Dear Connor - 5 Years

Dear Connor,
It’s hard to believe that you are already five years old. To me, five marks the end of the little kid years and the herald of the big boy age. I’m lucky you still fit in my lap. Your attention span is (very) slowly but surely coming online. You are now asking to play games like Candyland and are able to sit down for short periods of time and do puzzles.

I feel like this might be an appropriate place to discuss your contraptions. You love a roll of string and tape. You like to piece things together with tape. It doesn’t matter if it’s fabric, string or old leaves. You like to build things that go high and span great distances. Last month, I walked into the kitchen to find that you had gotten a hold of some string and a roll of tape. You had the entire kitchen taped up and laced with a web that wouldn’t allow me to get to the sick. Unfortunately you are still easily frustrated and led to tantrums so when your brother went running through it like he was playing Red Rover, you went ballistic.

We’ve taken you out of your therapy for the time being, because it’s crazy expensive and because I feel like we can do some of the same things at home to help you. It means we’ll have to work a little bit harder at home, but it frees up some cash for you to do other things like take gymnastics and frees me up to do things on Thursday afternoons like write a blog entry. Last month, we went to the allergist, had a school field trip where you got to pick out a pumpkin and feed a goat, went apple picking in the mountains and actually got to play in the backyard sans mosquitoes, which are the NC state bird. On our trip to the allergist we found out that you are allergic to trees, grasses and weeds. Luckily (for Pippin) you aren’t allergic to cats. You had mild allergies to just about every food except beef and cantaloupe but the allergist said there wasn’t much to worry about.

While we are taking this break from your therapy we are going to embark on a major mission of discovery, elimination testing… your Dad and I are constantly trying to find methods that will help you focus and make you more comfortable in your own skin. Recently there have been several studies done on allergies and their trigger on behavior. We have decided that we are going to start eliminating items from your diet to see if there is a difference in your ability to sit still and focus. First we are going to try apples. Apples are easy enough to eliminate from your diet and after the experience that we had at the apple orchard, where you suddenly felt sick and couldn’t get away from there fast enough, we thought it was worth a try. This method is known as the Feingold diet. We’ll try anything short of shock therapy to help you, so why the hell not. I mean, who can’t live without apples for three weeks? From there we’ll eliminate all artificial flavors and preservatives which may be a slight annoyance to friends, family and the preschool but I just have to know. I mean, what if it’s some random preservative that’s causing you to lose control of yourself? If I waited until you were 12 to try it, I’d be so upset with myself for waiting so long. As your Great Grandfather said to me once, “It can’t hurt and it might help”. Nobody really needs to be eating that crap anyway, right?

This Halloween you are going to be Danny Phantom. Oh, how I cannot wait for the day that I can just go to a store and buy your costume. Every time you tell someone that you are going to be Danny Phantom for Halloween, they say, “Who?” which is why you ended up with a homemade costume again this year. Today you had your party at the preschool and we put you in your costume and even sprayed your hair with silver hair spray. You totally rocked the silver hair, Mister. You weren’t sure about it at first, but I have the feeling in the next twenty minutes an argument is going to occur regarding the shower.

Happy Birthday Danny Phantom. May you always use your ghost powers for good.
I love you,
Mama

A Project to Remember

Oh Craislist chair. What a bargain you were. How easy it might be to reupholster you? Sure, I've never done that before, but it's not rocket science right?

Oh Craigslist chair, you are stuffed with horse hair. Could I please get a collective and sympathetic *gag* from my loving readers? Oh the smell. Oh the nastiness. Why am I doing this again? Oh that's right, because it's such a bargain to find a great chair and then reupholster it yourself.

Might makes right. I bet this isn't how the professionals do it. I bet the professionals don't have a 3 and 5 year old jumping up and down behind them begging for a turn.

Oh Craigslist chair. I have stripped you bare. In only 4 hours. Now I just have to figure out how to put you back together... with new fabric, padding, batting and trim. Wait. How much is all of THAT crap going to cost?!

To be continued....

5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake

I kept meaning to try this, but I kept putting it off. Mostly because I wanted to take pictures so if it was amazing I could share it with you.

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug (MicroSafe)
Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly. Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.. Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again. Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.


See the cake. See the cake rising over the top of the mug. Am I alarmed? Hell no. You should have seen what the microwave looked like BEFORE I put the mug into it. Here's to hoping a little bit more funk inspires me to clean it.



Here is the cake after cooling. Looks promising. My children start to smell chocolate and are suddenly standing so close to me I wonder if they are taking bets on who can get back into my uterus first.

I threaten children with no cake if they don't get off of me. Cake tipped out onto plate. Looks kind of kooky, right? I'm not afraid of kooky - if it has chocolate in it.
Drum roll please....

Final verdict. A little bit weak. Sure, it cooks in the microwave in five minutes, but it didn't have enough of a chocolate taste. Granted I didn't add the chocolate chips to it, but still. And I could taste the eggs. Quite frankly the only thing I should taste eggs in... is eggs. And it had too much flour. And really in retrospect, once you get all of that crap out of the pantry, measure and mix, it's not that hard to wait 45 minutes for an actual cake to cook, right? I mean, it's not the waiting on the baking that I dread, its the mixing before and the clean up after.
It did have a cake like consistency although it seemed to not cook evenly. It was very dense.
I would give this recipe 3 stars. And one of those stars is because it's a five minute jobbie. But I'll take one for the team here and keep working with it, until I can find something that rocks the house.

Good, bad or inbetween I'll tell you one thing though. My kids ate the crap outta that cake.

Dear Tristan - 3 Years, 1 Month

Dear Tristan,

For your birthday last month we bought you a big boy bed. We didn't buy the rails when we bought the crib, so we had to special order them. Briefly when Mommy wrote the check for $178.00 we considered maybe just letting you sleep in your chair for the rest of your life. Oh you may read this later and think that's mean, but really, that's doing you a favor. You'd love nothing more. We hooked up your new bed with t-shirt sheets, new pillows and a comfy foam mattress topper so your 35 lbs didn't get kinked up when you were sleeping on it. We talked it up. We sang songs about it. The picture below demonstrates just how much you love it.

You are still crazy about your big brother, but he's not so nice to you. I think that might come with the little brother territory, but it does break my heart to hear you run after him so excited to see him only to be pushed away or have whatever toy you are holding taken away from you. You are very forgiving though. I guess you know what your Dad and I do... that under it all, your brother loves you dearly. You are his best friend.

You are finall getting used to the preschool routine. You have a clear preference for one of your teachers, but sometimes you like to have a little tantrum when I'm leaving just for show. I think you get over it pretty quickly and even enjoy yourself just a little bit because you're always smiling when I come to pick you up. You even jump on Connor full of hugs and love since you haven't seen him since the lunch room 45 minutes before.

You've grown an inch since June! That's a lot for a little guy! You can throw the crap out of a ball too. And catch! You actually like playing ball. Who knew? Now if you could just stop throwing them in the house? Thanks. I really liked that picture frame.

I love you,
Mommy

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 11 Months

Dear Connor,
Mostly your Dad puts you to bed each night and I put your brother down. Sometimes though, your Dad goes to the gym or something else is going on and I put you both down or your Dad and I will switch the duties and I’ll put you to bed. On the nights that I put you down for bed you always ask for a lullaby that you’ve never heard before. So, I pull something out of the recesses of my brain to sing to you. Sometimes I get part of the way through the song and realize that the words need to change very quickly because when I’m singing Jeremy by Pearl Jam, I don’t want to sing the, “bit the recess ladys breast” lyric and quickly change it to, “gave the recess lady a kiss”. You’ve heard some Led Zepplin, Fleetwood Mac, Jefferson Airplane and Black Eyed Peas. You like the Tori Amos, Happy Phantom song and remember the ones that I’ve sang to you before. You like the Janis Joplin, Mercedes Benz song but you say it’s too loud.

You are all about your new preschool. It's hard for you to keep it together the entire day but by God you are doing it. I'm so proud of you. I know how hard it is for you to sit still. Each day you bring home your folder and I check your behavior status and there's a smiley face which means you were good all day. It makes me so happy.
You've been making up songs with words that rhyme and you're pretty damn good at it. You love making potions (mud pies), Danny Phantom and your new babysitter. You are driving me completely insane with your, "What if" game that begins with you asking me strange what if questions until I feel like I need to go and lock myself in a broom closet to get away from it all. This morning it was "What if Tristan ate a snake?" At first I tried to prove the futility of your question by answering, "How would Tristan catch a snake?", you weren't having any of my crap though, you simply respond with, "What if he did catch one?" It's Who's on first for the first thirty minutes of each day. I've considered moving the coffee pot to the upstairs bedroom.

This morning we had a "Test-Mommy-Who's-on-First" when I went to open up the fridge and there was something wet and slimy under the handle. It rubbed off on my hand.
I said, "What in the hell is THAT?" I thought I was talking to myself, but then realized that I wasn't when you responded, " I don't know, Mama, What the hell IS that?"
This is how the rest of the conversation went.

"Don't say that word."
"What word? Hell? Why can't I say Hell?"

"Because you're four"
"And four year olds can't say Hell?"
"No. Stop it."

"Why can't four year olds say Hell Mama?"
"Connor..." (in a warning tone)

"I was just wondering why four years olds can't say Hell. Is it not appropriate?"
I won't bore my readers with the rest of the conversation, because it basically ended up with me getting testy and him understanding that the envelope had been pushed far enough.

Or at least until Mommy had another cup of coffee.
I love you,
Mama

SPD Support Charlotte

The Monday before my SPD Support group meeting, I woke up at 7am and my hands were shaking. I didn’t have a nightmare, my blood sugar wasn’t low, I was nervous… four days before. By the time Thursday came, I had it pushed out of my mind until the drive up to the meeting location, where the only thing I could do to distract myself was to grab the nearest unscratched CD and blast it as loud as it would go. I would like to interject here that no matter how good you look, what you are listening to, or where you are driving, it is impossible to be cool while driving a minivan. Once I arrived at our chosen venue, (local restaurant with backroom), people slowly started coming in. I was drinking a beer, praying that the liquid courage would work its magic.
Apparently it did.
I was really nervous when I first started talking to the group. Everything I had rehearsed in my head a million times was gone as the panic took my words away. We were sitting in bar stools at the end of the room so that everyone could see us and because I was holding a beverage, it made it possible to hold on tightly enough that you couldn’t see my hands shaking.
I told my story, which was much shorter and less poignant that I had hoped it would be, thanks to my nervousness but once I was finished talking, I relaxed and was able to speak to the group without feeling like my heart was going to leap through my chest.
I believe that this group is needed. I believe it so much, that I don’t give a shit if I get up there and uncontrollably shake each time I talk to them. What is one person’s embarrassment to the salvation of 20? Or 19, which is how many people we had at the first meeting. It was amazing.
When I was telling my story and talking about Connor rubbing poop all over everything for several weeks, there were people that were emphatically nodding. When I talked about how frustrating it is to have a child that’s out of control or to have people tell you that all you need to do is provide more discipline when you know that you are being as consistent and possible and might in fact, be more strict than a lot of parents that you know, people were nodding… not just smiling and nodding either, nodding because they understood. Because they too had been though the confusion, the judgment that comes with having an SPD kid. I had known them all for about 15 minutes and they understood me. And I understood them. And we were starving to talk to each other.
The group members passed around information about diets, doctors and books. They talked about their frustrations with the pediatricians not understanding and their families that didn’t think there was anything wrong with their child. They talked about how long it took to figure out there was a problem and no one has every heard of SPD. They talked. And talked. And talked.
My co-host, Susie and I were still sitting at the front of the room, more as spectators of the discussion than members of it, because we were running the show. Susie mentioned that next time she wanted to be sitting at the table and I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
So far I’ve had over 50 people contact me about the group. I don’t know that we’ll have that many people show up at each meeting, but I do think the group may get even larger than that as the news spreads that it’s out there. I’m just glad that we are able to offer support to so many parents who, like me are starving for connection. We are going to need to find a bigger meeting room.

Dear Tristan - 3 Years Old!

Dear Tristan,

For your birthday this year, we got you something that you've never had before. Your very own birthday party. We felt like you were starting to get jipped, being the second child and all, so this year when you turned three years old. It was all about you. And you were all about that. You had your very own Iron Man balloon and your very own cake. Best of all, you got some of your very own presents. Presents that you were encouraged, but not forced to share with your brother.

For us, three is worst than the terrible twos. Or at least it was with your brother. I have no doubt that three is going to be worse for us with you than two was. This is because the day you turned three you started whining and you have not stopped yet. So much that even last night in your sleep you were whining.

Your present from us for your birthday was a big boy bed. No more sleeping on your converted crib on that hard old crib mattress for you. Now you have a comfy, cozy, bed complete with memory foam pad on top. Cush. Except you'd still rather sleep in your chair. I've considered removing the chair from your room, but that would be like taking away your blanket. I mean, I guess eventually you won't fit in your chair anymore, right? RIGHT?

You've started your second year of preschool at a brand new school. You cried the first two days that I dropped you off. You protested so loudly, in fact, that I could hear you screaming in the parking lot while standing next to my car. It was hard to drive away, but I'm glad that I did, because by the third drop off you went barreling into the class and throwing your arms around (one of) your teachers legs. Now... you love it. Except for the one time that teacher was out sick and you went running into the classroom and then froze like a deer in the headlights when you saw the sub. You saw your other teacher that is usually there, (you have two in the classroom), but weren't having any of that. There was some screaming that day too... but only for a little while.

I can't believe how charismatic you are. Maybe you whine a little bit, (HA!, a little bit...) but you sure know how to schmooze. I'm glad of this characteristic even more than your vocabulary, which is a match for any 5 year old on the playground... because because charismatic will serve you well, especially when you are drop dead gorgeous.
I love you like crazy,
Mommy

Why You Shouldn't Drink Before a Presidential Speech

Remember last night when during the Obama speech on health care, Joe Wilson yelled out, "You're lying!"? It was awesome. Not that he yelled that... but that he's such a moron that he didn't realize being so blatantly rude to the President of the United States could come with a price. I mean really. Right, wrong or indifferent. You can admit that was pretty fucking rude, right?
Of course everyone on the Internet has probably blogged this link already... so here's mine:
http://www.joewilsonisyourpreexistingcondition.com/
As much as I'd like to pretend that I found this link somewhere on CNN, Jorma showed it to me when he got home... I was busy ironing. No really.
I think what's even more interesting than this link, is the link on the bottom right. It looks like the attempt to run Joe Wilson out of office might be quite lucrative for Rob Miller the Democratic Election hopeful for 2010. So far, $185,307.32 has been raised to "teach Joe Wilson a lesson". I think this is freakin hilarious. I bet never another senator will start yelling like they are at a high school pep rally. Or at least any Senator that wants to keep their job.

If You Build it They Will Come

When Connor was first diagnosed with SPD, I searched for a local support group. Finding that some pediatricians and the general population both don’t have an understanding of this disorder is frustrating. I searched the SPD foundation website, but did not find any support groups for Charlotte. So. I volunteered to start one. Starting one is quite simple. You volunteer though the SPD Foundation to be a host. You have to sign a legal form or two and voila! you are a host. I met another Sensory Mom at a birthday party and she volunteered to co-host it with me. Maybe for one person it would be difficult, but between the two of us, certainly we could pull it off. And then the marketing begin. We’ve called every OT in Charlotte and asked them to post our flyer. I sent an email to my MOMS club and that email is still circulating around the internet. My co-host posted flyers in public places. I hit up Facebook and asked friends to let their friends that have SPD kids know about us. I thought maybe we’d get 5 or 6 people that were interested. Now we have about 20.

For the first meeting we are getting together lists of local OTs, name tags, ice breakers, logo, agenda and a reservation in the backroom of a local restaurant. We are rolling right along. I think it’s going to be fantastic for the community and not as much work as you might think, once the ball gets rolling… there’s only one flaw. Since my co-host and I are the founders of this group in Charlotte, of course we are expected to stand up and lead the group. You know, like actually stand up and speak to them… as in public speaking. (Enter organ music here). I read a survey once that asked people which they would rather do, give a speech, or get hit by a bus. A surprising number of those surveyed said they’d prefer the bus. I am one of those people.

For those of you that do not know me that well, let me tell you my dirty little secret… public speaking terrifies me. Now I know you are thinking to yourself that you get nervous too when standing up in front of a group of people. But you don’t get nervous like this. Oh no you don’t. My entire body shakes. My voice shakes. I break out into hives. I am that person. I know you think that I’ll get used to it, (once I took three back to back semester long public speaking classes), or that if I’m talking about something I’m passionate about I’ll be ok, (you should have seen the speech I gave on how to take better pictures… you could see my heart beating through my shirt). Now eventually I do get used to it. It takes a lot of time but eventually I’ll be ok, but I still worry about that first impression. What’s the worst is that when people see you are nervous, they give you their full attention. They stare at you completely, hoping to look interested so you will relax. I can not tell you how much worse this makes it. But I will give myself credit. I will not. Stop talking. I will finish my words. I will not sit down. I will brace myself on the table to keep my weak knees functioning. I will not sit down. Even though my body is betraying me.

Maybe this time it will be different. Maybe because someone will be standing up with me I will be ok. Maybe I’ll have a glass of wine and the liquid courage will wash over me and keep me steady. Maybe. But there are people coming that are going through the same things that we are going through with their own children. There are people that are so excited about this group starting and that can’t wait for the first meeting. I can just hope that will be enough to keep me focused and wash away my phobia. Because once my phobia is gone… I’m taking over the world, people.

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 11 Months

Dear Connor,

Tonight I got the old baby clothes out of the attic for the consignment sale I will be participating in this year. I decided to go ahead and get rid of all of the winter and fall stuff that your brother has already outgrown. I was so certain that it was going to be a quick and easy process that while Daddy was doing the pre-bed-prep I threw the first bag of clothes onto the bed and began sorting. My eyes were watering within 4 minutes. I wasn't prepared for how hard it was going to be.




I thought I would just toss them in neat little piles, smiling at this one or that one, but when I picked up your green fuzzy sweatsuit that was the standard, cold weather outfit, when you were just a year old, I held it to my chest. When I picked up a pair of footy pjs and held them up so I could see the size, my muscle memory kicked in and I remember how exactly it felt to hold you up in the air when you only weighed a few pounds. I can tell you where each article of clothing came from, who purchased it and why I loved it so. I can tell you which shirts your belly poked out of, or which onesie you threw up on immediately each time we put you into it. I can tell you which pants were the warmest and what you wore the first day of preschool. And while it doesn't matter to anyone else... those memories matter to me. Because when I see the pants that you wore on the first day of preschool, I remember you on the first day of preschool. How small you were sitting on my hip, next to my buldging belly where your brother, (due any day) was curled up and sleeping, waiting to be born. How scared I was for you. How I went to iHop to celebrate my child free time and ordered pancakes that I was too nervous to eat.




Tonight, I could not stop staring at you when you came over to rummage though the bag to see if there was anything that would fit one of the babydolls we bought for you when Tristan was born. How did you get so big SO FAST?! It's incredible. I'm so lucky to have been able to stay home with you and your brother. While I do a lot of complaining about how I don't have time to myself or how I don't stop moving until 9pm, it really is a gift to have been able to nurture you full time. You should thank your Father some time for making it happen... and maybe so should I.



But some days now you look at me, like you've just had enough of me and when I come over to put my arms around you and hug you, you whine and push me away. I understand. Some days I feel like that too. But if I could get you back into that onesie with the bunnies and bears on it, I swear I'd hold you forever.
I love you,
Mommy

You Have the Right to Remain Silent

Its afternoon and we are at Grammie’s house when my Step Dad comes in wearing his police uniform after work. He sits down at the table and Connor appraises him, looks and me and then says seriously to him, “Papa Chuck, I don’t want to tell you this but Mommy has a library book and its WAAAYYY overdue.” My Step dad responds, “She does?” at which point Connor reiterates just to be sure that he’s being clear. “It’s WAY overdue.”
I asked my Step Dad to arrest me, because the thought of 3 meals a day that I didn’t have to cook, a facility with outside time and a gym seems like a spa retreat to me, but he wasn’t buying it.
I guess it’s time to talk to Connor about family loyalty. Or maybe just about library fines.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 11 Months

Dear Tristan,

Right now as I'm writing this, you are upstairs in your room, talking very loudly to yourself about how you shouldn't be up there taking a nap. You are almost ready to give up the nap, but because I'm unwilling to part with it, you'll be put in your room for a mid afternoon siesta until you stop falling asleep while you are in there.

Last week we went to the beach. I went up to mow the grass for PaPaw, so we could have one last vacation before school started up. The first evening we were there, I got out the lawn mower and before I even had it started you were screaming. You weren't afraid of the mower at all, you were for some strange reason, suddenly afraid of bees. Specifically that bees were going to fly up your nose. You protected your nose by sticking both fingers into your nostrils as far as they would go and kept them there the entire time you were outside.

PaPaw's theory was that you were just trying to get attention, but I think it was more than that. I think you were actually afraid that bees would fly up your nose. I have no idea where you got this idea, or if maybe a gnat actually DID fly up your nose, but this phase definately put a damper on the "play in the backyard" portion of our trip. You weren't just crying about it... you were screaming hysterically and with both fingers shoved into your nose. It was just as incredibly funny as it wasn't.

Luckily there are no bees on the beach so you were fine there, frolicking in the surf with your brother. This trip was the first time that you didn't have to wear floaties, (at the sound) which allowed you to move around more freely. My efforts to teach you to swim were pointless as you had absolutely no interest in even being held by me in the water. You've never been dunked, but due to your healthy respect for the water, you rebel any depth higher than your tummy. Even if I'm holding you when that depth is reached.

In a few weeks you'll start at a brand new preschool. I have butterflies in my tummy for you and I can only hope that you love it. I know for sure that they will love you. Especially since there is no cat for you to chase around the classroom.

I love you,
Mommy

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 10 Months

Dear Connor.

Yesterday we were going to Trader Joe's and you and Tristan snuck your crayon and paper into the car. I've been trying to pick my battles with a little more care so I let it slide. On the way to the store, you were in your car seat with your paper pushed up against your knee, working your red crayon with intense concentration. At one point you were so focused I felt the need to see what exactly was going on and asked if I could see you art, (we were at a stop light). You flashed your paper at me and I was so stunned the only thing that kept me from jumping out of the car and hugging you was a seat belt and the 15 cars behind me.

It was colored completely solid. INSIDE OF THE LINES.

This was the first time ever that you had TRIED to stay in the lines, held the crayon in the proper position and then actually stayed in the lines. For most kids that's something that they've been doing since they were 3. For you, it was a major accomplishment. An accomplishment that you repeated four more times, later that day!

And there, sitting on the exit ramp of the interstate... I knew that I could not have been more proud of you if you had just been elected President.

I love that you make the ordinary, extraordinary.

Mommy

The Next Attention Deficit Disorder?

The Next Attention Deficit Disorder?

I'm so thrilled to see some attention given to SPD. It's such a relief when I meet someone that knows what it is so I don't have to launch into a detailed explaination of it all.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 10 Months

Dear Tristan,
Every day I see or hear you do something that I want to remember to blog in your monthly entry. There is so much that you do that simply amazes me. Of course, by the time I sit down to write an entry you are sleeping upstairs in your chair and not even a cup of iced coffee can jog my memory to recall all of the cuteness that is you.
I could write about your obsession with booboos and bandaids. Or how you torment your brother by taking something that's his and running for your life to hide behind my legs claiming that you had it first. I could mention the little bit of sass you are experimenting with, finding that calling Mommy and Daddy names lands you in time out, even if Cuckoo-Popper isn't really an insult. Maybe your obsession with bugs. Your fear of mosquitos, swimming pools, said bugs and sunscreen.


I could write an entire entry on how quickly you've potty trained, even staying dry through the night and naps. We've been bribing you with the jellybeans left over from Easter and now we've moved on to m&ms. For the first time in almost five years I can not remember the last time I changed a poopy diaper. If I wrote an entire entry on potty training you, it would certainly include the neurotic flushing process you go through. Before going potty, you flush. You pee. You flush. You poop. You flush. You wipe. You flush. You finish pooping. You flush. You wipe. You flush. And if it's not all gone down. You flush again. I've tried explaining to you that you only flush once and even tried to make you get on the potty and finish your business without flushing in between jobs, but you refuse to even sit on the potty with that filth in the bottom. I guess it can go on for another week or so just until you really get comfortable with it all. I'm so proud of you.


I probably would like to forget how you torment the cat, chasing him and roaring like a lion because you think it's hysterical to watch him panic. I could also forget the screaming tantrum that you throw when we put you down for bed, as you take a page from your brothers book, yelling, "I want to tell you something!", over and over again. I've fallen for it a couple of times and the thing that you want to tell me is the free association stream of consciousness that's running through your mind. Anything that keeps me from closing your door for bed.
I could probably also stand to forget how if you don't like something that you've been given for dinner, you spit it out. Onto your plate. Immediately. Chewed or not. It's gross and we can't seem to break you of it.

I probably should write about how when you get hungry you go and sit in your seat, patiently waiting for your dinner. You are on a mission and you are serious about it.
Your Dad and I often talk about how sneaky you are. We, of course, can tell when you have a piece of food from the table that's being hidden in your hands or a toy that's been tucked into your pants, but you think you are getting away with something. If you are quiet, you are definately up to something... or sleeping in your chair.
I love you more than Sun and Light,
Mommy

Theme Week

I may have mentioned that I have divided the weeks of summer into theme weeks. The boys are really into it because they get to pick the weekly theme and they think it’s something special all week long. I print out coloring pages from the internet and have them color pages based on the theme, (this week is pirate week), and then we read books on the theme for bedtime, (which, really, we are reading bedtime books anyway, right?) and I come up with one other activity during the week. For Indian week, we read books, made Indian headdresses and colored pages printed from online. While we colored we listened to Native American flute music. When they wanted to watch a movie, I gave them a choice of Peter Pan or Pocahontas… Nifty right?

This week I’ve been slacking a little bit, but this weekend we are taking them to Discovery Place to see the pirate exhibit.

 

Here’s some ideas that Pattie sent via email…

 

Dinosaur week, huh.....get the paper mache going, girl.....you can make some big dinosaur eggs and then hide them around the yard.  There's one thought!  When I think of anymore stuff, I'll yell!  (Maybe some plaster of paris dino footprints.......)

 And if you ever get around to NASCAR week, I've got TONS for that!  We can show them how to roll tables and chairs, and set up for race!  WOOHOO!  Then you can show them how to pillage suite buffets for 800 lbs. of whole beef tenderloin, turkey breasts, hams and already wrapped hot dogs!  (Don't forget.....you can also show them how to properly stuff said 800 lbs. of whole beef tenderloin, turkey breasts, hams and already wrapped hot dogs into duffle bags for transport!)  And don't forget the hike to Parking Lot Z.....THAT oughta tire them both out!!!  Hell, with some beer and friends, you can even show them how to fend off drunken Earnhardt fans!!  You can then cap off the week with a trip to Darlene's driveway at 4am, with cold beer (alright....juice!), and tons of $1 dollar bills, of course, where they will also learn how to share the aforementioned pillaged foods, along with wonderful stories of their NASCAR week experiences!

Break Report

Just yesterday I was going to go around the house and take pictures of all of the holes in the walls and put them into a photo montage that chronicled what it’s like living with drunken monkeys two small boys. I walked around room to room looking over the things that needed to be fixed and becoming more and more agitated. I thought that taking pictures of it all would be good therapy for me and at the least generate some sympathy from your loyal readers out there.
I grabbed the camera turned it on and was rewarded with Nikon’s famous, “lens error”. This means that the camera is now just a kids toy because it no longer is functional. Could be the kids broke it. Could be I did and have no memory of it whatsoever… but that’s not as likely. Now our first Nikon died the same, “lens error” death. I know that cameras are fragile, but they should be able to withstand at least some sort of abuse.
Thus, there will be no break report entry today because the kids have broken the camera… That being said, we will now begin taking donations for the digital SLR that will be replacing the cheap ass point and shoot cameras we’ve been buying. I’ll put up a donate now button just as soon as I’m finished patching up some of the holes in the walls.

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 9 Months

Dear Connor,
Finally you are starting to emerge from the chaos. When I say, you... I mean, YOU. It must be difficult to live in a world of visual and auditory distraction. To not be able to organize your own thoughts or to be in time out every thirty minutes because you can't control your impulses. Finally, you are starting to slow down.
At first I thought that maybe it was just a phase, but now I'm starting to feel like maybe it's going to stick around. Maybe the intensive therapy is starting to pay off already. It's been four days in a row and you've been in trouble less and coherent more. There is no hope like the hope of a Parent. This is something I know for sure.


When we started the therapy they said that we'd see changes in as little as six weeks. I had heard from other moms that major changes could come about in two weeks. In two weeks, you had gone the other direction, getting worse, before you were getting better, something that was quite hellish, when you add in the stress of continual therapy.
Because we've had no one to talk to, save the friends of friends that have Sensory kids and have been kind enough to spare me a few minutes on the phone to listen to me, I and another Mother with a Sensory kid have decided to head up the Sensory Support Group in Charlotte. We are trying to get it started through the SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) Foundation and have a long road ahead of us. We are dabbling in the Foundation to see how it goes, but it's entirely possible that we'll end up starting something of our own. I guess one child's misfortune can be another child's salvation. I hope we can help some people.



Aside from the daily excitement of therapy we've not been doing much this summer. You've honed your obsession with building contraptions, using anything available and various rolls of tape or blankets. I sometimes wonder if you were Macguyver in a past life. By the time you read this entry, Macguyver will be one of those pop culture references that you don't know. It will be a word that's as unfamiliar as album, cassette or cash. Google it babe. I'll bet that's something that's still around.



I've divided the remaining weeks of the Summer into theme weeks. This sounds much more June Cleaver, (another name for you to Google) than it is. Basically, I get so paralysed by my analysis of what to do each day, we sometimes end up doing nothing because the things to pick from are just too overwhelming. So, this week. Indian Week. Next week is Pirate week and so on. It's easy for me to think of an Indian related (or Native Americans as the nice lady at the library with a dot on her forehead reminded me) craft or project to do. You are so crazy into this. I should have thought of it sooner. Really, it's quite genius. Each week will end on a Saturday and we'll have some sort of Grand Finale. I'm not sure what the Indian week finale is going to be... but you'd best be glad that you're not 16 or we'd be out back building a sweat lodge. I wonder if the neighborhood association as a rule against those?

I love you more than ever.
Mommy

Platypus Helps Illuminate Ovarian Cancer

Seriously.
Platypus Helps Illuminate Ovarian Cancer

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Silly's All We Got

It's getting more and more difficult to find things that are new and interesting for Connor to do for his heavy work. Tonight we got the five lb, soft squishy weight ball and had him throw it over and over onto an empty diaper box crushing it. He was so happy he was able to legally destroy something in the house, I don't think he realized he was doing the "heavy work" part of his therapy. We've had to get creative so far to find things that interest him. I've filled a gallon juice bottle with blue colored water, glitter and sparkles and we played hot potato with it, or pretended like it was a baby that had to be rocked and then put to bed. We've used the 5lb stick weight to shoot aliens. We have wheelbarrow and crab walked all over the house. We bulit a 12" square board with casters that rotate 360 degrees for him to sit on and pull himself around the house by using his hands. And that's just a few of the fun and exciting things we do all day. He needs to do things that would be to us, a good work out. He only does the heavy work for about 5 minutes and after that he needs to be tired from it. I can't believe how much strength he's built up in just two weeks. And this is where I need your help. I welcome any suggestions or ideas for things and are both fun and strengthening for him to do. Send me your ideas even if you think they are silly. Round here some days, silly's all we got.

6 Simple Steps

To enjoy the use of your ipod, first plug in your headphones.


If you can't get them plugged in, it could be because you aren't holding your mouth just right.

Once plugged in, put the earbuds into your ears.

Then, choose your music.

Sit back. Chill.

Enjoy.

Because I Said So

It's early evening and Connor is doing the "heavy-work" part of his therapy. He has a 9 lb medicine ball and is lifting it up over his head and dropping it onto the sofa. It's a fifth of his body weight. I tell him to do it five times.

He says, "I'M GOING TO DO IT 100 TIMES!!!"
I respond, "Buddy, you do that 100 times and I'll let you eat as much ice cream as you want, right out of the carton."

And when you are a parent, you have to do what you say you are going to... even when the impossible happens.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 9 Months

Dear Tristan,
You poor little thing. In addition to having to watch Mommy spin and play with Connor five times a day to get his therapy done, (the 6th time is with Daddy), you have developed an obsession with bugs. Today alone, I've taken the broom from you four times because you saw a piece of fuzz on the floor and thought it might be a spider. Wednesday I flushed a spider down the toliet, "sending it to the beach" of course, and you talked about it for the rest of the day. You are fascinated and frightened all at once.



You walk around the house during the day peering under furniture and in the cracks of windows trying to find bugs. In this house, if you are really looking, you are going to find them. And you do.
You are getting a little bit jealous of your brother getting so much attention right now and I feel so bad for you. I try to let you help, but it turns into a brawl with the two of you fighting over whatever object we are working with. I try to give you some extra love in the evenings after your brother goes to bed and you don't seem to mind this at all.

We also have two days a week where your brother is in his preschool program and we get to spend those together, alone. The first hour you spend at the gym with me, but afterwards we have a whole two hours for you to do the fun stuff that you've missed out on being the second child. Each time you beg me to go to the grocery store so that you can push the little kids cart around the store. You are so good at it too! Your brother tries to run the cart into displays or see how fast he can run down the aisle with it, but you are a dilligent shopper. You stay on your side of the aisle and even stop and pull something off of the shelf, pretending to read the box and then throw it in the cart. You are disappointed when I put it back explaining that we don't need soda can covers or a box of eclairs, but I do let you pick out your own ice cream, a magical experience.

You are getting so big! I'm so glad that you are still small enough to fit into my lap, so in the evenings when I read, "Meet Diego" from your Dora the Explorer Storybook, for the 200th time, I can sit with your head next to mine and smell your sweet baby smell.
The blankie is your eternal friend. You love blankie. You talk to blankie. I know for sure if there was a fire in the house and there was one thing you could grab, it would be blankie. Blankie is also the one thing that you do not have to share. If your brother tries to take it from you and I appear in the room, he instantly drops it, knowing that punishment for taking Blankie is swift and sure. We feel like if there is any one thing in this house that is completely yours... it's Blankie... well... and maybe the chair in your room.

Oh, but you love to sleep in the chair in your room. Generally, you nap in your chair during the day and sleep in your bed at night. Many nights, even if we put you in the bed, you get up and move to the chair when you are done with the "I don't want to go to bed" protest. Some mornings though, when you wake up at 6am and your "I'm ready to get up", cries are ignored, you snuggle into your chair and allow us all another hour of blissful sleep.
You are starting to fight bedtime, standing at your door crying and sometimes falling asleep in front of it. When this happens you wake up, not sure where you are screaming in terror. You'd think there was a spider in your room.
I know I should be potty training you, but I keep putting it off. You like to pee in the potty, but still cry for a diaper if I insist that you poop on the pot. I'm not sure if I am putting it off because we have so much going on right now, or because once you are trained, our baby is growing up. It's so hard to let go.
I love you,
Mommy

What it is

I haven't had much time to write because I've been busy doing therapy with Connor every 90 minutes. I know I said I would post more info about the Sensory Processing Disorder, but it's taken me this long to get a grasp on what it is, what is does and how we are going to fix it.
Connor was diagnosed with Sensory Seeking type of Sensory Processing Disorder. This disorder is also called, Sensory Integration Disorder, Sensory Modulation Disorder or Sensory Integration Dysfunction. It seems to be if they would just pick a name, maybe there would be less confusion. The Sensory Seeking part of the disorder, appears much like ADHD in a child. You know the child that can't sit still or stop talking. The child that is constantly running into other children on the playground or hitting them self or basically doing anything that will provide the stimulation they are so desperately craving.
In addition, he was diagnosed with Dyspraxia, which manifests in a fine motor skill delay. I always thought that maybe he wasn't into coloring and drawing because he didn't get the art gene. In fact, it's more likely that it's difficult for him to do because holding a pencil is hard for him. So is holding a toothbrush or a fork or anything else that requires a strong grip for functionality. It's difficult for him to catch a ball as well, which on the playground sometimes leaves him left out of ball games.
Also, they found that he has Low Muscle Tone, which, attributes to the Fine Motor Delay as well.
And this is what we are doing about it. Right now, he has therapy every 90 minutes.
His therapy consists of brushing his body, (to wake up the nerve endings that are desensitized). Then compressions where we push into the joints, for example, taking the arm while holding the elbow and pushing it back into the elbow, (this is supposed to give him the deep tissue sensation that he craves). Then there is five minutes of spinning or swinging or rolling to stimulate the hairs in the ears, which brings a nervous system response or stimulation and then since he’s pumped up after, we have to bring him down with five minutes of heavy muscle work, (lifting heavy objects, push ups, sit ups or wheelbarrow walks). The lifting heavy objects does seem to calm him down, so I’ve been having him help with more heavy work around the house.
All of this is basically retraining his nervous system. The Sensory Seeking kids, get ramped up and don’t have the ability to come back down. Doing the hard muscle work, forces their nervous system back down, sort of training it. Some of the therapy seems a little strange, but if it produces results, we'll do anything. He’s getting to where he starts to fight me on the heavy muscle work because he’s getting tired of having to do it. At least during the day he gets a solid 15 minutes of Mommy time 5 times during the day, in addition to our other activities. Jorma does therapy number 6 in the evenings. The therapy is supposed to only be every 90 minutes for a few weeks then it goes to every 2 hours then it will move to every 3 and so on. This will continue for the next nine months, at which point they will evaluate him again and see if he needs more.
All of this is hard for me too, because it seems like as soon as I start doing something, I have to stop and do his therapy. Then there’s Tristan who is starting to get jealous and doesn’t understand why Connor gets to swing and spin with Mommy and he doesn’t. His response has been bad behavior to get extra attention. It’s tough. Sometimes after I am finished with Connor, I have to then do “therapy” for Tristan, doubling the therapy time. I feel lucky to have time to throw in a load of laundry.
Or blog. In fact, above is mostly an excerpt from another email I sent to a friend that was asking after Connor. But I wanted to post some information for those of you that are checking the blog to see how things are going.
Things are going well... considering Mommy feels like she's drowning some days.
They said that in six weeks we will see a drastic difference in Connor. I've heard from other Moms that in just two we should start to see improvement. I'm looking forward to it, not just for our own good, but for Connors. It must be awful to not be able to stop doing the things that you know will get you in trouble. I can't imagine how it must feel to go into shutdown each night due to over stimulation, (this is what led us to start seeking help in the first place). Connor would get so ramped up that he couldn't even eat his dinner. It's like he was having a mini nervous breakdown each evening and while it was hard on us, certainly it's even harder on him. I'm just glad that we were able to find some resolution and hopefully start taking the steps that he needs to get him back on an even keel again.