goodfountain

If I were to describe a normal day for our family, especially a normal weekend day, it would inevitably include a tale or two of frustration in regards to managing Chee. How we couldn’t do this or had to cut short that because she wasn’t handling whatever it was well.

Today was completely different. She handled everything we did … and handled it well. Not just today, but yesterday also.

Big, big things too. We all went out to the flea market to close up our booth. Normally she is terrified of even coming near our booth, but today she came inside, she straightened stuffed animals on the shelves, she interacted well with our employee, she pulled the curtains to help us close up.

We went out to eat afterwards and she was incredible. From ordering her own food, to quietly coloring pages while we waited, to telling the server, Byyyyyeee! she was the poster child for manners and (dare I say it) impulse control.

But the big news of the day, of the weekend, has to do with her hair. No, not the haircut we’ve been working on, but, and this is of equally great magnitude to me, Chee wore barrettes!

I’ll say it again. Barrettes!

She is a girl who has been firm in her dislike, hatred even, for barrettes. If I would manage to sneak one in when she wasn’t paying attention, she’d cry and wail and summon the demons to get it out of her hair. In Chee world, where specific, unusual fears are understood only by her, barrettes are evil.

Were evil.

She’s worn her barrettes for two consecutive days. I won’t declare victory just yet though. She needs to wear them to school tomorrow and leave them in all day. Then victory.

I can’t tell you how much it means to me that she wore these barrettes. Everything connected to grooming tends to be a battle with her lately. She has been resisting taking baths and brushing her teeth. My haircut social story has had zero effect. And her hair is just a mess.

But tonight we had fun with barrettes! Just before bath, I took out the package and we looked at all of the colors and designs on them. She loved them. She tried to put them in her own hair. She put them in my hair. It was a girly mother-daughter dream moment.

The barrettes were the icing on the cake of a perfectly delicious weekend. Her language, her behavior, her sensory processing. They were all on. She was on.

For being spring break, it’s been a lousy week. Lousy weather, lousy sicknesses going around. No matter how lousy, though, it has ended on high note. A super high note.

It was really fun too. Fun watching all the pieces of the puzzle come together for her. In her. Delightful.

I’m tossing the social story aside for now. I can live with the shaggy long bangs as long as we can work with barrettes. I’m definitely ready to be done with the pony tails. A mom can only deal with the same ponytail for so long.

Maybe by the time I’ve had my fill of barrettes and am ready for a change, she will be too. Headbands, anyone?

Sometimes I surprise myself with the thoughts that run across my mind. I think I embrace Chee’s neurodiversity, but then I have a random thought that stops me cold and reminds me that I’m not yet where I want to be, where we all should be, when it comes to respecting differences.

I find it easier to love and accept differences in other people’s kids than my own. Perhaps because I’m not as vested in others’ kids. Reluctantly, I admit I find it harder to be as accepting of my own child. Don’t get me wrong, I do love, embrace and cherish her. Every aspect of her. Parts of her that are atypical, however, it’s not as easy for me to be all blasé about how great they are. Sometimes I find myself wishing she’d just be like other kids. Normal kids. I don’t really feel that way. Just sometimes I think it - sometimes for just a minute or two, sometimes longer. Mostly they are fleeting thoughts.

A couple of things this week have given cause for those thoughts to zip around my head. The thoughts have been fleeting. I don’t ruminate and feel sorry for myself and wish I had a different child. Not at all.

I’ve written before that Chee is Hyperlexic (take an early reading ability and mix it with a language disorder along with a splash of sensory processing disorder and you’ve got Hyperlexia). There’s not a ton of literature on Hyperlexia, but what’s out there is pretty good and offers excellent suggestions on how to communicate better with your Hyperlexic child using her reading skill.

Again, I’m reluctant to admit this, but sometimes I avoid trying something new with Chee. If this new and different thing works, then it reaffirms (again) that she is different. I know she’s different but sometimes I feel like I’m looking for her to overcome her difference.

This line of thinking, no matter how fleeting, needs to stop. When I do try a new recommended communication approach with her -it’s generally met with pretty darn good success. To wish against that, to wish that she would just learn “normally” like “everyone else” is plain foolishness. There is no normal in learning. Everyone has their own style.

Chee’s style is that she learns really well from reading. She gets the written word moreso than the spoken word, particularly if she’s upset.

Often when she wants something she’ll ask for it in a whiny tone and then continuously whine louder and louder. When she’s doing this, I can’t seem to get through to her. If I raise my voice to get her attention, she gets louder. If I ignore her, she persists and will get completely worked up.

Her SLP and OT both recommended that I write down Stop Whining (or whatever it is I want her to do) to see if that helps her process it. For several weeks I’ve not done that because I keep thinking she should be able to hear me and stop whining without me having to write it down. The thought running through my head that that’s the normal way to process and understand.

Today, I gave it a try. She was whining about wanting her toy school bus (that I had taken away from both her and Ess because they were fighting over it). She started in, I want bus! I want bus! I want bus! And immediately goes into flapping her hands and bouncing up and down, super dramatic about getting that bus off the top of the fridge.

So I handed her the following note.

Use your big girl voice. Ask nicely.

She immediately ceased whining while she read it silently to herself.

Then, Mommy, can I have the bus now, please? as polite as can be.

Stop fighting it, woman. She doesn’t listen well. She does read well. Yin and yang.

My new mantra: Embrace the difference. Celebrate it.

I think my girl made a joke today.

A little Speech Therapy trick I learned long ago was to purposefully say something wrong to try to elicit a response from my language-challenged daughter. Over the past year I have had fun with this.

I will ask her to hand me the orange banana, or tell her the cat said Quack! I raise my eyebrows alongside my pregnant pause … to let her know I’m looking for a response. Responses which have moved along the corridor from a blank look to a curious look. From a verbal response of Noooooo! to shrieks of laughter and It’s not orange, Mommy! It’s yellow! All good stuff, yes.

Today I was rounding up foot gear for the girls so we could head out to Chee’s monthly physical therapy session. I dropped her socks and shoes near her while I went to help Ess. Upon returning, she’s sitting there with her feet still naked. C’mon Chee, let’s get your socks and shoes on.

A sly smile slowly spreads across her face. My socks and …. hot dogs!

Not positive I heard her right, I ask for a repeat. In the heavy duty giggling I hear it again. Socks and … hot dogs!!

What! I dramatically exclaim. These aren’t hot dogs! They’re shoes, you silly, silly girl!

She laughs uproariously.

Hmmm, a little jokester we have.

Mommy?! Mommmmyyyyyy!! MOMMMMMYYYYYY!!!!!

Unexpectedly, Chee called out for Mommy in the wee hours this morning. Ever since she’s been sick, she’s been waking several times a night wanting a drink of water and a hug. Invariably she calls for Daddy. This works out well because Ess is usually transferred over to our bed and is glued to my side as we sleep.

When she first called out for me, I almost didn’t get up as I’m so accustomed to a rapid dismissal in her preference for Daddy. I’d like for her to call for me, though (I’ll probably regret saying that), so I stumbled to her room.

What followed can best be described as Desperately Seeking Proprioceptive Input.

I want a Mommy hug.
A squishy hug.
A squishy sandwich hug.

I had myself completely entwined around her, applying gentle pressure, and she was happy. Content. She fell back asleep.

For me, an important lesson.

Never buy a cheap mattress.

Oh. My. Goodness. My back is killing me. I sleep on my side all the time, curled up with Ess, so I know it wasn’t the position. It was the bed.

That mattress was a mistake, no doubt. It was cheap, but we were desperate. Last year, shortly after moving, bug bites started mysteriously appearing on Chee. Eventually we discovered that new ones were only appearing in the morning, so something was getting her while she slept.

The bites didn’t fit what one would expect for bug bites, but after trying everything else, we opted to just get rid of her bed. Cash was low as we had just moved, so I didn’t buy a great mattress. I rationalized the cheap purchase by telling myself that she’s little and before she gets a lot bigger we’ll get her a super nice one.

My husband is a saint. He has spent many hours laying on that bed and has not complained one time. I spend 30 minutes in there and come out declaring we’re buying a new mattress. It’s only then that he concurs it’s not very comfortable. Not very comfortable. Right. In the same way that a bikini wax is not very painful.

As luck would have it, we’re getting a nice tax refund this year. Very nice. Considering we only got about a $100 return last year, this year’s sizable refund is unexpected. And now I have something to spend it on. I don’t know about you, but I like spending money. I like making big purchases. I love the way I feel when I buy something new. Even if it is only a mattress. It’s not something I do very often, so it’s exciting when it happens.

Until that plush new comfy mattress is delivered to her room, I’m hoping Chee will keep calling for Daddy. My aching back may not survive another round of squishy sandwich hugs.

As this blog is serving as a bit of a journal of Chee’s development, I must record this doozy of a conversation today. Also, I share it because I can hardly believe the exchange even happened. I’m so glad my husband was part of it lest there be any doubt I heard what I heard.

Remember that Chee’s very out of sorts today. Illness seems to kick her sensory issues into overdrive. Her bouts of screaming apparently block all rational thought from entering my mind, so I’m afraid I didn’t handle much of anything adroitly.

During it all, however, she managed to pull this out. Her part is said with a hint of sadness and a slight downturned lip.

Chee: Where’s Daddy?
Me: He’s at work.

I want to go see daddy.
We can’t go see daddy, honey, he’s working.

I want to call daddy.
Okay, let’s call him.

Note: The above conversation happens often. Here’s where it gets interesting.

I dial his number and hit speakerphone.

Hi Daddy.
Hi Chee. How are you?

Daddy, I upset.
Why are you upset, sweetie pie.

I want to give Daddy a hug.
Well, I’m at work now, but I’ll give you a great big hug when I get home tonight.

I want to come to work and give Daddy a hug.

Big, gaping silence as the Mom and Dad in this conversation are rendered speechless.

A big deal in our house, friends. A big deal. First time she has ever shared her feelings. Unsolicited, even.

Chee has been asking to visit Daddy at work for quite some time now. We’ve never taken the time to do it, for no other reason than we simply haven’t.

Today, we found the time.

Our Easter was fairly simple. Nobody’s feeling all that great (except me), so it was a low energy day. There was about an hour when dinner was cooking on the stove, the house was ready for company - and everyone was asleep but me. I basked in the quiet calm of a clean and smelling-delicious house.

This was Ess’ first real Easter. Last year at 4 or 5 months of age, she was more observer than participator. There was no observing this year. She was all out, gung-ho, in-the-mix hunting for eggs and trying to shovel fistfuls of Jelly Beans in her mouth. She puts on quite a show for us, that one.

Chee made me laugh as always. Last night we dyed 6 hard-boiled eggs. I told her we’d leave them out and the Easter Bunny would stop by our house and hide them overnight, along with other plastic eggs that would have treats in them.

Fast forward to this morning. She’s intent only on finding the ones we colored. She picked up a plastic egg, turned it over and over, studying it carefully, and deposited unceremoniously back in its hiding-in-plain sight locale.

Apparently the Easter Bunny doesn’t hide eggs that are cracked, so one was not to be found. There was much consternation. This was the egg that had Chee’s name on it, that she herself had dropped and cracked. Where’s the Chee egg? I can’t find Chee. Fortunately it showed up in the next room, cracked and all, after a quick retrieval by me.

I’ll spare you the gory details of how the rest of the day went. Just know that she seemed happiest the 3 hours she napped on the couch. Chee does not do sick with any amount of grace. She’s miserable.

She nearly broke my heart tonight though. She played with some stamps this evening and tattooed her arms up and down. I insisted on a bath which she screamed through. Very unusual as she loves baths, yet not surprising as she’s so out-of-whack (sensory-wise). Later as she was laying in bed, she got very sad and said to her daddy, I sorry I cried in the bath.

That makes me want to cry now. I don’t want her to ever feel bad for crying. (Except she wasn’t crying, she was just standing there screaming. No tears.) Crying is always allowed. It’s always OK.

Her daddy said she must have asked for hugs, more hugs at least a hundred times tonight before falling asleep.

She’s definitely out of sorts sensory-wise. It’s hard to know where to draw the line with her at times. Is she just whining and being obnoxious because she can, or is there an underlying cause?

She has this week off due to spring break. Here’s hoping we can all get back into sorts with the Sensory stuff. Perhaps if she’s feeling better in a day or so we’ll be able to get out of the house.

It would be good for all of us to have some plain old fun. Indulgent even. Yes, fun is what Dr. Mom here is prescribing. To lighten our loads and lift our spirits, let’s have a blast!

I’m not one for spouting life philosophies or belief systems. My husband and I aren’t particularly declarative people. To each their own, I say. We just live our life simply and pay attention to what is working and what isn’t.

What works for us is living in the moment. Being present in the moment with our kids. My husband is especially good at this. He has made job/career choices which give him a pretty regular schedule with minimal travel. He’s home every night and is the picture of a hands-on dad. There’s a reason Chee always calls for Daddy when she wakes in the middle of the night.

When we bought this house last year, part of its appeal was that all the major updates are done. No do-it-yourself remodel projects for us. It was essentially in move-in condition, perfect for this couple with an infant and a preschooler. We need to paint it and make it our own (as Randy Jackson would say), but we’re not in any rush. My husband longs to own his own business and be completely self-employed. Right now we’re not ready to make the sacrifices necessary to make that happen - primarily time away from our kids. We have a small business now that is very manageable.

There are other ways we live in the moment. If you peek inside my family room where I sit writing, you’ll find two baskets of clean clothes which need folded, and an assortment of toys and blankets strewn about. I will pick it all up before bed, but I have ideas that have been marinating all day and I didn’t want to forget them.

We’re trying to do more than pay lipservice to the somewhat tired cliche, they’re only young once. It’s true, though. They are only young once and this time is already flying by. Neither of us wants to miss it because our main focus is elsewhere.

Why then, I ask myself, do I spend so much time worrying about what Chee is going to be like in a few years? Am I missing out on enjoying her quirks for what they are? Quirks. Plain and simple. Many are already fading, more may follow.

When she rips Pop-Up pages out of a brand new book, or tosses things randomly off the counter just to see them fall. When she scripts a story or show over and over (and over) again, or laughs hysterically at opening and closing the DVD player.

Tonight I got so frustrated when she did all of the above things. I didn’t show my frustration (too much), but I felt irritated and I let those feelings have more power than they should. They cause my mind to wander toward Autism. Chee has not been diagnosed with ASD. I’ve written about that before.

When I see her do something a little strange or atypical, I immediately wonder if that is an ASD trait. And then my mind zips forward to Kindergarten and First Grade. How is she going to be with her peers? Will she be an oddball? Will she make friends? If she is different, will she know she’s different? All of that sends my long-past-wandering-now-it’s-racing mind to the inevitable questions of: Am I doing enough? Is she getting enough therapy? If you have a kid whose theme song might be One of these is not like the others, you know what I’m talking about.

How not living in the moment is that? Would that I could just turn off my mind and its worries. Simply enjoy the quirkiness, the immaturity for her age, the sometimes-annoying.

Would that I could just exclaim: So what if she’s past 3 1/2, cruising toward 4, and not potty trained? So what if she likes to carry on entire conversations with me verbatim from Caillou? So what if the excitement about holidays is lost on her?

This is Chee now. In the moment. I fink I will join her in the moment, and try not worry about the moments to come. At least not as much. I am a mother after all. We worry. It’s what we do.

Chee is still feeling pretty sick. Running a fever on and off and coughing … generally sounding awful. She has spent most of the last 3 days laying on the couch, the recipient of much indulgence. A few times I’ve witnessed her dragging herself off the couch in search of entertainment, only to find her curled back up under her blankies a short while later. No mother likes to see her child sick, we all know that. We’d gladly be sick for them just so they don’t have to feel the misery. Chee seems to have tuned in to this. She’s working us.

Her diet has primarily been Popsicles, frozen (as in not toasted) waffles, crackers and oranges. Not exactly the diet of champions, but it’s what she’s been able to keep down, so I acquiesce.

My favorite though has been how many little things she has asked me to do. It’s really a testament to how far her language has developed. I hear from the couch, Mommy? Will you come throw my Popsicle stick in the trash?

She asks me for some crackers. Can I have some crackers? Okay, I fink I eat them in the family room. (We don’t let the kids eat anywhere but the kitchen.) She wanted string cheese earlier, which I said No to because good companions dairy and nausea do not make. I offered her something else and she said, No, I fink I’ll have string cheese.

I just love all the finking she’s doing.

She showed some newly emerging maturity (or something) at the pediatrician’s office this afternoon. Our last visit back in January was unmentionably horrible. I felt beyond terrible later when I realized much of her stress was possibly because we saw one of the male doctors… and he had a beard! Chee used to have a strong negative reaction to facial hair. A bit of that still lingers, I suspect.

Today’s visit was with the Nurse Practitioner, a sweet and gentle woman we have seen a couple of times before. In the past I’ve done a lot of prepping about what to expect during the visit. I did a little bit of that in the waiting room, but then I changed tactics. In my finest Mommy tone I told her, Chee I don’t want to hear any whining while the doctor is looking at your ears and listening to your back.

I can’t tell you it was a perfect visit, but compared to the screaming we endured last time, it was a thousand percent better.

And she knew it. On the way home she said, I fink I need some ice cream now.

Fine, Chee, but me finks not in the family room.

At least so far.

I’m not sure exactly how many hours I’ve been 37, or if even I’ve actually reached the houriversary. But for the sake of storytelling, let’s assume my 37th year (ok well I guess this is technically the beginning of my 38th year), began around midnight.

The first few hours were spent in blissful slumber. Then there was the inevitable Ess interruption. A booby call as I like to say. I should seriously think about night weaning her. I don’t know how to do it, but the end result is very attractive. Shortly after that, there was a Chee call out. Daddddyyyy. Where’s Dadddyyyy? Chee always calls for Daddy at night. Apparently they were up for awhile. I heard some coughing. Her voice sounded shaky.

You know what’s coming next, right? Yep, she’s ill. I wasn’t positive until I saw she had the sick look in her eyes. You know the look. Glassy-eyed. Heavy lids. She tried to play a bit before school but she ended up on the couch where she has not moved from since about 8:30 this morning. She has requested many, many hugs.

One of her grandpas stopped by to drop something off and she pretended she was asleep. She didn’t want anyone fussing with her, a trait she did not get from me. When I’m sick, I like to be coddled.

Ess has been a trooper. Loving that the TV has been on way more than normal. She took a long nap for me. Chee slept most of that time too. So I had nearly two whole hours to myself, in my own house, with just minimal demands.

What did I do with my two hours? Got caught up on my blog reader, even attempted to comment some, read celebrity headlines, talked on the phone.

Due to the sick kiddos, dinner out will now be take-out dinner. That’s okay. I don’t mind not cooking on this day.

37 is … boring.

I can live with that.

37 is exactly where I want to be (a good thing, huh, since I’m here regardless). I have two words-can’t-describe children, an amazing husband, a house that I’m happy with, plans for the future.

I’ll take 37. It’s a good place to be. Boring and all.

I was reminded this morning of one of the most frustrating spirited aspects of Chee’s personality. If you’ve read Raising Your Spirited Child, you are probably familiar with the concept of Negative First Reaction. Of all the traits the author describes as spirited, Negative First Reaction is the one that describes Chee the most. By a lot.

Chee is an equal opportunity negative reactor. From clothes to food to experiences, she is Miss Reluctant. Reluctant? Okay let’s be honest. She’s Miss-No-Way-In-Hell. Case in point from this morning. Last week I bought her a couple of new long-sleeved tees. I pulled one out this morning and launched into a laid back but excited super cute, how cute is this, look there’s a puppy on it sales pitch.

Chee took one look at the shirt and started, No. Noooo. No new shirt. No wanna wear a new shirt.

Oh, c’mon Chee, this is a cute shirt. And you love puppy dogs.

She grabs it from me, with great gusto I might add, and whips it across the room, yelling, I don’t want to wear that shirt. I want a different shirt.

Okay then.

This same scenario has replayed itself many times over in the House of Chee. Some of it has likely been due to her sensory processing challenges, but I don’t think that’s really it. How do I know this? Because once Chee finally experiences/tastes/wears something for the first time, she’s fine with it. So if it was true Sensory Defensiveness, I assume it would take a little more than me holding her down and forcing a pair of shoes on her feet (yes, I admit, I’ve done that, with great success thankyouverymuch).

Fortunately, Chee does not have a Negative First Reaction to every thing all the time. She’s random. I’ve tried to find a pattern, and if one’s there, it’s escaping me. She tends to go in phases. The year she was two she didn’t like any new shoes. She has gone through book rejection phases. No new books allowed at all.

Food rejections are harder to help her overcome. I can’t pry her mouth open and shovel tacos in. Luckily, Chee likes a variety of food. But when I want her to try something new and she decides to flip out and vehemently push the utensil away, I feel kinda stuck. I can’t make the same thing every day in an effort to wear her down. It took two years (two years!!) of twice a month offering her some variation of tacos (taco salad, soft tacos, hard shell tacos) before she’d finally deign to put a bite in her mouth. And now she loves them. She asks for them. I want tacos for dinner. Yay tacos!!

Negative First Reaction doesn’t have anything to do with her Hyperlexia or being “special needs.” I have a number of friends who describe their very typical kiddos as being strong Negative First Reactors. In Chee’s case, she comes by it honestly. As in genetically.

I am very quick to say No to things. Not so much food (although I was well into my 20s before I was willing to truly expand my limited palate and now I’ll eat nearly anything), but with clothing definitely. I tell my husband often, if there’s something you think I’d look nice in, just buy it, because if you ask me I’ll probably say no. That message must have sunk in because he came home with a new pair of shoes for me today that I probably would not have picked out for myself. I even like them.

Having a kid who is reluctant to try new things is not something that stresses me out. It has served us well on the playground (she avoids the high places). Hopefully it will serve her well when so-called friends offer her cigarettes, alcohol, etc. Maybe her take my own sweet time processing speed will give her the extra time she’ll need to make the right decision.

Meanwhile, I’ll hang her new shirts on the outside of her closet door. Eventually she’ll forget that she despises them and come twirling downstairs. Look! I’m wearing my new puppy dog shirt!