A Split Second

Spelling list written out, my son grabbed his book in one hand, his pencil in the other and jumped up onto his desk chair, yelling "BINGO!" as he went. His intention was to jump off like Superman. I'm sure you can imagine what happened. I barely got "Jo..." out of my mouth before the table tumbled across the room, just missing the stereo, and the chair hurtled towards the glass fireplace doors.  The boy flew too. He landed with a loud BANG and I'm really not sure how his head didn't at least dent the wall.

Welcome to my daily homework struggle. Ten words took thirty-seven minutes to print - once - and nearly ended with a trip to the hospital and Home Depot. We've still got math and reading to do. ADHD means that six minutes of actual work are very often buried under half an hour of distractions. I hope you can understand why homework is my least favorite time of the day.

I never was good at science. Until I became a parent, I never realized that time can speed up and stop in exactly the same moment. A split second is extremely fast, but it can also move incredibly slowly, allowing you to see every little detail of that split second in high definition. It isn't enough time to react to most things but it can be long enough to watch every painful consequence in excruciating detail. It's also enough time to kick yourself about a hundred times for not seeing it coming sooner. I think it's God's way of heightening our parenting alert systems!

Cheers!

The Perfect Christmas



I grew up dreaming of a Little House on the Prairie Christmas. I remember an episode where there was so much snow on Christmas morning that they had to crawl out an attic window to dig out the presents hidden in the barn. That's what I wanted. 10 feet of snow. And the presents, of course. Like most kids, I was in it for the presents. And the sweets. My vision always included a huge pile of gifts under the tree and an endless buffet on the table. I sang right along with Julie Andrews when she crooned "Brown paper packages tied up with string. These are a few of my favourite things."
  
As I grew older, my vision of the perfect Christmas evolved. In fact, it took a right turn shortly after my husband and I became parents. At first, we got caught up in the vicious work-more-to-make-more-so-we-can-do-more cycle. That didn't last long. We started downsizing our careers to spend more time at home, ultimately changing our lifestyle pretty drastically. The chains of materialism started to fall away, and the joy of spending precious time as a family became increasingly important.
  
We're not trying to earn a spot at the right hand of God by acting pious, and we don't expect the kids to be selfless or denounce their worldly possessions. Far from it. We'd have more if we could afford more, I assure you. Money still makes the world go around, and everything seems to get more expensive every day. Our kids want things just like every other kid. Jonas' wish list would be as long as my arm this year, if only he'd sit at the table long enough to write it down. We have everything we need and lots of what we want, but part of me still wishes a jolly old elf would arrive on Christmas eve with a big box of money.
 
The unfortunate reality of not living with a big paycheck is that we can't afford a sleighful of brand new store-bought presents. We struggle with other people's perceptions of us but, more importantly, we worry about our kids' perception of themselves. We compare ourselves to the Jones' more than we should, and we don't want our kids to feel like they are less worthy than people who have more - or holier-then-thou because they have less. We don't want them to feel left out or left behind, and we don't want them to think that they did something wrong, or are somehow inadequate, just because we don't say yes when they ask for something.
 

What we don't want most of all, is for their self-worth to be tied up with their net worth. They aren't perfect, but it doesn't take much to make our kids happy. They don't have to have the newest, biggest or flashiest toys on the block, and they don't toss their old stuff aside just because a "better" model comes along. They take care of the toys they do have and sincerely appreciate it when they get something new. I'm so proud of them when they treat a homemade gift, or a hand-me-down, with the same respect as something new from Toys R Us.

Now that really is one of my favorite things!

Cheers!

"And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow,
stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?

It came without ribbons. It came without tags.
It came without packages, boxes or bags.

And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.
What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.
What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more." — Dr. Seuss
(How the Grinch Stole Christmas!)

Play Nice!

Every parent I know has annual milestones. Some we look forward to, while others we dread. Most of us eagerly await the first day of school, but would rather poke our own eyes out than go to the pediatrician on immunization and booster shot day. School Christmas concerts we mostly love.  Parent-teacher interviews, not so much. Birthday parties can be overwhelming, but a night out without the kids for a Valentines or Anniversary dinner can be absolutely cherished.

Unfortunately, most of these moments in time aren't so straight-forward. It's not so simple to label them "good" or "bad". Some are so wrapped up in the mysteries of life that they can leave us befuddled and conflicted.

Every year I come face to face with one that I'm still trying to figure out: the day the white stuff starts flying.  For kids, it's simple: SNOW = FUN! There's something about those flakes that's like a beacon, drawing kids out into the cold for endless hours of face-numbing adventure. My son would stay outside all day every day if we let him.  In his mind, December equals the start of all things winter and he takes it quite seriously. In preparation for all the he fun he anticipates, he starts wearing longjohns and extra socks in October, and the extra shirts and sweaters start coming out in November. He was almost in tears on December 1st because there wasn't enough snow to go snowboarding.

I'll take those tears over the other kind, any day.

We had our first real snowfall this week and it's been a mostly wonderful. Thank you snow! That might sound like sarcasm but it isn't. The front hall is an on-going disaster of soggy boots, hats, mitts, snowpants and coats, and I couldn't care less. It takes three times as long to make the trek to the school, so we start getting ready earlier. I smile even though there seems to be a chunk of salt permanently affixed to my socks. It's harder to get the kids to settle down for homework, but the trade-off is that they are spending a ton of time outside getting their fill of fresh air and exercise. It's easy enough to shift gears and change our after-school routine. They can work just as easily later in the day, with rosy cheeks and hot chocolate-filled tummies.

To throw or not to throw?

The moment arrived yesterday, though, that fills me with dread every year. I always end up feeling like an ogre. The innocence of kids laughter while making snowmen and angels, was contrasted starkly with the harsh reality of the searing pain of the first snowball smashing violently into the tender pinky flesh of someone's frostnipped face. The screeching barely started, before I found myself yelling "Play nice!"

I thoroughly believe that we should live by the golden rule: "Do unto others as you would have done unto you." I don't believe in that biblical equalizer, "an eye for an eye". "Two wrongs don't make a right!" is hardwired into my psyche. I am forever telling my kids that they need to give people the benefit of the doubt, and try find solutions instead of making problems worse. They are emotional, self-centred and impulsive little creatures, though, so it's easier said than done.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want them to be doormats, and there's nothing wrong with a good snowball fight. Standing up for yourself, not taking yourself too seriously, and learning how to lighten up and have fun, are all important lessons. They are also some of the most subtle.

So what's a mom to do when the kids are screaming at each other because one has a painful face full of snow, the other thinks it's funny, and war is about to break-out?  I do what my Dad did, I grab a handful of snow and give the aggressor a taste of what it feels like. It's a risky move for a parent. Monkey see, monkey do and all that, but it's not so funny when it's your face and they get that pretty quickly. Even the bystanders. It's amazing how fast the laughter stops. All the tears stop quickly too as the lesson sinks in. Pretty soon, laughter fills the air again.

I'm not sure it's the right approach but it only happens once each winter so something must be working. ;)

Cheers!

Let it Snow!

Life has been hectic lately, but something almost magical happened as the first real snowflakes began to fall this weekend. Instead of thinking about the cold, the shoveling, dealing with snowy clothes, snow tires or all season, the traffic chaos and ever-fewer shopping days until Christmas.... I tried to let myself see the world through the eyes of my child. I put on my snowclothes, grabbed a camera and headed out. What fun!

Do your mental health a favour and get in touch with your inner kid for a little while!



We crawled like a dogsled team.
    
    

When was the last time you made a snow angel?
  
     

Even a snowball to the face couldn't erase the smiles.
   

I didn't think we were going to get Jonas inside on Sunday night.
    

Monday meant back to school but I didn't hear one complaint!

KIDS + SNOW = FUN! FUN! FUN!!

Give yourself a break and make some great memories.
When life throws a snowstrom at you, start a snowball fight!! 



  



Pinky Promises

Did you ever make a pinky promise with your best friend when you were little? Do you remember how seriously we took them? A pinky promise was a sacred vow.  Breaking one was an intense breech of trust that could never be recovered from, at least until we forgot whatever it was we promised about in the first place. We'd break-up at recess and were usually we were friends again by lunch time.

Maybe I'm too old now, but I can't remember one single pinky promise I ever made as a kid. For most people, pinky promises are a remanent of childhood, packed away with dolls and dinky cars, until the day a daughter, nephew or other kid asks you to make one as an adult.  Not so for me.

When Steve and I got married, the Minister asked us to make a pinky promise to each other. As we stood in front of our intimate circle of loved ones, in the forest behind my parent’s house, she asked us to raise our right hands, intertwine our pinky fingers and promise to always support and never give up on each other. Everyone laughed. They thought it was cute. We were optimistic, and excited about starting our future together, and it was a fun, quirky highlight to our wedding.

None of us could have known that that promise was one of the most important vows we have ever made to each other. We couldn't have known then what difficulties lay ahead, or how much we would come to rely on that promise to get through the hard times. Having a husband and step-daughter who battle chronic depression, a son that has speech difficulties and ADHD, a son that died at birth, being a lupus patient myself - none of that was part of the plan. None of that was in the manual. (I never got my copy but I suspect it's out there somewhere, in the safekeeping of those self-proclaimed experts.) 

Life pulls us in a thousand directions sometimes. Sometimes we feel incapable of dealing with it all without snapping. Every once in a while, for a split second, despite our best intentions. we might even forget that we're in it together. Thankfully, we both have a little reminder right on the end of our hand. That pinky promise is always there. So is the evidence. :)

Cheers!



The Apple and the Tree

This might sound corny, but I love getting lunches and after school snacks ready for my kids. Even though it can be rushed, and they sometimes complain, it makes me feel good. I'm no Martha Stewart but preparing and having a meal ready for them when they get home from school is very satisfying. I don't know if it's a sense of accomplishment from checking something off the To Do list, or a sense of anticipation about the conversation during the feast. Maybe it's just having them home in the nest again, or maybe it it has something to do with passing on family traditions like tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches on rainy days such as today. Whatever it is, feeding our families is primal and there's something about it that nurtures my soul.

When my son was a newborn, we tried and tried but he just wouldn't latch consistently. We compromised with pumping and bottles. I don't mention this to crank up the breast-feeding wars. That's a nasty battle that I want no part of ever again. I got caught in the middle of it and it made me feel like a failure. I remember sitting on a bench in the mall giving him a bottle when he was about 4 weeks old. An older gentleman walking by stopped to say "You know, if you feed that kid like you feed yourself he's going to be fat too." I was speechless. Nurses, pediatricians, family and even complete strangers had strong opinions and weren't above lecturing me about them. All I wanted to do was feed my child. If one more person grabbed my boob and tried to show me how to do it, or condemned me for even considering formula, I might be incarcerated now. Thank God that's over!

Instead of wearing prison orange over breast or bottle, I now get to listen to other people's opinions about ADHD. Just like the breastfeeding debate, there are strong opinions on both sides. We're going to have to grow thicker skins and wade our way through them to make the best choices we can for our family.

Food is still an issue too. Navigating through kids ever changing taste buds and appetites can be challenging, but more often than not, the actual food is easy part...

Those of you who know me, know that I am prone to accidents, especially in the kitchen. Something always seems to go wrong, and it's usually me being short-sighted or absent-minded. Last night for example I forget that we have high water pressure in our house so it rained in the kitchen when I did the dishes. The upside is that we now have a clean floor and cupboards again. 

And this morning, the kitchen is really, REALLY clean. Today's kitchen disaster is brought you by a very excited seven year old, who tried to open his yogurt container while telling animated action story, the climax of which was a sword thrust up into the air, causing the yogurt, a glass of milk and a bowl of shredded wheat to instantly explode. It looked like a cow threw up in there! Not a great way to start the day. I told him so. I told him so. I told him so.

I also helped make him so.

As we go through the process of learning about ADHD, I'm finding out more and more just how alike we are. The professionals tell us ADHD is hereditary and I'm beginning to think they are right. He's inherited a lot of his challenges from me. I try to keep a sense of humor when I have one of those moments and maybe that's going to be one of the secrets to helping him get through this ADHD thing. What a revelation!



So, instead of getting upset this morning I thought to myself that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Then I smiled and finished cleaning up the mess.

Cheers!

Wordless Wednesday Take Two Thursday

I missed my first Wordless Wednesday yesterday and I didn't want to miss out so here's my Take Two Thursday version. As parents of a kid with ADHD we have to be creative in our communication sometimes.
Cheers!

"Can you please put some socks on so that we can go?"
Thanks
Love
Daddy