Every day, I suffer. Every. Single. Day. I get up at 5:20, take a shower, and go in to the living room to do my makeup. Why do makeup in the living room? Because I get a whole 45 minutes in the morning with my children, the majority of which consists of "L, get your pajamas off! K, put your diaper in the trash! L, get your clothes on! K, hurry and go potty. L, get your clothes on. L. L!!! Can you hear me!? K, let's go. We gotta get dressed! L! GET. YOUR. CLOTHES. ON. NOW!!!!! . . ." etc.
At 7, we feed the dogs and the girls argue over who gets to turn off the lights, who gets to feed which dog, and yell, "I want candy" (the awesome name I came up with for their vitamins).
At 7:05, I trip over two little girls as the 3 of us try to get out of the door at the same time, me with my purse, K's extra clothes for daycare, my coffee, and anything extra for the day; the girls with their backpack, a toy of choice, their milk, their attitudes.
I spend the next 10 minutes trying to get 2 little girls in to their car seats, both of whom cry, "lemme do it", but neither whom are capable. Attempting to help them only exasperates the problem, but it just has to be done. I'm relatively certain my neighbors sit at their windows every morning sipping from their cups of coffee, taking bets with their spouse over how long it will take me to snap (the girls in their seats, of course), watching this unfold.
I then drop L off at school, drive 20 minutes, take K to day care, and get to work by 7:45. I leave work at 10, pick L up at school at 10:20, take L to daycare, give hugs and kisses to 20 kids (I'm apparently the mom to many more people than I remember giving birth to. Those were some good drugs!). Go back to work by 10:45. Work until 5:30 (if I'm lucky), and either get to fight the wonderfully designed roads of San Antonio with 4,000 other people heading home or pick up the girls and only fight 2,000 people. (Who thought that taking 5 lanes down to 3 with 3 entrance ramps all within a mile was a good idea, anyway!) I usually get home around 6:15 - 6:30.
The family sits down to dinner, then it's time to get the girls ready for bed. The goal is to have the girls in bed by 8, otherwise, they are bigger terrors the next day than normal. Then, it's time to do the dishes, make my coffee for the next day, and get ready for bed just to do it all over again.
There are two MAJOR problems with this scenario - the first being that I am starting to hate my job, the second being, this makes me the worst mom ever. In all of the hustle and bustle of every day life, I feel as though I am neglecting my children. It's not that they are not well-adjusted individuals, it's just that I feel like I go to work to be able to afford to pay someone else to spend time with my children. Really, how much sense does that make? It's not even like I'm doing something that improves anybody's life. I'm doing a job that anybody can do in my place. No one can replace my children's mother. So, what am I doing?
I sat down with my husband today (well, we sat at our respective computers from different hemispheres of the world) and discussed this. Can we afford for me to not work? Can we figure these details out? When is the right time to make this decision? How do you know the decision you're making is the right one?
I realize this post is more of a vent than it is interesting. I just sometimes need to see it written down to see how easy of a decision this really is . . .
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
not me, Not Me, NOT ME!!
We've all been there. We're sitting on the plane, waiting for everyone to take their seat so we can sit on the tarmac for an hour before we take off. As person after person meanders down the center aisle that's too small for a person and a bag, we look each person up and down, avoiding eye contact, sizing them up. As the person starts walking towards you, you think to yourself, "please don't sit by me, please don't sit by me, (except you, Mr. Hot dude that smiles just right, You can sit ON me. Wait, what?)." It could be the person that stinks from too much perfume, or not enough deodorant. Or that one that's chatting on the cell phone so that the whole plane can hear and you just KNOW that person will want to tell you her whole life story when all you want to do is sleep. Or that poor woman carrying a screaming kid that you are fully aware does not want to be confined to a little space for hours and will whine, kick, and shout incessantly, stopping only long enough to vomit on the person in front of him or sneeze and sling snot your way.
You've been there. You've walked down that same aisle on the same plane and looked at the people already sitting and you know that person is thinking the same thing about you. We all know "the look".
Unfortunately, in the past few weeks, I've seen "the look" more times than I could have imagined, seeing as how I haven't stepped foot on a plane or any form of public transportation.
It's happening when I drop L off at daycare.
She walks in, goes into her room, and you see all the kids giving "the look". She looks around and starts heading towards a table and the established kids give each other this knowing glance. The others, as L passes their tables, let out an almost audible sigh of relief. The kids she approaches start putting away what they're playing with, already resigned to the fact that she will mess up whatever they've spent their last few minutes mastering. The other day, a kid actually said to his friend, "I guess it's time to put this away; we'll have to start over anyway." Today, it was, "She can't play here. Center's full". I was taken to that scene in Forest Gump when he's trying to find a seat on the school bus.
My heart almost broke.
And so begins our next chapter in life. This chapter begins with L's peers noticing a difference, and being frustrated by it. They can tell she is not age appropriate in her actions, but they don't fully comprehend the why behind it. This is a stage when kids say what's on their minds, the filter not yet being installed. It's past the age of questioning everything, but noticing differences.
The one thing I'm most grateful for is that L is not there yet. She is still stuck in the "everything's okay as long as I have food and boots" phase. (The boots are very important, but they apparently only function well when they're a) rain boots and b) worn on the wrong feet.) The point being, she's oblivious to the stares, sighs, and comments as of now. She gladly sits beside her "peers", flaps her hands, and begins to steal whatever toys they were playing with.
Yea for the little things!
You've been there. You've walked down that same aisle on the same plane and looked at the people already sitting and you know that person is thinking the same thing about you. We all know "the look".
Unfortunately, in the past few weeks, I've seen "the look" more times than I could have imagined, seeing as how I haven't stepped foot on a plane or any form of public transportation.
It's happening when I drop L off at daycare.
She walks in, goes into her room, and you see all the kids giving "the look". She looks around and starts heading towards a table and the established kids give each other this knowing glance. The others, as L passes their tables, let out an almost audible sigh of relief. The kids she approaches start putting away what they're playing with, already resigned to the fact that she will mess up whatever they've spent their last few minutes mastering. The other day, a kid actually said to his friend, "I guess it's time to put this away; we'll have to start over anyway." Today, it was, "She can't play here. Center's full". I was taken to that scene in Forest Gump when he's trying to find a seat on the school bus.
My heart almost broke.
And so begins our next chapter in life. This chapter begins with L's peers noticing a difference, and being frustrated by it. They can tell she is not age appropriate in her actions, but they don't fully comprehend the why behind it. This is a stage when kids say what's on their minds, the filter not yet being installed. It's past the age of questioning everything, but noticing differences.
The one thing I'm most grateful for is that L is not there yet. She is still stuck in the "everything's okay as long as I have food and boots" phase. (The boots are very important, but they apparently only function well when they're a) rain boots and b) worn on the wrong feet.) The point being, she's oblivious to the stares, sighs, and comments as of now. She gladly sits beside her "peers", flaps her hands, and begins to steal whatever toys they were playing with.
Yea for the little things!
Monday, November 21, 2011
What about me?
I've always thought that K would be L's keeper, her confidante, her protector, and her best friend. K would always be there for L no matter what happened, loving her and supporting her and helping her. But what about that day when K realizes something's just not quite right? That day will come soon enough. K will look to me or to Daddy and ask why L's not doing this or saying that. This scenario isn't really that scary. I anticipate this one. It's the next one that frightens me to the bone. . .
I don't know why I never really thought about it before, but today, a whole new scenario hit me. I was reading "Fragile X, Fragile Hope" when the author's older boy (typically developing) says, "Will Zach always have Fragile X?" I almost started crying reading those 6 innocent, yet painful words. I know that I've been there, as the parent, as the one who's supposed to love my children unconditionally. Even as the biggest supporter of her, her biggest fan, her mommy, I've been there. That moment when I resent her situation and her diagnosis. There. I said it. There have been times I've resented the fact that my baby girl may never achieve the dreams I have for her. The days that I hate our situation. When I can't stand listening to her one more moment saying nonsensical "words", screeching at the top of her lungs for no reason, the days when she's almost 5 and NOT using the potty.
But what about when K feels this way? How do I deal with it? She may look at me one day and say, "Will L ALWAYS be like this" or "it's not fair" when L gets away with something K would never get away with b/c L just doesn't understand what she's doing. How can I be sure that K doesn't resent her sister or her disabilities or the time it takes her to do things? How do I tell my youngest daughter to love her sister no matter what when I know how she feels? And better yet, how do I always make sure that K knows she can feel open to talk to me about these things?
I don't know why I never really thought about it before, but today, a whole new scenario hit me. I was reading "Fragile X, Fragile Hope" when the author's older boy (typically developing) says, "Will Zach always have Fragile X?" I almost started crying reading those 6 innocent, yet painful words. I know that I've been there, as the parent, as the one who's supposed to love my children unconditionally. Even as the biggest supporter of her, her biggest fan, her mommy, I've been there. That moment when I resent her situation and her diagnosis. There. I said it. There have been times I've resented the fact that my baby girl may never achieve the dreams I have for her. The days that I hate our situation. When I can't stand listening to her one more moment saying nonsensical "words", screeching at the top of her lungs for no reason, the days when she's almost 5 and NOT using the potty.
But what about when K feels this way? How do I deal with it? She may look at me one day and say, "Will L ALWAYS be like this" or "it's not fair" when L gets away with something K would never get away with b/c L just doesn't understand what she's doing. How can I be sure that K doesn't resent her sister or her disabilities or the time it takes her to do things? How do I tell my youngest daughter to love her sister no matter what when I know how she feels? And better yet, how do I always make sure that K knows she can feel open to talk to me about these things?
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Mornings
I love hearing, first thing in the morning, the sound of the girls singing songs together. Half the time they're singing different songs and trying to sing over the other one so that she joins in the selected song. Therefore, they both get continually louder and louder, each singing their own song, until it ends up in a fit of laughter. I lay in bed listening to this with a smile on my face. It's one of the best sounds on earth! (Of course, this would be better if this weren't occurring at 5:30 in the morning!) :)
Later in the day, they will be playing in their room and all I hear is continual laughter. I rarely check on them because this causes them to get interrupted, lose focus, and stop playing together. I can only imagine what they're doing during these times: tickling each other, throwing all of their clothes out of their drawers, yanking down the drapes, pulling the mattress off K's bed (she's still in a toddler bed), etc. The only reason I can assume these things is because we have to work together later to clean up the aftermath. Heck, maybe that's NOT what they're doing. Maybe the closet monster gets jealous and does it for them and they're just laughing at him . . .
I enjoy the moments they play together so well. Luckily, these moments outnumber the moments they fight. The greatest joy in the world is seeing your children's smiling, laughing faces as they give each other hugs and plan their next devilish moves against me, together! :)
Later in the day, they will be playing in their room and all I hear is continual laughter. I rarely check on them because this causes them to get interrupted, lose focus, and stop playing together. I can only imagine what they're doing during these times: tickling each other, throwing all of their clothes out of their drawers, yanking down the drapes, pulling the mattress off K's bed (she's still in a toddler bed), etc. The only reason I can assume these things is because we have to work together later to clean up the aftermath. Heck, maybe that's NOT what they're doing. Maybe the closet monster gets jealous and does it for them and they're just laughing at him . . .
I enjoy the moments they play together so well. Luckily, these moments outnumber the moments they fight. The greatest joy in the world is seeing your children's smiling, laughing faces as they give each other hugs and plan their next devilish moves against me, together! :)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The Bad
I can not begin to explain the pain I feel when I go to pick L up from school and I have to watch as kid after kid comes walking out of the doors, sees their parent, jumps into their arms, and leaves happily to go about their merry days. Meanwhile, I sit on the bench, the two teachers that are able to come out looking at me with pity, as the third teacher is somewhere within the confines of the building trying in vain to get L to come out. It could be that she is in the classroom, unable to will herself in to the hallway. It could be that she is in the cafeteria, unwilling to walk towards the exit. Or maybe, she starts walking towards the door, sees me, turns around and runs or throws herself on the ground, refusing to continue forward. And when she finally does acknowledge me, she screams "I want daddy!" or "I don't know you" or "I don't see my mamma!". She really knows how to make someone feel loved.
Today, I had to physically pick her up and carry her to the car. She was THAT adamant about not going with me or leaving school. When I begin walking with her, her whole body melts in to mine and she becomes limp noodle. Finally, I get her in to the car, buckled in to her seat, and proceed to back up. That's when the REAL fun begins!
The drive from school to daycare lasts around 20 minutes. It feels more like 20 hours when you're listening to a 4 1/2 year old little girl screaming at the top of her lungs that she "never want[s] to see you again!" and she is "NOT going to day care!". So, I do the logical thing and blast the radio to drown her out. I'm telling you, I WILL be deaf by the time she's 6.
How can any person keep their sanity when this is the awesomeness they get to endure on a daily basis? Friends are so incredibly helpful. Friends that have children with special needs knock sense back in to me, especially when those friends have it so much harder than I do. My husband, bless his soul, is probably the only reason I have not completely gone batshit crazy. I thank God for him every day, as he seems to be the one person that can always calm down a lost-in-transit child.
Fast forward the 20 minutes, take L inside to daycare and see K. K runs up to me and gives me the biggest hug imaginable. It's almost like she KNOWS. I immediately feel my blood pressure drop about 60 points and I am able to walk out the doors without crying and with the faintest smile on my face.
Tomorrow is another day and a fresh start. Let's see what it brings us :)
Today, I had to physically pick her up and carry her to the car. She was THAT adamant about not going with me or leaving school. When I begin walking with her, her whole body melts in to mine and she becomes limp noodle. Finally, I get her in to the car, buckled in to her seat, and proceed to back up. That's when the REAL fun begins!
The drive from school to daycare lasts around 20 minutes. It feels more like 20 hours when you're listening to a 4 1/2 year old little girl screaming at the top of her lungs that she "never want[s] to see you again!" and she is "NOT going to day care!". So, I do the logical thing and blast the radio to drown her out. I'm telling you, I WILL be deaf by the time she's 6.
How can any person keep their sanity when this is the awesomeness they get to endure on a daily basis? Friends are so incredibly helpful. Friends that have children with special needs knock sense back in to me, especially when those friends have it so much harder than I do. My husband, bless his soul, is probably the only reason I have not completely gone batshit crazy. I thank God for him every day, as he seems to be the one person that can always calm down a lost-in-transit child.
Fast forward the 20 minutes, take L inside to daycare and see K. K runs up to me and gives me the biggest hug imaginable. It's almost like she KNOWS. I immediately feel my blood pressure drop about 60 points and I am able to walk out the doors without crying and with the faintest smile on my face.
Tomorrow is another day and a fresh start. Let's see what it brings us :)
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
My Title
Coming up with a title to my blog was easy. When my daughter was not speaking at an appropriate age, we began learning sign language. At first, we just bought books, but found that to be more difficult than we anticipated. Our speech therapist recommended Signing Time (www.signingtime.com) videos. The results were immediate and phenomenal! All of a sudden, our daughter was communicating her wants and needs to us and was so enthusiastic about it all! We credit Rachel Coleman, the face of Signing Time, for giving us a gift.
One of the most moving songs in the video series is called "The Good". I immediately thought of our hopes and dreams for our daughter. When we got our diagnosis of Fragile X, it all vanished. The future looked grim and bleak. As time went on, we started seeing improvements, and our hope slowly started growing.
And so begins our journey, a family filled with new hope and new dreams, as we look forward in anticipation of The Good!
And then one day I thought it slipped away
And I looked to my hands to hold on
And then one day all my fear slipped away
And my hands did so much more
So maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good
No, maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good!
It was you and me and a new world right before us
I was so scared to start
I saw you and dreams just like everyone before us
But how did they move so far?
And then one day I thought it slipped away
And I looked to my hands to hold you
And then one day all my fear slipped away
And my hands did so much more
So maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good
Maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good!
One of the most moving songs in the video series is called "The Good". I immediately thought of our hopes and dreams for our daughter. When we got our diagnosis of Fragile X, it all vanished. The future looked grim and bleak. As time went on, we started seeing improvements, and our hope slowly started growing.
And so begins our journey, a family filled with new hope and new dreams, as we look forward in anticipation of The Good!
The Good
It was you and me and the whole world right before us
I couldn’t wait to start
I saw you and dreams just like everyone before us
We thought we knew what we got
It was you and me and the whole world right before us
I couldn’t wait to start
I saw you and dreams just like everyone before us
We thought we knew what we got
And then one day I thought it slipped away
And I looked to my hands to hold on
And then one day all my fear slipped away
And my hands did so much more
So maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good
No, maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good!
It was you and me and a new world right before us
I was so scared to start
I saw you and dreams just like everyone before us
But how did they move so far?
And then one day I thought it slipped away
And I looked to my hands to hold you
And then one day all my fear slipped away
And my hands did so much more
So maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good
Maybe we won’t find easy
But, baby, we’ve found the good!
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