Peppermint

I knew the day would be a little out of the ordinary when J asked me, "Mommy, can you do that thing where you make us all go outside?"

"You WANT me to kick all the kids out of the house?"  Yeah, he did.  So I happily complied.

My kids seem to work in rythms.  There are weeks where they will want to be outside all the time.  Then they'll forget about the outside world and focus on indoor things.  These indoor phases seem to last longer, for some reason.  So I find that the best way to jolt them out of it is to MAKE them go outside.  They almost always whine and complain.  But then they go outside and usually end up having a great time and have to be dragged back inside later in the day.

I don't think this puts me in the "mean mom" category.  But I'm sure there are lots of other things that do.  But we don't really need to go into that right now.  Or ever, probably.

With all the kids outside, I was enjoying some peace and quiet--a fairly rare commodity around here.  Then I noticed that the kids were all walking back and forth in front of the house, in a line, like they were playing follow the leader or something.  My curiosity was piqued.  When I got closer to the front window, I could see what the attraction was.

A white kitten, which they were all delightedly following around.  It didn't seem to be posing a threat, so I let it be.  A little later on, S came inside to excitedly tell me all about the girl cat they had found which had "adopted" them and which they had named Peppermint.

At that point, I went out to investigate a little further.  She appeared to be quite young.  And she also appeared to be a stray.  She was a little jumpy with any quick movements, but didn't seem to feel threatened with people nearby.  I also discovered, to the kids' surprise (and dismay), that she was, in fact, a he.  But that didn't stop any of them from referring to him as a her.

We decided to give him some milk.  J decided to give him some of our dog's bacon chews.  He happily accepted both.

The kids discovered that he had a very playful nature.  Anything from ribbon to tennis balls to paper bags to fingers was fair game.

Up to this point, I hadn't encouraged any of the kids to hold Peppermint.  But as I was sitting in the grass, he came up, climbed on my lap, or what's left of it anyway, and started purring.  Who could resist that?  So then everyone had to hold him.

That is one happy kitty.  But I imagine that would be exactly how I would feel if I had been wandering around homeless for who knows how long, looking for food and shelter, and then finally found some nice people who fed me, played with me, and then rubbed my belly.  I'd probably promptly fall asleep, too.

To make a long story short, we couldn't bear the thought of just leaving him to fend for himself outside, so we took him in.  Temporarily.  But of course, as soon as he was safely indoors, the pleading eyes and desperate requests to keep him began.  Charger was relegated to the back yard--he doesn't do very well with cats.  And since this was such a sweet cat, we didn't want him to get eaten.  Especially on his first day off the streets.

The kids made all sorts of cat toys for him.  Shaggy was a little surprised to find a cat in the house when he came home, but happily jumped on board with the rescue.  He's such a softy.  He set up the dog den and the kids made a cozy little bed for Peppermint.  Where he promptly fell asleep . . . again.

Of course, S was the most devoted caretaker.  She was the only one willing to clean up after the cat's little messes.  But it was surprising to me how nurturing J was towards this little kitty.  But I suppose such a small kitten is much less intimidating than a giant shepherd.  His pleas to keep the cat were VERY heartfelt.

But once again, we had to face the facts--the harsh reality that we happen to have a dog with an enormous prey drive, and that we are about to have another baby.  So the kids ended up having a fabulous two days to play with a sweet little kitten before we gave it to some friends whose kitten just died.  I think it worked out well for everyone.  Especially Peppermint.

Handyman in Training

My kids usually start peppering me with questions and requests before I'm even out of bed.  Granted, it would probably be good if I was one of those early rising morning people.  But I'm not.  Nope.  Not me.  I get up when I HAVE TO get up.

And since it's summertime and I'm huge and pregnant, I've been milking my lazy mornings for all they're worth.

But there are many days when grunts and unintelligible mumblings from me just don't cut it.  At least not for my kids.

The other day, J was bursting to tell me all about his morning magnet discoveries.  He wasn't satisfied with the "Mmmm hmmmm" response.  He continued chattering about his creation until I had pried my eyes open enough to actually look at it.  He was holding a rather long chain of magnets with a screwdriver dangling from the end.  Then he proceeded to enlighten me on the subject of "magnet energy."

Apparently, when you stick multiple magnets together, they combine their "energy" which makes them stronger so they can hold up bigger things.  I may not be an expert in magnetism, but that sounded pretty close to me.

So I managed to drag myself out of bed and made sure that everyone had eaten breakfast.  Check.  I started cleaning up the table and rinsing the dishes.  By this time, J was onto his 5th or 6th project of the morning.  I'm grateful for the ones that involve only toys.  Unfortunately, he has been expanding his horizons.

Meanwhile, the older girls were shut away in their room working on a 750 piece puzzle.  They've been at it for days.  I realized I should have been buying them big puzzles like this for years.  A mistake I plan to remedy soon after they finish this one.

R was contentedly building mountains out of various items for her figures to climb on.

So, with everyone relatively content, I got down to the business of making cookies.  We were hosting a little get together to say goodbye to some friends who are moving very far away.  They have been great friends as well as our go-to family whenever we've really needed help.  We are so sad to see them go.  I thought various forms of chocolate were called for.

I found it very refreshing mixing up the cookie dough all by myself.  I usually have quite a few eager little hands wanting to dump this in, or mix that up, or eat those chocolate chips, or lick the beaters.  Things were much faster this way.  At least for a little while.

Then J came into the kitchen with a little train engine that required a new battery.

This is unfortunately, a very common problem around here.  We are FOREVER running down the batteries in some toy or other.  It's a constant battle to keep them charged up.  Too often, the toy just sits for weeks on end in our dead battery jail, waiting for some spare batteries to come their way.

But recently, J has decided to take matters into his own hands.  Thanks to his father.

A couple months ago, Shaggy thought it was a good idea to get J some tools of his own.  J, of course, was absolutely thrilled.  He loves ANY excuse to go to Home Depot with his Dad.  And to be able to go and pick out his very own tool bag along with some basic tools to go in it . . . well, that was just heavenly.

I have to say that he has been downright handy with his tools at times.  He took off and then replaced all the face plates when we were painting.  He always knows right where his screwdriver is if I need one for something.  He is perfectly willing to smash a broken toy to bits with his hammer so it will be sure to "fit" into the garbage can.  Nice, huh?

But it has also allowed him to enter somewhat dangerous territory.  Dangerous as in "I'm not sure I want him doing that."  Like changing batteries.  At first, he didn't pay much attention to the battery size difference.  Which didn't work out so well.

But then he got the hang of it.  And also learned about the proper direction to put them in.  Then he figured out how to use our little homemade battery tester to see which batteries still had juice in them.

So I suppose he is now about as proficient in battery changing as he needs to be.

But sometimes I have to remind myself that I really do WANT him to grow up to be extremely handy like his Dad.  It's just that some days, I sort of dread the learning process he will have to go through to get there.  When I recall some of the stories from Shaggy's childhood, they involve such things as tortured barbies, small fires in the backyard, disassembled toys, digging around in garbage cans for spare parts, etc., etc.

I have nightmares of one day hearing J say things like, "Look Mom, I figured out how the TV works" or "I think I have some extra parts from the thermostat."

These are the things that were flashing through my head as J was waiting for me to give him permission to change the battery in his train car.  I must have taken too long in answering because I got the raised eyebrows and the tilted head and the little smile when he repeated his request.

I sighed, "I just can't keep up with you."

He tilted his head a little farther and said ever-so-sincerely,  "This is the LAST thing I'll ask you for ALL day!"

Ummm . . . right.  I know he means it.  The problem is that he will completely forget about saying it approximately 30 seconds after he gets what he wants.  I suppose I should just be glad that he still seeks permission for these things.  I fully realize that that will end sooner rather than later.

So I told him to go ahead which made him very happy.  And which gave me a chance to get the cookies ready to go into the oven.  I turned around and found that R had spread out her blanket and pillow directly in front of the oven and was "cuddling up" in her bed.

It really is amazing that I get anything done.  EVER.

Even without the helping hands of the kids, it took me hours to make cookies.  But at the end of that time, I had a COMPLETELY full cookie jar.  And that . . . well . . . that made me very happy.

The Alternative

This is me . . . on a soap box.  But I'll try to keep it short . . . sort of.  And remember, you don't HAVE to read this.

I am grateful for all the advances in modern medicine.  I am grateful they have found lots of ways to do lots of surgeries and treatments to save lives.  But conventional medicine misses a lot.  And sometimes it is so focused on the modern cure, that it overlooks the holistic approach, or the homeopathic one, or the one that old wives have been passing down for centuries.

This isn't really a new revelation for me.  I've been on this path for a while.  I pretty much reject the whole doctor-is-God thing.  I'm grateful for doctors, but I know that they don't have all the answers.  In fact, I've seen that they are sometimes dead wrong about things.  And that it is far better for me to trust my instincts and do some research if something the doctor tells me doesn't ring true.

When a doctor tried to tell me that I HAD to supplement between each nursing session because my newborn had jaundice, I knew that he didn't know what he was talking about. 

When a pediatrician tried to scare me with threats to call child services because I didn't want to give my baby 4 shots during one visit, I changed doctors.  And stuck to an immunization schedule that made sense to me.

Over and over, I have found home remedies that are much more effective than prescriptions the doctors have given me.  And they help me avoid a costly and inconvenient trip to the doctor's office.

Once, I found myself taking some crazy expensive anti-viral drugs because my doctor told me my swollen lips were caused by fever blisters.  Something that was highly contagious, and would plague me the rest of my life because there was no cure.  She hadn't run any tests.  She had merely looked at my condition and pronounced it so as she wrote the prescription.  I should have known better, but I was scared--I truly looked freakish.  After a while, I realized that the drugs had absolutely no effect on the swollen lips and that I better search for another cause.  Turns out I was simply allergic to my lip balm.  I threw it away and have never had a problem since.  Thanks doc.

The first time I threw away an antibiotic prescription for my kid instead of just going with the advice, "Well, maybe this will help," I felt liberated.  Viral vs. bacterial is sort of a fundamental difference.  One that some of our pediatricians didn't care to acknowledge.  Which drove me crazy.  So I turned to homeopathics and education.  I learned which illnesses the body could resolve on it's own and which ones responded well to homeopathics.  But I am also fortunate to have found a pediatrician who tells me the truth instead of just handing me a prescription.  He acknowledges when an illness is caused by a virus and just has to run it's course, even when the symptoms are scary.  See, I appreciate that kind of honesty.

Recently, when the doc told me my baby was breech, she didn't give me a whole lot of helpful information.  "Walk.  Gravity should help her go head down.  If she's still breech at 38 weeks, you'll be looking at a c-section." 

Really, that's it?  That was the best information modern medicine could give me?!  First of all, explain exactly HOW gravity will help the baby flip over.  Her bum was where her head was supposed to be.  Gravity was NOT going to help her flip over.  Mostly, it would just cause her to sink lower, but stay in her current position.  I didn't even need to turn to my trusty friend named Google to figure that one out.

So I began researching my options.  Research feverishly driven by my fear of c-sections.  I'm glad they exist, of course.  And if I really needed one to avoid serious complications, or worse, I would gratefully submit.  But that's only if I was unable to find another way. 

As always, it felt good to take charge of my medical decisions--to learn about ALL the options.  And I was lucky enough to find some alternative approaches that worked for me, a nice combination of old wives tales and holistic medicine.  Which is SERIOUSLY good news since I was actually considering a home birth in order to avoid the c-section!

I think that our current mess of a health care system would be forced to change for the better if more of us were willing to take charge of our own medical decisions.  If we were willing to educate ourselves about our conditions OUTSIDE of the doctor's office.  If we weren't afraid to ask hard questions about the cost and necessity of things our doctors might recommend.  If we were willing to try the home remedies and explore alternative medicine in order to avoid some of the more expensive treatments modern medicine would like us to turn to.  If we would realize that some cures require patience because we have to find the cause rather than just treat the symptoms.  If we would remember that there are so very many ways to successful healing.

We are the consumers.  It's time we started acting like it.  It's time we realize that the control over our healthcare choices rests squarely on our shoulders--not the doctors, not the insurance agencies, and certainly not the government.

Ok, that's it.  I am now stepping down from the soap box.

The Breakfast Club

At breakfast the other day, all four kids were sitting around the table eating cereal together.  K started a little question game that entertained the little ones.

"Raise your hand if you're 5 years old."

R raised her hand as high as possible and said, while waving it back and forth, "Me!"

J also raised his hand.  When R noticed this, she scowled at him and waved her had even harder.  "No, me!" she insisted.

"Raise your hand if you're 2 years old."

R raised her hand, "Me!"  She looked around the table and was quite satisfied that no one else was raising their hand.

"Raise your hand if you're 9."

Again, R shot her hand in the air, saying "Me!"  And she told S very firmly NO! when she raised her hand to the same question.  By this time, all the kids were focused on R and her reactions rather than the actual proper responses to the questions.  So they gladly let R believe that she was, indeed, the only one at the table who was 2, 5, 9 and 11 years old.

So they started asking other questions.

"Who likes ice cream?  Who wants to have a cake at their birthday party?"

R continued her "Me!  No, Me!" responses to each and every question.  And she was quite put out when anyone else tried to raise their hand.

So then K decided to change the game in a subtle way.  Such a subtle way that the 2-year-old would likely miss it.

"Who wants no Christmas presents?"  R gladly raised her hand.

"Who wants to go in the lava?  Who wants to be burned in the fire?  Who wants to jump off a cliff?  Who wants to get eaten by sharks?"

"Me!"  R replied to each question with a big, enthusiastic grin.  The three older kids were laughing uproariously and exclaiming in disbelief over R's answers.

"Who wants no candy?"

Finally the question that brought the game to its abrupt conclusion.  For R finally caught on and just sat there, looking around the table at her siblings.  Looking for all the world like that was the most ridiculous question in the world.  Because seriously, what 2, 5, 9, or 11-year-old child would ever want NO candy?!

The Bravest Kid I Know

Flashback to one year ago.  J was finishing up preschool.  He wasn't talking to any of his classmates.  He mostly only nodded or shook his head in response to his teachers.  He ALWAYS had a hard time when I dropped him off at school and often when I picked him up.

This picture of him with his teacher, was taken on the very last day of school.  THAT was how comfortable he was in that environment AFTER going there twice a week for nine months.  Not so comfortable at all, really.  And yet, he went every time, and even claimed that he really liked preschool, that it was fun.  "Funner than staying home."

That was the year I realized just how brave J was.  It would have been so much easier for him to just stay home.  For me to have let him just stay home.  He wanted to keep things comfortably the same.  Avoid any scenarios that would cause him anxiety.

But MY goal for him was totally and completely incompatible with that.  I wanted him to grow, develop, and eventually, to become self-sufficient.  So I had to push him forward, no matter how hard it was for either one of us.

And he did make progress during his preschool year.  Inch by inch, he scooted closer to the carpet where they had circle time until he was finally able to join them, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his classmates.  After the first couple of weeks, he cooperated in doing all the schoolwork that was asked of him.

Well, except for when they wanted to make a life-sized J out of paper.  No way was he going to lay down and let them trace his body shape.  But he did think it was really funny that another boy in the class pretended to be him and lay down on the paper to be traced.  And he was quite proud of the giant paper J he decorated.  It hung on our door for weeks and weeks after he brought it home.

For anyone else, his progress would have seemed minimal.  For the spectators watching the end of the year performance, it was hard to miss the one kid who turned away from the audience as much as he could, who refused to sing, refused to make any hand motions other than a very tiny twirl of his pointer finger.

But for us, the fact that he stayed up there and didn't just plant his feet and grow roots before he even stepped onto the stage--that was huge.  The fact that his pointer finger made any motion at all in front of hundreds of strangers--that was huge, too.  The fact that he learned some of the names of his classmates and his teachers and would talk about them at home . . . well, that was tremendous.

Tiny things that most kids never even spend a second thinking about would send J into terror mode.  But he never let that terror stop him in his tracks--at least not for too long.  Day in, day out he faced his fears and pushed through them.  He fought a battle within himself.  An unbelievably tough battle, for the ability to control his anxieties.  And little by little, he began to win that battle.

Fast forward to the fall of last year.  Kindergarten loomed ahead of him.  We didn't have to send him.  He could have stayed in preschool for another year.  He hadn't even turned five when the school year started.  But we felt it would be best to keep up the momentum, to build on the progress he'd made in preschool.  So we signed him up, hoping and praying that he would be able to handle school on a daily basis.

There were three different kindergarten classrooms.  But only one of which we felt that he would be able to thrive in.  So I took on the role of one of those pushy parents who simply won't settle for anything less than what they are convinced their child needs.  I wrote a most convincing and persuasive letter to the principal which served its purpose and landed J in the right class with the right teacher.

His first day, he didn't even look back at me as he filed into his classroom.  I felt triumphant for him.

 Throughout the year, he had his ups and downs.  But we managed to get him to school every day that he wasn't too sick to go.  At home, he used his teacher's name freely and would sometimes tell us stories about what the other kids said and did.  He was SO excited to take his bear to school for the teddy bear picnic.   And once he was in his classroom, he walked his bear all around the room, so the bear could see everything.

He went through a lot of different emotional stages as he not only learned to better control his anxieties, but also to shed some of them.  He would sometimes talk about college and adamantly profess that he would never go because he was going to live with me forever.  He would occasionally ask if Daddy could move out so he could just live with me.  For a while, he insisted on giving me "fifty hundred" hugs and kisses before he went to bed and would hug me randomly throughout the day.  He even played the word game where you express just how much you love someone in terms of distance, size, or physical feats.  But he was always adamant that he loved me "tons" more than I loved him.

 I felt like celebrating when he told me  "I like going to school, I just don't like getting ready," and  "A day at school is better than a boring old day at home."

 As the end of the school year came around, we were faced with a field trip to the zoo.  Earlier in the year, I had to accompany him on the bus for his field trip. There was no way he would have gone otherwise.  But for the zoo, I decided to meet him there and have him ride the bus with his class.  I wasn't sure it would work, but he did great.  He didn't look the least bit ruffled as I surreptitiously watched him climb the stairs and take his seat.

 Because I had R with me, we didn't get much of a chance to stay with his classmates until we caught sight of them later in the day.  J made sure we stuck with them like glue at that point.  Later, as we were driving home when it was all over, he told me,  "Mommy, I never want you to come with me to the zoo for a field trip ever again."

 Now I would venture to guess that most parents might be saddened by that statement from one of their children.  I might have felt a little bit sad by it had it come from any of my other children.  But when J said it, the only emotions I felt were pride, joy, and gratitude.  But of course I played it cool and merely responded, "Ok, baby.  If that's what you want.  It's kind of fun to go places with friends, isn't it?"

J has been engaged in a battle with social anxiety for nearly four years.  It has caused him to be noncompliant, to shriek, to throw tantrums, to have meltdowns, to freeze, to deny himself comfort, to avoid a tremendous number of fun things, and to retreat into himself.  It has been a not-so-fun roller coaster ride for our entire family.

But on that day, the day he realized it would be fun to enjoy something with friends WITHOUT me around, that was a milestone of momentous proportions.  It was a day where it was easy to see just how much his brave little heart had accomplished.

At the kindergarten program last week, J was standing comfortably on the stage, shoulder to shoulder with his peers.  He didn't seem to mind at all that there were hundreds of strangers staring up at them.  He zeroed in on my face right away and gave his trademark smile, the one he uses only when he's out in public.  He grins, then immediately tries to hide it by forcing the corners of his mouth down.  But you can still easily see that he's smiling, even though he's trying his best to suppress it.

 He proceeded to make all the hand motions for the songs they had prepared.  He even sang some of the lyrics--the ones he could remember.  And then, the most surprising thing of all, he walked calmly up to the microphone when his turn came and said,  "I'm J, and I want to be a soccer player."  He didn't clench his teeth, making his words unintelligible.  He didn't turn away and speak so softly that you couldn't hear him.  He said it loud and clear, for the whole room to hear.

Most of us have to face our fears at various points in our lives.  But J has had to face them on a daily basis for years.  And he didn't quit, he didn't give up.  He marched on, step by step, gaining ground slowly, but steadily.  THAT is what courage is all about.

Mary Anne Radmacher said,  "Courage doesn't always roar.  Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow."

And that's what J has done all these years.  He's gotten up and tried again, day after day.  And I couldn't be more proud of my son, the bravest kid I know.