But I Won't Do That

It has happened more than once (sadly) where someone has threatened Primero with bodily harm. On each occasion, he insisted his family, mom, siblings, uncles, would ride into his rescue. Not me. I guess he sees me as too much of a pacifist, since I don’t advocate violence or getting into physical altercations. Maybe he has never seen the momma bear side of me. The side that would tear through a solid steel wall to get at someone hurting my child. I try, unsuccessfully, to not let it bother me because I know the real truth. Sure, his family might be willing to jump into the fray, but when push came to shove they were not there for him when he was taken into foster care. Maybe this is just fantasy for him, to pretend they would be there for him to lessen the hurt of the times when they were not. I don’t know why it bothers me so much because, in a sense, Primero is right. I am probably not going to retaliate by physically fighting someone who has caused him physical harm. But, that does not mean I would let it go. There are legal actions I would take, starting with filing a police report and seeing that the perpetrators get their just deserts in the judicial system. I suppose, to Primero, that doesn’t give the same satisfaction as returning a punch for a punch, but in my mind it is the more mature way of handling the situation. I suppose, you could argue, I am being more vindictive because the legal ramifications could be more long-reaching that a black eye that would heal. The bottom line is, I want Primero to know I would have his back and it hurts me when he lists all family members but me coming to his aid.

Bedtime Procrastination

I skimmed an article a friend posted on Facebook (I couldn’t find it again to link it) about why some parents tend to stay up late, even when they want to get to bed early. The author admitted she stays up later than she should and cites having little children as the reason. Not because the children wake her up, but because the time between their bedtime and hers is her only quiet, child-free time she has in any given day. She expressed being willing to forgo sleep just for a little extra time to herself. And she has a spouse, so I reason, she could push some of the adult responsibilities off onto him (said through my single-lady lens). 

This is totally me. I get only a brief two hours (at best!) to myself at night. Two blissful hours where I can watch whatever I want on TV, I can read or check my social media, without the distraction of small people demanding my attention. I can even go to the bathroom all by myself! (usually, unless a dog or cat wanders in) All too often those two hours don’t feel like quite enough time to do the things I want to do and I end up forgoing sleep just for a little more me time. It is worse on nights like one last week, when Love Bug refused to stay asleep in his bed. He wanted to be with me but he still wanted things on his terms and I refused. Sorry, not sorry, I am not watching Peppa Pig, or playing tickle monster, or holding the cat, or getting you a snack. You are intruding on my time and my measure of patience is quickly wearing thin. I ended up giving up and going to bed, just so Love Bug would sleep. 

I pay a steep price for my nocturnal choices. I struggle with waking up several times per night and I almost never wake up rested. I really should do something about my sleep deficit, but it’s so hard when there are so many things I would like to do uninterrupted. On average, if you don’t factor in how long I’m awake at various points during the night, I get roughly six hours of sleep per night. I’m supposed to get another hour or two, but it seems nearly impossible for my night owl brain to get on board to a 10 pm bedtime. I go to bed at 11, except sometimes I piddle around and don’t get into bed until 11:30. My alarm is set for 6:20 (because I like to hit the snooze button at least twice). There are simply not enough hours in a day!

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Evaluate This

It is harder for me to accept the challenges Love Bug in regards to schooling than it was for Chica Marie. While I feel connected to Chica Marie, our relationship has taken more time to deepen that it did for Love Bug, who came to be as a wide-eyed newborn instead of a sassy three year old with an impressive vocabulary. Sadly, for Chica Marie I think I was expecting there to be difficulties and somehow managed to detach myself from them. With Love Bug, it hurts my heart with the amount of testing he has to go through (nothing physical, just observations and sometimes tasks he is asked to complete) and how already the idea of a different classroom has come up. The ADHD label did not bring Chica Marie such swift reaction from the district as the possibility of ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder – I spell it out for myself). It seems more of the professionals are aligning to the Autism diagnosis for my Love Bug, but until all the dust settles and all the paperwork is tabulated, nothing is official. Still, I have been slowly making myself say the word out loud and accept what feels like the inevitable. I so strongly want Love Bug to be in a standard classroom and I truly believe he can do it – with help. I am hoping the TSS worker will soon materialize and be there for him when he starts school. I think, without it, the district will move him to different classroom setting. I remember how they tried to do that with Chica Marie. Ultimately, the county stepped in an cancelled the school’s plan, thankfully, but this time there is no county involvement. This is both good and bad because it allows me to make decisions all on my own, but is also doesn’t give me any extra fighting power. There is no one in our corner, so to speak. I am mostly just anxious to get through all of the evaluations and determine who, what and how there is going to be help for Love Bug starting kindergarten the end of August.

 

The school district has early registration for kids entering school through the Special Education Department. Because Love Bug has been receiving services from the local intermediate unit (early intervention services), I had a special meeting with the district representative to clue them into what to expect when Love Bug starts school. This brief meeting seemed superfluous until I got a call not long after leaving the facility. They had Love Bug filed under his old last name and didn’t make the connection until I left. He was flagged as a child they wanted to evaluate before he started kindergarten. So, another entity evaluating Love Bug. Sigh. It was after this phone call when I realized how upsetting I found all the evaluating. He is just a little boy! My little boy! My reaction shocked me a bit because I didn’t feel this way when Chica Marie was bouncing from one level of therapeutic care to another. For her, it was almost expected. And this realization struck a chord with something else I had recently noticed in a different light.

 

For children in foster care, it is almost a given that they will have behavioral issues. In fact, it is one of the things case workers ask about when they come out for their visits. If you tell them things are fine, they look at you suspiciously and declare you are still in the honeymoon phase and the proverbial shit will soon hit the fan. The children aren’t given the benefit of the doubt. And, since it seems like everyone is looking for trouble, they find it. Now, I am not downplaying the realities because the children in foster care have experienced trauma and they will have big feelings they don’t know what to do with, which will result in acting out. But, their troubles are not seen as kids being kids and making bad choices because hey their brains are still developing and whatnot. No. Instead the trouble they get into is scrutinized and declared problematic. Not to say there aren’t behaviors that do fit that bill (Chica Marie did have plenty of those!) but, what kid doesn’t talk back to their parents at some point in their life? Or tell a lie to get out of trouble? Or punch their sibling? Or have a temper tantrum in the grocery store? Working with the mobile therapist we have now has helped me to see how normal many of “issues” are that I’ve experienced with my kids. Not to say there aren’t other things that need attention, but the kids definitely need more wiggle room to make mistakes than I think I’ve been giving them. Even Primero. I am thankful the mobile therapist has caused me to remember some of the crazy things I did when I was a kid (we played with a 50 gallon tub of tar once…. Yeah…), that reminded me kids will be kids.

 

As for Love Bug, he is still and forever will be my Love Bug. I know others will see how terrific he is and if they do not, it is their loss. And no evaluation will change that.

Ruining the Surprise

During the Christmas season, right before the new year, Primero found out he was going to be an uncle again. This time, his oldest brother Mr. J and his girlfriend were expecting. Unfortunately, how Primero found our caused ripples of drama, anger and resentment. Primero’s best friend is the niece of Mr. J’s girlfriend. The girlfriend had announced her pregnancy via a family group chat and her niece showed Primero, thinking he knew about it. But, Primero did not know and it came as a surprise to him because his oldest brother was adamantly against having kids. So, thinking he was the last to know, Primero called his mom. Surprise! He was not the last to know because his mother had no idea. Primero was upset and, for reasons that are not clear to me, he called Esperanza. Turns out, she already knew, bragging how their older brother told her because he trusts her the most. By now, Mr. J has found out that Primero usurped his surprise and he is furious. Apparently, he had some elaborate scheme planned to tell their mom and Primero had ruined it. Holy hot mess Batman! Mr. J refused to talk to Primero at their uncle’s house on New Year’s Eve but he did eventually calm down and forgive Primero.

 

Surprisingly, I was mostly unaffected by the pregnancy announcement. The only sucker punch I felt was when Primero mentioned how freshly pregnant the mother-to-be was; she was just 5 weeks along. I live in a different world, one where being 5 weeks along is cause for cautious optimism. The only drama-fest felt premature to me, but hopefully the couple can continue living in the world where early pregnancy announcements come to fruition.

T-Ball

Love Bug has expressed tepid interest in playing T-ball. When I asked his early interventionist therapist her opinion on him playing a team sport, she gave me a litany of tasks I would need to complete before Love Bug would be ready to actually play a team sport. And now I am thinking, is it worth it?

 

I love baseball and softball. I played both for several years when I was a kid and have been thinking about finding a local grown-up team to join. I’m not trying to force my kids into anything and if they never play baseball, I will be fine with it. But, when I asked Love Bug and Chica Marie if they would want to play t-ball Love Bug immediately said, yes! Chica Marie at first said yes, then no. She was still on the fence when we were at Target last week and I decided it was a good time to buy Love Bug’s glove. Chica Marie wanted a glove too and agreed to join the t-ball team. I only have one rule when it comes to sports; the kids can join any team they like but they will play the entire season. They are part of a team and the team is depending on them being there for every practice and every game. If they don’t want to sign up again after that season, that is fine, but they will finish their commitment. Chica Marie wanted to join karate. After the first session she signed up again but didn’t really like it anymore. There were a lot of tears, but she finished out the second session and didn’t sign up for a third. The actual sign-up for t-ball is this weekend. Chica Marie’s latest worry was having to wear a hat when playing t-ball. We shall see what her response is when it is actually time to sign up.

 

Love Bug has not waivered on his choice to play t-ball but I don’t think he really knows what he is saying yes to. His interventionist felt he would need significant preparation so he would not just shut down and refuse to participate. Purchasing the glove, and a tee/pitching machine was my first step in preparing him. His interventionist feels I need to try to walk him through every possible scenario of the game and what would be expected of him. I don’t know if that is possible, but I will start by explaining how the game is played (an old movie titled Blast from the Past comes to mind with a scene of the father (played by Christopher Walken) trying to explain to his son (played by Brendan Fraser) why a runner has to move from one base to another comes to mind). The interventionist also felt like I needed to prepare some contingencies for when Love Bug has down time or has to wait his turn, like having him hand out drinks until it is his turn to be up to bat. That sounds terrific but….. How do I gracefully insert myself into the mechanisms of the t-ball team so that Love Bug doesn’t get singled out and so I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes? I am not a helicopter parent, I had no plans on hovering around Love Bug while he played (and there might be rules about where parents are allowed to be). But, I don’t know if I can ask the coach to give Love Bug chores while he is trying to keep all the little players under control. When do I approach the coach with my requests? How do I describe what Love Bug needs without making disclosing his diagnosis? I really want Love Bug to enjoy playing baseball, I want him to enjoy being on a team and have fun. Is that possible for him?

 

Ultimately, I am hoping we will have a TSS worker for Love Bug by the time he starts practice and perhaps they can help me make this all make sense. If not, I will try my best. At the end of the day, it is not the end of the world if t-ball isn’t for Love Bug. There are plenty of other things he can do.

What's Important in 2019

So often in the past I spend the final weeks of the year contemplating all the ways I wish to change in the coming year. I write up an earnest list of resolutions and then revisit them again at the end of the year, feeling like a hopeless loser and swearing I will do better this next year. With the exception of the year I dutifully purged the house (and I’m still looking for some things I might have tossed), I haven’t really stuck to many of my plans. So, this year I decided I’m not going to make any resolutions, I’m just going to write down the things that are important to me that I want to concentrate on for 2019. Without further ado, here is my list:

 

• Find time to read: make time, have a book with me at all times, pick one night per week to read a book instead of watching TV, set aside time to read on a Sunday afternoon, have the kids read 10 minutes every Sunday then increase the time
• Take a family vacation: plan, save, go
• Find a way to Meal Plan and to eat healthier: eat more veggies, think about starting meatless Monday’s, take salads for lunch
• Exercise  and get active: go to yoga weekly or bi-weekly, walk with the kids every day for 30 minutes, find a way to do workout videos
• Attend church regularly: maybe try a different church or different churches?
• Do more bucket list things: make plans, set aside money
• Do monthly random acts of kindness: keep it simple, make it a mindset

Lying Lairs Who Lie

I keep doing nice things, kind things, hoping to attract good karma, reap what I sow. Instead I feel like my life is one big lie, a grand deception. This morning I was half-impressed that Primero was awake on time, getting himself out the door in time to get on the bus and not have me take him to school. He even got up early enough to take the trash out, since he forgot last night despite my multiple reminders. As I progressed through my morning, I realized my flat iron was missing and asked him where it was. His friend who has been staying with us used it but he insisted she had put it back. She was not home, having spent the night at her sister’s. Primero had told me her dog was stashed quietly in the cage in their room in the basement. I rarely go into their room, but I wanted to be sure my flat iron wasn’t there. I didn’t knock, knowing the room was empty, barring the dog. As I flung open the door I saw the dog lying on the floor and it caused me pause. How did he get out of the cage? As my brain made sense of what my eyes were seeing Primero yelled at me for opening his door and his friend blinked up from her bed, awoken by me flinging open the door and turning on the overhead lights. I thought I was in a dream for a moment until my brain churned the answer into my conscious thought. Primero lied. He concocted an entire, lengthy lie because, according to him, he wanted to stay home to sleep. The pain of the deception brought stinging tears to my eyes as Primero pulled out every single thing he could to make it all my fault. I was the one in the wrong because I didn’t knock on their door before entering. I had no right, he told me the flat iron wasn’t in their room. And on and on it went. We rode silently to school where I wished him a good walk home, implying he would lie to me again and not go into school. The worst part was Primero didn’t care that this stupid decision just obliterated any of the trust we had been building up since we started family therapy. He simply doesn’t care, so why should I?

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Social Pragmatic Language Therapy Class

A brief update on Love Bug. We still don’t have an official diagnosis, but the various professionals all seem to be aligning onto the sensory processing/high functioning autistic side of things and yeah, maybe there’s some attention issues, but mostly no. He is smart and quite a chatterbox with adults, but he is aloof, at best, with his peers and finds interacting with them to be very overwhelming. Thus far, the speech therapist who has been observing him in the classroom at daycare, thinks he should attend a social pragmatic language therapy class, where he will learn better social language to use with his peers. At this special classroom he will continue to be observed by the occupational therapist for further necessary services. He will be bussed from the daycare to the new special classroom every Tuesday for a good chunk of the day. I think he’s going to hate it. At least at first. Eventually he might like it, but I sense Tuesday’s might get tricky for us for a bit.  Generally speaking, he has been doing better at daycare, but there is still a lot of room for him to grow. But, with what we are working on now and his IEP, he should be in better shape to start kindergarten than if we had done nothing. He will begin the new speech therapy the end of February, after they come back from break.

Scariest Moment

Last Monday I had one of the most frightening experiences of my life. I know for a fact, I was much more scared than when I was bit by a dog in Nicaragua. I was more frightened than the time a bat flew out of the latrine and bumped into my bare bottom, also while in Nicaragua. I was more terrified than when I was four and getting my tonsils out or driving on the paved road for the first time. Scarier than free-diving off a cliff into a murky pond (Nicaragua) or traveling alone in Greece (not scary at all). This experience really had me shook to the core.

 

On New Year’s eve I worked a half-day and then scooped up the kids and took them home for lunch. We relaxed for a bit (I dozed off a little) and then went to the complex where Primero works for some fun. They were having prize balloon drops, so the kids could earn points to play games for free. There was a rock wall, which I paid to have Love Bug hang by a harness and Chica Marie to climb a few feet off the ground. The kids were anxious to get to the game room. Love Bug loves the driving games, even though he can’t really reach the pedals and he never wins. He loves making the car swerve around the screen and pushing the button for the nitrous oxide to make it go faster.

 

Love Bug was playing his second round of a driving game when he lost interest just a few moments before the game was going to end. I hated seeing him waste the time not finishing the game, so I stepped on the pedal and finished it for him, while he stood impatiently behind me and watched. It was mere seconds, no more than 30 I’m sure, but when I turned around to ask him where he wanted to go next, he was gone. Sighing, I looked around, expecting to stop him at a nearby game. The arcade was buzzing with activity, many young children and their parents were playing using their free points.

 

Chica Marie sat down next to Love Bug’s game and started playing. “Where’s Love Bug?” I asked, scanning the room for him. She shrugged and started playing the game. I told her I would be right back and I walked around the room. I didn’t see Love Bug anywhere, so I did another lap. After the third time I circled the room, I started moving from concerned to worried and anxious. “Chica Marie, where is Love Bug?” I demanded, hoping she had seen him. She got up from her game and started walking around with me. I could feel the panic setting in as we made two more sweeps of the room.

 

When we first arrived, Love Bug wanted to go upstairs to the ball pit game. Maybe he went up there? He also knew where Primero’s friend worked in the trampoline park, maybe he went there? This place was huge! And it would be so easy for someone to scoop him up and make off with him. My heart was racing and I was in full-on panic mode. I called Primero as I tugged Chica Marie around the room, frantic. Primero didn’t answer me, so I text him begging him to call me. He called and as the words, “I can’t find Love Bug,” left my mouth I started to cry. I was now looking for a staff member to call an Amber alert and shut the place down so I could find my child. A man with an older child noticed the sheer panic on my face. Just as Primero showed up, I spotted Love Bug’s sky blue Thomas the Train sweater and black curls. I grabbed him in a fierce bear hug, feeling so much relief. A confused and frightened Love Bug asked to play another game, as if he hadn’t just been missing, kidnapped and gone but a second ago. The man who saw my panic came over to ask if everything was ok. I explained I had lost my little guy and was freaking out, but I found him so no need to call in the SWAT team. For the rest of our time there I made Love Bug hold my hand. Mercifully, the points soon ran out and the children chose their prizes and we went home to settle in for the night.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Getting Back into It

We are four days into the new year and it still feels a lot like 2018. Last year wasn’t a bad year, it could never be because it was the year we officially became a family of four, but it also wasn’t a super-great year either. It was ok. And, thus far, 2019 has been ok. We are getting back into our schedules, after being away from school and work for longer-than-normal stretches. My sinus infection has followed me into the new year. I realized, thanks to the magic of Facebook, this is the third year in a row I have had a sinus cold for the new year. I wonder if it is the stress of the holidays or some lingering thing from the fall allergy season. Someone suggested I might be allergic to our live Christmas tree. Well, the tree is leaving this weekend, so if it is the culprit I should feel better very soon.

 

There are other left-overs that have straddled last year and the current one. Love Bug is still being evaluated for autism. I have come to peace about the whole matter. It isn’t so important to me what label they give him, just so we have a solid game plan going forward and in place for when he starts school. They can call it whatever they want, just so he is successful in school and in life. I don’t know when we will get a final decree, but it seems the mobile therapist who was working under the impression that Love Bug had ADHD, has seemed to cross over to the autism side. We shall see what that means in terms of the services he will receive. I think he will be ok to be in a traditional classroom setting, maybe with support from a TSS worker or something like that. He is smart, like his sister, so I am less-concerned academically, only about things he doesn’t like doing like writing.

 

I haven’t spoken to my mom since Christmas Eve. I honestly don’t know what to say to her. I thought about texting her and letting her know the kids liked their presents, but that seemed cruel. So, I’ve said nothing. What is there for me to say? I didn’t do anything, other than try to have a nice Christmas. I doubt she will reach out to me first and so here we are – at an impasse. I don’t want to continue to allow my mom to make me feel bad about myself. I don’t want to hear how I am a bad daughter and how I don’t do enough. If she refuses to see this isn’t a one-sided issue, what can I do? She won’t ever apologize. Not sincerely anyway. She might say something like, “I’m so sorry I’m such a terrible mother” or something along those lines. Not a genuine apology for the shit-show she created. I don’t want to write her out of my life, like she has done with other members of her family (currently her youngest brother) but at the same time I don’t want her toxicity to keep dragging me into the pit of despair either.

 

I want to leave a lot of negativity in 2018 because my hope for 2019 is that there are more smiles, more giggles, more happiness and more joy.