Change is never easy. It doesn't matter if it's something you've been working towards for a year or something you've avoided for a lifetime. Change is hard. And goodbyes are even harder.
Two weeks ago we emptied our townhouse in Fairfax and made the move 2 hours south to Richmond. It is something I've wanted ever since we moved to Fairfax 6 years ago. But my kids? Well, they weren't looking to make any changes.
They had been through multiple goodbyes. They had their last day at school, they had their final playdates and sleepovers with close friends, they had their last games and performances, and they spent their last day on Wedgeway place mostly at my neighbor's house. My awesome, super-woman, neighbor who can do it all. She kept my dogs all day while the movers loaded the truck. She brought us lunch. And she entertained my kids while all of their belongings were packed away.
We put the last few items in our cars and I walked over to her house to get the kids and the dogs. I knew this would be the hardest part. And as I watched her daughter throw her arms around Ainsley and cry, I couldn't really hold back the tears either. I watched as two almost 10 year-olds said goodbye to their oldest friend, and it crushed me.
Ainsley didn't cry when she said goodbye to any of her other friends or at the last day of school or when we said goodbye to the townhouse. But as we walked out the door it all came out and she climbed in the car trying hard to catch her breath.
Then, with fresh tears, I walked Freddie the opposite direction to say goodbye to his neighbor friend. He mumbled goodbye and gave him a hug and I struggled desperately to keep it together. As the door shut, Freddie's face crumbled and I added him to the car sobbing.
And not to be left out, Cohen picked this time to lament the loss of his daycare friends and teachers. It was rough and in that moment I wanted to reverse it all. Say never mind. Unload the truck and stay in that little townhouse forever.
But you can't do that. You can't stay in the same spot forever because change is scary and painful. You can't avoid blooming because you're afraid to grow.
I stood in the driver's side window watching hearts break and tears fall and I wanted to take all of that pain away, but somehow in that exact same moment I knew this was exactly what we had to do. Life does not remain static. Life is ever evolving. That is an agonizing, terrifying, and wonderful thing to learn.
I could keep my kids in the same spot forever, but life would still change. Cohen would eventually leave his beloved babysitter for kindergarten. Every year my kids get new teachers and new classmates. A favorite neighbor or best friend could move away. Then there is always the inevitability of a child leaving home. Life is never going to look the same year to year, or even day to day. And even though that's a hard thing to move through, it's also exciting and amazing. To know that you can move forward in life and have new experiences and unexpected adventures, but still have those people and places to return to if you want or need to.
In the two weeks since we've left the friends and school and neighbors that we know and love, we've made new friends. We love our new house. We've had new adventures. It doesn't change how much we love and miss our previous life, but it doesn't mean we can't enjoy this new one. We can do both.
Down the road, when my kids are settled and not missing Fairfax so much, I hope they remember the awesome adventure. I hope the pain of the heartbreak fades. And I hope they learn that good or bad, this too shall pass - so enjoy the good and don't dwell on the bad. Life can change in a moment and it could all look different in the morning.
Showing posts with label Freddie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Freddie. Show all posts
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Gone
I ignore news. I totally avoid big stories. So honestly, I have no idea how or why or when the gorilla thing happened. I know the very basic details and you know what? I'm not going to read about it. Because I don't want an opinion about it. You can call me ignorant and stupid...I don't care. The fact is, that we are in information overload these days with the internet and social media. I simply can not care about everything. I would be a ruined soul. I can't do it.
Just last night I told Clif that I had no idea what had happened, but my Facebook feed was cluttered with rants about how everyone should stop judging parents. Yet, I didn't see anyone judging.
And then I came to work this morning and browsed some websites and WOW. Judgy McJudgerson everywhere.
I have no idea what that kid's parents were doing. I have no idea if the zoo was justified in shooting the gorilla. I have no idea who is to blame for any of it. And I don't want to know. But what I do want to do is share the following story. But before I do, I want you all to know that I am a closet anxious person. I pretend to be really calm and collected, but inside ANXIETY ABOUT EVERYTHING. People think I have my stuff together and that I don't let things get to me. But inside WORRY AND OBSESS ALWAYS.
So when it comes to my kids, I worry. A lot. If I'm out and about, I'm constantly counting them and making sure my eyes are on them. One, two, three. Pause. One, two, three. Pause. One, two, three. Over and over again.
This past weekend, I took the kids to Virginia Beach to visit a friend. It was me and my friend and our 5 children, ages almost 3 to almost 9. On Friday night we walked about 5 blocks to a playground on the beach. It's in a very populated place. It's near a very large statue that Cohen immediately took a liking to.
"Mommy, what that?"
"Mommy, can my touch it?"
"Mommy, you throw me in the sky so I touch the turtle?"
I put him off for the 30 minutes that the kids played on the playground. Telling him we'd go look on our way home.
And there I sat, counting heads. One, two, three, four, five. Pause. One, two, three, four, five.
When it was time to go, it was dark and 5 kids and 2 moms were accounted for.
I told the older 4 to stay put and not run ahead like they had on the way. I told them it was dark and we wouldn't be able to see them as well. And then I walked Cohen to the statue, crowded with people. He touched a couple of fish and could not reach the turtle. I was gone for 3 minutes - maybe. I went back and only 3 kids remained.
Freddie was gone.
"Where's Freddie?"
No one knew. I froze in a sea of people. He was gone.
"Where's Freddie?" I asked again. Blank faces.
One of the other kids said something about the direction he had seen him go. I left Cohen and Ainsley with the other mom and started running down the beach, screaming for Freddie. I could barely breath. Tears were hot in the corners of my eyes.
What if I lost him? What if I never saw him again? What if someone took him? What if he wandered into the ocean? What if he gets to the street and is hit by a car? What if, what if, what if?
"Excuse me mam?" A man stopped me on the boardwalk, "Are you looking for your son?"
"Yes!" I cried.
"He's about a block up with a police man."
I don't think I even thanked him. I just ran. And there he was. Fingers in mouth, crying, hiccuping, terrified, and with a police officer.
I called his name and scooped him up as he ran to me. Thank God, thank God!
I lost him. But I found him. I wasn't watching for a few moments and he disappeared, but then he was back. And I wanted to cry and scream and laugh all at once. My legs felt like jello and panic continued to course through my veins as we walked back to the rest of the group.
I'm a good mom. I'm not perfect. I make lots of mistakes, but I do lots of things right. I don't lose kids. Ever. But I did. I looked away for a moment, walked in another direction when I thought my instructions were clear, and poof.
I don't know what that toddler's parents were doing - maybe they were smoking crack in the bathroom. Or maybe they were distracted for a tiny moment by a phone or a stranger or another kid. I'm really sorry that an endangered animal was killed. But the idea that it can't happen to any of us. Well, that's ridiculous. And in that moment, what would you want done?
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Confessions of a Failed Tooth Fairy
When Ainsley lost her first tooth, I wrote a blog post about it.
Freddie lost his first tooth about 2.5 weeks ago...but it seems much longer. A lot has happened since then, but that's another post.
Yesterday, he lost his second tooth. If you look at that picture above, you can see that other bottom tooth holding on for dear life. That one's gone now too.
So today, I write a post about Freddie losing his first two teeth, and how Clif and I are possibly the worst tooth fairies ever, and how my sweet little Freddie is growing up so fast. So here it goes...
Freddie's front two teeth had been so wiggly for so long. He's not one to push things. He barely touched them, for fear of the pain. There were lots of questions "Does it hurt? Will I get a new tooth? Does it hurt? Will it bleed? Does it hurt?"
But just like most first lost tooth stories, it happened in the blink of an eye. All that worry and wonder and curiosity and then just, pop...out it came, like nothing.
It was bed time. As usual, Cohen and Freddie chose this time to really turn up the craziness. So I was lying in their bed trying to get them to calm down, when I just had to walk away. So there I stood, in the hall telling Clif something, my back to the boys' room.
I saw Clif's face first. Wide eyes, slow grin. I turned to see a crazy excitement and uncertainty in Freddie's eyes. Then, of course, there was the blood smeared lips.
Then the annoyance of late bedtimes and overactive children drifted and the house was filled with laughter and "Yay Freddie!" and giggles and hugs and "Freddie! You lost a tooth!"
When the story finally game out, after he got over the shock of it, after he laughed and high-fived and hugged back, then we found out that Cohen and his little left hook was the catalyst.
The boys were rough-housing...shocker. And Freddie wanted to make this part very clear...UNINTENTIONALLY...Cohen punched his cheek while his face was pressed against a pillow. And that gave just enough push on the tooth for it to pop from it's tiny socket. Always protecting his little brother, that one.
Yesterday, Freddie and I were alone in the car heading from the grocery store to pick up Cohen. He took a bite of his secret donut (don't tell Ainsley and Cohen!) and then out popped the second one.
Look at those crooked little grown up teeth coming in. I think there will be braces all around for the White kiddos.
And just like that he's down two teeth. Of course this wasn't the first tooth, so the tooth fairy failed miserably and I am sitting at work writing a note in swirly handwriting and red ink from a little imp named Shimmer who has ONE JOB and she can't get it right!!
I've said it before, and I'll say it again...pretty sure our tooth fairy is drunk in a ditch most nights, because who makes excuses like "I don't fly well in the rain?"
Shimmer is the worst. She's written lots of apology letters like this to Ainsley too. And we've learned that she doesn't get to teeth lost after 4pm until the next day, that she doesn't expect teeth to come out less than a month apart, that her magic is spotty and doesn't work on certain days of the year, that she has enough teeth for her current castle that she's building, and that she doesn't work on holidays...days before holidays...or days after holidays. That girl has a sweet benefit package.
I get so excited for them when things like this happen. When they take that next step to being grown. But then it makes me a bit sad. Right now, you can't even tell that Freddie has lost any teeth unless he shows you. But I know that lost baby teeth, means those giant grown up teeth come in right behind them. And that baby smile turns into a kid smile. And those chubby cheeks slide away and reveal cheekbones. And those big bellies slim to reveal ribs and ab muscles. And those silly words like "hopsital" and "shase" and "elligator" are corrected and become "hospital" and "chase" and "elevator." So I try to write it all down right here, so I'll never forget. So I'll always remember that sweet, gruff, Boston accent he had. That little big voice that was so deep and manly, but still soft and childlike. My Freddie will grow into an amazing man - sensitive and sweet and caring. But I always want to remember the beautiful boy he started out as.
Freddie lost his first tooth about 2.5 weeks ago...but it seems much longer. A lot has happened since then, but that's another post.
Yesterday, he lost his second tooth. If you look at that picture above, you can see that other bottom tooth holding on for dear life. That one's gone now too.
So today, I write a post about Freddie losing his first two teeth, and how Clif and I are possibly the worst tooth fairies ever, and how my sweet little Freddie is growing up so fast. So here it goes...
Freddie's front two teeth had been so wiggly for so long. He's not one to push things. He barely touched them, for fear of the pain. There were lots of questions "Does it hurt? Will I get a new tooth? Does it hurt? Will it bleed? Does it hurt?"
But just like most first lost tooth stories, it happened in the blink of an eye. All that worry and wonder and curiosity and then just, pop...out it came, like nothing.
It was bed time. As usual, Cohen and Freddie chose this time to really turn up the craziness. So I was lying in their bed trying to get them to calm down, when I just had to walk away. So there I stood, in the hall telling Clif something, my back to the boys' room.
I saw Clif's face first. Wide eyes, slow grin. I turned to see a crazy excitement and uncertainty in Freddie's eyes. Then, of course, there was the blood smeared lips.
Then the annoyance of late bedtimes and overactive children drifted and the house was filled with laughter and "Yay Freddie!" and giggles and hugs and "Freddie! You lost a tooth!"
When the story finally game out, after he got over the shock of it, after he laughed and high-fived and hugged back, then we found out that Cohen and his little left hook was the catalyst.
The boys were rough-housing...shocker. And Freddie wanted to make this part very clear...UNINTENTIONALLY...Cohen punched his cheek while his face was pressed against a pillow. And that gave just enough push on the tooth for it to pop from it's tiny socket. Always protecting his little brother, that one.
Yesterday, Freddie and I were alone in the car heading from the grocery store to pick up Cohen. He took a bite of his secret donut (don't tell Ainsley and Cohen!) and then out popped the second one.
Look at those crooked little grown up teeth coming in. I think there will be braces all around for the White kiddos.
And just like that he's down two teeth. Of course this wasn't the first tooth, so the tooth fairy failed miserably and I am sitting at work writing a note in swirly handwriting and red ink from a little imp named Shimmer who has ONE JOB and she can't get it right!!
I've said it before, and I'll say it again...pretty sure our tooth fairy is drunk in a ditch most nights, because who makes excuses like "I don't fly well in the rain?"
Shimmer is the worst. She's written lots of apology letters like this to Ainsley too. And we've learned that she doesn't get to teeth lost after 4pm until the next day, that she doesn't expect teeth to come out less than a month apart, that her magic is spotty and doesn't work on certain days of the year, that she has enough teeth for her current castle that she's building, and that she doesn't work on holidays...days before holidays...or days after holidays. That girl has a sweet benefit package.
I get so excited for them when things like this happen. When they take that next step to being grown. But then it makes me a bit sad. Right now, you can't even tell that Freddie has lost any teeth unless he shows you. But I know that lost baby teeth, means those giant grown up teeth come in right behind them. And that baby smile turns into a kid smile. And those chubby cheeks slide away and reveal cheekbones. And those big bellies slim to reveal ribs and ab muscles. And those silly words like "hopsital" and "shase" and "elligator" are corrected and become "hospital" and "chase" and "elevator." So I try to write it all down right here, so I'll never forget. So I'll always remember that sweet, gruff, Boston accent he had. That little big voice that was so deep and manly, but still soft and childlike. My Freddie will grow into an amazing man - sensitive and sweet and caring. But I always want to remember the beautiful boy he started out as.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Six
Dear Freddie,
As a parent, you know your kids will grow up and you know there will be a birthday every year where you reflect back on that little baby. Sometimes it comes and goes easily. Sometimes it smacks you in the face.
You are six. SIX. It is a smack in the face kind of birthday. Five is still a little kid, but six feels like big kid territory. I'm not sure I'm ready for you to be a big kid.
Freddie, you are such a special kid. I am so lucky to be your mom. We are all so lucky that you burst on the scene. You bring such love and laughter to our every day lives. I'm not sure what we would do without you.
You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. And when I say anyone, I mean anyone - kids, grown ups, girls, boys. You love so unconditionally and so completely. I love how much you love with abandon. You get your heart broken regularly. Little things can just crush you, but you still love. Still dive face first into love. This is my favorite thing about you. You are so open to love, that you never consider getting hurt. I hope you stay this way forever. It is such an amazing and rare quality.
And you are funny. You make people laugh to a fault. I know this because I've already had the first parent-teacher conference regarding my "class-clown." I asked you why you were making up words to a school song, and why you were shaking your naked belly at your classmates, and why you were dancing during quiet time. You had a very simple answer, "I just wanted to be funny and make everyone laugh." Of course you did.
You are super smart. I love to watch that big brain of yours work as you roll a problem or question around and around until an idea or inquiry comes out of your mouth.
You talk endlessly. I remember having friends who's second child talked later or barely spoke, because they had this big brother or sister that did so much talking. Well, you have that big sister, but you could never be out-talked. Every day, you skip off the bus, jump into my arms and start. And you go and go and go. Telling me stories, asking me questions. Sometimes the stories are funny, sometimes they are about things you learned, sometimes they are things that hurt you. Always something new.
I hope that your heart always stays so open and young. I hope that this world doesn't crush you. I hope you always share everything you are feeling. I hope you always love with such passion. I hope you always tell me your joys and your sorrows. I'll always listen.
Happy birthday Fredders! Don't get too big, too fast.
Love,
Mommy
As a parent, you know your kids will grow up and you know there will be a birthday every year where you reflect back on that little baby. Sometimes it comes and goes easily. Sometimes it smacks you in the face.
You are six. SIX. It is a smack in the face kind of birthday. Five is still a little kid, but six feels like big kid territory. I'm not sure I'm ready for you to be a big kid.
Freddie, you are such a special kid. I am so lucky to be your mom. We are all so lucky that you burst on the scene. You bring such love and laughter to our every day lives. I'm not sure what we would do without you.
You have the biggest heart of anyone I know. And when I say anyone, I mean anyone - kids, grown ups, girls, boys. You love so unconditionally and so completely. I love how much you love with abandon. You get your heart broken regularly. Little things can just crush you, but you still love. Still dive face first into love. This is my favorite thing about you. You are so open to love, that you never consider getting hurt. I hope you stay this way forever. It is such an amazing and rare quality.
And you are funny. You make people laugh to a fault. I know this because I've already had the first parent-teacher conference regarding my "class-clown." I asked you why you were making up words to a school song, and why you were shaking your naked belly at your classmates, and why you were dancing during quiet time. You had a very simple answer, "I just wanted to be funny and make everyone laugh." Of course you did.
You are super smart. I love to watch that big brain of yours work as you roll a problem or question around and around until an idea or inquiry comes out of your mouth.
You talk endlessly. I remember having friends who's second child talked later or barely spoke, because they had this big brother or sister that did so much talking. Well, you have that big sister, but you could never be out-talked. Every day, you skip off the bus, jump into my arms and start. And you go and go and go. Telling me stories, asking me questions. Sometimes the stories are funny, sometimes they are about things you learned, sometimes they are things that hurt you. Always something new.
I hope that your heart always stays so open and young. I hope that this world doesn't crush you. I hope you always share everything you are feeling. I hope you always love with such passion. I hope you always tell me your joys and your sorrows. I'll always listen.
Happy birthday Fredders! Don't get too big, too fast.
Love,
Mommy
Monday, November 30, 2015
Lessons Learned
My kids have taught me so much. They've taught me to be more open minded. They've taught me to embrace diversity. Their existence has encouraged me to be more patient, more kind, more loving. To be a better person for them to look up to.
Freddie, in particular, has taught me to never, ever, EVER, underestimate the significance of an upset stomach.
We spent the holiday in Connecticut at Clif's sister's house...Caitlyn. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving spent surrounded by family. Plenty of cousin playtime and snuggles. It was so nice to be away from work and life and just hang out with people we love.
We decided to leave Saturday. Avoid Sunday traffic. We'd drive at night. Have an early dinner with Clif's brother, Cameron, and his family. Then hit the road around 6. We'd be home by 11 or 12 and then have all day Sunday to relax and get ready for the upcoming week.
The universe had other plans in mind for us.
A bug took root over the holidays. Cohen got sick Thanksgiving night, but it was short lived. I chalked it up to no actual dinner and a bunch of pie and chocolate. Because why would a kid eat turkey and stuffing when there is blueberry pie, whipped cream, and amazing Thanksgiving cupcakes made by Auntie Amanda?
He got sick, and then he was fine. No other symptoms. But then Saturday, some grown ups started feeling ill and getting sick. And then Freddie started complaining of a crampy stomach on Saturday afternoon. He kept saying he did not need to throw up, that it didn't feel sick, it hurt. Looking back, I should have known.
We sat at the restaurant, and he went through another fit of crampy stomach.
"Freddie, do you need to go potty?" I asked.
"Freddie, are you going to throw up? Maybe we should go to the bathroom," Clif suggested.
He looked at me, and I saw it. I saw that glassy-eyed monster behind his pupils.
"Let's go Freddie, let's go..." I urged.
And then it happened. At the table that our food had just been placed on, the monster let loose, and so did everything he had eaten in the last 8 hours. All over him, all over Cohen, in front of the entire restaurant.
I had never been so humiliated...except for that other time that Freddie spewed all over Fuddruckers in the middle of Ainsley's end-of-year soccer party. That was also pretty embarrassing. I saw the monster then too. But he never shows up until it's too late to maneuver a 5 year old out of a booth or long table and into a bathroom across the restaurant.
So we cleaned up. Changed clothes. Cohen tattled that Freddie had spit on him. Thanks Cohen. I hadn't noticed. Freddie felt much better, a bit hungry.
"Do we stay?" I asked. I didn't want to, but wasn't sure what to do with a 5 hour drive stretched out before us.
Before anyone could answer, my sweet little nephew, just 14 months old, followed suit. Took after the big cousin that I'm sure he'll look up to one day. Landon's monster let loose as ferocious as Freddie's had.
"We gotta go" I said, and Clif promptly flagged the waitress for the bill and boxes.
We spent the next two - three hours waiting for the next one to puke. Would Ainsley come down with it? Was Cohen's random puking on Thanksgiving related? Would he still go through the virus? Would Clif or I succumb? Turned out it was Freddie, every time. We pulled over two more times to use the bathroom, to clean up, to empty the puking trash bin. The third time we were still north of Philly. Still 30 miles from the Delaware bridge. We were done. The hotels, with accessible toilets and warm baths and cozy beds, were calling our names.
We spent the night in Westhampton, NJ, off of the turnpike. We got up and continued our trek home, through normal post-Thanksgiving traffic. We got home after 2, tired and hungry and annoyed.
So Freddie has taught me to never ignore a sour stomach. He's also taught me to be flexible. And he's taught me to ignore those judgy, disgusted looks from strangers in a restaurant. Maybe they're not what they seem. Because as we were gathering our things, our puke covered clothes, our green kids, our luke-warm food...the woman at the table next to us said "Hon, I think you forgot his shoes." And the table across from us the woman smiled and said "Hang in there mom." And the manager and waitresses treating it like it was a normal occurrence. They got a big tip.
When I think about it, how would I react? If a kid started barfing just 10 feet from me and my kids and my food? I probably would not revel in the experience. Would not rush to help. It would probably take a minute to let it sink in realize that it could happen to any of us.
So thank you Freddie. Thank you for throwing up all over everyone and everything. You taught me a valuable lesson once again. Next time though...let's just talk it out. No need for all that mess.
Freddie, in particular, has taught me to never, ever, EVER, underestimate the significance of an upset stomach.
We spent the holiday in Connecticut at Clif's sister's house...Caitlyn. It was a wonderful Thanksgiving spent surrounded by family. Plenty of cousin playtime and snuggles. It was so nice to be away from work and life and just hang out with people we love.
We decided to leave Saturday. Avoid Sunday traffic. We'd drive at night. Have an early dinner with Clif's brother, Cameron, and his family. Then hit the road around 6. We'd be home by 11 or 12 and then have all day Sunday to relax and get ready for the upcoming week.
The universe had other plans in mind for us.
A bug took root over the holidays. Cohen got sick Thanksgiving night, but it was short lived. I chalked it up to no actual dinner and a bunch of pie and chocolate. Because why would a kid eat turkey and stuffing when there is blueberry pie, whipped cream, and amazing Thanksgiving cupcakes made by Auntie Amanda?
He got sick, and then he was fine. No other symptoms. But then Saturday, some grown ups started feeling ill and getting sick. And then Freddie started complaining of a crampy stomach on Saturday afternoon. He kept saying he did not need to throw up, that it didn't feel sick, it hurt. Looking back, I should have known.
We sat at the restaurant, and he went through another fit of crampy stomach.
"Freddie, do you need to go potty?" I asked.
"Freddie, are you going to throw up? Maybe we should go to the bathroom," Clif suggested.
He looked at me, and I saw it. I saw that glassy-eyed monster behind his pupils.
"Let's go Freddie, let's go..." I urged.
And then it happened. At the table that our food had just been placed on, the monster let loose, and so did everything he had eaten in the last 8 hours. All over him, all over Cohen, in front of the entire restaurant.
I had never been so humiliated...except for that other time that Freddie spewed all over Fuddruckers in the middle of Ainsley's end-of-year soccer party. That was also pretty embarrassing. I saw the monster then too. But he never shows up until it's too late to maneuver a 5 year old out of a booth or long table and into a bathroom across the restaurant.
So we cleaned up. Changed clothes. Cohen tattled that Freddie had spit on him. Thanks Cohen. I hadn't noticed. Freddie felt much better, a bit hungry.
"Do we stay?" I asked. I didn't want to, but wasn't sure what to do with a 5 hour drive stretched out before us.
Before anyone could answer, my sweet little nephew, just 14 months old, followed suit. Took after the big cousin that I'm sure he'll look up to one day. Landon's monster let loose as ferocious as Freddie's had.
"We gotta go" I said, and Clif promptly flagged the waitress for the bill and boxes.
We spent the next two - three hours waiting for the next one to puke. Would Ainsley come down with it? Was Cohen's random puking on Thanksgiving related? Would he still go through the virus? Would Clif or I succumb? Turned out it was Freddie, every time. We pulled over two more times to use the bathroom, to clean up, to empty the puking trash bin. The third time we were still north of Philly. Still 30 miles from the Delaware bridge. We were done. The hotels, with accessible toilets and warm baths and cozy beds, were calling our names.
We spent the night in Westhampton, NJ, off of the turnpike. We got up and continued our trek home, through normal post-Thanksgiving traffic. We got home after 2, tired and hungry and annoyed.
So Freddie has taught me to never ignore a sour stomach. He's also taught me to be flexible. And he's taught me to ignore those judgy, disgusted looks from strangers in a restaurant. Maybe they're not what they seem. Because as we were gathering our things, our puke covered clothes, our green kids, our luke-warm food...the woman at the table next to us said "Hon, I think you forgot his shoes." And the table across from us the woman smiled and said "Hang in there mom." And the manager and waitresses treating it like it was a normal occurrence. They got a big tip.
When I think about it, how would I react? If a kid started barfing just 10 feet from me and my kids and my food? I probably would not revel in the experience. Would not rush to help. It would probably take a minute to let it sink in realize that it could happen to any of us.
So thank you Freddie. Thank you for throwing up all over everyone and everything. You taught me a valuable lesson once again. Next time though...let's just talk it out. No need for all that mess.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Perfect World vs. My World
So let me set the scene...
Swim lessons. Three kids. Two of them heading into the pool, one eating snacks, watching videos, and terrorizing the lobby. One mom trying to get said kids to pool on time and hoping that the other one doesn't pee or poop all over himself in public. Also, hoping she can contain the younger one for the thirty minute lesson.
Child A is very excited and can't wait to get back in the pool after a two month hiatus.
Child B is very nervous and shy and really loves swimming, but insists he doesn't want to do this, but only just this minute, not any time leading up to the activity.
Child C is, as usual, along for the ride.
If you know my children, you know exactly which one is which.
Last night was the first swim lesson for a couple of months. We took a break at the end of the summer since we weren't around much, and then I just didn't get them signed up again until recently. My kids love swim lessons. LOVE them. Both of them love swimming. And they have come so far in the 10 months that they've been going to swim lessons.
So Ainsley goes right in. Freddie holds back and starts crying. And in my head, I know this is one of "those" moments. You know. Those moments that you read articles about. Like "How to be a loving, caring, mother and raise confident children without ever raising your voice or disciplining at all because kids are SUPER rational if you just give them the chance and if you talk softly and let them lead they way they will do exactly what you need them to do at exactly the right moment."
Bullshit. Well maybe not. Not in a perfect world, where I have unlimited time for each child to work through his or her issues.
In my head, I think - okay, stay calm. Who cares if every one's staring at you as you drag this determined, 50lb, 5 year old onto the pool deck. And who cares if the 2 year old is by himself in the lobby. A lobby that he has escaped from before. A lobby that opens to a busy parking lot. And who cares if the 2 year old decides that this exact moment, while his brother is throwing a fit, is the perfect time to relieve himself in the middle of the lobby. And who cares if I drop a small fortune on swimming lessons, and he wastes half the classes crying over being shy.
So instead of sitting on the edge of the pool and saying things like "Okay, let's just sit for a minute and see if you want to participate. Ohh...doesn't that look like fun. Hey look, you know how to float, show the teacher." And other soothing, calming, encouraging things like that, I end up "yelling" through hushed, gritted, teeth "Get in the pool. You love swim lessons. Get in the pool right now!!!"
Eventually, I hand a screaming, squirming, powerful child over to an instructor and escape through the door to find Cohen. And I listen to the instructor talk to Freddie. Say all of the things that I want to say. Do all the things I want to do. I think about these things, and figure out how I should handle them either before or after the fact. But the problem is, I'm never just dealing with this scene. I'm dealing with multiple scenes all at once.
If I had walked in there with just Freddie, I could have been as patient and available as he needed me to be. The the fact is, I can never be 100% available to any of my children. I can't spend all evening putting Cohen on the potty, so he has accidents. I can't sit all night with Ainsley explaining multiplication and division, so sometimes her homework doesn't get finished. I can't sit on the edge of the pool with my sweet, shy Freddie and gently coax him into the water, so he screams.
And I feel so guilty. I see people with one child and sometimes I think, "imagine how much I could give to one child." Now, one child is NEVER something I wanted or ever considered. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my siblings. When Clif and I go crazy and someone needs to figure out which home to put us in, my kids will have each other to turn to and that's important to me. But I will say, I look at families with one child and sometimes I feel a twinge of jealousy for my kids. That they could have all that attention and patience and love just showered down on them. A million free hours to talk about fears and shyness. Days on end to work through math and reading challenges.
Freddie finally got in the water. And I watched him sit on the side and pout. I watched the teacher eventually move the class closer to him. I watched him finally participate and then have a blast. I greeted him at the door with his towel and said "Hey! How was it?"
"Good," he smiled.
"So are you glad I made you go?" I asked
"Yes," he responded, and that made me happy. Made me feel like I made the right decision, but it doesn't erase the guilt. All I did was drag him in there and shut the door. Someone else gently coaxed him into the pool. And someone else figured out how to get him to participate. And I watched from the one way mirror.
Swim lessons. Three kids. Two of them heading into the pool, one eating snacks, watching videos, and terrorizing the lobby. One mom trying to get said kids to pool on time and hoping that the other one doesn't pee or poop all over himself in public. Also, hoping she can contain the younger one for the thirty minute lesson.
Child A is very excited and can't wait to get back in the pool after a two month hiatus.
Child B is very nervous and shy and really loves swimming, but insists he doesn't want to do this, but only just this minute, not any time leading up to the activity.
Child C is, as usual, along for the ride.
If you know my children, you know exactly which one is which.
Last night was the first swim lesson for a couple of months. We took a break at the end of the summer since we weren't around much, and then I just didn't get them signed up again until recently. My kids love swim lessons. LOVE them. Both of them love swimming. And they have come so far in the 10 months that they've been going to swim lessons.
So Ainsley goes right in. Freddie holds back and starts crying. And in my head, I know this is one of "those" moments. You know. Those moments that you read articles about. Like "How to be a loving, caring, mother and raise confident children without ever raising your voice or disciplining at all because kids are SUPER rational if you just give them the chance and if you talk softly and let them lead they way they will do exactly what you need them to do at exactly the right moment."
Bullshit. Well maybe not. Not in a perfect world, where I have unlimited time for each child to work through his or her issues.
In my head, I think - okay, stay calm. Who cares if every one's staring at you as you drag this determined, 50lb, 5 year old onto the pool deck. And who cares if the 2 year old is by himself in the lobby. A lobby that he has escaped from before. A lobby that opens to a busy parking lot. And who cares if the 2 year old decides that this exact moment, while his brother is throwing a fit, is the perfect time to relieve himself in the middle of the lobby. And who cares if I drop a small fortune on swimming lessons, and he wastes half the classes crying over being shy.
So instead of sitting on the edge of the pool and saying things like "Okay, let's just sit for a minute and see if you want to participate. Ohh...doesn't that look like fun. Hey look, you know how to float, show the teacher." And other soothing, calming, encouraging things like that, I end up "yelling" through hushed, gritted, teeth "Get in the pool. You love swim lessons. Get in the pool right now!!!"
Eventually, I hand a screaming, squirming, powerful child over to an instructor and escape through the door to find Cohen. And I listen to the instructor talk to Freddie. Say all of the things that I want to say. Do all the things I want to do. I think about these things, and figure out how I should handle them either before or after the fact. But the problem is, I'm never just dealing with this scene. I'm dealing with multiple scenes all at once.
If I had walked in there with just Freddie, I could have been as patient and available as he needed me to be. The the fact is, I can never be 100% available to any of my children. I can't spend all evening putting Cohen on the potty, so he has accidents. I can't sit all night with Ainsley explaining multiplication and division, so sometimes her homework doesn't get finished. I can't sit on the edge of the pool with my sweet, shy Freddie and gently coax him into the water, so he screams.
And I feel so guilty. I see people with one child and sometimes I think, "imagine how much I could give to one child." Now, one child is NEVER something I wanted or ever considered. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my siblings. When Clif and I go crazy and someone needs to figure out which home to put us in, my kids will have each other to turn to and that's important to me. But I will say, I look at families with one child and sometimes I feel a twinge of jealousy for my kids. That they could have all that attention and patience and love just showered down on them. A million free hours to talk about fears and shyness. Days on end to work through math and reading challenges.
Freddie finally got in the water. And I watched him sit on the side and pout. I watched the teacher eventually move the class closer to him. I watched him finally participate and then have a blast. I greeted him at the door with his towel and said "Hey! How was it?"
"Good," he smiled.
"So are you glad I made you go?" I asked
"Yes," he responded, and that made me happy. Made me feel like I made the right decision, but it doesn't erase the guilt. All I did was drag him in there and shut the door. Someone else gently coaxed him into the pool. And someone else figured out how to get him to participate. And I watched from the one way mirror.
Friday, September 25, 2015
About Kindergarten...and Summer...and Graduation...
We had this huge, momentous thing happen recently, and I didn't write about it. I honestly don't know how I ever found the time to stay on top of this blog. It's just not possible these days.
But the huge, momentous thing...
This guy started Kindergarten.
Here he is just a few months ago graduating from Pre K. I didn't post anything then either. The middle child really does get shafted.
When Ainsley was a year old, we took her to the beach for the first time. I posted a ton of pictures and broke the post into two parts - I used to have so much time, not sure where it all went. We also went to the beach this summer.
And Hershey Park.
Visited Philly for a day.
And we celebrated birthdays.
We got hair cuts.
Spent time with cousins.
And Grandmas.
And Papas.
We dressed as super heroes.
We played.
Ate lots of ice cream.
I love summer. And suddenly, here we are at the beginning of Autumn (officially).
But I'm getting away from the point of this post.
Freddie. Our sweet little Freddie started Kindergarten and he is such a rock star. He was very nervous. He missed his old classmates. He didn't want to go. But he is doing so awesome. He comes home with new stories and new knowledge every day.
After the first day he got off the bus very excited, but soon explained that he didn't want to go back because of fire drills. Freddie does not like smoke alarms, or any loud, sudden noise. There would be a drill later in the week and could he stay home?
He talked about it a lot that first week, so much so that I felt the need to warn his teacher. Told her about is fear of loud beeps and buzzes. Told her, he'd be fine, but he might cry. Might lose his shizz for awhile. Be prepared.
The fire drill came, and went and when I asked Freddie about it, he shrugged and said "I'm not afraid of that, I'm a big kid now."
Yeppo, I guess you are.
Happy first year of school buddy. You are so bright and insightful and sensitive. I just know you're going to blow that whole school away with your sweet little smile and thoughtful questions. They're never going to know what hit them after they meet my Fredders.
But the huge, momentous thing...
This guy started Kindergarten.
Here he is just a few months ago graduating from Pre K. I didn't post anything then either. The middle child really does get shafted.
When Ainsley was a year old, we took her to the beach for the first time. I posted a ton of pictures and broke the post into two parts - I used to have so much time, not sure where it all went. We also went to the beach this summer.
And Hershey Park.
Visited Philly for a day.
And we celebrated birthdays.
We got hair cuts.
Spent time with cousins.
And Grandmas.
And Papas.
We dressed as super heroes.
We played.
Ate lots of ice cream.
And apparently, lobster - but not lots of it.
But I'm getting away from the point of this post.
Freddie. Our sweet little Freddie started Kindergarten and he is such a rock star. He was very nervous. He missed his old classmates. He didn't want to go. But he is doing so awesome. He comes home with new stories and new knowledge every day.
After the first day he got off the bus very excited, but soon explained that he didn't want to go back because of fire drills. Freddie does not like smoke alarms, or any loud, sudden noise. There would be a drill later in the week and could he stay home?
He talked about it a lot that first week, so much so that I felt the need to warn his teacher. Told her about is fear of loud beeps and buzzes. Told her, he'd be fine, but he might cry. Might lose his shizz for awhile. Be prepared.
The fire drill came, and went and when I asked Freddie about it, he shrugged and said "I'm not afraid of that, I'm a big kid now."
Yeppo, I guess you are.
Happy first year of school buddy. You are so bright and insightful and sensitive. I just know you're going to blow that whole school away with your sweet little smile and thoughtful questions. They're never going to know what hit them after they meet my Fredders.
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