What Does Christmas Vacation Mean for Mamas?

It's our first weekend of Christmas vacation. How does that make you feel?  I'll begin by stating how excited I am that our family has survived the first half of the school year! If you're reading this post, it means you have, too! Let's pat ourselves on the back, jump for joy or celebrate with a spiked coffee for breakfast. We deserve it. In my house, we have four kids attending three different schools, with four separate start times. Mornings are a little nutty, especially now that mitten/boots/snowpants season is here. We are managing, some days with more stress/tantrums/lost items than others, but managing nonetheless.

What is your crazy school routine? What sets you or your kids over the edge that you are so thrilled to be done with for the next two weeks? Let's rejoice in the notion that we are done with it for a while. Aside from heading out the door in a mad dash every morning, I am pumped that I won't have to pack lunches catered to everybody's specific needs. I know I'm not alone in this one. One kid doesn't eat sandwiches. He likes crackers instead of bread. One likes grape jelly sandwiches or peanut butter sandwiches, but never both together. One likes no crust. Some like salami. One likes ham. Some like hot food in a Thermos. One likes green grapes. One likes red. One likes clementines, already peeled. One can peel her own. One loves strawberries, which I cannot find anywhere now. One likes applesauce squeezers. One likes canned pears. One likes juice boxes. One wants water. One will buy milk at school. Everyone likes Goldfish, but one wants Extra Cheddar, one wants Pizza Flavor, and one is fine with anything. Of course, the fourth kid eats lunch at home, and that throws in a whole other list of demands. At least I don't have to have his ready by 7 a.m. How is it possible that we moms can keep all of this straight? I guess it's just innate, and our kids are so lucky to have moms who care so much about their darling taste buds.

The other obvious positive of the kids being on vacation from school for two weeks is the relaxed vibes that I am going to insist flow throughout our home this year. I can't tell you how much more at ease I have been this month by removing my Christmas card obligation. We also are not traveling out of town...at all. We will be at home, all together, every day...and I'm actually excited about it. Does that make me sound crazy? Do I sound like one of those moms who makes you want to puke when she says she can't wait to spend every waking second with her kids? Believe me, I know we are going to be on each others' nerves. That's why I'm thankful we have more than one floor to our house and doors (that close) for everybody's room.

I'm just more aware that with our lives being so busy every week of the year, we need this break. This time-out from it all. We can stay in our jammies all day and not brush our teeth till noon. That's what we did today-are you judging us? We traveled during Thanksgiving, and one of my kids told me that he wished we didn't have to go anywhere. He just wanted to be home. It really shook me up, and even though we had already made the choice not to travel for Christmas, it made me realize exactly why we didn't need to be anywhere but home. When our kids start to tell us that they need to relax, we really need to listen.

I know I've been a little absent from my usually very regimented Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday blog schedule the past few weeks. Our family has experienced some other obligations that have called for this mama's time and dedication. I'm thankful for your understanding, and although I haven't been posting exactly as planned, I have been thinking of my you, my awesome readers, every day.

This holiday season is busy for all of us. Time home with kids cannot always be planned. So, I would like to take this chance, this weekend before Christmas, to wish you all a wonderful time with your family. Spend it however you like. Bake as much or as little as makes you happy! Travel far or stay close to home. Listen to music, go to the movies, read by the fire, play in the snow. Break out the new toys Santa brings you. Cherish the moments. Cherish the memories. Cherish each other.

I do plan to take a Christmas vacation from blogging, too. I know that I cannot be present with my family if I'm sitting in front of the computer. I challenge all of us to be truly present in this season. Have you decided to join me yet?

My Fear of Pencils

Several months ago, when I was very new to blogging, I told you the story of how I broke my foot trying to save my kids from harm...which they were inflicting upon themselves...on the stairs. In that entry, I described how I tend to knock my feet and toes into walls, and that I also broke my pinky toe last year. Something that I see in my home on a daily basis has started me thinking about how accident prone I have always been when it comes to my feet, and because of it, I might have an irrational fear of pencils.

When I was a girl in my elementary school years, I would hurt my feet quite often. Some of my injuries were probably pretty common, others not so much. I used to spend hours outside, running around the backyard with no shoes. It was a daily occurrence in the summer months. I can remember frequently stepping on bees during those carefree, barefoot days. My mom was always coming at me with the tweezers to remove the leftover bee stingers. I was also prone to catching slivers of wood in my feet. (You might call them splinters). I suppose I should have started wearing shoes.

I very clearly remember the time that I was hanging out alone in my dad's garage. I discovered a small, square piece of wood, with a nail sticking out of it, lying on the floor. I should have told my parents what I found, or simply picked it up and placed it on a high shelf. I didn't do either of those things. I believed that I would be able to balance on it...on the nail itself. What was I thinking? I don't know, I was a clueless kid, and as I tried to step on it, that nail went straight through my foot. I needed a tetanus shot and who knows what else to heal that injury.

My dad also stored his free weights in the garage. Of course, I wasn't supposed to mess with them, but somehow, I must have felt invincible. I dropped one of the heavy weights directly onto my big toe. To this day, my toes look different from each other because of the damage that weight caused.

The foot incident that triggers the most amount of trauma in my mind is the time that I went charging down the hallway to my bedroom, only to be stopped short by a pencil being thrust into my right foot. I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I believed was so important to send me running down the hall that night. What I do recall is crashing to the ground when that pencil jammed up into my foot. It went straight in and then broke, leaving about 1/4 inch of the pencil lodged deeply in my foot. Another trip to the emergency room resulted, and I returned home with that little piece of pencil neatly wrapped in clear medical tape as a souvenir. Isn't that gross? At this very moment, I can still see the stain left behind in my foot by that fateful pencil. My parents have never moved from my childhood house, and once in a while, when I see one of my kids running down that hallway, I flash back to my encounter with that horrible pencil.

After the pencil vs. foot fiasco, my mom was obsessively diligent about making sure we never again had pencils on the floor. Her words were eternally ingrained in me:

"Never leave pencils on the floor! Pick up that pencil! Somebody will step on it!"

As a result, I have grown up to be the same type of mom. I am always, always, always harping on my kids to pick up their pencils. Yet, I probably find one on the floor every day. With four kids, a lot of pencils are in use, but why won't they just pick them up and put them away? I don't know how to make them understand how dangerous it is to have pencils on the floor. I tell them my story. I show them my graphite-colored scar. Nothing works. I picked up a pencil from the family room just before I sat down to type this post. Does anybody else worry about pencils on the floor, or is it just me? Do I sound obsessive? 

Do you have anything that happened in your childhood that you incessantly worry might reoccur with your own kids, like being burned by the stove or falling into a pond? How do you stress to the kids to be safer than you were, and do they actually listen? Just like I believed I could carry heavy weights and balance on nails, I imagine our kids are oblivious to the dangers that lie in every day objects. I'm sure I'll be nagging about pencils on the floor for-ev-er.

My Very Favorite Christmas Cookie Recipe: Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter Sandwiches

It's that time of year when my kitchen is messy from the best kind of debris: cookie making supplies. I wanted to share with you what has come to be my very favorite holiday-time cookie to eat, and there's no actual "baking" involved. If you can spread peanut butter and dip something in chocolate, you can master these treats that taste incredibly similar to the Peanut Butter Patties/Tagalongs that your local Girl Scouts sell every year. They hold up in the freezer like champs, too, which means it's never too early to start your Christmas baking...er, I mean dipping. 

Chocolate-Covered Peanut Butter Sandwich Cookies

(In my house, we call them "Peanut Butter Ritz").

 

 To make these cookies, you’ll need:

3 sleeves of Ritz Crackers

1 (16 oz.) package of Chocolate Flavored Coating

Creamy Peanut Butter, about 1 cup

1 Tbsp. Shortening

(Yields about 40 cookies)

Directions:

1.Spread a layer of peanut butter on a Ritz cracker, and top it with another cracker; set aside. Continue until all crackers are used.

2. Break chocolate coating into squares and place into a glass, microwave safe bowl. Add shortening as well.

3. Microwave for 90 seconds. Chocolate squares will still hold their shape, but they are actually soft inside.

4. Stir chocolate and shortening together.

5.  Microwave again in 15 second intervals, stirring after each one, until the mixture is completely smooth. Do not overheat, as this will cause scorching.

6.  Dip each sandwich into the melted chocolate.

7.  Use two forks to pick up and coat both sides of the sandwiches. Shake excess chocolate off crackers by lightly tapping your fork on the side of the bowl, and then scraping it gently across the rim of the bowl.

8. Place coated cookies onto a sheet of wax paper, using the other fork to slide them onto the paper.

9. Top with sprinkles while chocolate is still wet (optional).

10. Allow cookies to dry on wax paper until hardened, placing in refrigerator if desired. 

11. Try not to eat them all before you want to share them with friends and family.

Helpful Tip: Did you notice that my Ritz are not round, but a festive shape instead? In the Fall, stores start to sell Snowflake shaped Ritz Crackers. I buy up lots of boxes and tell the kids they aren't allowed to eat them. If I wait till the week or two before Christmas, the shelves will be filled with the regular round crackers again. Of course, the cookies made with regular Ritz taste just as rich and yummy, but if you want that holiday flair, think ahead and grab yourself a stash of Snowflake Ritz.

 

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A Kick in the Yoga Pants

Sometimes, we just need somebody else to be our motivator. Our cheerleader. Our kicker-in-the-pantser. Yes, we're adults. We manage households full of people without any direction from anybody. We should know how to do the same for ourselves, right? Lately, I found myself in this strange limbo. I was still doing all of my mom, wife and school duties, but I had neglected to place "take care of myself" in that never-ending to-do list.

It has been a few months since I took that huge leap of faith and went to yoga for the very first time. It was an incredibly rewarding experience, and I continued to go week after week, loving everything that came with it. The meditation, the relaxation, the sweat, the challenge. I was suddenly like, "yoga...it's my thing now." That is until I had a few rough Mondays. Migraines, stomach flu, neck pain, stress. They were all creeping in, seemingly trying to ruin my new peaceful practice. Didn't my body know how much I needed to be at yoga on Mondays?

For three weeks, I was not well enough to go. I rested at home instead. I sat on the couch next to Mark, eating ice cream and catching up on The Tonight Show. Sounds lame, right? Aside from being next to my husband in the evening, it was pretty lame compared to the really cool stuff I had been doing at yoga.

I had been knocked down for three weeks. Although I knew my body could handle going back to class, I had lost my momentum. I felt all those same jitters that I experienced before my first class coming back. Would I fall? Would I run out of breath? Mark, my sudden cheerleader, encouraged me to go. He kept sneaking in questions about it, asking me "So, what time is class tonight?" even though it has always been the same time. He was my new accountability person. So, I went back to yoga last week.

That night, for the first time after class, I found myself feeling sad. I felt like I didn't really know anybody there, and I was lost. I felt out of place and lonely. I felt that the positives I had received from the exercise and relaxation had been pounced on by the negative emotions I came away with when it was over. I came home and told Mark that I didn't know if I would go back to that class. (Again...lame).

Last night was Monday, aka yoga night. It arrived like clockwork. Funny how the calendar works. I had no reason not to get off my rear and go to class. My body was sound and craved the physical transformation it feels after yoga practice. It was my mind that was not in the best of health. Mark asked me during the day what time my class was, even though I know he knows. I was finishing up dinner in the kitchen, and he came through the door after work. He placed his arm around me and brought it up once more. I started to cry, telling him that I didn't think I could go back again. I didn't feel confident enough to put myself out there, to feel alone in the class of so many people who already seemed to be friends.

I was rationalizing in my head that maybe I would just do yoga at home. (Even though I bought a DVD months ago and haven't opened it yet). My motivator wiped my tears, told me that he knows how hard it is to feel how I was feeling, and he encouraged me to go anyway. I shrugged him off and continued stirring what was in the pan on my stove.

When the whole family finished eating dinner at about 6:02 p.m., my kicker-in-the-pantser made one last ditch effort to move me out the door. Did he know what he was doing? Of course he did, although it was ever-so-subtle. He asked me, "So, is your class at 6:30 or 7?"

Darn. He won't let it go. I guess I should just do it.

Besides my husband's nudges, throughout the day, I had been unable to shake this image from my head. My yoga instructor had posted it early in the morning, with our invitation to class.

 

It's what I tell people all the time, about everything important. We'll likely regret not doing something way more than we'd ever regret doing it.

 

So, upstairs I went to slip into my yoga pants and top-the first work-out clothes I have owned since my high school cheerleading days. Trixie filled my water bottle for me, and I almost walked out without my mat. She reminded me to grab it, all the kids told me to have fun at yoga, and then I left, into the night of freezing rain and drear.

 

I walked into our warm, calm and darkened yoga room with a new attitude. With an attitude that I wasn't there to make new friends. I was there for myself and my health. I was not going to worry about socializing, even though that's such an integral part of who I am. Then, something awesome happened. The room began to fill with the bodies of people who were friendly, smiley and welcoming. Last night's yoga was the best of both worlds. Amazing work-out. Amazing people.

 

I have two people to thank for kicking me in the yoga pants:

 

My husband, who had seen the struggle within me the past few weeks, and my instructor, who shared the most timely piece of encouragement, as if it was meant just for me.

 

Do you have any cheerleaders, motivators, or kicker-in-the-pantsers that seem to know exactly how to keep you moving? Have you ever told them what they've done for you or thanked them for being an inspiration? Maybe try it today.  

 

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"Our Song" Sounds Dated Now

Our song is by Babyface. The ultimate 90's R&B romancer. The king of swoon. The master of love-making melodies. It seemed so perfectly fitting and appropriate for Mark and me, two love-struck-college-kids, to develop a connection with one of his songs. It's called "Every Time I Close my Eyes." Have you heard it? Do you remember it from its chart topping and Grammy nominated rise in 1997?

When Mark and I were dating, it was everywhere. On the radio all the time. Remember the radio? The song became our song because it always seemed to be playing when we were together. Of course the lyrics were powerful and meaningful, too. They were beautiful and sweet and romantic. It resonated everything that's needed to make a great "our song." Naturally, it morphed into being the perfect ballad for our first dance as a married couple.

I'm going to guess that you haven't actually accidentally heard this song in the past decade and a half. At this point, you'd have to own the CD or find it on YouTube to hear it again. Is there a Babyface Pandora station? Now I'm wondering. Some couples' songs are still everywhere. Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, all those country singers who seem to write lyrics just so they'll become wedding songs. Those guys are still relevant. Babyface...not so much. Where did he go? Why didn't his song...our song, become an iconic love song that is played for decades?

I'm sad to say it's because it's a little dated. Okay, a lot dated. The lyrics are still fantastic, but the music itself hasn't managed to stand the test of time.

Just a few weeks ago, Marshall and I were waiting at a booth for my friend to meet us for a coffee date. Obviously, the adults were going to be having coffee. Five-year-old Marshall was having white milk and cinnamon rolls...his favorite out-to-breakfast treat. As we were sitting in the quiet room with sun shining in, those familiar keys rang through my ears.

It was shocking, as I haven't heard it on the radio (or even through Muzak) since any of my kids were born.

Instantly, with that first note, I was transported back in time to all of the trips Mark and I took in his powder blue '84 Cutlass. Fresh in my mind again were the days of  having to wait weeks at a time to see each other, changing my hair color every six months, and seeing Titanic in the theater so many times I lost count. Then the memories of our wedding dance came flooding through me. Dancing as though there weren't six hundred eyes focused directly and solely on us. Slowly gliding through the center of the room, knowing that the day had finally arrived when we could be together, forever.

I listened intently to the music that morning. I explained to Marhsall how special the song that he was hearing was to his dad and me. He's five. He didn't really get it, but I told him anyway. I told him about our wedding dance. I wanted someone to share in the memories with me, because it was such an important piece of music for our early lives together. Then, I did the very 2014 thing of texting my husband to let him know I was thinking of him.

Our song was on the radio! 17 years later, it was coming through speakers in a public place again. I didn't care that it was soooo 90's. It was so "us."

Take a look at the totally cool video for our song. Does it seem dated to you?

"Every Time I Close My Eyes" Video

 

What's your song? When you listen to it now, how does it make you feel?


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Declaring to Value Our Time this December and Find Peace

When did it become December 2nd? Our tree is decorated, our Elf (named Harry...as in Potter), is back up on the shelf again, and the kids are anxiously counting the days until Christmas, using the not-so-fancy countdown board we found on clearance at the end of last season. We just finished up celebrating two kids' birthdays and then Thanksgiving, and now it's time to prepare for Christmas. Seriously, how did it happen?

I'll forever be amazed that since becoming parents, time just seems to disappear. It continually slips away, through our fingertips, always just out of reach. Although we'd like to catch it, grasp it and stop it from moving forward, it's impossible. Everywhere I go, when I see friends or family, someone says, "Can you believe it's already ________?" We fill in the blank with the year, or whatever holiday that seems to have arrived too soon, or time for school to start, or time for school to end. Today, I'm saying, "Can you believe it's already December?" Very soon I'll be announcing, "I cannot believe it's 2015!"

Something enlightening popped in front of my eyes yesterday which really inspired me to stop. Stop worrying about time. Stop fretting over the never-ending to-do lists of December. Stop, look, listen and enjoy what is in front of us.

This something quietly came across my Facebook feed, along with all the pictures of cats and newly decorated Christmas trees and inappropriate jokes. It was a beautifully written declaration made by my cousin's wife. She had openly declared to slow down. To enjoy her two babies. Her husband. Her life. She vowed to forget about the hassle of baking and gift buying and parties that inevitably make us all stressed and crazy during the holidays. She had decided what was most important to her at this point in their beautiful life, and she laid it all out there for Facebook-land to see. Maybe people scrolled past it, or maybe people thought she was suddenly Grinchy. I'm hoping that most people saw the same beauty in her ideas that I did.

She has inspired me.

For the past few weeks, I had been thinking about what is looming over my head this Christmas season. The calendar is filing up quickly, as our month is busy with travel and hosting and volunteering and shopping and baking and on and on. I'm the type of person who wants to do it all, see everybody, and be everywhere. Are you?

I'm thankful to have an insightful husband who can see this struggle I carry within myself. He recently removed one item from our plate. I fought him till the end, worrying about how it would affect others if we simply erased it from the calendar. Now that I'm officially free from the worry of this event, I can breathe a little easier as I prepare for my children's favorite holiday.

So, as Mark did his part to remove a hosting event from my holiday duties, I am going to do mine. I'm not ready to be as bold as my cousin and delete everything. However, I do have one Christmas obligation that I'm declaring right here, right now, simply to ignore this year. Do you have something you continue to do, year after year, but it seems to bring more harm to your holiday spirit than cheer? Will you join my cousin and me in letting go?

Here's my official statement. There's no turning back now:

I will not worry about sending a hundred Christmas cards this year.

I will not stress about posing my four children for that impossible perfect Christmas card photo. They are adorable and funny and loving and wild, and I'm not going to compare my picture to all of the others that come through my mailbox this year.

I will not spend hours going through last year's cards, my address file, the post-office or Shutterfly, looking for that "just right" card that says who we are this year.

I won't feel the sense of sadness that inevitably occurs when I send cards to people year after year who never send them to me.

I will carefully select one glittery, cheerful and sentimental card to send to my only living grandparent, letting her know that we value and appreciate the gift that she is to our family. I will encourage our children to send cards to their grandparents and those who mean the most to them.

I will gaze, with a smile on my face, as my children open the mailbox to find someone has thought of us this year.

I will cherish each and every card that does come to our home, from near and far. I will take time to read the messages, examine the sweet photos and feel thankful for those who do carry on this Christmas tradition I love so much.

I vow that next December, I will have the foresight to eliminate other needless duties from our schedule, freeing up time to send Christmas cards to the family and friends I so deeply value. I kindly ask those with whom we usually exchange cards: please don't take us off your lists. Our entryway would not be the same this year without your festive greetings taped all around. I'm still thinking of you, remembering you and wishing you a wonderful holiday season.

Can you think of something that you might want to remove from your busy life this season? Do you need a little nudge to finally give yourself permission to just let it go? Here I am, nudging you, ever-so-gently, to do what's most important to you and your family this year. Imagine all of the new memories you can create once you free yourself of the obligation. Imagine the peace.

It Will Get Easier...A Lesson Passed on over Frozen Custard

With my youngest son turning five recently, I've begun to worry that I might lose some of my street cred with the moms of really young kids. Maybe you'll start to think I'm out of touch with the issues that mamas of babies and toddlers face. That my days in those dirty diaper trenches are over, so I can't relate to you anymore. I'm here to tell you that although my days are different now, I have not forgotten what it was like to live as a stay at home mom with very, very young children, all needing me at one time, all crying, all wanting to be fed, or changed, or read to, or played with, or driven somewhere, or you know how it goes. My friends and I who are moving past the baby stage look back and wonder how we did it. We laugh, our eyes glaze over, and we say to each other, "How did we ever survive?"

A few weeks ago, I was out to lunch with Marshall. We had a quick bite at Culver's after I picked him up from preschool. I had spent the morning alone, shopping and running errands without anyone tugging on my leg or asking for candy in the check-out lane. I'm sure I look like a weirdo when I walk through Target and talk to all the moms with babies, as I feel lost without any of mine with me. I stop and smile at every single baby who is strolled past me. Everywhere. I can't help it. So, after a few hours of eyeing all the babies that were not mine, I was so happy to in fact have my own child back in my company.

Over lunch, Marshall and I talked about his friends at school, what his snack was for the day, who the special helper was, and what he wanted to do when we went back home. We had a big kid conversation. It was back and forth...quiet...interesting. I might even go as far as to say it was easy. We were munching on that greasy goodness that only comes from Culver's, while a mother and her three young children were sitting at the table behind us. Her meal, with a baby girl and two toddler boys, was far from easy. I must have heard her direct her children to do something or stop doing something fifty times.

Stop touching your brother.

Eat your lunch.

Don't climb under the table.

Stop blowing bubbles with your straw.

Sit up nicely.

DO NOT EAT food off the floor.

Please don't squeeze the baby's face.

Would you just eat?

Leave him alone.

I'm serious...stop!

If you don't eat, then you won't have any ice cream.

Quit pushing each other.

 

Why are you acting this way?

 

Would you please just listen to me?

As the meal went on, I could hear her frustrations escalating. I could hear the kids becoming more antsy. I was wondering why she was lingering in the restaurant, why she wasn't picking them up and leaving. They weren't bothering me, because I have been that mom a million times, but I could tell that she was upset. I once walked out of Red Robin with our food going straight into take-out boxes, because four whining kids couldn't handle the wait. These kids had finished their meals and their ice cream sundaes, yet they were still sitting there, seeming to torture their mama. Maybe this was her first outing in days, her only chance to have a hot meal that she didn't have to prepare herself, so she was trying to make the best of it.

Marshall and I finished our creamy frozen custard and began packing up our table. I had already made up my mind to stop to say a kind word to the mom on my way out, but what I saw when I turned around really surprised me. I saw the reason why that mom hadn't already left the restaurant, even though her children were clearly pushing her over the edge. Her husband had come in late to meet them during his lunch break. He was wearing his work clothes, a mechanic's uniform, and he was just beginning to eat his meal when I said this to the young family:

"It will get easier."

That mother, all tired and ready to pull her hair out, let her frazzled face and frustrations relax for a minute. I saw the relief in her eyes when she gazed up at me and my big boy with hope. She asked with a desperate inflection in her voice, "Really?"

We talked for a few minutes, and I found out that her children were ages 4,3, and 1, the exact ages that my first three were at one point. There's something about learning that another mother is traveling a similar path on parenting that creates a connection for me. I explained to her that I had been that mom, too. My kids drove me crazy in restaurants....in the library...at the store. Wherever. Now they go to school, and I'm alone sometimes during the day. She started to unload more to me, that her oldest will start school next year, and that she hopes it will make life a little easier. I assured her that it would. I congratulated the couple on their cute family. I wished them luck, encouraged them to keep taking the kids out, and we went on our way.

On our way out to the car, one of my best friends in the whole world called me. It was perfect timing. She has four kids as well, and boy, were we in the deep mama trenches together for many years. She and I would call each other day after day, week after week, saying, "How did our moms do this? Will it ever get easier?" She's the friend I called the time I left Red Robin in tears, swearing I would NEVER take the kids out by myself again. I called her from every parking lot in town where my kids threw fits. She would lift me up, bring me back to reality, and I would do the same for her. I told her about the young mom in Culver's. We giggled at how we were that mom, and it really wasn't that long ago.

So, to all of my readers with wee ones:

I am so glad that you're here! I know I joke about how much the world has changed since I first became a mom--like how we had to develop film, but most of it is still the same. Feelings, struggles, insecurities. Milestones, accomplishments, celebrations. Those aspects of motherhood are constant. If my 92 year old grandmother can reminisce and empathize with modern moms, then so can a woman who hasn't given birth in this decade.

Thank you for continuing to read this blog! Thank you for trusting me through this journey. If you know someone who could use encouragement through parenthood, I would be honored for you to pass along my site.

Please, share your feelings here in the comments, any time. It would be so cool to have a dialogue start that might even lead to another post.


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The Mama Can't Go Down

We experienced one of those weekends around here that I anticipate with dread as soon as school is back in session. I know it will happen; it's always just a matter of when. More than half the people in the house were really sick. I will not go into the gruesome details, but the germy culprit was the terrible stomach flu that attacks our house every.single.year.

Every year, without fail, it rips through here like a tornado, leaving kids and adults moaning and groaning, ruining plans and shifting the washing machine into overdrive. One by one, the members of my house fell victim to this strong virus.

Lucky for us, this time around, I wasn't hit by the virus at the same time as everyone else. As Mark was lying in bed, he whispered, "I'm so glad you're not sick, because the mama can't go down!"

I was busy being caretaker, hopping from room to room, dropping off saltines and ginger ale. Changing sheets, cleaning buckets, wiping foreheads. Rubbing backs, telling my little sweets that everything would be alright, when in all reality, I had no idea when it would be over. We moms don't really know when the fevers will break or how long the suffering will last. We just keep wishing that it will be over soon, that we can take it all away from our children. Watching my kids writhe in pain and misery really forced me to focus on their health.

For a few moments, I retreated to the family room couch to take a break. I flipped on the TV in an attempt to drown out the worry I had been feeling for my babies. While I laid there, with the snow falling outside my window, I counted my blessings for the 362 days of full health that my family does experience during the remainder of the year. Yes, we suffer (and I mean suffer) through the stomach flu every winter, but overall, my children are in wonderful shape. I am ever-so-thankful for their health.

One by one, just as quickly as that mean virus had knocked them down, they have been picking themselves back up again. The children have been bouncing back to wrestling, yelling and laughing. Of course, I'm still on edge, wondering if or when the last two will fall. That means one more kid and me. If you don't hear from me on Thursday, you'll know that the mama did, in fact, go down.



The Professional Stomach Flu Survival Kit
 

 

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Broccoli Rice Casserole

Every family has those favorite dishes we feel must grace our holiday tables in order to make the day complete. I've told you that Thanksgiving is the holiday I love the very most. It's about family and food and companionship. We talk and laugh and relax...and eat! When my brothers and I were growing up, we always made two stops on Thanksgiving Day. We would spend the daytime hours with my dad's side of the family, and then in the evening, we would pop over to see my mom's family for a quick sandwich, slice of pie, and a bowl of my aunt's famous macaroni salad.

Until I was a young adult, my paternal grandmother prepared a traditional and hearty meal every Thanksgiving, always set at 2 p.m.  She was a very tiny woman with a quiet grace who opened her home and heart for the love of her family. I'd like to share one of the recipes that she used to make for our Thanksgiving dinner. It has been thirteen years since she passed away, but every time that I smell this dish bubbling away in the oven, I fondly remember all of the years we spent gathered around my grandma's table.

Broccoli Rice Casserole

Ingredients:

1/2 stick of margarine (or butter)
1 T. minced onions (from the spice rack)
1 1/2 c. water
10 oz. chopped frozen broccoli
1 1/2 c. raw Minute Rice
1 can of Campbell's Cheddar Cheese soup
1 can of Cream of Mushroom soup
1 can of French's Fried Onions (the kind you put on green bean casserole)

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and spray a casserole dish with non-stick spray. (2 qt. round or 11x7 inches).

2. In a medium pot, bring water, butter and minced onions to a boil. Add the frozen broccoli and bring to a boil again.

3. Add the Minute Rice. Stir, cover and remove from heat. Let stand for 5 minutes.

4. Add the 2 cans of soup and stir all together until combined.

5. Spread the broccoli/rice mixture into the pan. Bake for 30 minutes. Top with fried onions and bake for 5 more.

HELPFUL TIP: For weeknight dinners, I've been making this dish with California blend, which gives it an added sweetness from the carrots. Otherwise, I like it just as it is for Thanksgiving, Easter and baby showers. It just reminds me of Grandma.


I know you have some favorite family recipes that remind you of holiday dinners or desserts. Would you leave me a comment to tell me about them?

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I Forgot What Time my Last Child was Born

This week, my youngest child turned five-years-old. A mix of emotions has run steadily through my heart and my body, taking me from amazement at how quickly he has grown, to pride for all that he knows, to appreciation for the gift he has been to our family.

On the morning of his birthday, as we gathered on the couch to watch him open a few gifts, one of our other children asked us what time Marshall was born. Horrified at myself that I wasn't able to rattle off the number, I gasped, smiled as I tried to regain my composure and then turned to my husband. I calmly said, "Let's ask Dad."

The kids all laughed and responded with, "He doesn't know either. He told us to ask you."

How is it possible that a mom had let such an important detail escape her memory? Particularly, this mom. We wait and wait and wait for nine long months for the very second when a living, breathing, squirming human being will be brought forth from our bodies and laid onto our chests. We will exhale with pain, exhaustion, relief and jubilation. A tiny person will no longer be hidden inside of our wombs, which are basically churning pots of the unknown. Instead, that new life will be free for the world to see and hold and ENJOY! That's a big moment. A gigantic moment. A moment that somehow, when we started reminiscing about my fourth child on his fifth birthday, I could not recall.

Although the exact hour and minute escaped me that morning, I knew that I could easily discover his birth time. It is printed on his birth announcement and on the backs of photographs and in his first year calendar. Then there was my favorite place where I knew I could find it. It is the place where I documented it with the utmost care; where it is cherished and recorded with love. It is in the extremely personal story I composed just a few days after my son's birth.

I would love to share that story with you here today, in honor of my last baby's 5th birthday. He really is not a baby anymore--he makes sure to tell me all the time! It has served its purpose to jog my memory of the exact time of day that our little surprise was laughed into the world, but it is so much more than a record. It's intimate. It captures a moment in time for my family that I can never recreate. So much has changed in our home over the past five years, but what a special way to glance back to our past, to the exact minutes when our third son, our final child, was born.

"Laughed into the World"

Written in the middle of November in 2009 and then shared with my friends and family all over the world.

This little baby boy sure has caused a lot of drama the past nine months, but his birth was a very fitting end to a stressful pregnancy. Aside from other complications along the way, many people don't know that I went into preterm labor at 33 weeks. I spent the night in the hospital, and I went home taking medication every four hours and confined to bed and the couch. Three weeks and one false alarm later, I was taken off bed rest and given permission to resume regular activity. I made it to 36 weeks with baby boy still safely tucked away inside. I definitely had contractions daily, but nothing happened. Each night I went to sleep wondering if that night was going to be the night baby would arrive. Trixie had come five weeks early, and Chip's birth was very quick as well, so I was constantly on edge. I was dilating more, and at 38 weeks I was four cm. Doctor told me she would induce me at 39 weeks plus one day, to save my sanity.

I had cried in her office due to all the stress of wondering what I would do with all the kids if I went into labor in the middle of the night. With the plan in place, I was ready. I was set to be induced on a Thursday at 7 a.m. On the Monday before, I thought I was in labor. My good friend, Karen, rushed over to watch the kids, Mark's mom drove to town, and we went to the hospital. Things stalled after a couple of hours, and even though I was dilated to five cm, I was forced to go home due to a law in our state. (Nothing can be done to encourage labor before 39 weeks). I was just two days away from that milestone, plus I was already scheduled to be induced, but I had to go home. I was totally disappointed, but Mark took me out to dinner, and baby stayed inside until the big day.

With Chip's planned induction at 38 weeks, Pitocin was started at 7 a.m., and he was born at 10:14. I was sure this one would go even faster, especially since I had been moving along for weeks. Nope, nothing happened for the first five hours.

I started Pitocin at 8, and got my epidural by 11, and things were still going slowly. Doctor had predicted baby would be born by 12:45, which I thought was a late estimate. I was totally figuring he would be born by 10. That just goes to show that every labor is different.

Doctor came by at 12:40 p.m., and we joked that baby wasn't going to make her initial projection. She said two more hours, tops. I texted some good friends at 1:05, saying that it was going very slowly, and I didn't know when he was going to come. I was still only five cm. (My phone had been in the closet, and I had missed several calls and texts from friends who were also sure I would have delivered hours earlier). At 1:15, ten minutes after I had told everyone that nothing was happening, it was time to push! My doctor had to come running back over from her office (thankfully, it's across the street). I pushed three times through one contraction, waited a minute for the next one, and started pushing again.

In the middle of that next push, the doctor made me laugh, and my baby's head emerged! She told me to keep laughing, because I was going to laugh that baby out. The nurses, doctor, Mark, and I all kept on laughing, and out he came. It was hilarious. When he was born at 1:27 p.m., he opened his eyes right away and started sucking his thumb when she laid him on my stomach. It was an incredible birth. I didn't even begin to break a sweat, it was over so fast. We just talked to him and cuddled him on my stomach for several minutes, until it was time to weigh him and have him examined by the nurses.

We didn't have a name for him yet, so we talked about it a little bit each hour but never decided anything until about 4:30 that afternoon. In the meantime, we had lunch and took a nap before telling anyone that he was born. Our moms had each called by then, and we decided it was time to spread the news that he was born. Everyone had been worried since he had seemed so eager to be born seven weeks early and then wasn't coming. I felt badly for everyone waiting at home, not knowing, but we so enjoyed the few hours together after his birth, that it was just a beautiful time with Mark and Baby Boy.

Our family is now complete. I still can't believe we have four kids. When I see them all together in one place, I am just amazed. Whenever a new child is added, life quickly reaches that point when you can't remember a time without him or her. I am already there. Of course, Chip seems like a giant boy now, no longer a baby. That always happens as well! Reese and Trixie's babyhood seems like a lifetime ago, and they are now the big, big brother and sister who go off to school on the bus. Mark is taking a week vacation to help take care of everyone. It will be so great to have everyone at home together. We are spending Thanksgiving at home, since it will be too early to travel with little Marshall. My friend, Theresa, told me to enjoy the "babymoon." I had never heard that term before, but we are definitely in babymoon mode now!

Thanks to all of you for your prayers along the way and congratulations messages now. We are so thankful for all of the friends we have, not only in several states across the U.S., but also in several countries around the world.

Although I don't have a carefully crafted baby book for our fourth child, I do have this very special gift for Marshall. It is found in my written words. They carefully describe the events and my emotions surrounding his very momentous arrival! I would like to encourage all of you, no matter what stage of motherhood you are in, to record your birth story. Obviously, doing it right after the birth is awesome, because our minds are so full of what has just happened to us and the emotions are raw! When I went back to read this story today, I had forgotten so many of the little details that I am thankful that I did record. For instance, I didn't remember that he started sucking his thumb just seconds after he was born. However, it's never too late to write your own birth story. Enlist the help of anyone who was there with you. Husbands, moms, friends! We know those birthing rooms are busting at the seams these days.

Keep them to yourself or share them with the world. I know I'd love to read each and every one of your stories. I will be taking my own advice and writing my other three birth stories, not to be shared on the blog. You already know so much about me that one of my accounts about the very private act of childbirth is probably enough for you to handle.

Marshall was surprised when he awoke on his fifth birthday without a mustache or a deeper voice (something he was certain came with turning five). He was also convinced that he would no longer be attending preschool but would be jumping straight to kindergarten. I truly enjoyed my day alone with him. We had peanut butter sandwiches on a blanket in our living room, and I realized that it would be the last time he would be home with just me on his birthday. Another one of those roller coaster moments of motherhood, for sure.

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Coffee Mugs Take Over but Still Teach Life Lessons

As I've collected items for my kitchen over the years, I have had to learn to rid my cabinets of older ones to make room for the new. I say learn, because it is not easy for me to remove these items which actually are memories to me. Because I spend so much of my time in my kitchen, the tools I use become a part of me. When my favorite casserole dish, which was a gift from our wedding shower, came crashing to the floor, I felt a true sadness as I slid it from the dustpan into the trash. In that dish was where I crafted our first lasagnas and pans of stuffed green peppers as newlyweds. When the electric pan that Mark bought me to use during our expat stay in Japan finally stopped working, I was heartbroken. That piece of equipment was where I scrambled eggs for our babies and sautéed Yakisoba, my favorite Japanese noodle dish that I just can never recreate in the States.

This past summer, I realized I had accumulated quite a collection of coffee mugs. One of them had broken many times, and I finally had to let it go. It was a mug which my aunt had given to me for my college graduation. It was my first "Teacher Mug." I held it near and dear to my heart for thirteen years, thinking of my aunt each time I sipped my Sleepy Time tea from it. When that cherished mug was finally gone, I decided it might be time to go through my mug shelf and give it a face lift. It was actually quite liberating.

We all have our favorite mugs, right? The ones we use each morning for our coffee or tea. We have ones we save for guests that match our dinnerware. We have mugs that we never touch which linger in the back of the shelves, simply collecting dust. For some reason, those just never make it into the rotation. Those were the ones that were easy for me to donate.

Then came the sentimental mugs. The ones that had been taking up my cabinets for ten plus years. Obviously, I never needed all of them at once, and they were making it difficult to close my cabinet doors. Something needed to be done. How did this emotionally-attached, "I wanna keep everything that has ever meant anything to me" mama decide which mugs to keep and which to donate? One afternoon, I talked it over with my own mom for some tips, and I began the process.

I had four mugs from our favorite family vacation to Guam. They were identical to each other. I kept one. I had two mugs from the time I went to see my favorite Broadway show with my best Japanese friend. Again, identical. I kept one. I had many mugs with my kiddos' faces on them. Automatic keepers, of course. One or two were starting to chip. Those became pencil holders. I had a really tall, funky, cool mug from when I took the kids to their first Broadway show. It spells Supercalifragilisticespialidoscious in a rainbow of colors. It's fantastic! Into Trixie's room it went to store whatever she wants. A mug from the kids that says "Best Dad in the History of the World...Ever" required no contemplation. Through the shelves I went, making wise decisions on what on Earth to do with all of these stinkin' coffee mugs.

Then came the one that I knew I would never be able to give away. It's a sleek black coffee mug that my parents presented to me in celebration after one night of high school. I haven't kept it because of the event that surrounded it (Honor Society inductions). Obviously, who I was in high school was just that, high school. I kept it because of the words that are written on it and how much they still ring true to what I believe. When I drink from it, I read the words that my parents carefully chose for me that night. I was only sixteen, but the inspiration I felt from the words on a coffee mug (with balloons and candy attached) are still affecting me.

The words are beginning to fade, probably from many years of wear and washing. Please read them with care, and maybe you will be inspired today, too!

Excellence can be attained if you...

Care more than others think is wise...

Risk more than others think is safe...

Dream more than others think is practical...

Expect more than others think is possible.

Do you have sentimental attachments to items in your kitchen or home? How long have you kept them? I just realized I've had this honor society mug for exactly 20 years! It has moved all over the world with me. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I am sure you had no idea it would become such an important part of my home.

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Why I Cried at the Bakery on my Son's Birthday

Our first child has just hit a number on his birthday cake that brought tears to my eyes...in the bakery section of the grocery store. It's not really one of the typical monumental birthdays or a number which even merits its own special celebratory section of the card store. Those are reserved for 1st birthdays, the official teenage-ness of 13, of course hitting the streets at 16, and then the obvious 21. Those are the big ones, right? My first born baby did not reach any of those ages last week, but still, I was shocked at how freaked out I became at his actual age.

It's 12.

I picked up his birthday cake from the bakery lady. (Read the epilogue for how I forgave myself for giving up on homemade birthday cakes). Over the counter, the baker passed me this huge, gory-looking, red and black cake that was decorated to match Reese's vampire-themed birthday party that night. It had black bats flying all over it, and oozing over the sides of the cake was dripping, dark, crimson blood (made of icing, of course). It was not the type of cake that would usually cause a mother to ooh, aah and then emotionally reminisce about the long-gone days when her fast-growing son was a newborn baby.

However, we are talking about me here.

I looked at that vile cake that was going to be just what we needed for Reese's Halloween birthday party, and my mama tears bubbled to the surface. I read those familiar words which I have seen eleven times before, but this time...this year, they were written in double layers of red and black icing, and they said "Happy 12th Birthday!"

When did my itty-bitty, easy-going, dark-haired baby boy become a 12-year-old kid?

I've told you before about him wearing men's size clothing. His shoes are bigger than his dad's. The literature and science which interest him are helping his mind to grow in ways I can only dream will continue to be fostered for years to come. These changes have been gradual. They happened before my eyes, but they occurred alongside all of the other daily grinds we experience while parenting Reese and his siblings. I guess I didn't take the time to notice how much he has grown until that day. His 12th birthday.

I stood in the grocery line to pay for this cake and the last few items I needed before his birthday party on a rainy, windy, cold Halloween night. Again, I looked down at that ghoulish cake at the bottom of my buggy.

TWELVE!

Darn, more tears.

I reached for my phone to send Mark a message to let him know what I was feeling that very second. I wanted to share it with someone. No, not just with someone. With the man who brought this baby into the world with me.

Here's our conversation:

Me: "I can't believe our baby is 12 today..."

Mark: "I know. I love you."

Me: "Getting teary..."

Mark: "Yeah I know. (Kissy face emoticon)."

How lucky am I to have a husband who knows me so well? He knows me so well that he can tell when my texts are coming from an emotional and tearful place. I don't act like this on every birthday, I promise. He knows how much being a mother has shaped me, and how much of myself I have poured into the lives of each person in this family. Because Reese was our first baby, we learned how to do everything together when he was born. We're actually okay with admitting that we are still learning as we go...the three of us...together. Maybe that's why it always seems so hard when Reese reaches a new age.

We became parents for the first time when we were 24 and 25 years old, practically babies ourselves by today's parenting norms. Like all first-time parents, we didn't know what we were doing. We read as many books as we could and asked questions of the very few people who were young like we were and going through it, too. We "looked online" for answers and ideas. Now, we'd call it "googling," although that term didn't exist yet when Reese was born. I devoured all the free baby magazines I could sign-up for through my doctor's office. Of course, I asked my mom for advice. She was pretty much the only person I trusted, and I believed everything she told me!

We were a family of three for such a small amount of time, and then this family grew and grew and grew. For fourteen quick months, our first, cozy home was suited just right for Mark, Reese and me (and our good ole pup, Abby). Those early days were easily cherished, probably because they were so incredibly short. We blinked, and they were gone.

You know what happens after the baby days are over. No more diapers, no more sippy cups, no more Baby Einstein DVDs. Suddenly, in came hoodies, Gatorade and The Hunger Games. I once could hold my son's sweet head in one of my hands. His hands, his feet and his entire body would lay across my chest and rest comfortably in my motherly arms. Now, his hands are the same size as mine, but I haven't held them in my own for years. So goes the life of a first born son. He's growing up and no longer needing the literal presence of his mama's hands.

All of these feelings were bombarding me at the cash register. I found it ironic that such a gross-looking birthday cake could cause such a stir of emotions in me. Although it was unexpected, it was a happy surprise. I'm fortunate that I was forced by those bloody bats to reexamine my role as a mother to our first child. What have we been through together? What have we learned? How much has he grown? Where will he go from here?

Now that the party weekend is over, I'm not feeling so overwhelmed by the number on Reese's cake. The kids at our house had a blast watching their teeth turn black and red from that famous cake, chasing each other around, acting sillier than I'd ever seen, and then traipsing through the wet leaves to trick-or-treat as a group of rowdy boys. The next morning, Reese told me that one woman asked their group this annoying question:

"Aren't you kids too old to be trick-or-treating?"

I wish I had thought to address that subject with him before they ventured out for their candy. I told Reese that if it happens again next year, he just has to say, "Nope, we're still just kids."

You know, that's how we'll always see them. As kids. Even when they're 18, or 21 or becoming parents and not having a clue what they're doing. They'll always be kids to us. Our hands will always be here, openly waiting for whenever they're needed again.


EPILOGUE: I used to place all kinds of crazy pressure on myself to bake and decorate my kids' birthday cakes. Long before Pinterest came about, I was competing against nobody but myself to create perfect birthday parties. How annoying of me. Thankfully, I eventually gave myself permission to buy birthday cakes. They are delicious. They are cute. They are gone in five minutes, so I don't feel defeated when the hours I spent working on them are gobbled up by grubby hands and messy faces. Homemade or store-bought, birthday cakes are delightful, even when they're covered in whipped cream-flavored vampire blood.

 

 

 

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Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder: Part 3

3 Rules to Navigating a New Stage in Parenting

Since I shared just a small fraction of our experience with Sensory Processing Disorder during Halloween time, I have been hearing from so many parents who are feeling that they navigate this world alone. What I would like to say is that you are not alone. Many of us have children who are dealing with similar frustrations. We just need to reach out and find each other!

You are probably wondering how that is possible when you already feel like you are the only parent going through it. These are some of the thoughts you probably have on a regular basis.

Other kids eat a variety of foods, including vegetables and non-processed meats. 
 
Other kids put on their winter coats, hats, boots and mittens without tantrums.
 
Other kids dip their toes in sand, grass or water without screaming.
 
Other kids like parades and the loud sirens and flashing lights that come with them.
 
Other kids willingly take baths when they need them, or maybe even before a layer of slime accumulates on their bodies.
 
Other kids move through childhood without ever knowing the struggle of an oversensitive body system. Gosh, why does everybody else have it so easy when my child cries every day about something?

The truth is, everybody doesn't have it as easy as we think they do. Every family is struggling with something. Each child probably has some issue that is causing concern in the home. Sensory processing is just one that is highly visible, and often at inopportune times, right?

I would like to encourage you that it is possible, and critical, to seek out other families who do battle the same issues. Parenting will feel a lot less lonely once you overcome the initial shock and make it your mission to connect with others who also are struggling. You can follow these three rules to help you.

Rule #1. Read...a lot!

I have discovered that using a variety of tools for gathering information makes life a little easier for all of us. Of course, I always turn to the library and Google. I read books, magazines, every pamphlet I see, Facebook and, obviously, helpful blogs. For whatever diagnosis your child has, there will be at least one online organization and support group which you will find valuable. I have learned that becoming as much of an expert as I can (while still being a busy mom with four kids, a husband, a house and myself to manage), is the first step.

As a parent, I will always be reading and learning. That part never ends. I accept it.  

Rule #2. Listen...a lot!

Through my many years of navigating my own children's issues and concerns, I have always turned to parents who have crossed the path before me. They are filled with so much experience, knowledge and advice. When I need help with something new, I look to those previous "experts." I have a notebook ready and actually write down what they tell me. It may sound silly or antiquated, but it's a crucial part of my tried and true process. I know I won't remember the entire conversation later, so I record the details. Doctors, therapists, foods, websites, resources. I jot all of it down, so that when I am ready to digest it later, everything will be right there in front of me.

How do I hear about these expert parents and who they are? I listen attentively when people talk. I remember when I hear about children having certain diagnoses. Mr. A's child has Asperger's; Mr. B's child has Tourette's; Mrs. C's child has allergies;  Mrs. D.'s child goes to speech therapy. I am able to remember and file these little tidbits into my brain and then use them like a Rolodex when it's time.

Because I have many children of varying ages, I do happen to know a lot of people. If you aren't part of as wide of a network as I am yet, that's okay. You can ask your friends for references. Ask your family. Ask your pediatrician. Ask on Facebook. Ask your neighbors, teachers, whomever you can! Someone...somewhere, will know somebody who has been in your situation in the past.

Rule #3. Talk...a lot!

Luckily for me, I have a big mouth. (I have shared that truth about myself with you, right)? I don't mind sharing my experiences with other people, especially if it can help someone through a difficult situation. I have found that my talking about our lives has already helped many others. Thus continues the circle of learning and listening. I'm hoping that others will remember what experiences I have had, and they will feel comfortable seeking out my help in the future.

Just the other evening at swimming, I overheard a mother talking about some struggles one of her daughters was having. As I had been in her situation in the past, my supersonic eavesdropping skills had been activated. Then, I scooted myself across the bleachers to see if there was anything I could do to help. Through our lengthy conversation, I learned that she felt extremely alone in this journey to advocate for her children. It was all very new to her, very overwhelming and very exhausting. These are the words parents often utter to one another when their guards are finally down: overwhelming, exhausting, confusing, sad, frustrating, emotional...HARD.

This particular woman was in a special circumstance because she actually had two children with two different syndromes and many questions. Somehow, I had been at the right place, at the right time, to extend some advice to this mother. At the end of our talk, she felt more confident, a little relieved and ready to tackle the next step in her journey.

Another obvious benefit of talking is that both parties can actually learn something. We can discover new therapies and strategies to try with our own children through the regular old art of conversation.

If you are a parent who has navigated life with a sensitive child, I'm sure you have tried these rules of Read, Listen and Talk. I hope that you will be willing to continue to share your knowledge with those new parents coming up behind you.

Just as every child is different, so is every child's method of sensory processing.

 

I am not a substitute for a therapist, but in our home, some tools which have benefited our child's specific sensory needs are:

• occupational therapy
• sound-proof headphones for parades
• sunglasses/hat for bright days
• granting him a choice in clothing, unless extreme weather is in effect
• giving a choice for bath time, hair-cut, nail trim: We tell him he can choose tonight or tomorrow, but it has to be done.
• brushing therapy
• therabands
• rolling over his body with a large yoga ball
• pouring piles of stuffed animals/clothes on him
• trampoline
• swimming
• bike riding
• swinging
• push-ups, sit-ups
• allowing him to jump against the couch
• a weighted lap pad

Most importantly, we try our best to show FLEXIBILITY, PATIENCE and LOVE.

If you're stumbling upon this post, please read back to Parts 1 and 2 of this series, in my anecdotal accounts of Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder.

My Sensitive Kid Finally Wants a Halloween Costume! (Part 1)

Making Strides and Setbacks at Halloween (Part 2)


For many more resources, please check out The Sensory Processing Disorder Foundation's website.

For a great site to purchase brushes, bands, and lap pads, check out The Therapy Shoppe.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder: Part 2

After writing about our family's experience with Sensory Processing Disorder during Halloween time, and seeing how greatly it affects so many children, I have decided to make this topic the focus of a 3 part series.

In Part 1, I described what life can be like for a child with sensory processing issues. After many years, my third child had finally decided to wear a Halloween costume.

In the post you are reading now, which is Part 2, I'd like to share what happened after Chip joyfully wore his costume for the first time. Often, sensitive children can change their minds at a moment's notice. I'll describe what it was like for him to attend his school's Halloween party, which has always been an overwhelming experience for Chip.

Finally, I will publish a piece for parents who are seeking advice or help with sensory processing issues. Please look for that in Part 3: 3 Rules to Navigating a New Stage of Parenting.

               

Making Strides and Setbacks at Halloween

 

After excitedly blogging about Chip wearing his Green Ninja costume around the house for an entire night, I felt he was ready to conquer Halloween! I was positive it was going to be the greatest year ever. I believed we were over that hurdle that had always been keeping him from truly enjoying a night of candy-grabbing and playing with friends.

Chip ran home from the bus on Friday afternoon, so excited for the Halloween parade at school. He dressed himself right away and counted down the hours until it was time to leave. I had warned my children ahead of time that they were going to need to be patient in the beginning, as we were arriving early to finish decorating our car for trunk-or-treat. They would need to wait with me while we completed that task, and then again while I greeted families at the door. (I was wearing My PTA-mom hat, along with my bright orange pumpkin shirt). Extra rules on an already sensory-overloaded night can be difficult.

I thought I had done my best to prepare Chip by explaining these guidelines many times before we left the house. However, once we were at the school, everything changed.

Tears started to flow.

He was crying about wanting to take off his costume.

He began insisting on never going to the parade again, never wearing a costume again, and predicting it was going to be a horrible night.

It all happened in just a few moments, right after we pulled into our parking space. I worried that everything Chip had overcome during the prior few days was going to be erased, and his new self-confidence would be forgotten.

Well, I was wrong.

Suddenly, out of the side window, Chip saw a few of his friends starting to arrive, too. More ninjas of varying colors were filing out of their cars. Football players, zombies, superheroes, Darth Vader. All of them were ready for the party and eager to see Chip. Seeing his friends in costume was enough to shake him out of his momentary lapse in Halloween readiness.

The rest of the night was a blur of what Chip described as "The Best Halloween Party Ever!"

Hundreds of parents and kids waiting in line for donuts and cider, children squashed up against each other on the floor watching a festive film, temperatures reaching sauna-like levels. All of these factors would have sent Chip into a frenzy in the past. This year, my boy did not melt down and cry to go home. He left me in the dust, braved it all, and said he couldn't wait for next year.

 

The junk bus is transformed for Trunk-or-Treat.

I only had half a bag of trash to clean out before the night! 

PS. It was much spookier in the dark.

(Photo courtesy of Christine H.)

For any parents with sensitive children, please feel safe in knowing you are not alone. Our kids' struggles are real, and they tend to move through them at their own pace. Even when they seem like they are moving ahead, setbacks are common. We just need to be supportive of our babies...day to day, moment to moment.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo