Learning Humility

Humility can be learned at Costco. I hate Costco runs. They are an enormous amount of work in and of themselves, and are followed by an enormous amount of work packing, unloading, and restocking our kitchen (that wasn't designed with Costco trips for a family of 6 in mind). In California, as far as I have been able to discover, Costcos are always jam packed with people. So I try to go during the week when at least some of the throngs are at work. This means we must quickly bust through homeschool in the morning and squeeze in a Costco run between homeschool and swimming lessons and be back by 2:50 to pick up Ethan from school. I pack a cooler, and try to streamline everything possible to make our trip efficient. Efficient and four-year-olds are antonyms. Efficient and four-year-olds with FASD are uber-antonyms. I am not setting up myself, or my children to be successful with this little Costco stunt. And this is how I found myself stuck with a cart full of $300 worth of mostly unpaid for groceries covered in urine. Can I just say that there is NO GOOD WAY to handle this situation. There is some obligation, I think, to finish ones purchase. And besides we needed those groceries, and the total excess of packaging actually protected everything from real urine damage. The produce and meat were already paid for, everything else was just drippy and needed to be hosed off and have the shrink wrap removed. But it was awkward for the check-out guy, and the people in line. (Incidentally, all but the check-out guy decided to move lines, as, apparently, long waits are preferable puddles of pee.) Also, it is awkward for the 8 and 10 year old siblings who are trying to all at once disappear, be helpful, and not slip in puddles of urine. And the people watching me haul a pee drenched kid to the bathroom, dripping the whole way there, felt a little uncomfortable with the situation, I think. And the four year old, was less than comfortable. She clearly communicated this by screaming and flailing. Ever notice how those big warehouse stores are kinda all echoey and tend to amplify noise? If I had any ego left about superior parenting skills, it has gone the way of the rolls of paper towels drenched in pee. But I am wiser, and more humble. I used to judge parents who let their children watch too much TV, or forgot to make their children comb their hair. i used judge when their children asked for candy in the check-out lines. I used to judge. No longer. Because sometimes life just goes that way, and the best you can do looks like groceries covered in urine.

All because of a Jalapeño

Yesterday evening I had a meeting to attend. I left Eddie in charge just the hysteria was hitting full stride.

I'd made southwestern chicken salad for dinner, which seems innocuous enough. Until, Ethan decided to spice things up, by slicing raw jalapeños on his dinner. I suggested that this may be going overboard, and recommended he take a small sample before he sold out to the jalapeño ridden chicken salad. With one small bite the hollering and hyperventilating began. Which set into motion a series of "I dare you" stupidities. Emma ended up sobbing and blowing bubbles into a glass of milk trying to get it to cool down her flaming lips. Puffy eyed, puffy lipped, red faced with milk dripping down her chin, she couldn't understand why she was hard to take seriously. Watching the drama unfold Caleb decided it would be funny to feed a jalapeño to the dog. And when didn't produce the reaction he was looking for he decided to sword fight his baby sister. She, unexplainably, ended up with the blunt tip of a purple plastic light saber jammed into her eye socket.

Which is when I decided to leave.

Apparently, more drama unfolded after my departure -something to do with jalapeño juice in some kid's eyes.

It was a three ring circus.

About half way to my meeting I started to giggle. Because, if it wasn't happening at my house, and it wasn't my children it would be down right comical in a sort of horrific way. 5 miles down the highway I could find the humor that evaded in the moment. Even now I can't quite put my finger on why the giggles kept erupting; I imagine it has something to do with the level of chaos that seemingly sprung out of nowhere, and how often that moment of time can become a metaphor for a bigger slice of my life.

Bad poetry a la dishwashers

Yesterday began with a smoking dishwasher. (smoke,yes)
And a smokin' mad mamma.
I may have, perhaps, hurt some feelings on my evil rampage.
Perhaps.
Which thus led to our suckiest homeschool day on record in the state of California.

belligerence is contagious.

I am determined that it shall not be repeated today.
It will be sunshine and Lollipops even though the forecast says rain.
Such determination is generally met with opposition...
Yet I maintain-sunshine and lollipops!

Because, Dorothy ( whom I virtually stalk), says:
" it's about connection not control"
And I tend to believe her.
And really, my fuming did nothing to limit the smoke pouring from said dishwasher.
It only scorched the heart of one little guy who felt responsible.

Jesus, Jesus grant me grace even for days wrought with smoking dishwashers
If you can stop the sun, then surely you could stop my mouth, yes?
For it is in your Mighty Name I pray. amen
And Amen!

This is my Portion

Yesterday, I went to the doctor to have my prescription for anti-depressants filled. So, I started counting back. Emma is nearly 10, and it was after her birth that I first went on anti-depressants. I rock post-partum depression, and am prone to depression even without the "post-partum" piece. It's been the better part of a decade then, that I've walked this path. I've not always been on medication but major stressors trigger a chain reaction in my head. Depressions hits and I don my cement boots, and I've not found any way to chip away at the cement except to pop a pill that the changes my neurochemistry. I'm okay with that.

For the last 3 years I've been on 1/4 of the recommended minimum dose of Wellbutrin for adults. It's a really, really small dose. One that, theoretically, shouldn't really have any effect at all. But it seems to help me.

Actually, I think I'm nearly at a season in life where I could be without medication. But I'm not ready to try life unmedicated until I my foot is better and I can run again. Excercise is part of my own anti-depression plan. So is sleep. And a healthy diet. And living in community. And no major stressors. When all of these are in play, I can make it without meds. And I'm learning that the discipline of gratitude may just be as good of an anti-depressant as any SSRI on the market. So me unmedicated, may be in in the near future.

This last ten years has been full of babies and toddlers, and sleepless nights. It's been a season of physical and emotional exhaustion. Which, obviously, would contribute to depression. But I think another thing that factors into my neurochemistry is how I sometimes wear my life like an itchy sweater. I am learning to accept where I am, to sink into it, and be present. I am a dreamer and idealist, and there are dishes to do. The mountain of laundry I face every week laughs at my lofty thoughts. So I am learning to be here. With the dishes. With the laundry. With these 4 and that sexy bald man. To mis-quote Anne Voscamp, "this vortex of ordinary can be inverted into a cathedral."

And that is what I meant to say, when I started talking about anti-depressants.

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup
you have made my lot secure
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.

PS 16: 5-6

Public Record: These are Joy

-Fairy tales told by 4 year olds.
-Flowers blooming purple and white.
-10 year old girl making paper chains; content
-Pasta bar: Ethan makes buttered noodles drenched in hot sauce and eats it like its the best thing since sliced bread
-a resistant reader wanting to read
-reading to my children

Purple Space Bubble

FASD behaviors play out in lots of different ways in our home. Some of them are funny.

Being 4 years old, having sensory processing challenges, and impulse control issues is tricky business. Sometimes, without even knowing it, Babycakes annoys her siblings by being oblivious that she is encroaching on their space. She smooshes in, talks too loud and generally bugs. So, we've been talking about each person having their "personal space bubble." I have the big kids hold out their arms and slowly spin in a circle. We call the space within that imaginary circle our "personal space bubble". We always have the right to ask someone in our "bubble" to leave. People need their space.

I felt like we were getting some traction with this concept.

Then, the other day Abi-bo-ba-be came to me in tears. An older sibling had hurt her feelings with harsh words. "Hims popped my purple space bubble." she sobbed.

Okay, we are still working on the concept of personal space, and the subtle, yet important, differences between that and purple bubbles.

Here's another one. A prediction Emma made. Emma said, "Someday, when Abby is a grown up she'll be driving and a police man will pull her over. He'll say, "Ma'am, do you have any idea how fast you were going?" Then, Abby will chirp, "I got a new kitty; hers cute."

Eddie busted up laughing. Because it is so true. Funny and sad.

Abby is sweet natured. She doesn't hold a grudge, but neither does she make the connection between her actions and their potential consequences. And she's impulsive. Very likely, she would be genuinely puzzled by the officers frustration. And very likely, she'd strike up a totally irrelevant conversation. She's friendly, and her default when confused is to be charming - so dangerously charming.

People see Abby's cute little frame, and big brown eyes. She's just adorable, and she chatters merrily, stringing along a whole bunch of infatuated grown-ups. She's 4; it's cute. But it is also troublesome when she receives compliment from a random delivery man, and then declares, "I love that guy." And she means it from the bottom of her innocent little heart. Abby doesn't meet strangers. And when she is 4 that is probably just fine, but when she 16 it could be absolutely devastating.

We're in a conundrum about school for her next year.
-Private christian school is the better part of a grand each month. Lil' pricey - that.
-Public schools here have a great special ed program - that Abby doesn't qualify for. After all she knows her colors, and shapes. She can write her name and charm the socks off any therapist in sight. Abby would have ZERO classroom supports. She could get no supports until she demonstrates consistent failure in a typical setting. Lovely. Also troubling: FASDers do what they see; chameleons. Ethan is in one of the better schools in the district, and this year, in his classroom kids have been given detention for, cussing at and hitting the teacher. Yelling is par for the course. My neuro-typical, gifted, and totally confident kid comes home fried after a day in the classroom. Doesn't seem like a good place to send my little chameleon, now does it?
-We're left with letting Abby be a preschooler as a 5 year old, and buying us another year for her to mature, and us to decide. Sounds okay, yeah? or homeschool. That's a "maybe" too.

Naming Grace

If you were to only read this blog I think you might get the idea that life has been rough since moving to California. And you would be correct - mostly. But there IS good, and lots of it. Let me name the grace for you:

-Giggling children after dinner. Giggling unto tears!
-Snuggling with children on the couch
-A daughter who is learning to love to read again
-Kids who's favorite TV shows are Myth Busters, How It's Made, and Nova...we're cool like that!
-Homeade lemon meringue pie...beautiful... and made with my daughter
-Kids growing and their sense of humor growing too
-Abby kisses
-Family time
-Gorgeous weather, gorgeous open space, and beauty the stuns me almost every single day
-Abby songs
-full pantry, full tummies...enough
-a husband who is still my best friend
- an encouraging email
-choices
- new friends
-sisters coming for a visit
- Caleb becoming quite a swimmer
- a new day with no mistakes in it