Bottom line: parenting a child with invisible disabilities is humbling.
Case in point: Today.
Abby has been out of sorts lately, and what I mean by that is she is on a downhill slope of a FASD behavior roller-coaster. Difficulty regulating, difficulty sleeping, difficulty transitioning, low threshold for frustration, lots of oppositional behavior are par for the course in one of these down hill turns. (think 2 year old behavior out of a nearly 5 year old) Sometimes I think it's just about her being tired or getting sick; sometimes I cannot nail down one single solitary trigger that would account for the shift. It just is. Predictably unpredictable. And every time it takes me by surprise. When she's doing well, I come to expect it from her and I set aside some of my best therapeutic parenting techniques - then wham. I'm sitting dazed on my butt mumbling, "Oh, yeah, that's ARND behavior, I should have been prepared..."
The last few days have been rough...I recognized it for what it was...brain quirks and such.
Abby umm.... acted out at Caleb's swimming lessons today. It's not an ideal situation for her, and today she could. not. keep. it. together. I pulled out all of my best tricks to very little avail. The hollering, whining and crying were, shall we say, considerable. And I couldn't leave, and it sort of echoed like we were in the Grand Canyon. She appeared to be exceptionally bratty. And, well, she was....bratty, I mean. I can excuse it (or, at least, understand) when I remember to expect her to act half of her chronological age. I can expect it when I know that life feels like any itchy sweater, sleep deprivation and heavy metal with a hangover for Abby. I'd be cranky too.
But to everyone else? Just simple brattiness .
And it's humbling.
And I am reminded that I am more than the best behaviors, or worst behaviors of my children. Their success, or lack thereof, does not define me. I am my own and His, and what you see may not be the whole of it.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Friday, December 23, 2011
A long time coming...
This post is a long time coming. In fact, I doubt anyone ever reads this anymore because I've been sporadic - at best. But my "hit or miss" posts are chronicle our lives, and someday my kids might care. So, I post. Randomly.
I like California.
I am not such a big fan of typical public schools. Oddly, this surprises me. It shouldn't, but it does. This opinion is an old one, well formed, researched and entrenched. It began before I graduated from college while still in the Department of Education at CU. I did my practicums in middle schools and the Juvenile Justice Center and I saw things. These things disturbed me and kept me up at night. Mostly, I discovered that, while school was okay for lots of kids, many, many others suffered there. Literally, suffered. Anyone who fell outside one standard divination of the bell curve was well and truly marginalized. Gifted. Learning Disabled. Short. Chubby. Physically handicapped. Clutzy. Poor. Doesn't matter what the metric for normalcy is; kids outside of it suffer.
Actually, my own public school experience was kinda sucky. So, maybe my opinions started far before college, and were formed in Kindergarten, when I fell outside the norms. If people had been in to diagnosing ADHD then I might have received the label. But I was ADD before it was trendy, and I was a girl. I was well behaved. I just struggled. I felt stupid through high school, and it wasn't until college that I realized that I was actually smarter than most of my peers. Luckily, I had a really stable home life and my parents made some good moves to help me negotiate the war zone. I survived public schools, and even have a few fond memories. Yet for me, on a very basic pimal level public schools = scary and unsafe.
Now things have changed since I was a kindergartner, and even since I was an undergraduate. Policy has sifted. No Child Left Behind rules the day. Standardized Testing guides the classroom. Now kids on the margins shouldn't fall through the cracks. But they do. Oh, but they do. School isn't a good place to be something other than Standard.
Before, these opinions were largely academic. Here and now it has become deeply personal.
I have a child on the margins, and I watch him suffer.
Last year Caleb was a first grader, and a homeschool kid. We home schooled that year out of necessity, not from a place of joy. Basically, I brought the curriculum my kids were using at school home, and we did school at home. (Which, if you are a homeschooler you know, is not the same as homeschool, but that is a post for another day). Anyway, I watched Caleb progress slowly. I kept telling Eddie, "Something is not right here." But Caleb was basically content. By the second semester I knew I needed a shift. I started moving back to true homeschool (or at least true to me homeschool) and I had Caleb evaluated for ADHD. We put him on stimulants and watched his academic performance excellerate rapidly. Unfortuantely, the meds had sidefeffects that were intollerable. Caleb couldn't sleep. His eye began to twitch, which I later discovered was "ticking" and often a precursor to the onset of true Tourettes syndrome. Anyway, we took him off the meds, and hoped that we would find solutions and relief at the Gifted Charter school he would begin as a second grader.
Westgate (the Charter school) is a school based on universal design and employs the best practices of both gifted education and special education in the typical classroom. And, um, there were a lot of quirky kids there. Basically, it was a school for kids on the margins. Quirky was cool, or at least very acceptable. Caleb was doing okay there even without the meds -kinda.
Then we moved, and put Caleb in Public School.
And within a week we saw him flounder, fail, and begin to sink. He developed headaches, stomach aches, nightmares, and serious school anxiety. He was really, really behind and confused. I watch him walk around in a fog. Actually, thinking back, I remember the fog. it's a feeling I haven't had since my own public school days. Phychologists call it disassociating. Basically, I checked out. My body was there, but my mind and heart were elsewhere. School sucked, and though I physically had to be there I could choose to be elsewhere too. On those days I lived my life in 3rd person. I have seen my son do the same, and I remember the pain that was the precursor to the fog. And I am determined, my son will not live a life in 3rd person, he will not be a person of the fog.
So we've looked back into medication. And we've found a med that works for ADHD that is a non-stimulant and doesn't lower the threshold for ticking. For now, Tourettes is held at bay. And the new med is working. We're seeing slow and real progress in Caleb's ability to attend.
We've also had him evaluated by an audiologist and found that he does have a real auditory processing struggle. The sound of school is a challenge for him - it's a jungle of noise. For now, he has no guide book, compass or map through it. The school has been responsive, in their slow and beauracratic way, but they teeter on gray legal area, and they are a machine that will not be deterred. They are a locomotive on the tracks of standardization and policy, and my son might be a casualty.
I am faced with 2 options.
A - Hop on the train, like a ho-bo. And use my influence to direct the choices of the school. But like a train it has mass and inertia that is not easily influenced.
B- Get off the tracks, and help my son without the resources or policies of "THE DISTRICT".
And it's decision time...
I like California.
I am not such a big fan of typical public schools. Oddly, this surprises me. It shouldn't, but it does. This opinion is an old one, well formed, researched and entrenched. It began before I graduated from college while still in the Department of Education at CU. I did my practicums in middle schools and the Juvenile Justice Center and I saw things. These things disturbed me and kept me up at night. Mostly, I discovered that, while school was okay for lots of kids, many, many others suffered there. Literally, suffered. Anyone who fell outside one standard divination of the bell curve was well and truly marginalized. Gifted. Learning Disabled. Short. Chubby. Physically handicapped. Clutzy. Poor. Doesn't matter what the metric for normalcy is; kids outside of it suffer.
Actually, my own public school experience was kinda sucky. So, maybe my opinions started far before college, and were formed in Kindergarten, when I fell outside the norms. If people had been in to diagnosing ADHD then I might have received the label. But I was ADD before it was trendy, and I was a girl. I was well behaved. I just struggled. I felt stupid through high school, and it wasn't until college that I realized that I was actually smarter than most of my peers. Luckily, I had a really stable home life and my parents made some good moves to help me negotiate the war zone. I survived public schools, and even have a few fond memories. Yet for me, on a very basic pimal level public schools = scary and unsafe.
Now things have changed since I was a kindergartner, and even since I was an undergraduate. Policy has sifted. No Child Left Behind rules the day. Standardized Testing guides the classroom. Now kids on the margins shouldn't fall through the cracks. But they do. Oh, but they do. School isn't a good place to be something other than Standard.
Before, these opinions were largely academic. Here and now it has become deeply personal.
I have a child on the margins, and I watch him suffer.
Last year Caleb was a first grader, and a homeschool kid. We home schooled that year out of necessity, not from a place of joy. Basically, I brought the curriculum my kids were using at school home, and we did school at home. (Which, if you are a homeschooler you know, is not the same as homeschool, but that is a post for another day). Anyway, I watched Caleb progress slowly. I kept telling Eddie, "Something is not right here." But Caleb was basically content. By the second semester I knew I needed a shift. I started moving back to true homeschool (or at least true to me homeschool) and I had Caleb evaluated for ADHD. We put him on stimulants and watched his academic performance excellerate rapidly. Unfortuantely, the meds had sidefeffects that were intollerable. Caleb couldn't sleep. His eye began to twitch, which I later discovered was "ticking" and often a precursor to the onset of true Tourettes syndrome. Anyway, we took him off the meds, and hoped that we would find solutions and relief at the Gifted Charter school he would begin as a second grader.
Westgate (the Charter school) is a school based on universal design and employs the best practices of both gifted education and special education in the typical classroom. And, um, there were a lot of quirky kids there. Basically, it was a school for kids on the margins. Quirky was cool, or at least very acceptable. Caleb was doing okay there even without the meds -kinda.
Then we moved, and put Caleb in Public School.
And within a week we saw him flounder, fail, and begin to sink. He developed headaches, stomach aches, nightmares, and serious school anxiety. He was really, really behind and confused. I watch him walk around in a fog. Actually, thinking back, I remember the fog. it's a feeling I haven't had since my own public school days. Phychologists call it disassociating. Basically, I checked out. My body was there, but my mind and heart were elsewhere. School sucked, and though I physically had to be there I could choose to be elsewhere too. On those days I lived my life in 3rd person. I have seen my son do the same, and I remember the pain that was the precursor to the fog. And I am determined, my son will not live a life in 3rd person, he will not be a person of the fog.
So we've looked back into medication. And we've found a med that works for ADHD that is a non-stimulant and doesn't lower the threshold for ticking. For now, Tourettes is held at bay. And the new med is working. We're seeing slow and real progress in Caleb's ability to attend.
We've also had him evaluated by an audiologist and found that he does have a real auditory processing struggle. The sound of school is a challenge for him - it's a jungle of noise. For now, he has no guide book, compass or map through it. The school has been responsive, in their slow and beauracratic way, but they teeter on gray legal area, and they are a machine that will not be deterred. They are a locomotive on the tracks of standardization and policy, and my son might be a casualty.
I am faced with 2 options.
A - Hop on the train, like a ho-bo. And use my influence to direct the choices of the school. But like a train it has mass and inertia that is not easily influenced.
B- Get off the tracks, and help my son without the resources or policies of "THE DISTRICT".
And it's decision time...
Monday, May 23, 2011
It's part of the job, but it's in the fine print
When I signed up for this motherhood gig I thought the job was mostly about rocking babies and pushing jogging strollers. Really. I was THAT clueless. But there nothing like "living it" day in and day out that helps to bring reality into focus. And apparently, this parenthood deal is a bit more complicated than I first assumed.
I am Butt Wiper in Chief. I have been wiping other peoples butts for over a decade now. Yes, it's been 10 long years of monitoring the elimination patterns of persons who um...aren't me. We should be closing on this season of Derriere Care, but in a cruel twist of fate, our youngest has a prognosis that includes extended potty training years. But someday, maybe even someday soonish, there will be nary a diaper in the place and I'll never here, "Mah-ummmm (my kids can make mom a 2 syllable word) I need you to come wipe my buns." Moms of older kids remind me that I'll miss these days, but I can't imagine grieving the title, "Butt Wiper in Chief."
There is another role that was probably in the fine print of the job description - the fine print I never read. It's a role that IS rather extraordinary and unfortunately a challenge for me. It's that of a humble listener. This weekend was crazy, and today my kids need me to be present, and available. They've all needed to come over and sit with me awhile. Abby just sat snuggling and talked my ear off for 20 minutes. The others have done the same. Kids need to be heard and seen -they need to know I think they are worth knowing, not 'cause they are my kids, but just 'cause they're cool.
I was really grumpy this morning, especially about the chaos of our house. Messiness makes me crazy. My kids LOVE to wallow in messiness. It's a difference we have yet to resolve. So as the morning went on my anxiety mounted as I realized I was losing the battle. Just in the nick of time (almost - I bit the heads off of only two of my children for general slobbery.)I quit caring. It's just mess - the mess will always be here. My kids, probably won't always want to sit on my lap and tell me about their lego creations, or the book their reading, or pretend to feed me plastic food. Carpe Diem right?
I am Butt Wiper in Chief. I have been wiping other peoples butts for over a decade now. Yes, it's been 10 long years of monitoring the elimination patterns of persons who um...aren't me. We should be closing on this season of Derriere Care, but in a cruel twist of fate, our youngest has a prognosis that includes extended potty training years. But someday, maybe even someday soonish, there will be nary a diaper in the place and I'll never here, "Mah-ummmm (my kids can make mom a 2 syllable word) I need you to come wipe my buns." Moms of older kids remind me that I'll miss these days, but I can't imagine grieving the title, "Butt Wiper in Chief."
There is another role that was probably in the fine print of the job description - the fine print I never read. It's a role that IS rather extraordinary and unfortunately a challenge for me. It's that of a humble listener. This weekend was crazy, and today my kids need me to be present, and available. They've all needed to come over and sit with me awhile. Abby just sat snuggling and talked my ear off for 20 minutes. The others have done the same. Kids need to be heard and seen -they need to know I think they are worth knowing, not 'cause they are my kids, but just 'cause they're cool.
I was really grumpy this morning, especially about the chaos of our house. Messiness makes me crazy. My kids LOVE to wallow in messiness. It's a difference we have yet to resolve. So as the morning went on my anxiety mounted as I realized I was losing the battle. Just in the nick of time (almost - I bit the heads off of only two of my children for general slobbery.)I quit caring. It's just mess - the mess will always be here. My kids, probably won't always want to sit on my lap and tell me about their lego creations, or the book their reading, or pretend to feed me plastic food. Carpe Diem right?
Saturday, May 14, 2011
What is normal?
I haven't been blogging much lately because all I have to say is sort of depressing and un-fun. Depressing and un-fun is okay now and then in bogger-world, but really, nobody wants to read that all the time. I wouldn't want to read it all the time.
So you have been duly warned.
Yesterday, I went to the grocery store with my littlest. This is always a challenge, so much so that I have totally forgotten what it's like to buy groceries like normal people do. I know as I go from isle to isle people think, "That is a seriously bratty kid, why doesn't her mother put a stop to the behavior." Several years ago that is what I would have thought if I had seen someone like me walking through the store. But I have learned that what you see is not always the whole story.
First, you must know, grocery stores are almost intolerable for youngest. There are unusual and unpredictable sounds. There are too many people. There are weird florescent lights and transitions at every turn of the isle. It is overwhelming on every level and Abby becomes dis-regulated quickly. Dis-regulated is therapeutic parenting speak for when a kid cannot manage what's happening on the inside (i.e.anxiety or nuero-chemical wackiness) or outside (environment) appropriately. Disregulated kids shut-down, or rage, or act really bizarrely.
Now all of us are constantly "regulating" our responses to internal and external stimuli. For instance, loud parties stress me out and make me feel anxious, so I prepare mentally before I go. I find corners to hide away in when the noise becomes too much. I "regulate" my response.
The trouble for kids of trauma, SPD, or brain damage is that they are working with severe disadvantages. Their cortisol, nor-epinephrine, dopamine, and seretonin levels can be totally wacky. From a chemical standpoint they are unable to regualate. Add in a little post-traumatic stress, or dysmaturity and you have a DISASTER in the making. And were not even addressing the sensory regulation that should be happening in the brain stem (but isn't) or the frontal cortex that misfires and causes poor impulse control. Bottom line: what you see as the behavior of a bratty or weird kid, but there is so much going on behind behavior that makes it impossible for kids to meet the expectations of society.
So when you see my kid screaming and hitting at the grocery store please know that both my daughter and I are working extremely hard to keep it together. We've worked hours to even be at a place to make it through. Before we even get to the store we have done "heavy work" or spent time in the therapy swing. We've done joint compression to change brain chemistry.
My daughter will probably go through an entire pack of gum because the chewing motion changes brain chemistry too. She might be wearing tight leggings and no shoes. I do not need your two cents about how to keep my child warm. Her lack of footwear is intentional. It helps her regulate. She might have a potty accident or two, or she might be four years old and wearing a diaper because she literally cannot manage "potty" stuff with everything else going around her Abby might be belligerent, run away, or scream and yell. Please know that we do not allow the behavior, but spanking is entirely ineffective. It might look I am using distraction or bribery; I am. Because when my daughter is overwhelmed typical consequences cause her freak out even more. It would be like trapping a wounded animal in a corner... a stupid thing to try.
You take going to the grocery store for granted, but for us it is a major feat. It takes 2 hours, and one melt-down screaming tizzy fit is progress for us. We've worked hard for that. We will both come home exhausted. We will talk it through, and roll play appropriate responses. And next time it may, or it may not, go any better.
So you have been duly warned.
Yesterday, I went to the grocery store with my littlest. This is always a challenge, so much so that I have totally forgotten what it's like to buy groceries like normal people do. I know as I go from isle to isle people think, "That is a seriously bratty kid, why doesn't her mother put a stop to the behavior." Several years ago that is what I would have thought if I had seen someone like me walking through the store. But I have learned that what you see is not always the whole story.
First, you must know, grocery stores are almost intolerable for youngest. There are unusual and unpredictable sounds. There are too many people. There are weird florescent lights and transitions at every turn of the isle. It is overwhelming on every level and Abby becomes dis-regulated quickly. Dis-regulated is therapeutic parenting speak for when a kid cannot manage what's happening on the inside (i.e.anxiety or nuero-chemical wackiness) or outside (environment) appropriately. Disregulated kids shut-down, or rage, or act really bizarrely.
Now all of us are constantly "regulating" our responses to internal and external stimuli. For instance, loud parties stress me out and make me feel anxious, so I prepare mentally before I go. I find corners to hide away in when the noise becomes too much. I "regulate" my response.
The trouble for kids of trauma, SPD, or brain damage is that they are working with severe disadvantages. Their cortisol, nor-epinephrine, dopamine, and seretonin levels can be totally wacky. From a chemical standpoint they are unable to regualate. Add in a little post-traumatic stress, or dysmaturity and you have a DISASTER in the making. And were not even addressing the sensory regulation that should be happening in the brain stem (but isn't) or the frontal cortex that misfires and causes poor impulse control. Bottom line: what you see as the behavior of a bratty or weird kid, but there is so much going on behind behavior that makes it impossible for kids to meet the expectations of society.
So when you see my kid screaming and hitting at the grocery store please know that both my daughter and I are working extremely hard to keep it together. We've worked hours to even be at a place to make it through. Before we even get to the store we have done "heavy work" or spent time in the therapy swing. We've done joint compression to change brain chemistry.
My daughter will probably go through an entire pack of gum because the chewing motion changes brain chemistry too. She might be wearing tight leggings and no shoes. I do not need your two cents about how to keep my child warm. Her lack of footwear is intentional. It helps her regulate. She might have a potty accident or two, or she might be four years old and wearing a diaper because she literally cannot manage "potty" stuff with everything else going around her Abby might be belligerent, run away, or scream and yell. Please know that we do not allow the behavior, but spanking is entirely ineffective. It might look I am using distraction or bribery; I am. Because when my daughter is overwhelmed typical consequences cause her freak out even more. It would be like trapping a wounded animal in a corner... a stupid thing to try.
You take going to the grocery store for granted, but for us it is a major feat. It takes 2 hours, and one melt-down screaming tizzy fit is progress for us. We've worked hard for that. We will both come home exhausted. We will talk it through, and roll play appropriate responses. And next time it may, or it may not, go any better.
Friday, May 13, 2011
4 year old in the house.
It's Abby's birthday today. She's 4, and my how time flies. Just yesterday we brought her home, it seems.
Birthday festivities were simple, b/c simple is the best plan for Abby. We had hot dogs, watermelon and french fries for dinner. Her choice. Then we ate Umizoomi Birthday cake and opened presents. It was just the 6 of us and she was happy with that. I am not a lover of birthday party planning.I hate it. So it does my heart good to prepare a simple little affair for Abby and know that it was the best possible choice for her as well. Motherhood sans guilt, it doesn't happen often so I enjoy the moments when they come.
Abby is a challenge. She is. So it helps that she is so stinking cute I cannot stay frustrated. Plus, she is so loving and sweet. Her trouble with transitions and sensory input sometimes hide the kindness and goodness that motivate her. Abby just wants to please, and shines with affirmation. She finds pleasure in the simple things and has just about the best belly laugh I've ever heard. She is affectionate and silly and absolutely crummy at holding a grudge. We so love her and feel so blessed she is part of our family.
Happy Birthday Sweet Girl.
Birthday festivities were simple, b/c simple is the best plan for Abby. We had hot dogs, watermelon and french fries for dinner. Her choice. Then we ate Umizoomi Birthday cake and opened presents. It was just the 6 of us and she was happy with that. I am not a lover of birthday party planning.I hate it. So it does my heart good to prepare a simple little affair for Abby and know that it was the best possible choice for her as well. Motherhood sans guilt, it doesn't happen often so I enjoy the moments when they come.
Abby is a challenge. She is. So it helps that she is so stinking cute I cannot stay frustrated. Plus, she is so loving and sweet. Her trouble with transitions and sensory input sometimes hide the kindness and goodness that motivate her. Abby just wants to please, and shines with affirmation. She finds pleasure in the simple things and has just about the best belly laugh I've ever heard. She is affectionate and silly and absolutely crummy at holding a grudge. We so love her and feel so blessed she is part of our family.
Happy Birthday Sweet Girl.
Unicyle
I bought the kids some flip-flops for our upcoming camping trip to The Sand Dunes. They were cheap - even for me, and I'm pretty much the master of cheapness. $.50 is a price that can only be beat by free. Anyway, the kids wanted to know if they were girl or boy flip-flops. "There unisex," I replied, "both boys and girls can wear them."
Emma caught on quickly, "So when I outgrow mine I can give them to Caleb, and when Caleb outgrows his he can give them to Abby."
Caleb took a minute to ponder this one, and then joined in. "That's the great thing about unicycles."
Emma caught on quickly, "So when I outgrow mine I can give them to Caleb, and when Caleb outgrows his he can give them to Abby."
Caleb took a minute to ponder this one, and then joined in. "That's the great thing about unicycles."
Monday, April 18, 2011
funny things
story 1 - I have a jar I keep full of nuts, like cashews, almonds or pistachios. It's easy and healthy snack food for skinny kids. So Caleb was recently busted for putting the pistachio shells back into the jar of uneaten nuts. The boys is quick on his feet, so he responded, "I was just putting them back in case someone found a nut without a shell. So they would be able to put a shell back on it."
Ummm... skeptical.
Because usually when I find a unshelled pistachio I try to put a shell back on before eating it.
Funny guy.
Ummm... skeptical.
Because usually when I find a unshelled pistachio I try to put a shell back on before eating it.
Funny guy.
Kitty Kitty
My sister fosters kittens. Kitten are unfathomably cute. Seriously. WAY CUTE. So I'm considering expanding my orphan care passion to kittens. I'm allergic to cats, but kittens I can handle. And remember....WAY CUTE. Plus, my kids are big enough to really be helpful, and Gretchen insists that its easy and low maintenance. My biggest hang up...I think kitty litter and cats are kinda stinky. Any cat lovers out there who know what to do about that? Cause I WOULD win mother of the year for allowing kittys at home.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Another good post I didn't write.
HERE is another good post. Somehow when talking/writing about prenatal exposure its easier to refer to others. I've done the research. I've got crazy documentation that no one will see but Eddie and I. I am not a loon, at least at not in this regard.I know what I'm talking about. However, I FEEL like a crazy lady, like what I know and have learned is somehow not credible.
Babycakes is in a really good season. We've incorporated some parenting techniques that are transparent to others but essential for our family. No one sees what we see. But they WOULD see behaviors if we weren't doing what we are doing. Invisibility - it's one of the trickiest parts of this whole deal. It's like catching mist.
Babycakes is in a really good season. We've incorporated some parenting techniques that are transparent to others but essential for our family. No one sees what we see. But they WOULD see behaviors if we weren't doing what we are doing. Invisibility - it's one of the trickiest parts of this whole deal. It's like catching mist.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Not Your Neurotypical Kid
I finally got an appointment.
We've been waiting for our littlest to get an evaluation by Children's Hospitals Child Development Unit. It's multidisciplinary, multi-day evaluation is the best at diagnosing the cause of quirkiness neurological issues in kids.
Let's be honest: we've all got quirky neurological issues.
But my baby girl has diagnosable issues. I've hesitated to share them here, because I wanted to preserve my daughters privacy. It's her story, and there are many pieces of her story that will remain hers alone. But there is a need for the people that love her and interact with her to understand what is going on, so they can help her.
Abby has organic brain differences - damage. It's caused by exposure to damaging substances while she was carried by her birth mom. Most people would not be able tell by looking at Abby that her brain works differently. And, in fact, IQ tests would not identify these issues. She's got a normal IQ; counter intuitively, this does not negate the damage.
People with this kind of damage have predictable behaviors that are a result of organic brain damage. They include:
-Poor impulse control. They will steal, because they have the impulse to take with no thought to the consequences, or even that it's wrong to take what doesn't belong to them.
-Difficulty with cause and effect reasoning. They literally do not always learn from mistakes, so punitive disciple is totally ineffective. Punishment doesn't work because it assumes cause and effect reasoning.
-Difficulty understanding abstraction. Concepts like money, time and ownership are a challenge.
-Rigidity. Abby has a strong need to finish things, or do them in a certain order. She really, really struggles to make transitions. Almost any change is stressful. This is very typical.
-Sensory Processing Dysfunction.
-Auditory Processing Dysfunction. They may appear to understand you, but chances are decent that they haven't understood fully at all.
-Dysmaturity. Often there developmental age is far younger than their chronological age.
-Memory Problems. What was that rule again? Oh and it applies at home and at school?
-Communication Problems. Their oral communication surpass their ability to understand language. So it appears that they have good verbal skills and are understanding instructions, but they don't. This is often mistaken for defiance.
-Difficulty regulating sleep wake cycles.
-Unpredictable good days and bad days.
All of these struggles present in behavioral problems. On a bad day it appears that children with this kind of brain damage are spoiled, naughty, and out of control. As adults, the same behaviors can land a person in jail. It is all too common.
Eddie and I are learning that to effectively parent this little girl of ours we MUST look beyond behavior. Behaviors are cues that tell us she needs help. So we're learning NOT to parent behavior, but instead parent needs. It's a gigantic paradigm shift, and difficult to do.
So when Abby gets out of bed 6 times after we've told her not to, we are tempted to give her greater and greater consequences. It's usually totally ineffective. Warn. Spank. Bark orders. Threat more consequences - it just doesn't work. We've got to remember her brain is damaged so sleep is hard for her. Impulse control is hard for most preschoolers, and nearly impossible for her. Plus, she truly may have forgotten (though in her case - I doubt it.).
What works? Predictable routine. Simple language. Repetition. Warm milk. Melatonin supplements. Baby gates. It is far easier to avoid the problem all together, by setting up our daughter for success.
We would accommodate the needs of a child who is a paraplegic. We'd build ramps, and buy wheel chairs, and modify the layout of our home to allow for the most independence and success. Organic Brain Damage must be seen in the same way. The brain is somewhat pliant, but the damage is permanent. We must create an environment for success.
We keep our home calm. We establish routine. We lock up dangerous items, and secure doors. We use simple language. We repeat. We offer grace. We model correct behavior - try to move daily independence activities into long term memory. We minimize transitions, and are careful to not take Abby places where she will go into sensory overload if she's having a bad day. We learn techniques to help her regulate.
And most of the time, if we're doing our job well, and she's having a good day, you wouldn't be able to tell she is anything other than a typical kid.
We've been waiting for our littlest to get an evaluation by Children's Hospitals Child Development Unit. It's multidisciplinary, multi-day evaluation is the best at diagnosing the cause of quirkiness neurological issues in kids.
Let's be honest: we've all got quirky neurological issues.
But my baby girl has diagnosable issues. I've hesitated to share them here, because I wanted to preserve my daughters privacy. It's her story, and there are many pieces of her story that will remain hers alone. But there is a need for the people that love her and interact with her to understand what is going on, so they can help her.
Abby has organic brain differences - damage. It's caused by exposure to damaging substances while she was carried by her birth mom. Most people would not be able tell by looking at Abby that her brain works differently. And, in fact, IQ tests would not identify these issues. She's got a normal IQ; counter intuitively, this does not negate the damage.
People with this kind of damage have predictable behaviors that are a result of organic brain damage. They include:
-Poor impulse control. They will steal, because they have the impulse to take with no thought to the consequences, or even that it's wrong to take what doesn't belong to them.
-Difficulty with cause and effect reasoning. They literally do not always learn from mistakes, so punitive disciple is totally ineffective. Punishment doesn't work because it assumes cause and effect reasoning.
-Difficulty understanding abstraction. Concepts like money, time and ownership are a challenge.
-Rigidity. Abby has a strong need to finish things, or do them in a certain order. She really, really struggles to make transitions. Almost any change is stressful. This is very typical.
-Sensory Processing Dysfunction.
-Auditory Processing Dysfunction. They may appear to understand you, but chances are decent that they haven't understood fully at all.
-Dysmaturity. Often there developmental age is far younger than their chronological age.
-Memory Problems. What was that rule again? Oh and it applies at home and at school?
-Communication Problems. Their oral communication surpass their ability to understand language. So it appears that they have good verbal skills and are understanding instructions, but they don't. This is often mistaken for defiance.
-Difficulty regulating sleep wake cycles.
-Unpredictable good days and bad days.
All of these struggles present in behavioral problems. On a bad day it appears that children with this kind of brain damage are spoiled, naughty, and out of control. As adults, the same behaviors can land a person in jail. It is all too common.
Eddie and I are learning that to effectively parent this little girl of ours we MUST look beyond behavior. Behaviors are cues that tell us she needs help. So we're learning NOT to parent behavior, but instead parent needs. It's a gigantic paradigm shift, and difficult to do.
So when Abby gets out of bed 6 times after we've told her not to, we are tempted to give her greater and greater consequences. It's usually totally ineffective. Warn. Spank. Bark orders. Threat more consequences - it just doesn't work. We've got to remember her brain is damaged so sleep is hard for her. Impulse control is hard for most preschoolers, and nearly impossible for her. Plus, she truly may have forgotten (though in her case - I doubt it.).
What works? Predictable routine. Simple language. Repetition. Warm milk. Melatonin supplements. Baby gates. It is far easier to avoid the problem all together, by setting up our daughter for success.
We would accommodate the needs of a child who is a paraplegic. We'd build ramps, and buy wheel chairs, and modify the layout of our home to allow for the most independence and success. Organic Brain Damage must be seen in the same way. The brain is somewhat pliant, but the damage is permanent. We must create an environment for success.
We keep our home calm. We establish routine. We lock up dangerous items, and secure doors. We use simple language. We repeat. We offer grace. We model correct behavior - try to move daily independence activities into long term memory. We minimize transitions, and are careful to not take Abby places where she will go into sensory overload if she's having a bad day. We learn techniques to help her regulate.
And most of the time, if we're doing our job well, and she's having a good day, you wouldn't be able to tell she is anything other than a typical kid.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Pithy Quote
I had a pithy quote I thought I'd blog. You would have been impressed with my whit. But it's upstairs. I'm downstairs. And if I go upstairs, one of "THE FOUR" will ask me for a drink of water, or an extra "tuck in". They might even ask me, "What's for breakfast tomorrow?"
No thanks.
I'll stay down here, where they're less likely to venture. 'Cause here's a dirty little secret: I hate bedtime routines: the tucking in, the glass of water, the prayers, the whole shebang. It makes me crazy. Because I am so DONE with kids by bedtime that I don't usually have the tolerance for the "I'm scared.", "I'm thirsty.", "I need a band-aid." crapola my kids dish out at this hour. I am sympathy challenged at my best. So, I have absolutely zero feelings of charity and empathy towards kids who think they need water after I think I'm entitled to "clock-out" for the evening.
And there goes my Mother of the Year Badge.
You think, "No, surely not. The Stephanie I know is compassionate, and empathetic."
Um. Not so much. Here's Proof:
Emma comes in crying, "Mom, Ethan is picking on me."
I say, "Stop being an easy target."
Or how about this one:
"Mommy, I hurt my head."
I respond, "Are you bleeding?"
"No."
"You're fine. Stop crying."
Yep. Yours truly has uttered those words.
But this is the perennial favorite.
I say, "How many kids are there?"
"Four", some sheepish kid mumbles.
"How many mommys do you see?"
"One."
"Get in line, kid, I'm doing the best I can."
Yep, that mothering award isn't casting long shadows around here this evening.
.
No thanks.
I'll stay down here, where they're less likely to venture. 'Cause here's a dirty little secret: I hate bedtime routines: the tucking in, the glass of water, the prayers, the whole shebang. It makes me crazy. Because I am so DONE with kids by bedtime that I don't usually have the tolerance for the "I'm scared.", "I'm thirsty.", "I need a band-aid." crapola my kids dish out at this hour. I am sympathy challenged at my best. So, I have absolutely zero feelings of charity and empathy towards kids who think they need water after I think I'm entitled to "clock-out" for the evening.
And there goes my Mother of the Year Badge.
You think, "No, surely not. The Stephanie I know is compassionate, and empathetic."
Um. Not so much. Here's Proof:
Emma comes in crying, "Mom, Ethan is picking on me."
I say, "Stop being an easy target."
Or how about this one:
"Mommy, I hurt my head."
I respond, "Are you bleeding?"
"No."
"You're fine. Stop crying."
Yep. Yours truly has uttered those words.
But this is the perennial favorite.
I say, "How many kids are there?"
"Four", some sheepish kid mumbles.
"How many mommys do you see?"
"One."
"Get in line, kid, I'm doing the best I can."
Yep, that mothering award isn't casting long shadows around here this evening.
.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
If I have not love...
Yesterday, Caleb went to a birthday party. He'd been excited all day and constantly checking the clock, so we wouldn't be late. Finally, it came. At 3:00 I dropped him off at his friend's a bouncy, happy seven year old kid. When I came to pick him up a couple of hours later he had the gate of Eyore.
"I didn't have so much fun."
"What happened?", I asked.
"Well no kids wanted to play with me. And when we played flag football no one would pass the ball to me." he said, trying to play it "tough".
"Ahh, Bud I'm sorry. Nobody?"
"Yeah well, a couple kids did sometimes, but no one really liked me. I'm not a good sports kid"
My kid, my cute-as-can-be seven year old, was hurting. The truth of the matter is that Caleb is not a "sports kid"; he inherited his mom's coordination (which did improve somewhat in adolescences). But adolescence is a million years from seven when your hurting.
"Yeah, that happened to me sometimes too. But I noticed that you're really funny, and a good actor. You've got a good ear for music. Maybe you won't be a sports kid, maybe be you'll be a music guy and learn to play the guitar - like Will, and Scott and Wil and John. He perks up. Those guys are hero material, and they DO play the guitar. I think I've won, but Defeat never gives up so easily.
"Nah, I'm gonna be the "no friends kid."
He is seven.
Seven.
#############################
"That heavy beat of failure, that pounding bass of disappointment, it has pulsed through my days and I've mouthed the words, singing it to myself, memorizing the ugly lines by heart. They become the heart. For years, I tried medication, blade, work, escape all attempts to drown out that incessant, reverberating drum of self-rejection. All futility, acidic emptiness."
Those are the words of Ann Voskamp - but they could be mine. I RAGE that the "heavy beat of failure" would pound against my son. He is seven. The assault is full - too heavy for little boy shoulders. It is wrong - I know it.
So what is the solution when I see the vibrations of Self-Hate course through the veins of my little boy? He thinks the song is His own. That vile tune of Shame seeps into the heart. Hell's song.
I need a new melody. A stronger one - one that will shake the gates of Hades.
CS Lewis argued that the most fundamental thing is not what we think of God, but what he things of us.
God says,
You are precious.
You are honored.
Gifted.
I love you.
You are mine.
I'd die for you.
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness." It's the Siren Song of God. It's the strong melody to overpower Hell's furious beat.
This melody must course through my veins and pound truth into the broken places. It heals. It frees. It overcomes.
If it were the catchy tune that stuck in my head, and I hummed it through my day, maybe my son would learn it too.
Precious. Loved. Gifted.
Precious. Loved. Gifted.
Precious. Loved. Gifted.
You are God's own child, set apart for the Great Adventure.
I could drown in that.
"I didn't have so much fun."
"What happened?", I asked.
"Well no kids wanted to play with me. And when we played flag football no one would pass the ball to me." he said, trying to play it "tough".
"Ahh, Bud I'm sorry. Nobody?"
"Yeah well, a couple kids did sometimes, but no one really liked me. I'm not a good sports kid"
My kid, my cute-as-can-be seven year old, was hurting. The truth of the matter is that Caleb is not a "sports kid"; he inherited his mom's coordination (which did improve somewhat in adolescences). But adolescence is a million years from seven when your hurting.
"Yeah, that happened to me sometimes too. But I noticed that you're really funny, and a good actor. You've got a good ear for music. Maybe you won't be a sports kid, maybe be you'll be a music guy and learn to play the guitar - like Will, and Scott and Wil and John. He perks up. Those guys are hero material, and they DO play the guitar. I think I've won, but Defeat never gives up so easily.
"Nah, I'm gonna be the "no friends kid."
He is seven.
Seven.
#############################
"That heavy beat of failure, that pounding bass of disappointment, it has pulsed through my days and I've mouthed the words, singing it to myself, memorizing the ugly lines by heart. They become the heart. For years, I tried medication, blade, work, escape all attempts to drown out that incessant, reverberating drum of self-rejection. All futility, acidic emptiness."
Those are the words of Ann Voskamp - but they could be mine. I RAGE that the "heavy beat of failure" would pound against my son. He is seven. The assault is full - too heavy for little boy shoulders. It is wrong - I know it.
So what is the solution when I see the vibrations of Self-Hate course through the veins of my little boy? He thinks the song is His own. That vile tune of Shame seeps into the heart. Hell's song.
I need a new melody. A stronger one - one that will shake the gates of Hades.
CS Lewis argued that the most fundamental thing is not what we think of God, but what he things of us.
God says,
You are precious.
You are honored.
Gifted.
I love you.
You are mine.
I'd die for you.
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness." It's the Siren Song of God. It's the strong melody to overpower Hell's furious beat.
This melody must course through my veins and pound truth into the broken places. It heals. It frees. It overcomes.
If it were the catchy tune that stuck in my head, and I hummed it through my day, maybe my son would learn it too.
Precious. Loved. Gifted.
Precious. Loved. Gifted.
Precious. Loved. Gifted.
You are God's own child, set apart for the Great Adventure.
I could drown in that.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Special Needs and Bazooka Bubble Gum
So kid number 4 has a challenges regulating, and transitioning. Sugar-free gum helps. I know it's weird, but it's true. I mentioned that gum theft had been on the rise in our house to our therapist, and she pointed out that chewing gum actually helps sensory seeking kids regulate.
So we bought lots of Trident.
Whatever works. And, oddly, gum does work.
Unfortunately, kid #1 recently purchased Sugar-FULL Bazooka bubble gum at the Dollar Store with Valentines Money. Now we've taught our older kids that if they really care about something it needs to stay somewhere unattainable to kid #4. We'd love to guarantee that personal belongings are shown respect in this household. We're working on it, but in the meantime, you better just hide the stuff you really like.
Bazooka Gum did not get hidden properly.
Now Abby-girl has an earlier bedtime the rest - it helps with our sanity. Unfortunately, she was in non-compliance mode. We put her to bed. She snuck out of her room and promptly proceeded to chew 20 or so pieces of Bazooka Sugar-FULL. Now, as your probably aware, most people cannot fit 20 pieces in their mouth simultaneously. This is the case with our small-boned 3 year old. So, being the clever problem solver that she is she chewed 10.
And then she stored those 10 in her HAIR while she then proceeded to chew the other 10.
Abby is sporting a new, and rather cute bob haircut today.
I just got the scissors and cut a chunk of hair out (it could be fixed later), then loaded kid #4 up on extra melatonin. (Melatonin is the herbal supplement that doubles as miracle drug for families parenting kids from hard places - WE ADORE IT.)
Now here's the weird part:
The consequence for blatant naughtiness was a cup of warm milk and these words, "That gum belongs to Ethan. It doesn't belong to you. And gum is not for bedtime."
Because I know she'll swipe stuff again. I know she will wander the house again when she is supposed to be sleeping. I know we won't take gum away from her. I know that stiff consequences won't fix a thing.
Sleep issues will be the norm.
Trouble understanding ownership will be the norm.
Impulse control trouble will be the norm.
In these early years it is Bazooka Sugar-FULL. NOT A BIG DEAL. And I pray that God will protect my child as the years progress, and weight of consequences are much larger than we can imagine.
So it's baby gates, better hiding places and more melatonin. It's prayer for wisdom.
This is so not how I would have parented #1,2 and 3. And it's impossible to know where to make allowances for brain differences and where to enforce tough consequences. We're winging it here.
So if you see as making weird parenting choices. Offer grace. It's possible you do not know the whole story. It's possible that it is not as simple as you perceive it to be. It's possible that in our shoes, you would be making the same decision, and praying for wisdom too.
So we bought lots of Trident.
Whatever works. And, oddly, gum does work.
Unfortunately, kid #1 recently purchased Sugar-FULL Bazooka bubble gum at the Dollar Store with Valentines Money. Now we've taught our older kids that if they really care about something it needs to stay somewhere unattainable to kid #4. We'd love to guarantee that personal belongings are shown respect in this household. We're working on it, but in the meantime, you better just hide the stuff you really like.
Bazooka Gum did not get hidden properly.
Now Abby-girl has an earlier bedtime the rest - it helps with our sanity. Unfortunately, she was in non-compliance mode. We put her to bed. She snuck out of her room and promptly proceeded to chew 20 or so pieces of Bazooka Sugar-FULL. Now, as your probably aware, most people cannot fit 20 pieces in their mouth simultaneously. This is the case with our small-boned 3 year old. So, being the clever problem solver that she is she chewed 10.
And then she stored those 10 in her HAIR while she then proceeded to chew the other 10.
Abby is sporting a new, and rather cute bob haircut today.
I just got the scissors and cut a chunk of hair out (it could be fixed later), then loaded kid #4 up on extra melatonin. (Melatonin is the herbal supplement that doubles as miracle drug for families parenting kids from hard places - WE ADORE IT.)
Now here's the weird part:
The consequence for blatant naughtiness was a cup of warm milk and these words, "That gum belongs to Ethan. It doesn't belong to you. And gum is not for bedtime."
Because I know she'll swipe stuff again. I know she will wander the house again when she is supposed to be sleeping. I know we won't take gum away from her. I know that stiff consequences won't fix a thing.
Sleep issues will be the norm.
Trouble understanding ownership will be the norm.
Impulse control trouble will be the norm.
In these early years it is Bazooka Sugar-FULL. NOT A BIG DEAL. And I pray that God will protect my child as the years progress, and weight of consequences are much larger than we can imagine.
So it's baby gates, better hiding places and more melatonin. It's prayer for wisdom.
This is so not how I would have parented #1,2 and 3. And it's impossible to know where to make allowances for brain differences and where to enforce tough consequences. We're winging it here.
So if you see as making weird parenting choices. Offer grace. It's possible you do not know the whole story. It's possible that it is not as simple as you perceive it to be. It's possible that in our shoes, you would be making the same decision, and praying for wisdom too.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Valentines Day
-This morning's beverage of choice: hot cocoa with heart shaped marshmellows. Healthful, I know. But no one 'round these parts complained about the artificial colors or flavors.-The kids were in a "mood" yesterday when they realized that Valentines was not recognized as a national holiday for which school was canceled. The injustice.
-Eddie has the flu. Bad. Romance=NyQuil, and tea with honey. 13 years in we discovered love often looks less like a Hallmark greeting card and a lot more washing the dishes, and bedtime stories.
My husband, of the bedtime stories and on-line bill pay, is my favorite person on the planet.
Hands down.
No contest.
There is no one else is even in the running.
He is my own personal hero, and best friend.
And a good kisser too.
This is my Valentine's Day Prayer: Thank You. He is more than I deserve.
Monday, February 7, 2011
A knock-down drag out kind of Day
Today was a knock down, drag-out kind of day.
I started with the best of intentions. My goals were aligned rightly with the things that matter to the heart of God. Thus, I declared battle. And I was caught unaware.
We began by reading the fictionalized biography of Mary Jemison; it's called "Indian Captive". The little white girl of the story was taken captive by Seneca Indians at the end of the 18th century. Ultimately, when given the choice, she chose to stay with her captors. (side note: if you are parenting a child from "hard places" this is a must for your reading list.)
We happened to be at the part of the story where Mary was talking with an Indian Woman who had taken her in. The woman was sharing how courageously animals of the forest dealt with hurt and misfortune. She challenged Mary, poor grieving girl that she was, to deal courageously with her hurt.
That was in the story.
In our house in suburbia chaos ensued. Tears. Screaming. Hysteria. Venomous words began to spew. They were totally out of proportion to situation.
Whoa! I was unprepared.
For I know a true thing: Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks. We didn't have a mouth issue. We had an issue of the heart. Festering wounds. Bitterness. Ingratitude. The room fairly reeked of it. It was a nearly palpable evil.
While the rest of us talked about how deal with hurt and injustice this child REFUSED to engage - lost in rage. Nursing a grievance, holding in to the heart just as one would an infant. And the thing took on a life of its own.
It was an ugly few hours. I wish I could say I was a pinnacle of wisdom and kindness. I was not. Well at first I was, but as it drug on and on, and the Godzilla of Hurt marched through our living room, I eventually lost it. I said helpful things like, "What is coming out of your mouth right now is absolutely putrid.You're infecting all of us. " I used the highly effective parenting strategies of shame and guilt like a one-two punch. And the monster grew. It was the stuff of reality TV.
I'm not a big spanker, particularly with this child (for whom spanking generally does not resolve a thing). I try never to spank when angry. But holy hell did this kid need a whooping. And I delivered - mostly not furious. Mostly. Eventually, rage spent, this child could hear. Could receive.
"You will be hurt. Often, you will be inconvenienced and misunderstood. And when your heart is broken or wounded HURT fills those places. Then you have a choice. Will you allow the hurt to stay. Will you feed it, and watch it grow. Will you let it ferment, and mold and go rancid? Or will you take that HURT to Jesus and give it to Him? Will you let Him heal you? That is your choice. Because what I heard today was old HURT spewing out of a wounded heart. It was a little thing that caused it, but your heart was so filled with this poison-hurt it oozed out with the smallest opportunity. "
And this child says, "But I try, I try not to let those words come out of my mouth. I try to control it."
"How's that working for you?", I say, in my best Dr. Phil voice.
"It's not."
"Exactly. Heart work is God's work. Will you let go of your hurt and let God heal your heart?"
Pause. Sniff. Watery smile.
We've reconnected. The drama of the morning has been redeemed. At last, God may work. But this hurt, this bitterness it's insipid stuff. It can corrode a soul, a family, a church. It is a destroyer, and more lethal for its subtlety.
Oh God of Heaven, help us, for we are not immune. So prone to wander, so prone towards petty hurt, and long bitterness, that we can no longer smell its stench. Let us be sensitive to it. Quick to reconcile. Quick to forgive. Let the aroma of Christ be the sweet incense of my life.
I started with the best of intentions. My goals were aligned rightly with the things that matter to the heart of God. Thus, I declared battle. And I was caught unaware.
We began by reading the fictionalized biography of Mary Jemison; it's called "Indian Captive". The little white girl of the story was taken captive by Seneca Indians at the end of the 18th century. Ultimately, when given the choice, she chose to stay with her captors. (side note: if you are parenting a child from "hard places" this is a must for your reading list.)
We happened to be at the part of the story where Mary was talking with an Indian Woman who had taken her in. The woman was sharing how courageously animals of the forest dealt with hurt and misfortune. She challenged Mary, poor grieving girl that she was, to deal courageously with her hurt.
That was in the story.
In our house in suburbia chaos ensued. Tears. Screaming. Hysteria. Venomous words began to spew. They were totally out of proportion to situation.
Whoa! I was unprepared.
For I know a true thing: Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks. We didn't have a mouth issue. We had an issue of the heart. Festering wounds. Bitterness. Ingratitude. The room fairly reeked of it. It was a nearly palpable evil.
While the rest of us talked about how deal with hurt and injustice this child REFUSED to engage - lost in rage. Nursing a grievance, holding in to the heart just as one would an infant. And the thing took on a life of its own.
It was an ugly few hours. I wish I could say I was a pinnacle of wisdom and kindness. I was not. Well at first I was, but as it drug on and on, and the Godzilla of Hurt marched through our living room, I eventually lost it. I said helpful things like, "What is coming out of your mouth right now is absolutely putrid.You're infecting all of us. " I used the highly effective parenting strategies of shame and guilt like a one-two punch. And the monster grew. It was the stuff of reality TV.
I'm not a big spanker, particularly with this child (for whom spanking generally does not resolve a thing). I try never to spank when angry. But holy hell did this kid need a whooping. And I delivered - mostly not furious. Mostly. Eventually, rage spent, this child could hear. Could receive.
"You will be hurt. Often, you will be inconvenienced and misunderstood. And when your heart is broken or wounded HURT fills those places. Then you have a choice. Will you allow the hurt to stay. Will you feed it, and watch it grow. Will you let it ferment, and mold and go rancid? Or will you take that HURT to Jesus and give it to Him? Will you let Him heal you? That is your choice. Because what I heard today was old HURT spewing out of a wounded heart. It was a little thing that caused it, but your heart was so filled with this poison-hurt it oozed out with the smallest opportunity. "
And this child says, "But I try, I try not to let those words come out of my mouth. I try to control it."
"How's that working for you?", I say, in my best Dr. Phil voice.
"It's not."
"Exactly. Heart work is God's work. Will you let go of your hurt and let God heal your heart?"
Pause. Sniff. Watery smile.
We've reconnected. The drama of the morning has been redeemed. At last, God may work. But this hurt, this bitterness it's insipid stuff. It can corrode a soul, a family, a church. It is a destroyer, and more lethal for its subtlety.
Oh God of Heaven, help us, for we are not immune. So prone to wander, so prone towards petty hurt, and long bitterness, that we can no longer smell its stench. Let us be sensitive to it. Quick to reconcile. Quick to forgive. Let the aroma of Christ be the sweet incense of my life.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Little Abby
Kids #1,2 and 3 are bright and creative, but they've never had imaginary friends. Kid #4 does. And to my great delight Abby has named her imaginary friend after.....herself. True, it is a bit narcissistic to name ones imaginary friend after oneself. But if you can't get away with narcissistic tendencies when you're 3, when can you?
Little Abby usually comes out to play when we are transitioning from one thing to another. Change stresses out my little one, and she's clever enough to know it's better to do hard things with a friend.
My big kids think Little Abby is a kick. They are always asking Big Abby about Little Abby because the answers they get are, frankly, amusing. Once on the ride home from Grandpa's Emma asked, "Abby, where is Little Abby?"
Gasp.
Shriek.
"Emma, you're squishing her!", Big Abby hollered. She was dismayed.
And my big kids died of laughter. Emma, being a considerate sister, did however move her foot.
Funny, charming endearing, that little girl of ours.
Little Abby usually comes out to play when we are transitioning from one thing to another. Change stresses out my little one, and she's clever enough to know it's better to do hard things with a friend.
My big kids think Little Abby is a kick. They are always asking Big Abby about Little Abby because the answers they get are, frankly, amusing. Once on the ride home from Grandpa's Emma asked, "Abby, where is Little Abby?"
Gasp.
Shriek.
"Emma, you're squishing her!", Big Abby hollered. She was dismayed.
And my big kids died of laughter. Emma, being a considerate sister, did however move her foot.
Funny, charming endearing, that little girl of ours.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Hunky Dunky
It's Mother Goose according to Abby. And it goes a little something like this:
Hunky Dunky sat on a wall.
Hunky Dunky felled.
And nobody could fix him.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Involuntary Cussing Face
My daughter is a genius at giving the stink eye. She was born with the ability to give nasty looks that make people want to shrink into the carpet. We've decided it's gotta stop; its a bad habit that reflects a bad attitude and disrespect. So we've named it. You've gotta name a thing before you can tackle it head on. We've called it her "involuntary cussing face" because she insists that she never MEANS to do it. (parental side note: "whatever"). Anyway, when that look crosses her face we reply with, "Oh look its the involuntary cussing face. I wonder what bad words she's using on the inside. She must be a good cusser because the look on her face is really disrespectful." Sometimes we even call it the ICF for short. My daughter HATES this. HATES. HATES. HATES. She also a master at being passive aggressive and when her ICF fails to get under our skin and hurt our feelings its annoys her. We render the ICF powerless. Then we make her practice responding respectfully with her words, her tone of voice and her body language (including the infamous ICF). I even have a little jingle or two I break into about ICF and disrespect. It is SOOO not appreciated by our little darling because it makes her laugh. She's trying to be pissy and mean; laughing ruins her shtick.
I was well and truly convicted that "anger does not bring about the righteousness of God". That wisdom applies to parenting. Anger might change a child's behavior while you're watching, but it cannot change a heart. Heart change is the only way to bring about right behavior when no one is looking. So instead of harsh words and stiff consequences (born of my own irritation) we're aiming for good acronyms, humor, melodic little ditties, and a chance to make it right.
I was well and truly convicted that "anger does not bring about the righteousness of God". That wisdom applies to parenting. Anger might change a child's behavior while you're watching, but it cannot change a heart. Heart change is the only way to bring about right behavior when no one is looking. So instead of harsh words and stiff consequences (born of my own irritation) we're aiming for good acronyms, humor, melodic little ditties, and a chance to make it right.
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