Calamity Days

I could blog about each hour of each day that I have spent trapped in a 1200 square foot house with four children who are only able to get along with each other for a finite amount of time, one of whom is always unhappy with what we are currently doing, one of whom will be displeased with what we are about to do, who can't even be unanimous when selecting a movie to watch (but the popcorn that accompanies it...that they can all get on board with)....and most of what I write would be negative, sure-fire birth control for the childless few who read my words.  But that's not why I blog.  (That all gets recorded in my journal.  And while we're on this topic, can someone volunteer to come over and burn them when I die?  So that my kids don't read all the angry, frustrated words I write about them every day?)  When I come to this space, I want to share how I am learning, being transformed, and I hope to always find a positive note.  It took six days of no school, sub zero temperatures, head splitting migraines to get there.

Today, we ventured out into the warming (8 degrees!) world outside our house, because we just had to not be in each others' faces for a while.  We headed to Playland, because its free, and they were finally open.  I brought a book, because, unlike at home, the kids are pretty much out of my face once we walk through the doors, and I find that when I am reading, other moms and dads are less likely to talk to me, which suits me just fine.  There we were, spread out, the kids running and climbing and yelling, me nose deep in my novel.  It lasted about 20 minutes.  Then the boys came over to me, giving me hugs, Michael kissing my leg (mostly, I think, because its right at his level, but also so he didn't have to jostle with the big boys to get to my face).  Winston said, "Now its your turn Mommy!"  Uhhh, my turn for what?  "Mommy, take off yours shoes and come down the slide with me!"  Okay, so here I am at a mommy cross roads.  On the one hand, this is my attempt at solitude and quiet (in the midst of screaming children, yes).  This is my one chance to read my book and be still, because eventually Playland will close, and we will go back to our dungeon house for several more hours of whining and fighting and general grumpiness, mostly directed at me.  Also, getting up to the top of the slide is no easy thing for a grown woman.  Especially on a busy day like today, I would have to crawl around other kids, go through tunnels of plastic that are very hard on my aging knees, all for the end result of 10 seconds crammed in a slide, getting charged up with enough static electricity to start a car.  On the other hand, my son is asking me to play with him.  My sweet four year old boy wants to amplify his fun by going down the slide with Mommy.  So I marked my place in my book, slipped off my shoes, clarified that this was only going to happen once (my aging knees, people!), and followed an extremely delighted boy up, up, up.  But that's not even the best part, making Winston's day.  When James and Michael saw me going up (or maybe they had worked this out ahead of time, letting Winston be the spokesman for the group), they came with us, so that at the top of the slide, my lap held not just one, but three boys, grinning from ear to ear, and down we went, squeals of delight (them) and groans (me).  I delivered kisses all around, then headed back to my seat.  "Again?" James asked, and as much as it kills me to say no to him EVER, I had to beg off, but thanked him for inviting me to go.

Because what I regret about the past six days is all the times I lost my temper, all the times I was short or tired or puking, and they were not my priority.  I don't regret sitting down with a pile of books and kids sprawled on every available square inch of me.  I don't regret making room under the blanket for a little body with freezing toes.  I don't regret crawling through Playland (especially when I saw another mom up there, doing the same thing).  I was struck today, swinging on the pendulum of indecision, at how short this time truly is.  I mean, how much longer will my kids actually WANT me to play with them?  How many more opportunities to I have to be their best friend?  How well can I love them today, so that future events won't make them doubt it?  And in this season of so much doubt of myself, my choices and my abilities, its nice to end the day knowing that I did something right.  And hopefully the kids remember this more than all the times I shouted, "STOP asking for more candy!  There's NO MORE CANDY!"

Regret and Resolution

Last week marked the start of a New Year.  It's the time when we take some time to remember the past, when we begin to look ahead in the future, when we resolve to make changes.  I worked at a gym in high school and college, so I know how quickly many give up on their goals for the new year.  Every January, the workout room would be packed with people, and their numbers would dwindle until April, when the people who truly had a commitment to personal fitness were the only ones showing up.  They were the same faces I saw week after week, year after year.  My own resolutions tend to be financial.  This will be the year I don't get any library fines (already failed that one, with an overdue CD still in my car).  This will be the year we finally pay off our credit cards (despite being a recurring resolution, I KNOW 2014 is going to be the one!).  This will be the year I turn my little writing hobby into a paying job (although with four kids to take care of, actually finding time to finish that novel is going to be the biggest challenge).

Self Portrait

 

I think one of the purposes behind our New Year's Resolutions is to avoid regret.  So that this time next year, we can look back and say we didn't waste it.  This was the year that we turned things around, in our finances, in our health, in our relationships.  This was the year that I did things for me, instead of putting myself last.  But I don't regret putting other people's needs ahead of my own.  I don't regret all the times I make food for the kids, then realize hours later that I still haven't eaten.  I don't regret the path my life has taken, even if it means I'm somewhere different than I imagined.

Play doh creations

This is not to say I live without regrets.
I regret all the times I cared more about what other people thought than doing what I knew to be right.  Growing apart from friends whose opinion used to mean so much helped me see how much of my life had been lived to get someone else's approval.
I regret everything that I abandoned because it got hard.  I regret what remains unfinished.
I regret the narrow and shallow way I used to look at the world.  I regret the people I wrote off because they didn't seem good enough, able enough, cool enough.

Angry Birds: GO!

Something tells me 2014 is going to erase some of those regrets.  Not because I made a resolution on January 1st, but because my heart is being transformed daily. Because forgiveness and love are replacing achievement and regret.  Because I'm raising little children, which often means I'm learning way more than I'm teaching.  Because I've found a community, a Village, that links arms and carries the load and refuses to leave me behind. 

Not for Auld Lang Syne, but for a life without regret.  Happy 2014!

Worthy

 

Mama and baby, summer 2007

My favorite animal is the cat.  Just your ordinary housecat.  We had several as pets as I grew up, ones that were acquired as kittens and grew up before my eyes.  Ones with silky soft fur and loud, rolling purrs.  It wasn't just because they were sleek and easy to care for.  I love the independence of cats.  I love that they don't give their affection to just anyone (you know, not like those gross drooling dogs).  You have to prove yourself to a cat.  You have to be calm, be kind, and then you have to wait for them to come to you.  I remember the cat that jumped from my sister's arms as soon as she brought it in the house and streaked down the hall to my room, where it cowered under my bed for three days.  Three DAYS.  It might have snuck out to use the litter box or get some food while we weren't home, but whenever we walked back in, there it was, hissing and spitting just out of reach.  After the first day, we stopped trying to coax it out.  It might have been out of compassion, or just frustration.  Either way, we let it be.  And, after three days, it did.  It had decided that we were okay people (probably after we stopped crawling towards it in that dark, close space, and calling for it to come out).  And what happens once you've earned a cat's love?  All over you.  On your lap.  In your bed.  Its not as easy to notice how close cats stay, because they are quiet, and also because they have this way of seeming as though you've both just walked into the same room by coincidence.  Oh, were you coming to the living room too?  Sitting on the couch?  Me too, the cat seems to say.  Isn't that funny?  Well, we may as well sit together.  No sense pretending we don't know each other.  And if you could just scratch riiiight there...you know the spot I like.

Duck Hunt 2009

And, not to trivialize or disrespect anyone, but autism can be like that.  My son reminds me of the cats that I loved to cuddle but had to give up when I started dating my husband (he's allergic).  He doesn't have that loud, sloppy, friend-to-anyone doglike tendency that some kids display.  In a new setting, an unknown house for example, he's more likely to do the human equivalent of hiding under a bed for three days.  He will never willingly become the center of attention, he lets his little brothers handle that.  The way a cat will survey the perimeter, keeping its distance...that's how he acts around people he doesn't know.  He won't answer your questions, no matter how loudly you pose them.  He may, in fact, shy away from those who persist in their queries, for some reason raising their voices in response to his lack of eye contact and "refusal" to answer.  Its not because he doesn't understand, or because he doesn't like you.  He's keeping his distance until you prove yourself.  And I'm waiting for you to show your true colors too.

This is one of those aspects of special needs parenting that can either be a positive or a negative...it all depends on how we see it.  For me, using my child as a barometer for the worthiness of our relationships is a good thing.  It saves so much time.  It weeds out the half-hearted and self-centered.  What is left is a smaller number, but it is powerful.  It is a group of warriors.  People who care SO MUCH that they don't let hand flapping or perseveration keep them away from us.  People who drop down to his level to say hi, who let it go if he doesn't respond in kind, who break into huge smiles when he does.  People who join in the hunt for discarded shoes and scarves when its time to go, who help with trips to the bathroom when our hands are full.  People who say, "Come on over!" or better yet, "Drop them off!" and we can say okay.  Because we know their worth.

Brother love after the first day of kindergarten, August 2012