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Showing posts from 2015

the saga of hurricane charlie

or, how to ring out the old year when you're an ornery two year old 3:42 a.m. wailing from upstairs wakes me from a dead sleep. it's the big bad kind of crying, where you just know someone needs you. i head up the stairs in a groggy daze, softly calling "hey, charlie, mama's coming," as he howls for his mommy. his voice sounds oddly close considering the closed door to his room. when i walk into his room, though, he's not there. the door to the bathroom between john and charlie's rooms is open, as is the door to john's room beyond. i walk through, and there i find charlie on his knees in desperation in his brother's room. best i can tell, charlie woke up, and decided to get brother. but when he went to brother's room the bed was empty - because john was sleeping in the teepee across the room. devastated that he couldn't find brother, charlie just howled. john slept as i collected charlie, closed the appropriate doors, and

light is beautiful

these boys in their "boats." i'm not going to lie: there are days when i go to bed defeated and exhausted. there are days when i feel like there is no way i am possibly up to being the mom of these two boys, and also a wife and a professional and a friend and whatever else i am. those days are rough. today, though - today is NOT one of those days. these boys rocked my world today, and i couldn't be more grateful. daddy's at a football game tonight, so i've been "single parenting" (in big ol' fat quotes because i can't pretend to know even a piece of what that's really like). this is not a coherently themed blog post. it's just a collection of stories of ways my children amazed me today. #1: light is beautiful. after charlie and i dropped john off at school this morning, we were cruising the additional mile or two up the road to charlie's school. we were talking about his friends, and the stuffed dog he was hol

my amazing john

spelling his sight words with cereal so much of the "public" attention i've paid john lately has been about our challenges - how to cope with sensory processing disorder, how to behave in kindergarten, etc. but every single day, john reminds me what a blessing he is to me. he has a perspective on life, and the world around him, that brings me into focus. he has a way of saying things that changes me and makes me better, every single day. last night about ten minutes after he'd gone to bed, i heard a slightly angst-ridden "mommy?" from upstairs. expecting a normal "i need some more water" or "my sheets aren't straight," i went to check on him. instead, he explained that he kept hearing "the mountain king" song from his music class in his brain. the sounds his diffuser made were "changing into the music" and it was a scary song and it wouldn't go away. i immediately understood, because his brai

drama

in the video above, charlie is dramatically re-enacting a fall that never actually happened. see how deliberately he steps on the cup he didn't actually trip over? and tumbles to the ground he didn't actually land on? we've been talking about drama a lot in our family the past couple days. here are a couple of things we're in agreement ARE drama: yelling really loud when you barely bump your toe screaming at your brother when he takes a toy you were playing with pretending to cry when you don't get what you want for dinner grunting at a parent who won't cave in to your every desire squealing "mommmmyyyyy" at the top of your lungs from the playroom because you want some water if you thought little girls had a corner on drama, i can assure you they do not. on the plus side, when we talk about drama, there is usually some laughter to come. as in the video below ... where charlie dramatically re-re-enacts a fall that never actually

dancing monkeys in jammies

pajamaed monkeys ham it up. it's friday. are you dancing yet? i'm dancing. not only is our whole family maybe finally getting over the various cruddy illnesses we have had for the past two weeks, but ... drumroll please ... john had another great day at kindergarten today. for those of you not keeping track as diligently as i am (which is, you know, like the whole world), that's SIX straight days of awesome. which is a NEW RECORD. and i'm dancing. i'm also dancing because of that little pup on the left in the pic up there. his conversations on the way to school in the morning make my day so much brighter. yesterday, he told me all the things he misses when he's at school: "i miss my couch. i miss my chair. i miss my elle belle." but then he paused. "i ... see my friends? see amy? see halle? see 'livia? i have GREAT day!" what a skill, to talk yourself out of an i-don't-wanna-leave-the-house funk. and today was

my OWN fireman

this kid ... on sunday, we paid a much overdue visit to see our friends at the eight house fire station in mckinney. the b shift guys were the ones who delivered charlie two years ago in the back of their now-retired ambulance. (see charlie's birth story here  and the story of our first visit to the eight house here ). it never ceases to amaze me how happy these guys are to see charlie - and their hospitality extends to john, too. the boys got to play ping pong in the bay of the fire house, get on and off the ambulance and fire truck, turn on lights and ring bells. every time, charlie's firefighter "uncles" give them hats and temporary tattoos and just seem to be so happy to see my boys. and two years later, i am still so grateful that i had the support of the b shift that crazy day. i think often about how charlie's birth story could be one fraught with isolation and fear. i was, after all, in the antiseptic back of an ambulance with strangers - all me

what success looks like

he's a handsome little sucker. a disclaimer right up front: i am SO PROUD of all of my friends whose little kindergartners and other young ones who are sharing their kids' academic and citizenship successes after the first quarter of school. please don't read any bitterness into this blog, because i feel none. i am excited for your straight a's and certificates, and i leap for joy at how well your babies are adjusting. in fact i always figured i would be that mom - oh, like my friends, i would tone it down and not be TOO ridiculous. but i'd be trumpeting the great grades and awards. my kid's hands full of stickers and signs, grinning ear to ear at how well he's performed. he's smart enough, after all, and a hard worker and a sweet fellow. of COURSE he'd be in the top of everything. this summer, when we were discovering john's sensory processing disorder and just beginning to understand how it would impact him, a good friend said this

transparency.

this guy right here ... i tell a lot of stories on this blog, sharing ups and downs of these two beautiful blond boys we’re lucky enough to share our lives with. and there are lots of stories to share, because they are active and awesome kids who make us laugh and cry, make us rue our weaknesses and be so proud of our strengths. no stories today, though. today i want to talk about transparency. there’s a strangeness to the era of social media. we share the most intimate details of some parts of our lives, yet edit heavily to portray the “best” of our selves. but the best of our selves is truly that we are human, and multifaceted, and dimensional – that we do not fit into happy smiley boxes of vacation pictures and beautifully decorated walls and immaculate homes and elaborately cooked meals. (tho there is nothing wrong with any of those things – but we are more.) shew, that’s an elaborate preface for a little blog entry. (another little preface here: i'm

last week sucked.

exploring the doctor's stool while we wait for blood tests to come back. i try to maintain a pretty positive and, some might say, even pollyannaish perspective on our lives. nothing is gained by dwelling and festering, right? but i can say without equivocation that last week sucked. charlie came home monday afternoon with a high fever. he's my fever baby - if he's going to bother getting one, it's going to hit 103+ - so i wasn't too alarmed. rest and fever reducer and he'd be fine. but then tuesday he broke out in crazy hives. so my husband and his mom (who happened to be visiting) brought him to the doctor just in case. viral fever with rash was the diagnosis. ok, treat the symptoms, care for the cranky babe, he'll be fine. wednesday morning the hives were much worse - covering probably 60% of his body. i called the nurse. we discussed, and agreed that as long as there was no swelling around the mouth and no breathing issues we'd just kee

a letter to john

"i'm five years old!" hey my birthday bug! i can't believe you turn five today. when you woke up grinning and leaped into my lap for the first "five year old kiss," i knew you were going to have an awesome day. you've given your daddy and me five years of awesome days, kiddo. you've challenged us, made us laugh, helped us be better people, and shown us the world through your brilliant creative eyes. you are so like me. sometimes that makes us mad at each other. sometimes we even yell. but i always know in my heart that we'll fight through it together and hug and take care of each other. we're a problem solving family, and you're an excellent little problem solver. you are so like your daddy. you are determined and persistent and funny. you liven our house with your laugh and your smile and your rambunctious running and climbing and jumping and never-standing-still. you are unlike any child i have ever known. you'

serious talk: my john

my little shaded studs we've been on a wild ride with my john the past year or so - he's an amazingly sweet, remarkable, mannerly, kind little boy, but there's a switch inside him that flips when he gets frustrated or overwhelmed, and he just can't process his big feelings. the result is some really disruptive behavior that's been a challenge for him to control. there've been good weeks and bad weeks, and after a particularly tough spell recently we decided to seek professional help. john had his first therapy session today, and he loved it and they seem to think we'll be able to help him find some coping mechanisms to learn how to control his emotional outbursts and process big feelings in a more productive way. i'm excited for him, that he will be a little more prepared by the time we start kindergarten in the fall. in the meantime, his little brain is unbelievable.  on the way to therapy today, i asked him how he met his "different

why

swimming monkeys. i used to write. i wrote to document, for catharsis, to explore, to share. i wrote to remember. and then i stopped. today is just another day. but today, i am writing. this morning, charlie woke up chipper and silly. he made animal noises at me in his crib before he would let me get him up. he hid behind his blankie and giggled when i asked where he went. he snuggled me tight and shared his blankie with me when i picked him up. that is why i write. and in the car on the way to school, charlie sang a song about the sun. "sun sun sun sun sun" he sang. and then it was john's turn, and john sang a song about how when we see the sun, we know that god is here. god makes the sun rise and the sun set and we can see his face. that is why i write. and right now i am taking a brief break from my new work-from-home job, where i am crafting strategy and devising plans, and learning and pushing and growing. i feel a veil lifting as my creat