And yet again...

Tomorrow, for the 4th time in his life, my son will go and sit in a room with a psychologist who will spend two hours, more or less, asking him questions designed to understand how his mind works. This is fairly impressive for someone who is only 7 years old, and to me says an enormous amount about how far our understanding of the challenges faced by many children has come in the last 6 decades. In the 1950s and earlier, the prescription for a child with CJ's issues would often be a good whipping and "better" parenting, because, really, kids only have issues when their parents aren't doing their jobs, right? Yet another reason to be happy that I'm parenting and teaching now, when kids and parents aren't simply labeled "bad" and set to the side to be ignored, but instead are brought further into the fold to help find out what is happening and how they can be supported.

Our story is also a great example of how identification is more a journey than a single event. CJ was first evaluated at 2, when Craig and I were desperate for someone to help us parent our child more effectively. We knew there was something going on with him, but couldn't sort out exactly what. At the time, we didn't get a diagnosis as much as a series of suggestions for how to structure his world and ours to minimize conflict. They worked well and we chugged along for another 2 years, making sure we transitioned slowly and with lots of notice, following a schedule that centered around meal times (just easier to work from there outward) and putting in place routines to help us accomplish every day activities more easily.

That is where things stood until CJ started in a regular school setting. Halfway through Pre-K 4, it was apparent that his peer interactions left a great deal to be desired and we found ourselves in evaluation mode again. This time we did get a diagnosis of a Non-Verbal Learning Disorder (NVLD) with an ADHD Rule Out and, most importantly, an IEP.  For the next two years, we invested a lot of time and money into helping him improve. We paid for an occupational therapist, a behaviorist, and a therapist out of pocket. His kindergarten teachers were a godsend, providing a safe place for him to learn how to exist in a classroom, and he thrived. First grade was a bit rougher and we started 2nd grade in a new town and a new school, not at all sure where we stood.

In the transfer to VA, it was decided to go ahead and retest him since he was almost due for a new round of tests. The school did a great job on his 3rd go round. There was still a gap in his IQ scores but both were high enough that a NVLD label was no longer an option and so we moved to a straight ADHD diagnosis. His new school, and especially his teacher, have been amazing this year. Without all the extra strain that comes with school in the inner city, they have been able to focus on helping CJ thrive. There is an aide in the class who works with him one-on-one part of the day and she and his teacher both have a great relationship with him. He was still struggling, however, so we made the hard decision to try ADHD medication just before spring break.

We are lucky that the medication starting helping almost immediately. We upped the dosage once and that was it. His teacher and the aide both gushed about the incredible changes they were seeing in the classroom and it felt for a moment that we had solved the riddle and everything would be clear sailing from here on out. Unfortunately, those changes weren't carrying over to his life outside the classroom and his peer interactions remained problematic to say the least. It appears that some of the issues we'd always thought were ADHD-related weren't and that left us once again trying to figure out what was going in that oh-so-smart little mind of his. This is not uncommon and is actually another great benefit to having put him on medication, since we would otherwise never have realized we might be missing something. Which brings us to tomorrow, when he will again sit in a room while someone asks him a lot of questions. I admit I hope that this will be the end of the evaluation process and that we will walk away with concrete information on what other challenges we might be facing. I do know that, if it's not the end, we'll simply gear up for Round 5, because I will not stop until we completely understand my little guy and what he needs.

Before we met with the clinical psychologist last week, I sent over all of the paperwork on CJ's last round of tests, along with his IEP and some other items. She was pretty blown away at all that we'd managed to get done for someone so young. Usually, she said, kids his age show up in her office at the very beginning of the process we have been embarked on for a very long time. "You should be proud of yourselves and all that you've accomplished," she told us, "give yourselves credit for all the answers you've found." And we do, of course, but as any parent will tell you, the satisfaction here is not in the effort but the result. I could spend the next five years working non-stop to help CJ and if, at the end of that time, he is not successfully integrated into his class, I will not congratulate myself on all I've done but will, rather, spend my time trying to figure out what I did wrong and how to fix it.

I know that I'm not a bad parent, that's not my worry. No, what keeps me awake at night is whether I can be a good enough parent to make sure that my son doesn't go through life not understanding why he struggles with things that other kids find easy. Put simply, I will be done when he is happy far more often than he is sad.

Anything less is unacceptable.

New Plan, Day Four

We are four days into our new medication regimen for CJ and things are going well. The real test will be tomorrow, when he heads back to school, but thus far we definitely have seen a big impact at home. A few moments that for me highlight the difference:

• He lost a part to his new plane Saturday night right before dinner and was in prime tantrum mode, refusing to eat dinner until he'd found it. Once, however, I explained to him that that was his choice but no one was going to be able to help him look until after we had eaten, he stopped fussing and quietly sat waiting for us to finish. He then found his plane part in about 10 min and immediately sat down and ate dinner. Huge progress.
• Sunday was Easter and we can all remember how interminable Easter service can be for little ones. Lots of hoopla in the beginning, a long sermon and longer than usual communion since there are so many people. He actually sat the entire service without wiggling or lying down or poking anyone. At the very end, during communion, he said "Mom, I'm feeling cooped up." So we left right after we got communion. I can't tell you how incredible this is. Without CJ setting them off, the other boys also were really well behaved.
• After church was a long car ride to Aunt Erica's, dinner and desert and then a long car ride home.  Once we got home, pretty much everyone had a lot of energy to burn off. Instead of simply bouncing off the walls, CJ followed dad's suggestion and did a whole workout using our playground equipment, pull-ups, push-ups, etc. For the first time, he was able to focus on what he needed to do to get rid of his excess energy, instead of just spinning out of control.

We'll still wait to see what his teacher has to say, but our experiment seems to be a big success. And, thus far, we also haven't seen any side effects (knock on wood). He seems to have less appetite for lunch but he is still eating a good breakfast before taking his medicine and eats a great dinner, so I'm not really worried.

I'll be honest and say that I still hate giving him medicine and I probably always will. I feel like I failed him because I couldn't figure out someway to help him without resorting to them. If it helps him to function better, however, I can't justify refusing to give it to him. I'd love to think that exercise and diet would do the trick, but he is not mildly ADHD and at his level extra help is probably needed.

On a positive note, we found out that there is a in-line speed skating club out here and I took CJ to check it out tonight. One of the best parts of being a mother is seeing your children click with an interest, and I saw that tonight in spades. Apparently, CJ was born to be a speed skater and was simply waiting for us to realize it and find him a place to practice. The coach seems great and actually has a step-son with ADHD so he was right there with CJ, always a relief. They have three 2-hour practices each week, which should take care of any excess energy left after his medicine.

I'm happy to report that this week is starting on a much brighter note than last week. We are not out of the woods yet, but we seem to have at least found a working compass and a map, which is a huge relief.

Back to the drawing board

This has not been a red-banner week for me. I had a complete meltdown on Monday, and when I say meltdown I mean it. Being a mom is challenging and being the mom of a child with special needs just adds to it. Strangely, I've found myself reluctant to write about what's been happening, as if it's selfish to admit weakness in myself or disloyal to CJ to acknowledge how challenging life can be at times. I feel like parents are often so focused on seeming like they have everything under control, that they don't always reach out for help when they need it. And boy did I need help.

People who know CJ recognize what a special soul he is and appreciate all that he brings to our lives, realizing that he is not defined by his challenges. His teacher this year told us a story about how they were reading Heidi and he was so moved by it that he started crying. When she asked him what was wrong he started talking about the book and how it made him feel and suddenly, for the first time ever, she found herself in tears in her classroom right along with him. He told his classmates his "deepest, darkest secret" last week, that he leaves home in the middle of the night to wait tables in a bistro where he drinks alcohol and smokes pipes filled with coffee grounds. When the principal called to talk to me about it, she spent most of the time focused on how impressive his storytelling was, with amazing details added. Apparently, the GT teacher will just come in and sit and watch him when they are doing activities in class because she loves the way his mind works. That is the boy that we all love and want to see succeed.

Unfortunately, not everyone sees that child and it's hard to handle people who only recognize his limitations, simply because they don't have a chance to see the whole package. And I get it, obviously. On any given day there will be moments when I want to pull my hair out because I've asked him to do the same thing 5 times and yet he looks at me blankly when I remind him yet again. So, yes, I understand. I understand the teacher, who has never seen him before he completely loses it in the gym during pick-up because it's loud and he's tired, telling me that my child "has a problem." I understand the parent who hears that some little boy at school hit their daughter in the face for no logical reason and isn't happy about it. I understand that the hockey coach doesn't want a player telling him that pulling another kid out of the game isn't fair because everyone deserves to play the same amount of time. I understand that the GT teacher comes to watch him in his classroom because he can't function in her's. And when AJ tells me that his brother embarrasses him sometimes and he wishes I would just make him stop, I understand it.

I understand and yet it kills me to know that people are looking at him and thinking he is a problem and looking at me and thinking I'm a crappy mom who hasn't figured out how to control her kid. I may be doing everything wrong, but it is not because I'm not trying. I try to let it roll-off, always sage advice, and it does work mostly. Recently, however, it's just felt like things are getting more extreme. Not, I think, because he is changing but simply because he is getting bigger and the consequences of his actions are more serious than they were when he was 4 or 5. I've been feeling this panic that people are right and I'm failing him and he'll end up in a place where I've never wanted him to be.

And so, I cracked. And it wasn't pretty, but it was reality. And it's okay because once it's over, you go back to doing what you can to help the boy you love. Sometimes, you even come out of it better than you were before. Sometimes, you come out of it with a plan.

Today, I filled a prescription for an ADHD drug for my son, my brilliant, wonderful son. Because I want him to have playdates and sleep-overs. I want every teacher he meets to know how great he is. I want him in that GT classroom. I want not only to help him work on his weaknesses, I also want to help him make the most of his strengths. He deserves nothing less and we aren't there right now.

I hate medicine, as every doctor I've had in the last 5 years will tell you, but when it meant saving my life I took them. I hate giving my children medicine just as much, but I will if it means saving the life that I know CJ should be having. I don't want him to get by or make do, I want him to soar. And if a pill can help, I'm not going to stand in its way. And if it doesn't work, we simply stop it. No harm, no foul.

So, fingers crossed, tomorrow starts a new day and new path. It won't be smooth, but that's okay, the best things in life are rarely the most easily achieved.

Growing Up...

I bought 4 pairs of size 12 jeans today for my oldest boy, as well as a 24" bike, and two days ago signed him up for his first sleep-away camp experience. How crazy is that? I just last week dressed my youngest in one of the outfits his biggest brother wore when he was a toddler. I have an incredibly vivid memory of how much fun I had buying it for him and how completely adorable he was in it. I can still feel the great big hugs he used to give me during his occasional love checks while playing at that same age. I am not ready to be the mom of this boy who is almost my height. I am certainly not ready for how ready he is to embrace independence.

When I mentioned camp to him, he didn't even blink. A yell of happiness at going was quickly followed by a howl of disappointment once he realized he had to wait 4 whole months before heading out to explore the world on his own for the first time. I know it will be harder for him as the time gets closer and reality sets in, but part of me wondered how this child, who was my one and only for 19 months, can be so happy at the thought of being on his own for a week. I know he'll miss me, but also recognize that we stand at the beginning of The Time When I Become Unnecessary.

The really sad thing is that it gets earlier and earlier with each child. My youngest already seems bored when it is just the two of us. He wants his brothers and their friends around to keep him entertained. Mom sitting on the floor playing with some blocks just doesn't cut it anymore. We have started going to storytime at the library and that seems acceptable so far, but really, at 14 months, our oldest thought watching mom put away dishes was incredible exciting. Oh, how jaded we have become. Apparently, he is as keen to start daycare two mornings a week and make his own friends as I am to have the time to focus on work. Luckily, I have learned that you can't try and make your children operate on your timetable. They are ready for the next step when they are ready, whether it's at 14 months or 9 years, even if you are not.

Actually, I do feel a sense a pride that we have managed to create a child who is confident enough in himself that he is excited by the thought of being on his own. And, after all, you do know going into parenthood that the goal is to do a good enough job that you put yourself out of work. But, as with most things, KNOWING something and FEELING it are entirely different experiences.

I find that I am still learning a lot about being a parent, like the fact that you can miss someone even before they physically leave you.

Claiming my own space (with pics)

My office!

I have an office. This might not sound like a big deal, but it is enormous for me. For the first time in over a decade I have a space that is all mine. (Okay, I do have some kid furniture in there, but that's just being realistic about my life right now.) Really though, it's amazing. My computer, printer, paper, bills and files are all in one place, so I'm not constantly having to go to another room to get something. It now tops my list of best things about my new house. I loved our old house, but it was so small that every inch was dedicated to the kids or the family as a whole. I spent the most time in that house every day and somehow had the least amount of space. Craig had the basement and the boys had basically everywhere else. I kind of perched in different places but didn't have anywhere to call my own.

This is no longer true. Here I took a space that wasn't being completely utilized and made it mine. I chose the paint color and the furniture and even did all the work myself, although Craig did have to jump in and help a few times. I'm not quite done, want to put either pictures or a memo board over the console and I need an office chair, but I'll get there. It was so much fun to put together. I had a very small glimpse at how the pioneers must have felt a hundred years ago as they claimed something and made it their own. I even have my own displaced persons, since the room I took over was the room on the first floor that my parents use when they visit. Not to worry, though, I left the center of the room open and have a nifty portable bed from Front Gate they can use. Don't want any unfortunate incidents to occur if the former inhabitants rebel.

I also feel like it was the first step in making this Laura's house instead of Amy's house. As I said before, the former owner had a great sense of style, which is why I didn't feel like I had to do much of anything before moving in here, but it was odd to live somewhere someone else had decorated. Starting to put my stamp on it has made me feel more at home. It actually inspired me to paint my kitchen. My mom helped with this, which was great since it turned out to be a much bigger project than I imagined. I picked a darker and warmer color and love how it makes the space feel cosier. I'll apologize for the pictures now, the boys broke my camera so I took these using our mini-camcorder and the resolution could be better.

Old color

New color

I probably broke some design rule because the new color is very different from the color in the living room next to it in the open plan, but I actually like that it makes a visual break in the space. 

living room right next to kitchen

Transition between the two

I also still need to do some decorating in the kitchen. My plates didn't work with the new color so I've moved them to the dining room and I'm not really sure what else to use. I also need to finish organizing the area by the desk and the door to the garage. That will be boy central, with a place for backpacks, coats and all things school related. Oh, and the light over the table is the one I spray-painted. It used to be an icky putty color, but I like it much better in antique bronze.

Anyway, I am off to my office to finish my latest work assignment. Yes, I have managed to say the words "my office" a ridiculous number of times in the last week and it still makes me smile.

Missing Dad

I am incredibly lucky that Craig's job requires very little travel. I have several friends and a sister-in-law whose husbands are regularly away from home. You'd think, therefore, that when he does head out of town we'd be able to go with the flow, and, for the most part, we do. During the week our lives are not so different since he's gone for 12 hours a day as it is. Weekends aren't fun but that is far less common anyway. Really, it wouldn't be that bad if it weren't for the cosmic chaos that seems to descend every time.

What's cosmic chaos? Cosmic chaos is having a sick baby and finding out you and your 5 year old have lice 24 hours after Craig leaves. It's the fact that in the last 24 hours, I've hurt my ankle and AR now has a butterfly bandage over the cut on his eyelid that almost required general anesthesia and sutures. It's those moments when you feel like one more event will push you over the edge and the result won't be pretty. I wonder, though, if it's really that much more chaotic than our normal life or if it just seems that way when I'm on my own.

Economists and politicians talk all the time about the economic benefits of two-parent households and I can see what they mean. I'm grateful that Craig working means I can stay home and it's great to know that if we really needed extra money it would be easy to achieve with my returning to work. I do not want to downplay the advantages all this provides to me and my children. But, to me, the real advantage to having that second parent in the house is not financial, but emotional.

I love knowing that someone has my back when things start to feel like they are spinning out of control. When I've had one of those days, the sight of Craig walking in the door is enough to put a song in my heart. You can almost sense a shift in the emotional balance of the room as he takes over soothing whichever child is in tears or cautioning the child who put them there. The space just to walk away and shut a door for 15 minutes and know that everything will go on out in the other room as it should is an amazing gift.

Just like bad days are made better by his presence, so too good days achieve new heights. Children already in good moods bubble over in their eagerness to tell dad all about the great things they did that day. More and better stories are told and plans made for the future add to the mix of happiness. Smiles seem brighter and the games we play simply more fun when we add in another adult to help guide the way and ensure every child feels they are receiving sufficient attention.

Could I do it all on my own? Of course I could, and in a way that meant my children were as well-adjusted as any others. I see single parents in action every day and the amazing amount of love and attention they shower on their children makes you realize just how great a parent one person can be. While I could do it on my own, however, I am grateful every day for the support from Craig that means I'm not managing the cosmic chaos alone. I'm also grateful for the occasional business trip to help remind me just how lucky I am.

A Sense of Style

I freely admit that I am about as far from a designer as one can get. When it comes to my home, organization is essential to me and I can do a good job at that. The aesthetic side of design, however, is not my thing. Which is actually funny, because apparently the woman who built our current house is completely enamored with design and good at it. In fact, I have been intimated by that knowledge. It has made for an odd situation as I try to claim the space as my own, yet feel somehow like I don't have the right to critique someone who obviously knows what they are doing far more than I do.

It has taken me a while to realize that just because she has good taste, doesn't mean I have to like everything she did and my choices can be equally valid. Since I reason best while writing, this is to help me sort out what I want to do. You're welcome to come along for the ride and I would love advice from all my friends with a great sense of style. There are pictures to help visualize. If you don't like HGTV, you should probably stop reading now.

Color is a big deal, mainly because I hate picking them. She had some great colors in the house and I will definitely keep a couple. The color in the main room is perfect since it accents all the great light that comes in through the windows. The amount of light in the house was one of the top three reasons we bought it so keeping this space nice and bright is a big priority. Given that the fireplace is this 2 story stone monstrosity (not something we would have picked at all), having a neutral color on the walls is also important.

My only pet peeve about the house is the crazy TV accoutrement on all the walls. First thing I did was set up a media room in the basement and that is the only location with a TV in the house. I love this as it is definitely out of sight, out of mind! As you can see, they had a TV in the living room and behind it there are cable hook-ups and what I assume are spots for surround sound. I had to find something big enough to hang there and cover it all. The front room (aka the formal living room) has the same thing. I suppose if you are a family with 7 TVs this is important, if you are not they are simply a pain in the butt.

A color I can appreciate but don't want to keep is in the dining room.

I like the chocolate, but it is too dark for me. Ideally, I'd keep the color below the chair rail and paint a lighter color above it but I'm not sure about finding a complimentary color without knowing what this one is called. We also need to paint all the trim since I'm sensing she painted in a hurry before it went on the market, most of the rooms are a pretty sloppy job. I am happy to report that the chandelier is gone, gone, gone. Neither Craig nor I like those fake candle lights (Craig particularly since they are apparently as far from Energy Star as you can get in a light bulb) and the putty color is not us. We put up the one from our old house, which is antique bronze, replaced the small lights in the halls and then I spray painted the lights in the foyer and over the kitchen table to match (so HGTV of me). Our dining room furniture is dark wood so I'd like something lighter, but haven't sorted out what yet. Anyone have a favorite color they'd like to share with me?

The front room is directly across from the dining room and fades into the background in comparison.

See? Completely lacking in character. I have to admit I also don't understand the furniture placement, the couch is actually facing the dining room table, which is across the foyer. I see this in a lot of houses, so I assume there must be a design principle I don't know behind it, but to me it simply seems to draw attention away from the room you're in and send it elsewhere. We put our sofa on the wall with the framed picture, so it is facing the windows and a set of chairs. Can't decide if I need a bolder color in here or not. We have some big furniture in this room now so it might be okay.

Two areas that must change color very quickly are the foyer and the kitchen. The foyer has this faux paint finish, not my thing in the first place, and then they patched the top of one wall and didn't replace the finish and put Spackle on some nail holes that makes the walls look diseased in places. I think I'm going to try and match the color of the living room for this area. The kitchen is a shade of blue that I don't get at all. (Warning: the color in the picture doesn't seem as off as it does in real life.)



Kitchen



Long View of Kitchen from Living Room

I do love the kitchen, especially that it does not have granite countertops, cherry cabinets and stainless steel appliances. I am a white kitchen kind of girl and a light wood is the next best thing. There was the random stainless fridge, but I brought my awesome french door fridge from DC, which is white, and we bought a new white dishwasher. This fridge is now out in the garage, and it's great having a second fridge along with the freezer we brought with us. We did not replace the oven, mainly because I am hoping to figure out a way to put in a double oven with a separate cooktop without having to redo the entire kitchen. The color must go, however. The baby blue drives me crazy. I love yellow kitchens, but don't think it would go with the cabinets. Was actually thinking of a darker blue but it might be risky, we'll see. The light over the kitchen table, FYI, is the one I painted bronze. It was really easy and looks great.

Well, there you have it. I actually feel much better. I have admitted publicly that I don't like everything she did to the house and no one has shown up at the house to drag me away in cuffs. I am not a designer of any sort, but I don't have to be. I just have to know what I like and be willing to go boldly forth with it. I have often suspected that a sense of style was more about chutzpa than taste and if that's true then I'm set. Chutzpa I have in spades.

Assuming I find the time to actually fix all this, I'll post the after pictures and you can judge whether I make the house better, worse, or simply change it to a different style.

Trapped and thankful for it...

Today I endured day 7 of my confinement, waiting for AR to recover from his never-ending and pretty nasty cold. I have made a couple of necessary trips to the store and church to teach Sunday School and Craig took time off last week so I could go to the gym and run an errand or two. We also went to a party on Saturday, when we incorrectly thought he was better. Other than that, however, it's been me and the little guy hanging out in our house sniffling and getting lots and lots of hugs (the cold has apparently brought on separation anxiety). Particularly amusing about all this is that it is simultaneously the type of experience that makes me want to go back to work and a big reason why I'm not working in the first place.

A sick child is the Achilles Heel of the working parent. I imagine most couples have had the debate over whose turn it is to stay home with a sick child, and for single parents the challenge is even greater. As a teacher, I've had students get sick in class and then tell me they threw up in the parking lot as well but their parents told them they had to go to school because the parent couldn't miss work or at least had to go in for a few hours. I know a lot of parents who have dosed their kids with Tylenol to conceal a fever and sent them to school or daycare or even taken them into work with them because they have a deadline they can't miss.  Don't get me wrong, I pass no judgement on this. In a world with limited leave and huge pressure to perform, parents do what they have to do in order to keep their jobs. I'm sure none of them want to take a sick child anywhere and wouldn't if they had a true choice.

I, however, did have a choice and made it when we decided to give up the second income and all that it provides to have me at home. This situation is exactly why we made that sacrifice. We're lucky that it was an option and our kids are lucky that, as crazy it might make me, there will be someone home with them for as long as it takes them to get well.

I am, however, wishing really hard that day is not too far away for AR. Although, given the way he was tugging on his ear today, I'm sensing we might not be as close as I'd like. Luckily, I've got nowhere to be but here - and the doctor's office.

Channeling June Cleaver

I am not a patient person. A statement which will come as no surprise to you if you have spent more than 10 minutes in my presence. When I was contemplating teaching as a profession, I was actually concerned about whether I was patient enough to last in a classroom with children. Interestingly, in the classroom is the one place where I seem to have endless patience. I'm not sure how or why but since it enables me to be successful at a job I love, I don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I only wish that same trait carried over to my house.

I love my children a lot and think they deserve a great mom, one who gives them hugs and kisses, makes their boo-boos (physical and emotional) feel better, and disciplines them calmly and rationally. I can generally manage the first two, but the last eludes me far more often than I'd like to admit. I have definitely yelled at my children and just last week had to leave my house when I found myself about to take Christmas away from TR (seriously). The worst is that often it is not even that their behavior is worse than normal, but that I am more tired and stressed out and have lost whatever limited patience I have. Lowering my stress level has therefore helped greatly and I don't think I have completely scarred them yet, but I wish I could show my own children the same side of me I showed my class.

Of course, in school all I had to do was work with my students so it was easy to figure out their quirks and be proactive in handling all their behaviors. At home, I juggle kids, laundry, dinner, cleaning and, occasionally, writing. In some ways, it was easier when I was working since I spent far less time with them and it's hard to get to frustrated in only 2-3 hours a day. Still, I know there are parents out there who manage to get through their lives without yelling at their kids and I'd love to know their secret, because I'm sure they want to yell often but have someone found a way to stop themselves. Anyone willing to share is welcome to do so. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to use tools from my classroom in my home and hope that helps.

Oh, and do I really want to be June Cleaver? Of course not. Still, the thought of having all of life's problems solved in 30 minutes is definitely appealing. I have a few I'd love to run by the writers right now.

Timing

You have probably noticed I am not writing every day. I actually come up with a lot to write about throughout the day (I have a list in my mind that would keep me busy for several days). Unfortunately, by 7:30 pm when TR and AR are in bed, I'm completely exhausted and incapable of putting together coherent sentences without significant effort. I tend to get a second wind around 8:30 or 9, but if I write then I don't finish until 11 pm and then need to detox a bit so suddenly it's midnight and I'm pretty much out of luck if I want to get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep.

Someone told me once that the secret to truly successful people (the CEOs of the world) is that they need less sleep than the rest of us. I believe it. Note I said NEED less sleep, not GET by on less sleep. This is a crucial difference. I have spent much of the last 9 years getting by on 5 or 6 hours of sleep, but I am certainly not doing my best work and, really, most of us aren't. I am jealous of those few who actually need just 5 hours of sleep and so are in top form no matter how many times their child wakes up because they're cold or teething. (Actually, I assume they are getting less sleep because they are working long hours, but you get the picture.)

I'm hoping when Christmas is over, and I'm not out shopping for stocking stuffers at 10 pm so that I can leave AR at home, things will be better. I have so much useless information to share with you all and I know how sad you are not to be hearing my inner ramblings.

I, however, am going to do the unthinkable and try for 7 hours of sleep tonight. I'll need it since I will be trapped in the house tomorrow with vacationing children on a rainy day while men are finishing up some work. So excited. Did I mention they'll be turning off the water to the whole house for at least part of the day. Yay!

Admit it, CEOs, you're jealous.

Missing

I miss my life. I miss my friends. I miss coffee at Sureia on Wednesdays. I miss my semi-regular book club. I miss our old holiday traditions. I miss the metro.

Life is good out here, but it doesn't yet feel like mine. I want everything to be just like it was a year ago. Except that I don't, really. What I really want is everything I love about here and everything I love about DC at the same time. That's not too much to ask is it?

Yeah, I know. So for now, I'll just keep missing that life and figuring out how to make this new one fit as well as the old one. It only took 20 years to get that life in DC, right? Piece of cake. Sigh.

I miss my life.

Christmas in a small town

This holiday season is probably the first time it has really hit home that we are not in liberal land anymore. The first hint? When AJ shared that he learned Silent Night in music class that day. I was a little thrown, I admit, not just a Christmas song, but a religious one at that. I confess I did speak to the principal about it. Interestingly, she assumed we don't celebrate Christmas, and that's why I was bringing it up. I said we did, but knew that not everyone else does. She was very understanding and, frankly, I didn't ask for a lot. I was mainly raising it for future thought. We left it that she would talk to the music teacher about a less religious choice.

The big hint? That would be the great big manger sitting in front of the courthouse on main street. Apparently, as part of Christmas in Old Town, you can dress up and get your picture taken in a living nativity. I think it is meant to provide an alternative to the whole Santa photo op and is actually a pretty neat idea. My neighbor mentioned her daughter wanting to get a photo and raised the issue of the location, she knew I would have noted it. I said I wanted to get a picture to show friends in DC. She said "yes, we love Jesus out here" with a lot of conviction in her voice. This reminded me of my conversation with the principal. The idea seemed to be that you would only find something wrong with it if you didn't agree with the sentiment expressed.

This makes sense to some extent. After all, if everyone is Christian then a manger in front of the courthouse doesn't matter. It is only the existence of non-Christians, be they atheists, Jews or Muslims, that makes any of this an issue. I can't say I would have a problem with it if I knew for a fact that no one else would mind. So from one angle, loving Jesus, or perhaps not loving Jesus, is at the heart of the problem. If the nativity is only for those who already love Jesus then fighting to keep it in a location you find important makes sense, regardless of who you offend, because it doesn't matter, largely, what those who don't believe in Jesus feel.

I think, however, that it's not just for those who already love Jesus. I firmly believe a nativity scene can be significant even for those who will never see Jesus as a savior. Whether someone is a true believer or not, his existence and teachings can have a huge impact on them, and the nativity is one of the reminders we have that he was here and had something to share. Also, teaching others how to live better lives was his goal and Jesus probably knew you seldom bring about change in anyone by first offending them. Similarly, people who are busy being upset about the location of the manger will be far less likely to take in the simple beauty and message that a living nativity can offer. And isn't the message what really matters, not where you see it? Keeping that location feels a little to me like winning the battle but losing the war.

For now, however, I will choose my battles and heed my own advice about not offending others while seeking change and simply enjoy Christmas in my small town.

OMG, school is important for getting a job?!

Note: So I wrote this on a rampage and I stand by what I said, but do feel like I should add a caveat. The issues I saw with my students do exist, but I want to be clear that this was not all the students with whom I worked. Many of them were just as focused as their peers elsewhere and had the support system to get where they needed to go., They, however, are generally not the ones struggling years later. I'm writing here about a specific segment of the student body, not the whole thing.

DCentric is doing a hard-hitting series this week on the unemployment gap that exists in DC. They have made incredible discoveries, including the fact that unemployment in Ward 8 is 26.4% and in Ward 3 is 2.8%, and that this difference is likely caused by a skills gap between the two populations. Equally startling is the fact that the high percentage of Ward 8 residents with a criminal record contributes to its high unemployment numbers. Seriously? How is this even remotely considered news? Who living in DC doesn't know that someone with a college degree and no criminal record is going to have an easier time getting a job than a high school drop-out with a drug record? Who living on this planet doesn't know this?

I find this one of the most frustrating aspects of DC, the ability of people endlessly to research and discover the source of the city's problems without ever actually coming up with a solution for them. In part, I believe, this stems from a stubborn unwillingness to assign any responsibility for change to the people needing the help. Yep, I said it, I am a card-carrying liberal who believes in personal responsibility, as in fact most of us do. We just don't believe in personal responsibility without public support.

When I was teaching in DC high schools, I had a lot of students who would talk about going to college. They knew exactly where they'd go, what they'd study while there and what they'd do after they got their degree. In the meantime, they'd skip school at least once a week and never crack a book. (There's the lack of personal responsibility.) Here's the thing, however, they knew they were supposed to go to college in order to have a better life, but they didn't have the foggiest idea of what you had to do to get there. (That would be where the public support comes in.)

In high school, everyone of my friends and I knew our GPA and what that meant for our college hopes. We knew what SAT score we needed for the school of our dreams and spent our free time in activities that we enjoyed, yes, but that also would look good on college applications. My students often had no idea what their GPA even was, much less what it meant for their future. I had one student who was in her 4th year of high school but was still a sophomore, since she skipped so much school that she had yet to complete enough classes to equal two full years of school. When she announced to me in March that she'd miss me after she graduated in May, I was shocked. I assumed she knew she was only a sophomore, but she didn't. While we were explaining to her that she had at least two more years of school before graduation, if she attended consistently, she just kept saying, "but I've been coming to high school for 4 years." In her mind, it wasn't what you did in the building that mattered, simply that you were there, at least some of the time.

To give her credit, she did do more than many of her peers who simply stopped coming all together, so it was an accomplishment of which she could be proud in its own way. It would not, however, earn her a degree. She was not alone in simply failing to grasp how the day-to-day decisions she was making would impact her future. While I and my friends were being socialized into college prep, these students were socialized into high school dropout. There was often no one to make sure they were read to every night when little, or tell them to turn off the TV and do their homework, or help them with the math problem they just couldn't understand. They generally didn't hear their parents talking about their college days with their friends or visit their offices and see the jobs that these degrees earned them. They probably didn't hear about how hard they worked in high school to get into that college and how you can't take it for granted. A high school diploma is earned, not given, and grades good enough to get into college are even harder to earn. But all they knew was that you went to high school for 4 years and then college. As the reality of the work involved set in, a lot of them gave up.

Is this their fault? Not really. They are indeed victims of their surroundings and they need help. First, they need teachers that not only care about them but are honest with them. For example, nothing drives me more crazy than a teacher putting a sub-par piece of student work on the wall. When you put student work up on your classroom wall, you are telling them you are proud of that work and want to show it off to the rest of class. I have seen teachers do that with work that is full of spelling mistakes, poor grammar, and is generally sloppy. Is this what you want students to think is an acceptable level of work? I'm all about making students feel good about themselves, but I don't lie to them and I don't let them think I believe them capable of less than they are. I tier my work like crazy, so a student may only have to write a one paragraph essay instead of the two pages everyone else is writing, but that one paragraph will be perfect.

Second, they need someone to show them what life is like for the middle class. Most of my students had never been to the museums or the White House or the Capital. They didn't know how to act in a restaurant or store. Polite and respect were often dirty words. To be polite or to act respectful, to them, seemed to acknowledge someone as better than you or give them power over you. They couldn't do that and, coming from where they are, I don't blame them. But they need to learn that everywhere is not like where they live. They might as well have been on a different continent for all they knew about what happened outside their neighborhood. I actually had a conversation with one class that was shocked to learn that blacks were in the minority in the United States. They truly believed that whites were the minority, and that we were all rich. (They were always incredibly disappointed to see my old car that was definitely not high-end.) They just couldn't fathom life outside of their small neighborhood. Bottom line, you can't strive for something you can't visualize.

Finally, they need for people not to make excuses for them. At the end of the day, their lives will only change if they are willing to work to make them change. We can feel sorry for them and want everything to be better, but only they can do it. The longer we let them get away with behavior we wouldn't tolerate in our children or our peers, the greater the disservice we are doing them.

Birth and Life

A year ago right now, AR became an official member of our family. I've spent the whole day mentally retracing the longest and most complicated delivery I had. Truly, from beginning to end it was a disaster. They hadn't taken me off Plavix early enough so the anesthesiologist wouldn't do an epidural, which meant I did natural childbirth while stuck in a bed unable to move because I was hooked up to a ridiculous number of machines monitoring my heart. I did natural childbirth with my first three and let me tell you that it really only works when you get to move, otherwise it is like being on the rack. All the pain, and nothing to help distract you from it or make the process move along more quickly.

I did have intravenous painkillers but 10 hours into labor things weren't progressing and I began to tell the doctors I thought something was wrong. It just didn't feel right, it felt like pain not contractions. Two hours later they finally listened to me and did an ultrasound. (Perhaps because I was begging Craig to make them stop, or maybe it was all the blood?  Yes, that was sarcasm.) Turns out AR was sunny side up and had his head thrown back instead of chin tucked down. In other words, he was going nowhere and the pain I was feeling was the placenta tearing away from my uterus. Can you say emergency c-section? Actually, by that point all I wanted was for the pain to go away so I was completely fine with it. They whisked me away from Craig and suddenly we were in an OR. At that point, they put me under general anesthesia, which, on top of the pain meds, made AR's breathing a little dicey so Craig got to wave hello to him as they then whisked him off to NICU for a check-up. He was born at 9:25 pm, but I didn't get to meet him until 1:30 am on the 3rd.

The funny thing is, despite all the pain and craziness, all I kept thinking all day today was how happy I was that we both were there to go through all that together. It seems so strange to remember that at 16 weeks my doctors were pushing for me to terminate or that I had a conversation with our minister about what we wanted from the church in terms of ceremony if we didn't make it to 26 weeks. A close friend officiated at Aaron's baptism and when talking to the rector of her parish said it was especially important to her to be present because there was a time when nobody knew if either of us would even be here to have that day happen.

Craig and I call AR our agent of change all the time, and he is. It was his arrival that led us to completely change everything about how we lived our lives. In part this was the fact of him, we simply didn't fit in our house any longer. But mostly it was all that happened before he joined us that brought about change. You can't go through an experience like that and emerge without taking a really good look at what is happening in your life and what your true priorities are. The absolute most common statement I got from other moms when I told them we were moving out to Warrenton was "my husband would never make that commute." And I get it, Craig wouldn't have made it for years either, but it was actually his idea that we look out here and he was the one who kept things focused when I periodically panicked. Apparently, as I told one mom, you almost lose your wife often enough and it's amazing what suddenly becomes doable.

AJ was our first and the one who made us parents, and AR is our last and the one who made us understand fully just what a precious gift that truly is. What could you possibly give a one year old that would match that?

Silver and Gold

I have mentioned before that I moved a great deal while I was growing up, as in attended 13 different schools in 12 years. This meant that, between ages 5-12, I was moving roughly every 12-18 months either to a new state or a new school district in the same place (the same thing to kids that age since either way you didn't see old friends). There were benefits to this, I learned how to get along with people and adapt to new surroundings in a way many others don't. A skill I can still use. But there were also some negatives, one of the biggest was that I didn't keep childhood friends. At that age, kids connect easily, but most 7 or 8 year-olds are not going to build a life-long friendship in 12 months. I didn't realize it at the time but I came to think of friendship as a temporary phenomenon, here today and gone tomorrow. I tended, in general, not to stay in touch with people once I was no longer seeing them regularly.

My adult life has been a lot less adventuresome, with 20+ years in DC and 9 of those in our Brookland house. It took a while to break myself of this habit of not looking back when I left a school or job, but  break myself of it I did, mostly. And I am happy still to be in touch with people with whom I was in grad school almost 20 years ago (yikes, has it been that long?) and to have reconnected with some people from my first year of undergrad, back when there was a Cold War going on and no one knew or cared who Osama bin Laden was. (Yep, I'm that old.)

I admit, however, that the thought of leaving DC and all those people who had been with me on my first, halting steps into motherhood or who helped us navigate the overwhelming world of DC schools, was a scary one. Recognizing it was not a long trip into the city, it would still take some commitment to stay connected to all these great souls that I didn't want to lose from my life. And it would mean making new friends, which is much harder now than at age 7.

Six months later, the staying connected piece is going fairly well. I'm trying to get into the city at least once a month and people have come out here. Facebook obviously helps and email, but I still miss weekly get- togethers at Cafe Sureia and knowing I'd see everyone on the playground or at bookclub. That ease of friendship doesn't exist when you live an hour away. The new friend piece is also going all right. I'm lucky that a good friend already lived out here (and is actually moving to my 'hood later this month - yay!), so she helped me a lot. My neighbors have also been great and just bumping into the same people at kids' games or school events has helped. I can't say I have many true friends here, but I have met some wonderful people who I hope will be my friends.

Fingers crossed, I might actually have figured out how to heed the advice of the old Brownie song I learned during my year in Brookline, MA (or was it Wichita, KS?).

                                   Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.

Places don't change, people change

I loved living in DC. Craig and I met there at Georgetown, we married there, started a family there and had no intention of ever leaving. And, really, if we had more money or fewer children we'd probably still be there. I could easily write a list of things I miss about being there right now, especially all my friends who still live there. I also have to admit that I, like many city people, was always a little smug about living there. The assumption being everyone would live in the city if they could, and those that said otherwise were just sad that they couldn't or, perhaps, delusional.

The truth is, however, that living in the city is hard, especially with kids. Schools are hard, space is hard, money is hard, crime is definitely hard. You get a lot out of it, don't get me wrong, but you have to believe that the city is the best of all possible worlds because otherwise it wouldn't make any sense to live there. Not when you could spend a lot less money for a lot more security and a lot less stress somewhere else. For some people, that belief never goes away but for others, like us, it does. Not because the city changed, it didn't, but because we changed or, rather, our lives did.

Four kids is a lot, four boys is chaos, and four boys in the city, well 'nuff said. Our lives simply didn't work there anymore. The time, energy and money you generally have to put into making life work in the city, we needed to put into our kids. Most of my close friends got it and, while sad to see us go, were incredibly supportive of the process. For people who didn't, though, it was hard to explain it. I remember seeing understanding in one person's eyes when I finally said that we had 6 people in our family, which meant a minimum of 24 coats to hang up, and no coat closet. Things that you can make work with fewer people, just didn't for us anymore. So Craig and I decided it was time to make the big sacrifice and head out to the country. We knew the boys would be happy and that was all that mattered. I figured I'd be lonely and a little adrift, but I could make do. The thing is, I love it out here.

I love my sterile little subdivision, just the type in which I swore I'd never live. There are 10 boys in the 9 houses immediately surrounding ours, all just around my boys' ages. For the first time ever, I am not in charge of my children's entertainment. I don't have to drive them anywhere or make play dates or do anything except feed them breakfast and tell them to come in for lunch and then dinner. Their play is completely self-sustaining. I love that I can go days without hearing someone ask to watch TV. I love that I know that, for the most part, everyone parents like I do so I don't have to worry when my kids go into their friends' houses.

I love how incredibly nice everyone is out here. One of our neighbors barely knew us when he helped get Drew registered to play on his baseball team. He's the same dad who was teaching Carter how to throw a football the other day. When I was stuck in traffic coming back from DC, I called a mom who actually left the grocery store to come home and meet the bus so my kids wouldn't freak out when I wasn't there. A complete stranger stopped in the store today to chat when Aaron used his new word, "hi," on him. The owner of the gym I joined started a conversation with me on Saturday, just because. These people are amazing. Everyone smiles and says hi and wants you to have a nice day.

I also love me out here. I'm not frazzled and stressed (which I handle oh so badly as we all know), Warrenton Laura is actually a little laid back. I get all the kids paperwork to school on time, generally know what I'm making for dinner before 4:30 pm and when I think of an errand I have to do, I simply do it the next day. I'm not constantly trying to catch up. My house is clean, our clothes are washed and put away and I'm reading books and, yes, even writing again. What's not to love about that? So I thought I came out here for my kids but, really, I'm here just as much for me.

When I left the city, I assumed it was temporary, that once the kids were gone I'd be heading back (maybe even when Aaron was still around). I could see myself living in a great condo just steps to restaurants and museums. And, maybe I will be living there in 20 years, or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll buy one of those quaint old houses in the heart of Old Town Warrenton that I love to admire when I drive by them. Because as much as I loved living in the city, that's also how much I love living out here.

Same old, same old

Nothing big to write about today. No burst of understanding or deep thoughts.  Apparently, my life just isn't that interesting. I am, however, amazed at how much you can accomplish when your house isn't working against you. We've switched out 5 lights and decorated for Christmas so far this weekend. All without having to stop and take on a completely new project necessitated by some weird problem with the house, unthinkable in our old house.

Old houses with lots of character are sweet and I miss mine very much, but for this stage of our lives I'll take new and low-maintenance every time. I think there is actually a longer piece here but it will have to wait until tomorrow, because I'm exhausted.

Process or Product?

Today, for about the 5th year in a row, I thought that if we had a fake tree, we could put it up this weekend. The boys would love that, it's such a great way to kick off the holiday season. We'd love that it would be easy, with perfectly spaced lights, and that it would last more than the 2 weeks Craig and I can manage to keep a real tree going (we have watering issues, well, more like remembering issues). And really, fake trees are so amazingly well done these days, you definitely don't sacrifice anything on the looks end of things for all that easy happiness. My brother's had one for years and my parents all do also. We really should just do it, I thought.

But then, for about the 5th year in a row, I thought not about having the tree but about getting the tree. I love picking out Christmas trees. We moved a lot when I was growing up (really, a lot) and we developed two traditions for our first night in a new place. No matter what time of year it was, we always had spaghetti and we always decided where our Christmas tree would go. The spaghetti because it was easy for my mom to make and the tree because it was our way of claiming the space as our own. So what tree went in that space was also important. I have great memories from my childhood of standing around a tree lot and arguing over whether we wanted the taller one or the fuller one and which had the best all around look for our house. Then, we'd load it up and get it home - and wait. It was excruciating. My dad had a rule that it needed to spend so much time in a bucket of water so it was happy and the limbs relaxed before we could bring it in and put it up. I'm pretty sure it was out there a week or maybe a month, although he would probably claim it was no more than a day. However long it was, it was torture. But finally, the tree would come in and go up and we'd decorate it, and that anticipation would have made it all the more special.

And so, for the 5th year in a row, I thought about what it would mean to have a fake tree, not just this year, but every year. I know it would look the same and would simplify a part of our lives (something I'm usually all about), but it wouldn't feel the same. I simply can't imagine never again embarking on the quest for the perfect tree with my boys as my parents did with us, so embark on it we will. For at least one more year, I will take process over product and acknowledge that for us, for right now, in this one thing, inefficiency is not a problem but an essential part of the journey toward making holiday memories.

Blue Friday?

Two years ago, I wrote about our annual Cawthorne girl Black Friday shopping trip. It was one of the things I looked forward to each year at Thanksgiving, not for the shopping but for the time spent with my sisters and niece. I am, therefore, sad that we will not be heading out tomorrow for the second year in row. In fact, the trip I wrote about could well have been our last one.

There are lots of practical reasons for not going this year. It is early in the morning and Erica has a 2 month old. Janine is in Hawaii, making simultaneous shopping more challenging, and we didn't tend actually to buy much anymore. I can understand all that but can't help thinking that it would be different if Samantha were still around. Shopping for Sam was never a treat (really, she was horrible at finding anything she wanted), but I loved the chance to hang out with her and talk that this one trip gave us and I hate that we won't ever be able to do that again. It makes what used to be one of my favorite days of the year a little painful and sad.

I'm thinking we need to come up with a new tradition to take the place of this one and I'm sure we will in time. Even then, however, it will be simply another reminder that our lives are forever divided into "before" and "after" the accident that took her away from us. I hate that most of all.

Thankful...

We have an enormous amount to be thankful for these days, I feel like I could write a page just listing them all. That said, my most thankful topic is a no-brainer. I am incredibly thankful this year for energy, not the kind that is causing global warming, but the kind that means I can once again play with my children spontaneously.

For years, I've felt like I've been on the sidelines of my children's lives. It was hard enough to get through the chores I had to accomplish each day, much less have the energy left to play a game of soccer or go on a long hike. But with no more heart episodes since March, I was actually able to go off a lot of my meds this summer and am feeling great. This hit home last month when I was walking back to the car from TR's soccer practice. One of his teammates kicked the ball right in front of me. Instead of just stopping it and passing it back, I found myself taking off across the field with the ball in front of me, racing to keep it away from her. This one simple, impulsive act was profound for me since it was exactly the kind of thing I had feared I would never do again.

I love my boys and all their energy and especially love knowing that now I'll be out there keeping up them, at least some of the time.