Where The Wild Thing Is

There are days that I long for the kind of anxiety that causes kids to cry, and seek comfort in the arms of people who love them.  But that’s not the course that J’s anxieties have taken.  I don’t know why he has so much fight in him.  Probably has something to do with the fight-or-flight response.  I think he was only wired for fight.  I try to tell myself that it will be a benefit to him someday.  That he’ll be able to protect himself, and stand up to people.  I just would rather that he didn’t stand up to ME.  I’d prefer that he just unquestioningly accept my profound maternal wisdom and just do what I ask.  Go get dressed.  Find your shoes.  Please!

Last month, I took him to see “Where the Wild Things Are” in the theatre.  It was his first time in a movie theatre, though he insisted that he had been before.  He was nervous and excited.  Since no one tried to look at him or talk to him, the excitement won out.  He enjoyed the experience, despite the fact that he walked right into a pane of glass on our way out of the theatre.  And since he wasn’t really hurt, and no one looked at him or talked to him, he recovered from that fairly quickly.

For me, the whole experience was much more profound.  I’ve always loved the story of mad Max and the Wild Things.  And they did a great job with the movie, made it much more dynamic and true-to-life.  It was also heart-wrenching--at least for me.  Half-way through the film, I realized that Max was the embodiment of J in so many ways.  He yearns for time and attention, love and consistency.  He is so overcome by the strength of his emotions at times that he doesn't know what else to say except, "I'll eat you up, I love you so!" He cherishes time spent with his older sisters and is crushed when he’s pushed away, even if it is due to his own behavior.  He doesn’t realize that he hurts people with the way he acts.  He wants to escape to a wild land where he can do whatever he wants, but longs for the comfort and familiarity of home once he’s there.  He’s sometimes out of control without really understanding why.  Or how to stop.

Max put it quite succinctly in the film as one character was fearfully waiting for an outburst to subside, “He doesn’t mean to be like that.  He’s just scared.”  She was struggling with the knowledge that this other out-of-control character depended on her and loved her.  And though she loved him as well, she longed to be free.  To pursue a less treacherous path, to leave the anger and outbursts behind in search of peace and understanding.  I suppose she would be the character to represent me.  Except that I know the treacherous path is the path I must stay on.  If I disengage, there will be no one who can pick up the pieces and make everything all right.  If anyone can.

In the end, of course, Max leaves the Wild Things.  Their fate is left uncertain.  There’s no one there to help them through their troubles.  Well, except each other.  And the audience is left unsure of their ability--or willingness--to pull together.

But Max returns home, where someone loves him best of all.  Home to a loving, understanding mother who forgives everything and just embraces him.  I don’t know if I can be that mother.  If I can forgive everything and embrace my wild thing, and all the trouble he trails.  But I will continue to try.  I suppose that if there is a path that can craft me into that person, it is the one upon which I walk.  Perhaps my wild thing, with his roaring and gnashing and rolling, will be the thing that tames me.  And I hope he knows that wherever I am, THAT is the place where someone loves him best of all.

Thanksgiving

It's a kindergarten tradition around here to dress up as Pilgrims & Indians.  Here's a flashback from when S was 5, and a current one of J.  I think my favorite part is the painted pasta necklaces.

I failed to mention in my previous post that I am also grateful for a husband who can cook.  We did very minimal planning for our Thanksgiving meal this year.  So Shaggy was left to season the chicken with what we happened to have in the house.  I don't know how he does it, but he pulled it off.  My culinary skills have yet to be tested when it comes to the main course for Thanksgiving.  Another thing for which I am very grateful.

K is showing promise in learning the traditional sweet potatoes with marshmallows recipe.  It was surprisingly good this year.  I'm typically not much of a sweet potato fan, but this batch was good for more than just toasted marshmallows.

With fork and spoon in hand, R is ready to have her plate loaded with food . . . to play with.  Though she did love the sweet potatoes, too.  It probably helped that we told her it was pumpkin pie.

We only break out the good plates a few times a year.  Which explains why we still have them.  J ducked out of the picture just before I took it.  Maybe he was self-conscious because he didn't comb his hair and it was still sticking up all over.  That happens a lot when we don't have to go anywhere.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Park Play

There are too many things that I am grateful for.  I can't possibly list them all here.  So I'll share just a few that I was reminded of during a recent trip to the park.

Beautiful weather.  Leaves.  Playgrounds.  Baby blues.  Static electricity on slides.

Big sisters.  Construction toys.  Photographs.  Happy kids.

The Lion's Den

Weekday mornings fill me with dread.  And it doesn’t help that I have yet to embrace the whole “morning person” thing.  I am reluctant to leave my sweet slumber, my comfy bed, the pure bliss that is not having to do anything for anyone.  But the part that causes dread in me is when I face J’s closed bedroom door.  Each school day, there is a possibility that I may have to face one of my greatest fears.  That J will flat-out refuse to go to school.  This is what I think about as I stare at his door.  Well, that and the fact that it’s pretty dirty and I really ought to wash it.

The house is relatively peaceful with his door closed.  Every morning, I long to leave it that way.  Let him sleep.  Let calm fill my soul.  Let the air be undisturbed by unwelcome sounds.

But alas, he must get to school--and preferably on time.

So I turn the handle . . . and enter the lion’s den.  I’m greeted with groans, shrieks, grunts or yells.  The last sounds I want to hear that early in the morning.  My ears ring and yearn for the peace of just moments ago.

J doesn’t like to wake up.  He unfortunately takes after me in that respect.  So he usually starts out grumpy.  Add to that the fact that he doesn’t respond well to being hurried through things--his usual response is to dig in his heels and take even longer.  And top off the whole scenario with the fact that he doesn’t really WANT to go to school in the first place.  The idea of rushing off to a place full of strangers is never appealing to him--it causes his anxiety to skyrocket.  He’d much rather stay home and play with familiar toys and pester his little sister.

But I would much rather he go to school.  Social anxiety is something he cannot overcome at home.  So I put on my nicest smiley face and use my best falsely-excited, super-patient voice, to try to get him moving.  That’s the trick, to get him out of bed and moving towards either the bathroom or the kitchen.  Sounds simple enough, but always ends up being quite an ordeal.

Ideally, I can produce some amusing story that will lure him out of his fetal position, his face buried in the mattress.  Like how I tried to stuff my pillow in my roommates desk drawer during a sleepwalking episode in college.  Or how little R maybe dreamt of roosters and did he hear her say “cock-a-doodle-doo” in the middle of the night?  If I can get him to laugh, our morning usually proceeds a little more smoothly.

I can’t say that I relish having the role of comedian forced upon me.  Shaggy is much better at it than I am, but his mornings are busy with dog walking, making lunches, and getting ready for work.  And J usually roars “MOOMMMYYYY!!!” if Shaggy attempts to cajole him out of bed.  So it’s left to me.

A long lost friend with whom I was recently reconnected, has a child with anxiety issues, as well.  One day, she had to drag her out from under the bed by her ankles and carry her, kicking and screaming, to school.  And they survived.  AND THEY STILL LOVE EACH OTHER!  She’s my hero.  That story is one I try to remember when I’m faced with an especially rough morning with J.

At least my little lion isn‘t usually THAT wild.  And if my friend’s daughter has improved to the point that she can speak in public and perform at piano recitals, there’s hope for J.  So I will continue to face his roars on a daily basis in the hope of growth and an increased ability to control his anxieties.  Until that day comes, I will try to find solace in the fact that Daniel survived his time in the lion’s den.  Maybe I will too.

Here Lizard Lizard

We've had a fish tank with goldfish for years.  But they weren't normal looking goldfish.  No.  They were the huge-eyed-freaky looking ones.  Normal wasn't novel enough, apparently.  Well, recently Shaggy grew weary of the goldfish.  I can't imagine why.  They were SUCH a pleasure to look at. 

But now the goldfish are gone.  Some died in recent months.  Some were given away.  All the water has been drained from the tank.  The gravel's been replaced with woodchips.  The fish food has been cleared out of the cupboards to make

room for . . . crickets.  Mmmmm!

We've added two little lizards to the family mix.  Merry and Pippen.  I'm sure you'll never guess where those names came from.  J had a delighful time at the pet store with Shaggy while they were buying the necessary equipment to set up the terrarium.  He tried his best to talk Shaggy into buying a turtle instead of lizards, but to no avail.  Shaggy's heart was set on lizards.

He couldn't buy just one, because he didn't want it to be lonely.  And what good is a Merry without a Pippen, anyway?

This is Merry.  She has turned out to be quite a fabulous hunter of crickets.  We're not sure Pippen will ever have the chance to eat any with her around.  But they're lizards, I'm sure they can work it out, right?  Like civilized creatures.

Pippen is a master of disguise. He changes color as easily as a dog barks. But he's always darker than Merry, and he's bigger, which is why we can tell them apart. The subtle differences in their countenances have thus far escaped us. Or me, anyway. Pippen also loves to bury himself in the woodchips during the day. And he clings to the glass, upside down in order to sleep. Doesn't look very comfortable.

They're crested geckos and they're nocturnal. So they're fairly boring during the day. They perk up in the evening and when we toss a few crickets their way. Little R gets quite excited about the whole cricket eating process.  Late at night, they're VERY active. Or so Shaggy says. I think he's turning into a nocturnal creature just so he can watch them. Not me. I like my sleep.

But the two features that made the kids instant fans (especially J) is that they like to eat rotten fruit (think fermented) and they lick their eyeballs.  Anytime anyone even mentions eyeball licking, J lets out his wonderfully infectious laugh.  He finds it hilarious that they lick their eyeballs.  And after having witnessed it myself, I have to agree with him.  It is pretty hilarious.  And a little creepy.