Jack's Version of the Truth

Jack is three. 

In other words, when we ask Jack to tell us what happened, we often get interesting versions of the truth.

Story 1: Jack and I were home alone.  I came into the living room to find toys and pillows strewn everywhere.
Me:  Jack, where did all this come from?  Who made this mess?
Jack:  Ummmm, Ben do it.
Me.: Ben is at school.  I don't think he did it.
Jack: Ummmm, Will do it.
Me: Will is at school. I don't think he did it either.
Jack: Ummmm, Kate do it.
Me:  Jack, Kate did not do this.  She is at school.  Did you make this mess?
Jack: (Hangs head) Sowwy, Mommy.

Story 2: A large bowl of Halloween candy was accidentally left on the kitchen table, where Jack happened to be sitting alone while he finished his ONE sucker.  Tim goes into the kitchen to find wrappers everywhere and Jack sticky.
Tim: Jack, did you eat this candy?
Jack: No.
Tim: (Going through the wrappers) Did you eat the starburst?
Jack: No
Tim: Did you eat the smarties?
Jack: No
Tim: Did you eat the suckers?
Jack: No.
Tim: Did you eat the candy in your mouth right now?
Jack: No.

Story 3: The three big kids have a bad habit of leaving their handheld video games lying around.  I often come in a room to find Jack sitting with the game on his lap.  He is not allowed to play anytime he wants, but only in certain circumstances.
Me: Jack, are you playing the DS?
Jack: (Closes the game quickly, and looks up at the ceiling in a super-innocent-I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-talking-about way. I swear if he could whistle while he looks up it would completely top off the act.)
Me: Jack, put the game away.
Jack: Sowwy, Mommy.

It is a good think that I have raised three other three-year olds, or I might think I have a compulsive liar on my hands. 

Jack and the Hearing Saga

When we first saw Jack's file over a year ago, it was noted that he had severe/moderate hearing loss.  At the time we had two thoughts concerning this.  First, it was probably conductive loss related to his cleft palate.  If so, a good set of tubes might go a long way in helping him hear. (As one of Kate's doctors told me once, it is hard to hear with tapioca pudding in your ears.)  Second, even if the loss is permanent we have lots of resources to help a child with partial hearing loss.

So, we started the process and honestly did not give a lot more thought to his hearing loss. It was one of those We Will Cross That Bridge When We Come To It kinds of things.

Fast forward to last April when we met him. We had some indication that there might be loss.  For example, he is really loud.  No really. He is loud. Also, (unlike Kate, who also had moderate hearing loss) he had no connection with his Chinese name, even when spoken by people at his orphanage.  Was it because he couldn't hear or was it that they just never called him by that name?

Within a few days though, we noticed he was easily turning his head towards all sorts of sounds, and he was responding to the name Jack. This confirmed - for us anyway - that his loss was moderate at worst, not severe.

Once home our regular audiologist (#1) confirmed this for us again through a series of tests.  However, everyone and their mama thought we still needed to get a sedated ABR hearing test to further nail down the type and severity of the loss.

Remember all of the rigamaroll I went through to get the ABR?  Blech.

So in August, after his tubes were placed but before Dr. L repaired his palate, an audiologist (#2) came in and performed an ABR.  I was so confident that his hearing would come back with minor or no loss that I didn't give it a lot of thought.

Except that isn't what the report said.  The audiologist (#2) (who I had never met before) told me that Jack had moderate/severe sensori-neural loss and that he needed hearing aids immediately.  That he wasn't hearing well enough that he would ever learn to speak without aids.  Honestly, it was a punch in the gut.  I cried for quite a while before I felt ready to go back into the waiting room.  In my head I knew that this was a possibility, and I thought I was prepared for it, but the reality was a lot more painful.

Tim and I together decided we weren't ready to share this news.  Keep in mind that we were still dealing with the fact that our 2 year old was in surgery.  And for my part, I knew that I needed to get to a point where I wouldn't cry every time it was mentioned.  The last thing Jack (or I) needed was pity.  We needed resources and strength.  Jack would need the confidence to know that hearing aids would not slow him down or stop him from anything he wanted to accomplish in life.  It had to be no big deal.  And honestly I wasn't there yet.

We went in to see our regular audiologist (#1) a couple of weeks later.  Immediately, she questioned these results.  She questioned the type and severity, maintaining that Jack's loss was conductive and minimal, and she tested him again.  Over the course of the next few months she repeated those tests more times than I could count.  I carried the results to pediatricians and ENTS, looking for answers to these conflicting reports.

In the meantime, Jack was starting to talk.  He said the word ball.  Daddy. Wah (water). And one night I was putting him to bed.  It was pitch black in the room, and we were whispering to each other. He would say, "Mama," and I would say, "Jack."  Back and forth we went. And then I said, "Time to sleep, Jack." And he rolled over and went to sleep.

I know some of you are marveling that he listened to me, but I was marveling that he heard me! I whispered!

I went in to see audiologist #1 and told her, and she cried. I love that woman.

Then last month Dr. T, the international adoption doc, suggested we see her friend who is an audiologist (#3).   I had been considering a third opinion from the place this woman works anyway, so I was game.  They got us right in, and audiologist #3 did a series of tests and then says, "Jack has normal or near-normal hearing.  He does not need aids." And I cried again. I asked, "How could this other, supposedly objective test have been so wrong?"  And she explained to me how the instruments can sometimes get covered in the blood and other fluids present in a surgical situation, thereby making them inaccurate.  It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened.

And so here I am, considering all of this.  I am extremely grateful that his hearing is fine, not only because I am a normal parent who wants their child to have normal hearing (even though I was perfectly willing and able to parent a child with hearing loss), but also because now we only have to have hearing checks a couple times a year. Which is really great, considering my recent complaints about frequent doctor appointments.

But through this process I have also thought a lot about what it would mean to have a child with something the rest of the world considers a disability.  I have given a lot of thought to parents who want their child to not be seen as a deaf child, but a child who happens to be deaf.  Do you see the distinction?  They don't want the emphasis to be on the deafness, but rather on a child who has infinite possibilities for success in his life.

This is another post without a neat bow.  I am thankful for Jack's hearing. I have twice been given the gift of a child whose hearing loss was restored.  (And twice the gift of children who have no hearing loss but severe selective hearing loss, iykwim.) I guess what I am saying is that maybe when I hear a child has a diagnosis, I will think twice before saying, "I am sorry."  Not that there isn't a time and place for I am sorry.  There is.  I just know that it wasn't something I wanted to hear. I did not want anyone pitying my son, who is one of the smartest kids I have ever met. (He is starting to recognize letters.  He is 2 and has only heard the English language for the past 8 months, 4 of which his ears were full of tapioca pudding.)  He is going to do amazing things, and it has nothing to do with how well he hears.  Next time I will be more likely to look past whatever the child has, and see the child's potential.  That is what is best for the child.  And for his mom.

Overwhelmed.

If I had to pick one word to describe the last four weeks (yep, almost a month during which I haven't blogged), it would be overwhelming. 

While I sometimes like to write with lightheartedness or sarcasm, other times I feel that vulnerability and honesty are the better way.  October (and September, if I am being truthful) calls for that. 

Overwhelming.

I am overwhelmed with the number of appointments. My kids and/or I have had appointments with plastic surgeons, ophthalmologists, optometrists, ENTs, audiologists, orthodontists, dentists, speech and language pathologists, OB/GYNs, teachers, and pediatricians. I think we are currently averaging around five appointments a week.

I am overwhelmed with my kids activities.  Individually, it really isn't that much, but since there are four of them, it feels like more.  This fall the three big kids played soccer.  This winter Kate and Will are playing basketball.  Ben is on the academic team.  Ben and Kate want (and really should) take swimming lessons (and I am sure I will force Will to go as well).  Will and Kate also are in Bible Club at school.  Ben has an important role in the church Christmas play (which thankfully requires very little effort on my part), and Kate and Will are in the younger kids choir.  For now, I go to Sunday school with Jack to help him feel comfortable and safe, which we are thiiiisss close to achieving. 

I am overwhelmed by the pain of those that I love.  There are multiple people in my life who are hurting, and I want to fix everything for them.  I can't.  I can listen. I can hug.  I can pray. I can cook.  But I can't fix anything. (And those of you who are in that pain, please don't stop calling me.  I will worry about you whether you call me or not.  Talking to you actually helps. I mean it.)

I am overwhelmed by laundry, gardening, dirty floors, dirty toilets, disobedient children, screaming children (mostly one in particular), home repairs, phone calls, husbands who work around 50 hours a week, breakfasts, lunches, dinners, birthday parties, homework, children's church, political debates, and committee meetings.

But.

And this is a big but;)

I am also overwhelmed with the support I am getting from those I love.  My friends and family have been incredibly supportive of me and my family through all of the stuff I wrote about above.  They have let me vent, cry, and stomp my foot.  And then they make me laugh.  They cook for me and my children.  They help me make plans to make my life easier and talk through my options and give me their honest opinions.  Between my family, my college roommates, my book club, my fellow adoptive parents, and my friends who live thousands of miles away but still call to check on me on a regular basis, I am overwhelmed with support.

I am overwhelmed with joy spending time with my small group at church.  I, along with two other amazing women, work with teen girls each week.  These girls rock.  They are smart, funny, passionate, and compassionate, I can't believe I get to sit and laugh with them every week. 

I am overwhelmed with love.  Because even though we are crazy busy, my kids still take time to crawl up in my lap (or rather, my arms since I am not usually sitting) and tell me that they love me.  My husband still makes me feel beautiful and smart. And my God still reminds me Every. Single. Day. that He is in control of all of this.  Love. 

So, yes, I am overwhelmed.  With good, bad, and in between.  But it is all good.  And this too shall pass.  In about sixteen years.  I really have an amazing life.  If a tad overwhelming at the moment.

Will. My Eight Year Old.

 

I was walking down the stairs today, and I noticed a picture of Will that hangs on the wall there.  I walk past the pictures that hang there a million times a day, rarely taking the time to slow down and look at them.  In the photo, he is four years old.  His face is round, with kissable cheeks, sparkling eyes, and a noticeable lack of freckles, considering his current tally of "sprinkles." It was shortly after this picture that his face started to lose the "baby-ness."  Suddenly, he was a big boy.

Will is my mama's boy.  (Jack is in hot pursuit of that title, but Will is hanging on for dear life.) I always tell him that no one loves me quite the way that he does.  (Not the amount, mind, but the way he does it.)  When he hugs me I can feel it in my bones.

  

And I am constantly amazed at how much he has grown up.  He isn't a baby any more.  He is a second grader.  He is the "grit" of the soccer team.  He is a beginning piano student who has joy in every correct note.  He is the kid who gets off the bus and proudly shows me his perfect spelling test.

Oh, and he adores small children.  He was my biggest asset when I was babysitting regularly.  He could usually figure out what was wrong and how to make the baby stop crying before I did.  He loves his brothers and sister fiercely, and loves torturing them almost as much.

He still makes me laugh like crazy.  Still says off the wall things.  And we will be using Will-isms until we die.  (Nevah-evah-evah! It's too much soup! Shirts are very important to me. That was a sarcasm. I knew I would have a great life.)  A friend of ours who goes to the local college (where we know lots of folks)  said she overheard another student using a Will-ism one day - and it was someone we don't even know.  The girl apparently thought it was a movie quote because she had heard it so often from our friend.

Of course, those of you who know Will personally also know that this is the child that has taught me the most about parenting.  Any patience, creativity, or gray hairs that I exhibit come from parenting this child.  He keeps me on my toes, this one.

But, oh.  How I love this kid.  I love every sprinkle on his face.  I love his persistence and tenacity - which make me crazy, but will serve him well in life.  I love his search for justice in his life and in the world.  I can't wait to see how God will use this kid. It's going to be awesome. 

Poor Impulse Control

In case you haven't heard, I really like Jack's new plastic surgeon.  He is bright, young, and enthusiastic. 

And he cracked me up.

Early on in the appointment he commented that I had my hands full with Kate and Jack.  I laughed and said that this was only half of the crew.  He shook his head and made the standard "Oh, you are such saints," comment.  This comment makes me crazy.  Anyone who has said this to me in real life knows that I always answer, "No, we aren't saints.  We are just doing what we want to do - parenting kids."

He must have seen it on my face (everything I think shows on my face).  To answer him I started out, "No, we aren't saints," and he interrupted me with a smile and said, "Oh, so it's just poor impulse control then." 

And I laughed. "Yes, exactly!"  Because that is exactly my brand of sarcastic, dry humor. 

So I have decided that this may be my new answer when someone tells me what I saint I am.  "No, I just have really bad impulse control."  Then I will shake my head and walk away. 

As if you could adopt a kid on a whim.  An impulse. 

I am cracking up just thinking about it.  Hehe. 

Happy Mother's Day

Yes, I know this is a day late.  I had a beautiful post in my head on Saturday night - a tribute to all of the mothers in my life and all that they have done for me.  I have especially been missing my Ma-Ma and my Bunk, and wanted to write about them. 

But that didn't happen.

(And you know that when I write a single sentence fragment as a whole paragraph, that I am getting ready to launch into a rant, right?)

Where did we get the idea that Mother's Day is this glorious time where everyone celebrates mom and caters to her every desire?  Because that has never happened at my house.  Not even a little bit.  Never.  At my house, my husband (whom I love, but for the purpose of this story is not the hero) gets up and leaves for work on Mother's Day before I have even considered getting out of bed.  Because it is Sunday and that is what pastors do on a Sunday.  Except, oh yeah, I did get out of bed several times in the wee hours of the morning to help one kid vomit into the toilet after eating too much junk food at a baseball game last night.  Oh yeah, and to get another crying child out of his bed and into mine before he woke up three other children.  (Although in the husband's defense, he did take the crying child from me so that I could go back to sleep for a little while before I had to get up.  Maybe he is the hero of the story.  Or at least one of them. Huh.)

Then Mom has to get the children who are neither crying nor vomiting ready for church and there on time (or at least within 30 minutes of said time for church).  When the children and husband arrive back home from church, the four smallest of the crew want to sit on Mom's lap at the same time.  Which is lovely in sentiment and theory, but is distressing to a mother who wants to avoid two of said children from cold cocking each other.

At which point Mom goes into the kitchen to get some water.  And realizes that no one has bothered to clean up one single dish from the lunch that she cooked.  On Mother's Day.  And so she clears the table, loads the dishwasher, washes the dishes that don't go into the dishwasher, wipes down counters and table, sweeps the floor, and at some point realizes that she needs an escape hatch.

At which point Mom grabs the Kindle, the car keys, and her wallet and leaves.

After cooling off for an hour or so, Mom decides she misses the little boogers and goes back to get the two bigs for a movie date.  Mom and her big boys really do enjoy themselves, and this is the one point in the story where true appreciation is shown to Mom.  Because she did something she never ever ever does.  She let them watch a PG-13 movie.  And so naturally the bigs are very appreciative and kind.  And Mom can't believe she stooped so low just to get a thank you out of her children.


Upon returning to the nest, the smallest bird has decided that he Does. Not. Like. It. when Mom thinks that she can just up and leave and then she returns and expects everything to be normal.  Oh, no.  No, he decides he is not happy with Mama for that one.  And he spends the next few hours refusing to let her give him a bottle, look her in the eye, or let her put him to bed. 


I wish I could say that Mother's Day is typically a really great day for us, but honestly, this story is typical of my Mother's Days.  Except we don't usually throw attachment issues in there.  That one was a new bonus for Mother's Day. 


And now you know why, when Tim asks me what I want for Mother's Day, I tell him I want to crawl in bed. 

The Preparations are Starting

People have asked me periodically how I manage to stay excited about the adoption the whole time. The truth is, I don't. I am not a person who can maintain emotional highs or lows for a long period of time. I max out and get exhausted after a couple of days. So I have intentionally paced myself since I first saw Jack's face back in October. I have tried to just take things one step at a time.

Now that we are possibly weeks from travel, I am beginning to accept that this is actually going to happen, and I have to get me, my family, and my house ready for this trip.

Let's start with my house. This one will take the most time, but probably be the easiest. It drives me crazy to come home to a dirty house. I have found that I obsess about it the entire flight/drive home, and at that point in any trip I don't have the energy left to obsess over anything. Now never mind the fact that I live in a filthy house every single day. For some reason I can't stand for it to be dirty when I am not in it. So the first thing on the list (and the thing I can't actually finish until the last minute) is to clean the house.

There are other nesting type activities that need to be done, such as purchasing new mattresses for the two littles, rearranging Kate and Jack's room, and going through the massive amounts of clothes in both the kids' rooms. I also need to re-organize the toys (read, purge), or I am pretty sure they will continue to multiply like rabbits and take over my house while we are away.

Preparing my family is a little less time consuming, but involves more thinking. I have to strategically pack for five people (Tim is on his own) for spring weather, which I imagine is just as unpredictable in China as it is here. Layers will be key.

I also have to continue to emotionally prepare the kiddos for another brother. Naturally, I have been doing this for a very. long. time. But now these conversations seem to be kicking into high gear. Everything from, will Jack be scared of us when we meet him, to will we see familiar faces at the orphanage, and will he "love me the last?" That last one is Kate's question.

With all of the above preparations going on (ok, they are mostly just lists at this point, rather than actual preparations), I tend to push preparations for myself to the back burner. Not the packing, but the emotional stuff. Which goes back to my initial comments today. Adopting a kid is emotionally intensive. It just is. It is hard, and joyous, and amazing, and heart-breaking, and rips your heart out just before it makes you soar. And then it does it all over again. Having done this once, I know all this. So I how do I prepare myself for the way all of these emotions will wash over me in the coming weeks and months? Can I prepare myself?

Last time I did a lot of reading. I read every attachment book I could get my hands on. I read adoption blogs about cleft lip and palate and toddlers and first parents and whatever other topic I deemed relevant. And it taught me so much - more than I even realized I would need. But at the same time, how can you prepare yourself for this huge unknown?

This time I am trying to soak up the calm. I am taking time to read for fun, not just information. I am trying to sit and laugh with my children more. Tim and I are scheduling mini-dates while the kids are at school. I need to enjoy this time of peace and contentment before our world turns upside down.

I know that eventually, Jack will adjust to us, and us to him. But in the meantime it's going to get crazy. And 'fake it til you make it' will become my mantra.

Breathe in. Breathe out

That Kid

You know, that kid. The one that ruins Christmas and Santa for everyone else. I'm pretty sure I've got that on my hands this year.

Back in November, Kate came home from school and said something about Santa bringing presents. Will dispelled the Santa myth in our house last year once and for all, so I was surprised and reminded her about who brings the presents and not to tell kids at school. (I also did not want a repeat of the last three Christmases where she has screamed her head off anytime we bumped into the Jolly Old Elf or his Wife.)

Fast forward into December. She came home from school again and says, "I got into a fight today." I took a deep breath, reminded myself that fight likely meant argument, and dove in.

Me: Why did you get into a fight.
Kate: Well, it was about whether Santa is real or not.
Me: Please tell me you didn't tell the other kids that Santa isn't real.
Kate: Well, yeah.
Me: NaNa, we have talked about this. Not everyone knows the secret that Santa isn't real, and some families like to pretend, so we don't want to spoil their fun by telling the secret.
Kate: Oh, yeah, I forgot.
Me: Well, from now on keep that information to yourself.

So let me officially apologize to all the families that my daughter has told about Santa. I hope you were able to repair the damage.

Another Bad Mommy Confession

We are still catching up on the Summer Activities Report with this one. Unfortunately, I have put off telling this story because I am totally embarrassed by it. Ahhh, confession time.

First, a little back story - As a kid, I swam constantly. Like, every summer weekday I was at the pool. Every weekend, at the lake. I spent about seven summers working as a lifeguard. I swam competitively for awhile (although be aware I am using the term "competitively" quite loosely here). I have been swimming so long that I don't actually remember learning to swim.

If you had asked me ten years ago, what is one thing your kids will know how to do before they are five years old? I would have said swim. Obviously, it is a very important life skill, right?

But all of a sudden, I looked around, and I had three children who were afraid of the water. Had I taken them swimming? Had I gotten them lessons? Had I worked with them myself? Yes to all three, but obviously not enough.

This summer, I decided enough was enough. I declared that this would be the summer that everyone would learn to swim! I told them that every chance we had to be in the water, we would be swimming!

It sounds like an excuse, but it really was a challenge to find a suitable pool. That has always been part of our original problem. Our local outdoor pool is freezing and only about three feet deep. None of my kids were going to learn to swim in water that shallow. The local indoor facility has one pool that is warm, but only about three feet deep, and one that is cold and reserved for swimmers doing laps. Again, not ideal conditions. We ended up doing most of our "lessons" in two locations: my uncle's pool in the next town over and in a tiny little pool (that is five feet!) in my hometown, two hours away.

So, a couple times a week I would drive to one of the above locations, put them in the pool, and work with them individually and as a group. We practiced kicking, holding our breath, blowing bubbles, and moving our arms. They were mostly willing to learn, but I'm not going to lie. Every one of us lost our patience more than once. We all got mad at each other those first few times.

On one particular afternoon in June, I almost had a mutiny on my hands. We were at Uncle Ricky's, and we were all upset. All three kids wanted to quit. One of them shouted that he would learn to swim when he was a teenager. I told them that no way, no how, were they going to be the 15 year-old kids requiring a life jacket to swim in five feet of water. They were learning. Now. Yes, Mean Mama, who was also embarrassed at what a bad job she had made of it, had had Enough!

After much weeping and gnashing of teeth, they got back in the water. And they tried. And I tried. And on other days their dad tried. And Daddy John tried. And basically we all worked very hard all summer to not let one more season pass without them learning how to swim.

So, did it pay off? I am very pleased to report, that despite my ineptitude, my children did indeed learn to swim.
Ben is learning basic strokes, and can swim across the pool. He is even starting to learn to dive.
Will was terrified to swim without a life jacket in June. He is now doggy paddling all over the place, and loves to jump in the deep end. And he isn't holding his nose!
Kate NaNa still prefers to hold onto a float, but she can swim across the pool. OK, she can in the shallow end. She can't quite figure out how to come up for air without putting her feet down. But she is only four, so I can cut her some slack on that one, especially since she has conquered her fear of the water. She also has a crazy strong kick that propels her really quickly across the surface.
By the 4th of July, they were able to swim with their cousins without clinging to the wall. Or holding their noses. Or asking 18 times if they could put on their life jackets.

In the end, we still have a long way to go. And I am still embarrassed that I let this go so far. But at least I am now confident that my children will not drown. Or still be afraid of the water at the age of 14 (no offense to those of you who are older than 14 and afraid). We are going swimming at an indoor pool this week, and I am eager to see how much they remember from last month.
I'm sure if I lose my temper again that they would be happy to tell you about it.

Winter Confessions

Some of you may remember my summer confessions. I have had such a "got it all together" winter, that I thought it was time for an installment of winter confessions. Ya know, since I've got it all together and stuff.

10. When parents drop their kids off for me to babysit in the morning, I am not wearing my pajamas. And when they come back that afternoon to pick them up, I do not rush upstairs and dress quickly so they don't think I am a big lazy slob. And they are totally tricked because my hair and make-up are perfect too.

9. When I was searching for something in my closet, I did not find a bag full of clothes that I had bought Kate for her birthday. In October. That I didn't even remember that I had lost.

8. My children do not make me want to cuss with their more annoying behaviors. When I am cleaning the toilet, I do not want to scream the name of the stuff that is smeared all over it.

7. I did not have to confess to my mother that I now understood why she talked the way she did when I was a child.

6. While we are at it, my children do not have the incessantly annoying behaviors named above because I am an awesome parent who knows how to properly bring up my children.

5. I did not forget essential ingredients for dinner three times in one week. Twice during spaghetti night. And there aren't that many ingredients in spaghetti.

4. When Will had a stomach virus and he was whining loudly at 5am and I was trying to sleep, I did not tell him that the best thing for a sore tummy was to lie real still, and most importantly to not make any noise.

3. When one of my clients carefully and lovingly prepared food for their child, I did not throw it out because said food would've made an incredible mess and taken me a good 20 minutes to clean up. (And no, client-reading-this-post, I am sure it is not something you fixed. It was someone else.)

2. When my own kids did not want to eat leftovers from new recipes I have been trying out lately, I did not feed them to one client in particular, knowing "Mikey" will eat anything. (And no, client-reading-this-post, it wasn't your child. It was someone else.)

1. I have not stopped taking my children to the library because I racked up so many over-due fines over our Christmas travels that I am embarrassed to show my face there.

And yes, I am dead serious. Especially if you didn't notice any sarcasm.

Booooooored

My kids have been out of school since Tuesday because of snow. This is on top of the week or so they missed before Christmas for snow. Our roads have been fairly clear (i.e., we aren't entirely trapped in our home), but I am still starting to go a little stir crazy, and I'm not the only one. Yesterday, if my children merely bumped into each other, it resulted in much weeping and gnashing of teeth. We are all pretty sick of looking at each other.

So this morning I called a dear friend who works in the school system. He and his wife don't have kids yet, and he offered to hang out with my kids in the event that I needed a little break. I am definitely there. Break, please!

While I was talking to him, he said that he was glad I had called because he was starting to get a little bored. When I hear people say this it always makes me smile a little.

Bored. I hear that word a lot from my kids, and it rarely produces a smile. Usually when they come in with that whiny voice, declaring, "I'm booooooored.....I don't know what to dooooooooo....." I just want to hit someone. But I refrain. Instead, I launch into my pre-manufactured speech:

Oh, you're bored? Poor thing. I feel like this is my fault. I let you watch entirely too much TV yesterday. If I hadn't let you watch television, you wouldn't have forgotten how to entertain yourself, and you wouldn't be bored now. So, tell you what, I won't let you watch TV anymore since it apparently steals your creativity. Also, feel free to go clean your room, fold the towels, or wash the dishes if you are out of things to do. And then we can bag up all of your "boring" toys and give them to a family whose kids would enjoy them more. What do you think about that?

You can imagine the eye rolling that occurs after this. I think Will was the youngest person I ever met capable of recognizing sarcasm. When he was about four years old he would cock his head to the side and say, "Mommy, was that a sarcasm?" Yes, baby, very good.

Anyway, I remember boredom. In college or when Tim and I were newlyweds, I can remember saying things like, I'm bored. Let's go into town and rent a movie or go out to eat or go the mall or whatever I thought sounded like a good solution to not having anything to do.

I don't think I have been bored one second since Ben was born. I'm not saying that my children are entertaining. They are, but that isn't my point. My point is that there is always something to do - change a diaper, prepare a meal, clean the floors... I could go on here, but you get the idea. When I actually do have a free moment, I am more than happy to sit with my nothingness and just veg. Not that I actually remember that happening in the last 8 years.

I wonder if boredom returns after the children fly the coop. (Today it feels more like a coop than a nest.) Not that I want to be bored again. I just want the freedom to be bored if I feel like it.

Summer Confessions

I have been on my best behavior so far this summer, so I thought I would give you all the Top 10 list of things I would never do.

10. I did not lose my 3 year old at an amusement park.

9. I did not pretend to be asleep for an hour and a half while my children ran around like banshees.

8. I did not forget to take Ben to piano lessons. Twice.

7. I did not call my friend and tell her that she had to come save my garden because I didn't have time. Twice.

6. I did not selfishly convince my boys that having one big birthday party for both of them would be more fun than having two little parties. In reality the only difference will be that there will be two cakes.

5. I did not refuse to get in the lake with my children and play.

4. I did not throw my oldest son in the lake because he bonked me in the head with a noodle. Whereupon he did not cry and yell a lot.

3. I did not ignore my leaking toilet for an entire week so that my husband can fix it when he gets home.

2. I did not lose it completely and yell loudly and at length at my five year old while I was babysitting our two-year-old friend O. (Thankfully, her mother did not have to forgive me when I apologized.)

1. I did not confess to my mother that it is already time for my children to go back to school!


As Will would say, that was definitely a sarcasm.

And we aren't even halfway through the summer yet.

I need a hero.

Last week we went to an amusement park with Dad and Jee. We had a great day, overall, but there was one serious not-so-great episode. One part of the park is a water park, so we spent part of the day there. Ben and Dad enjoyed the slides, but the littles just wanted to hang out in the wading pool, which was completely packed.

It was super hot, so Will, Jee, and I were sitting in the shade while Kate played in a fountain, just feet from us. I was watching as she played, but at one point she walked behind a group of people, and I could no longer see her. I waited a few seconds for her to come back, but she didn't. Jee was closer, so she got up to spot her. I could see from Jee's face that she couldn't see her anywhere. I got up to help look, but after a minute of searching this very, very crowded pool, I started to get frantic.

I don't think I have ever been so terrified in my life. I was ready to have the lifeguard lock-down the front gate and go search under bathroom stall doors. Every horrible scenario ran through my head in about .5 seconds.

I had already observed how professional the lifeguards were, and had spotted the main lifeguard at her stand about an hour before. (When you have been a lifeguard, it is just habit to notice this stuff.) I ran over and got her, explaining that I had lost my 3 year old daughter. I described her completely, and said a prayer of thankfulness that I knew exactly what she was wearing, not to mention the fact that she was the only Chinese child I had seen in that particular area. Then I went back to my previous prayer which had been running non-stop in my head for about 4 minutes at this point, "Please, God, please, God, please, God..."

I stood there for another minute, praying and looking, when Will says, "There she is!"

"Where?!"

"On the other side!" Sure enough. There she was, dangling off the other side of the pool. She was in about 4 feet of water (she is not 4 feet tall), hanging onto the side. She wasn't upset in the least. She was just trying to go touch a rock that the boys had played on earlier. I'm still not sure how she even got over there.

Of course, when I got her in my arms, I gushed and tried to explain to her what had happened and how she mustn't wander off, but she had no idea she was lost in the first place. She thought I had been watching the whole time.

And then I grabbed Will, thanked him profusely, and told him he was my Superhero! He beamed, while Kate scowled because she didn't see what the big deal was. Will was extremely proud though, and reminded me several more times that he was my hero.

So the moral of the story is, lock them in the house and never let them out until they are 32.

OK. So that isn't the moral of the story, but it sure would be easier on my blood pressure and my sanity.

Will: {Developing an Eye for Art}

I know that I have mentioned Will's developing artistic skills before, but it has been awhile after all. Since then, he has continued to impress us with his use of color and lines. I mean, it still is the work of a 5 year old, but it is impressive to me (who admits to being a wee bit biased).

I am also sure that most of you are aware that Will is ... my ... (how can I put this?) ... child who has taught me the most about parenting. Yes, that is a nice way to put it. Anyway, this past Wednesday he and I were having a ... disagreement. Yes, that is what it was. He insisted on screaming during soccer, and I insisted that wasn't in his best interest. And of course, I didn't lose my temper either. Of course not....

Afterwards, he and I both needed a cool off time. It was time for church, but we opted to take a walk around the neighboring college campus to collect ourselves. It just so happens that the campus has several modern art sculptures on the grounds. I don't know if Will had ever noticed them before or not, but he did on this day. The first one he noticed looks like a teeter-totter. He said, "What is that?" I asked him what he thought it was, and he said, "Well, it looks like a teeter-totter (remember not to pronounce your 'r's), but the kids here are too big for teeter-totters, so it must be a symbol of something." I smiled and said, "You're right. It is a piece of art that symbolizes something, although I'm not quite sure what." (Really, I have no idea. I never did well with modern art.)

Then he spotted another one. "That one looks like a sand castle!" So we talked about the different stones that were used in it. On and on he went. His goal was to find 5 sculptures on campus. (He is five, and thinks this is the perfect number, so everything must come in 5's.)

And today, we did actually get to go out on our date. Our first stop was the library (a place we both love). Right now there is a poster up of Hokusai's Great Wave. I don't know where he has seen it, but he immediately recognized that it was a famous painting and commented on it. He is such a visual guy.

Both days turned out to be such a good, sweet time for the two of us to be reminded that we do actually like each other a lot:) And I love hearing his insight into art. I sometimes joke that someday he will be drawing graphic novels, but I am only half joking. I want to encourage him, but I am not ready to close any doors for him right now. I am positive that whatever he decides to do, he will be amazing at it.

BTW, I wish I could take credit for Will's skills, but much of the credit must go to his teachers, Miss Carol and Miss Ginger, who were the first to recognize his talent and encourage him. I'm afraid my patience in the art department is lacking. (And now I must apologize to Miss Jane, my art teacher. Please forgive me.)

I used to be a good mother

I usually try very hard not to talk negatively about my children here for several reasons. First, I love them. They are wonderful, precious children. So on those days when they are driving me crazy, I have to remember that my blog only gives you a small glimpse into my life, and I don't want that glimpse to tell you that my children are horrid creatures that will need therapy and/or boot camp someday. Second, I do have some pride. I don't want you to think that I am crazy or a bad mom. Although sometimes I am either/both of those things.

But today I have decided to be vulnerable. Sometimes I feel like a lousy mom. Now, you need to know that my own mother repeatedly tells me that I am an amazing mother. (In fact, I am sure that she is dialing the phone right now to tell me this.) But as my mom, it is her sacred duty to build me up rather than tear me down, so I don't always believe her. (Put the phone down, Mom!)

Sometimes I have to ask myself, where did I go wrong? I firmly believe that it began with potty training. I always thought that I was a good mom until I attempted to potty train my Benjamin. He was always such a sweet boy. He didn't go through the terrible two's like other children. He obeyed his mommy, gave out tons of hugs and kisses, and was smart as a tack. His infant brother William was also the picture of perfection. He was a very happy baby. Even when he broke his arm and had 2nd degree burns (long story), he hardly ever complained. So, I figured I must be a wonderful mother, right? My perfect children charmed everyone they met, and then those people told me what a wonderful mother I was, so it must be true, right?

Then, we started potty training. That is really where everything changed. Let's just start with the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. I thought my natural parenting skills were just going to lead the way, and Ben would just learn by absorbing my positive attitude. I also got it into my head that it would only take a day or two. (I blame Dr. Phil for that one.) Anyway, short story long, it took much longer than it should have. And from that experience, Ben made a very important discovery. Benjamin discovered that he could actually disobey mommy. Mommy said, "Time to go potty." He said, "Ummm, no. I would rather pee right here." A new monster was born. And then he taught his brother, who took this new discovery to the next level. The boys are now in the process of teaching Kate how to disobey too. Thankfully I can still get her attention with a firm, "Kate."

Now, I don't think that my children are any more monstrous or horrid than the average kids. There is no such thing as perfect kids. But I have to say, that sometimes they drive me insane. (See, maybe I have good reason to be crazy...) For example, why is it that they eat as if they learned their table manners from Cookie Monster? Why must they pick their noses in public, and then eat their discoveries? Why do they use their shirts as napkins? And why, oh why, do I have to say their full names 3 times to get their attention?

But of all of these things, the thing that drives me over the edge is dinner time behavior. I have heard other mothers refer to the hour between 6 and 7 pm as the "witching hour", and I have to nod my head at that one. It's like they are other people. And I'm not just talking bad manners (BTW, their manners are atrocious - see above). I am talking about the hitting and kicking and pinching. I am talking about the crying if the food isn't exactly what they want. I am talking about hanging upside down in their chair, and then falling out of the chair.

My family tells me it is all MY fault. They say that this is pretty much how I behaved at dinner time. Plus I spilled my milk. Every meal. (No comments, Nan.)

I'm not admitting to anything. At least not in writing.