a steeper incline.  I am astounded to let you know that Z is keeping right up with his peers.  He is an amazing young man.  I am glad to have worked with him."

"Amazing," he said again.

And I tried not to get all teary and emotional.  Because I am raising a kid whose development is unexpected.  Is atypical.  Is....can we say...a miracle?

And I didn't even know.

Or I forgot to look.

So I left thankful.  Wondering how many other miracles we miss every day.

(And knowing that I will forget and be ungrateful probably by the time I got home.)

Parents

Our kids recently took on the role of parents.

B just re-glued the piece of counter top and re-assigned the chore chart.

S gave M a bath, saying things like, "M, are you okay?" and "Are you ready for me to wash your hair?"

Z, well.....

Z ran around the house with his Superman/pirate costume on and did his ninja moves at (all four) parents as they went about their business.

In more detailed (and possibly boring) news....

M is in the 82nd percentile for height, which is pretty crazy, since it's always lucky if our older kids even make it on the chart.

He no longer says, "I wuv you".  He says, very clearly and precisely, "I L-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-love you, mama." And he now says, "Spiderman" and "Don't give me a spankin'" instead of "fighter man" and "Don't give me a fankin'".

I kinda miss his Bubsy talk.

B now has "I will not talk like a robot" on his star chart.  (Who imagines writing that  on their kids' reward chart before you actually have a child of your own??)

Z's flip flops broke, and when I started shopping for winter shoes, I remembered that K still needs to teach the boy to tie.  Tying is hard for him, because 1). He'd rather not take that long on any one particular task 2). His fine motor skills aren't part of his super human powers.  K gets to teach him, because I made a deal: if I taught the other two, he would teach the third.

S has long hair right now.  Longer than it's ever been.  She actually told her "hair-cutter" to cut it short the other day, and I stopped her.  I don't know why.  It's kinda stringy and always knotty.  But I just didn't want her to get it cut and hate it.  I told her we should bring in a picture of a short cut that she likes, so she has some idea of what it will look like.  Anyone wanna send me ideas?  I googled cute, short, girl haircuts and got nothing.

Stealth

Let's all take note for a moment that all four of our kids are getting gifts in the mail, from their aunt.

For no reason.

She's nice.  We like her.  Thanks, Auntie Ang.

She knows them so well, somehow (even living hundreds of miles away): She (very appropriately) gave B Transformers (e'hem, robots anyone?) and S girly, beady bracelets that will give her an excellent excuse to get away from the boys once in awhile.

M was given a Webkinz Jr. (who knew there was Jr.?!) to boss around on the computer, (since he really, really likes to boss but is not big enough for anyone to take him seriously).

And Zeke...

You can see that Z is getting a Captain American costume WHILE he is also wearing a Spiderman costume, which he just switched into after donning a knight's cape for most of the morning.

So the kid ran and jumped and tried cool twists on the trampoline and threw his shield like a frisbee....and (and, and).

You should know that M spent alot of that time (in between Z's twists and spins) trying to take away Z's new shield. He kept having to go to time-out for whining and crying for the thing.

Z wasn't ready to share yet.

M finally went to bed, still begging for the shield.


And while the boy didn't get the shield in the end, he did use his crazy stealth moves to somehow end up with both his new toy (the puppy, appropriately named Noh under his arm) AND Z's new Captain America mask.

The little boy's got skills.

Elmer's Glue

My sister knocked off a part of my counter yesterday.  It must be her really large hips!  (Ahahahaah!  Sorry, Jod).  She ran into the corner of it, just like I have at least three hundred times before.

I've packing taped it on in the past, but it looks stupid. When my sister was over, she put a hunk of scotch tape on it, but that looked even worse.  I just peeled off the whole piece of counter and threw it in the drawer.

Next thing I knew, Keith had it all repaired.  And I was so proud.  I was a beaming wife.  So glad for a husband that "gets 'er done" (the whole time, I was wondering why the counter piece took preference to the broken bike tire that's been in the driveway for WEEKS, but.....) *

After I exclaimed my love for Papa once more, S said, "Mom, B did that."

And so I began my exclamations again, but replaced, "I just love when Papa does those things" to "I just love having a crazy controlling robot for a son".  And B beamed with pride.

Apparently, Elmers Glue Stick (purple) is just about as good as duck tape!?  Who knew?
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* Just so you know, K does actually help around the house alot.  But B beat him to it this time.

Spidey, R2D2, Beauty, and Some Kind of Crazy Control Freak....All at a Home Near You

I'm guessing the people who have been invited to read this blog have stopped now.  I don't really have a lot to say still.
Let's see.  Z lives in a costume.  Usually they are too short and really freaking tight, (and I look at him and start sweating vicariously), but apparently, it's a RIOT to be Spiderman in our town, and not so much fun to be plain ol' Beeks.

B is still talking like a robot, but we've narrowed it down.  He talks in "robot voice" and gets all stiff-armed when he is asking a question he knows he won't like the answer to OR when he is self-conscious about other people listening.  He doesn't go all R2D2 with other kids, if no adults are around.  It's weird, but I guess we all did something weird when we were growing up, right?  To introduce myself to my first friend, in Kindergarten, I said, "Hi.  I'm a turtle.  Do you want to be my best friend?"  And I used to pretend I knew how to speak Chinese.  B speaks Robot.  I spoke "Chinese".  K says not to worry: "We both know he won't be talking robot as an adult, right?  It's bound to stop sometime".  And so, I'm reminding him when I can....and waiting.  I wish his batteries would run out or something.

S is pretty sure she didn't request M as a roommate, and she's ready to trade him in for someone else.  She loves him, but she's pretty obsessed about getting her beauty rest, and she DOES. NOT. WANT. M to be talking to her "ALL NIGHT" or climbing on her bed before she is ready to be awake.  The girl is generally an overly kind and patient kid, but if you wake her up before she's ready, she gets pretty darn feisty!  I heard her yelling this morning, "Get.  Out. Of. Here. Now.  I. Mean. It. NOW!"  And I wondered who the heck swapped that with S....
But she explained it when I went to find our real girl.  "M woke me up!"  I reminded her she used to share a room with both B and Z, (and Z used to be awake all night, talking...And screaming when he wasn't talking), so she really should be thankful.

M is two years old.  Three next month.  And the kid is a mess.  I actually brought him to the doctor the other week, because he was so freaking contrary.  All the time.  About everything.  Apparently, that's just who he is, because there is nothing wrong with him, physically.  He's stubborn, that boy.  He makes B seem tame at that age. The difference, though, is I don't have to try 200 different parenting techniques with this young one.  I know what worked and what didn't with "crazy stubborn", and we're going to bypass those things that didn't right away.  B got too many choices as a young crazy control freak, so that by the time he was 3 1/2 ish, he thought he could rule the world.  It took some time to pull him in. This boy, M? Well, it sucks to be the youngest sometimes, small boy.

Song

My girl sang in church the other day.  In front of people.

People.

You know...the kind that look at you and sit quietly and attentively while you sing.  


Well, not actually while you sing and definitely not while I sing, but while S sings.

She wants to be a singer.  Or at least, she wants to "sing for free in churches".

And she wants to get paid to be an artist.  She said, "I think I could get paid for both, cuz I'm good at them, but I think I will sing for free."

And so, she started her singing-for-free career a couple of weeks ago.

Brave girl, we are proud of you.  Especially because you are the one who has "I answered people when they talked to me" on your star chart, because you don't always like to open your mouth.

And yet, somehow, amazingly and against my glossophobic (how'd ya like THAT word!?) judgment, our girl sang.

Roosters

The kids were eating chicken nuggets today.  S said, "Mom, are chicken nuggets REAL chicken?"  I said, "Yep", and B quickly threw his nugget down, and said, in (nervous robot voice), "Mom!  Why do we call them chicken peenies (Foisy word for boy parts)!"

"We don't," I said, "We call them chicken nuggets." 

"But, MOM, why do we call 'em chicken PEENIES!"  

And the question and answer went on and on, with me trying to figure out where he was going and him not giving me any more information (as usual with this boy).  

I told him to stop asking the question, unless he could give me some reason he was asking.  

He sat there about five minutes, silent, and finally said, "Why did Papa tell M to get off his nuggets when they were wrestling the other day?!" 

And I died laughing, because the boy connected that, and thought he must be eating chicken penises!

No wonder the intensity in his quest for answers!  

Super

Bubs is a super hero junky. He recently whacked me on the head with his light saber, all the while holding a six-shooter in the other hand and donning a Superman cape on his back.

He's been stealing his big brothers' Batman underwear, and he refuses to wear them the "correct" way.

He wants "to see the picture".

So, saggy in front. Revealing in back. (Underwear maker guys: When will you think to put the cool pictures in front!?! Our kid has been experiencing the feel of a man-thong for weeks now!)

The superboy is never actually Superman or Spidey.  He is "Spidey's younger brother" or "Superman's kid" or Robin's cousin or something. Last night, I heard K say, "Spidey's younger brother isn't powerful. The only reason Spidey has powers is because he got bit by a spider. Spidey's brother can't do anything."

The boy didn't look impressed.

I'm guessing K is just helping the kid reach for the sky and be the BEST hero, not just the hero's brother. Or else he likes to smash any creative juices our kids could possibly have. Or....(I'm assuming this is most probable), the guy just likes to bug!  (Keith!?)  :)

Since M is a single two-year-old (versus three), he gets to wear his super hero costumes places our big kids would never have even attempted. Three two-year-olds make a scene. And three two-year-olds with costumes on make an even bigger scenes.  With costumes, we'd have had to nod and smile to "You must have your hands full!" an additional 300 times.

So, M got to wear his costume to a basketball game and to the store and the church potluck. The basketball game was a fine place for a costume. The bleachers gave him the necessary "air" to do the special hero "jumps" he can't do at home. And he happened to like the small audience he acquired.

But the potluck? The potluck and costumes don't do as well together.

It was really hard for "Spidey's little brother" to understand that he had to take his mask off to get the lasagna into his mouth. Again, the kid was not impressed.

Right now, our young hero is taking a nap with Batman in one hand and Mr Freeze in the other. AND his cute little face is all snuggled in his puppies blankie. Because, like I said, the superhero is only two-years-old.

Or six, if you ask him.

Pirate Costumes and Perseverance

We're about half way through 1st grade right now, and I feel cheated. Like maybe we all should have started school when we were 30. Because I am learning so much more this time around than I remember learning then. I didn't know camels had big feet so they wouldn't sink in the deep desert sand. And I didn't remember that there were actually rules for reading. It's fun to learn "when two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking" now that I actually care.

Z often disappears while I'm trying to act out my teacher role, Ms. Mama (Bwaaahahhhhaaa!). I find him under the table or in the bathroom or playing in the living room. I keep telling him he'd be in trouble if he was in public school, but the truth is, he's not, and so....since the kid is actually listening while he's doing those other things, I let him wander (within reason, of course). He usually has the easiest time with new concepts and he knows the weekly memory verse after the 1st day. For now, I guess I'm fine with him being under the table. As long as he can count his coins or do the 100 chart from there.

Not only is Z usually under the table or laying on the floor for school, but he is also donning some crazy costume. We've had Spider man, Iron man, a pirate, a knight, and a cowboy grace our presence in the last month or so. We came home from church today, and the kid stripped as he walked in the door. Screw the church clothes. He has stripey pirate pants and a knight cape to throw on! Right now, he's doing quiet time in a cowboy hat with guns strapped to his hip.

I'm thinkin' his costumes might be what he considers attractive for the ladies. He might be practicing up on the womanizing skills....
In bed the other night, he told B, "When mama and papa die, we can live together. We'll have two wives and a bunch of babies! Won't that be cool!?" I guess his focus on the wives and babies is helping him not be too shaken up about K and I being gone some day. (E'hem. I feel so loved!)
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If I reread my blog right now, I'd probably be reminded of lots of difficult times with B being REALLY stubborn. (Sorry, B, it's true....I don't know WHERE you get it...) We constantly reminded ourselves, during that time, that stubbornness can be called perseverance, and perseverance is good. Right!?

There was a time there when the stubbornness in him couldn't handle choices. We'd give him the choice of Spidey or Light Year pajamas and he'd be pissed that he couldn't choose his bedtime. We'd give him the choice of Cheerios or Rice Krispies, and he'd be traumatized by our not offering Chex. We'd let him pick out his clothes all week, with the understanding that I laid out his clothes on Sunday.

He'd freak.

Every Sunday morning.

So we cut him off from choices, cold turkey, and it was like we slipped the kid a Prozac. He was calm and cool. And way happier.

Now that he's almost SEVEN (SEVEN!), we've been slipping in more and more choices, and he seems to handle them better now. I noticed today that he had on holey jeans for church, and I realized I didn't lay out clothes for him last night. I asked him to please pick out jeans without holes, and ya know how you get all tense; like you're gearing up for a fight? That's what I felt like, like I was imagining my response to his craziness.

And then...

There was no fight at all. He did it, no questions asked. No complaints.

Must be because he'll be SEVEN in a few days! SEVEN!

One of the reasons I'd want our kids in "real school" (as our kids call it) is not so much that I'd like them to interact with other bratty kids, but because they need to interact more with adults. Both S and B have "I answered when people talked to me" on their star chart, and while they do try, it is really hard for them. Even when B talks to ME in front of other people, he starts doing this crazy robot voice and gets all stiff and red. It's like he'd rather be a machine than to face the evil alien adults observing his every move.

I asked him, once, if he was embarrassed when people talk to him. He wondered how I knew. I told him he was talking all mono-tone and his face was bright red.

Now, any time one of our kids' face is red, B still insists (a little stubbornness there yet, I know) that it's because that particular kid is embarrassed.

B ate Z's box of Christmas candy (on accident), and Z was in a fury (as much of a fury as Z gets into...like he might have been breathing a little harder and apparently, his face was red). B assessed the situation, and said, "Z, why are you embarrassed that I ate your candy? That is not embarrassing."