I'm Not The Right Mom For Him

After one week of freedom from school, I've settled into a different mode. I'm not on the defensive, the constant watch, the head-off-any-signs-of-breakdown-mode. I'm feeling more relaxed.
Well, I was.
We were free from bedtime issues, free from crying breakdowns and temper tantrums. Until today.
R and L were playing with Lego, and I don't know what happened, they were having a normal sibling disagreement. I could hear R trying to reason with L, and in all fairness, he's a great big brother that puts up with far more than most brothers do. He tries as much as he can to be patient, and I really think that he's a lot more patient than most nearly-12-yr-olds are.
I went into the room, and things weren't too heated yet. So I thought I'd interrupt before they got that way, and told them both to please get dressed. L stood up, and whipped a piece of Lego at the wall. And I got angry.
I yelled at him, despite my promise to myself of not doing that anymore. But like I said, I've gone off the defensive, which unfortunately has led me to my old ways I think. I yelled that that was unacceptable, and he would soon lose his privilege of the Lego if that kept up. Things then did get heated, only I was the one heating up. I got mad again when I saw that he'd rifled through his clothes drawer making every neatly folded piece of clothing a rumpled mess. I said some things I shouldn't have, like to "smarten up" and "what are you crying about?" - things that aren't necessarily that bad for a mom to say to any normal misbehaving nine year old. But my temper forgets that he's not normal. Even when my rational brain is screaming at me to stop, take a breath, and calm down, my temper takes over.
The more I think about it, L and I are so alike in so many ways. He worries, I worry. We both worry about stuff that will likely never happen. He's hot-headed, I'm hot-headed. He's down on himself, and really, so am I. We're so alike in all the things and ways that I don't like about myself. We clash - terribly.
I often have these momentary thoughts that I wish I wasn't his mother. That I wish he had been born to someone else. And then my guilt kicks in and I think about how horrible that sounds. Nobody said life was easy, but parenting him is something else. It's so hard. And I often think that I shouldn't be his mom. I'm not helping the situation at all, we aggravate each other and I often make things worse.
R and L are very different. I think that makes it harder sometimes, because I look at R and think, "Why can't L be more like him?" R gets straight A's. I don't have to bug him to do homework. He's so smart and gets new concepts easily. He barely misbehaves, and when he does, he's corrected and usually turns it around quickly. He does chores and other stuff when I tell him to. He doesn't complain. He doesn't whine. Every teacher that's ever had him in their class, comes to me to tell me how much they love him. He's such a great kid that it makes being around L so drastic in comparison. In some ways, that's worse, but mostly it's better. It means I only have to worry about one kid, but also means that R doesn't get enough of the attention that he often deserves.
Well, as you can read, I'm having a rough day. Lots of negativity here. Lots of questioning my own parenting, my own worthiness. I just wish I could snap out of it, that I could snap L out of it. I wish I could see, for more than a few minutes, the real L. The one that is happy, creative, loving and smart. He's gone into hiding. I've seen a bit more of this L once school ended, but the other L is back, and he needs to be the one in hiding.

Sprinting For The Finish

You know those bad dreams you have where you're running as fast and hard as you can, but you don't seem to be going anywhere? I feel like I'm in one of those dreams. Metaphorically, of course. 

I'm not being chased. But I do feel like I'm in some sort of race. Against what? Time, maybe. 

It's a marathon race of course. It started in September, and this portion of the marathon (as in, some sort of warrior-dash-super-ironman-marathon) concludes in eight days. 

Just eight, short, days. 

I can see the finish line, just there, at the top of this massively steep hill. And I'm running, but I'm completely spent, my water bottle dried up sometime back in April, and not only have both my shoes come undone, but they're now tied together. 

I'm hobbling to the finish line. 

I wish I could streak across this finish line, hands clasped with my boys and held high in the air, sweat pouring down our faces, but underneath our smiles are beaming. I wish, like for some others, this leg of the race was all downhill. I wish that we could end this race in a blaze of glory. 

But for us, it's not to be. 

I'm limping along, trying to make it without quitting, trying to instil that non-quitter attitude in my boy at the same time. I'm limping, and dragging a weighted ball chained to my left leg (why my left? It's my weaker leg.) and my L is the one sitting on top of that weighted ball. Only he's trying to hang on and pull me back. 

As you may have guessed, tonight was a bad night. And it ain't over yet. At least not until I'm 100% sure he's asleep, and right now, at 9:59 p.m., I'm about 95% sure he's NOT asleep. So I could still be in for more fun and games. 

I wish we could have the issues of just bad behaviour. I wish it was simply a case of "he won't stay in bed." I also desperately long for the days when he was small, and I'd put him to bed at 7:30 with a few small stories and plenty of hugs and kisses goodnight. 

Sometimes my brain starts thinking thoughts that start out as "I wish he was small again" and quickly turn to thoughts of "where, exactly, did we go wrong? What did we do?" 

I've been told not to think those thoughts, to shut them down quickly because A) they're unhelpful even if they were true, and B) they're not true because its not our fault, it's not something we did. 

Still, they do creep into my mind. 

L seemed fine earlier on today. He stayed home because he either has a bad cold or severe allergies, so I let him have a day off. He also had Friday off, due to a PA day. I think four days off in a row was the bad part. Once I had him in the bathroom brushing his teeth, he went sour. At first he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Finally, after I read to him in his bed for a bit, he decided to tell me what was wrong, amid much sobbing and tears.

School. 

What else?

He doesn't want to go, he just wants to be home, he needs more time off from doing work, he HATES school, he can't live like this anymore. 

That last part always kills me. I get it. He can't continue to have these awful anxious feelings. He knows they're not a normal part of life, and doesn't want to live with them anymore. I just don't know what to say to it. I wish I had the answer. But I don't. 

It didn't matter to him that I said there were only eight days of school left. He just said that summer will fly by, and then he'll have to go to school again. 

It's so sad that now he can't enjoy summer because he'll be too busy worrying about the fall. And it's sad that his anxiety has now got me worrying about the fall too.  

So now, I feel like I'm struggling to make it to the end. 

Just. 

Eight. 

More. 

Days. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Some People...

                                   

This is what one parent thinks of me; that all I'm worth to her is the change scraped from her purse. She pays me to the very penny every week. Never a cent over. And I've had worse, she's actually handed me a ziplock bag full of coins - pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. If she ever gives me more than what is owed, I HAVE to make change, or she puts it towards the next week. Even if it's a dollar. 

And that's fine, I guess. I can be cheap like that too. But here's the thing - I've been looking after her kid for six years now! And in six years she has NEVER given me a bonus, an extra cent, a Christmas gift, or even a pat on the back. 

Last week, she was annoyed because she screwed up her schedule, and I ended up picking her kid up from school when I was told I didn't have to. But what could I do? Leave her there? I guess I should have....She was annoyed because it was her one and only day she actually could have got her herself. Not my problem!! 

Did she thank me for not leaving her there abandoned and embarrassed? 

No. 

She eventually paid me, less two dollars which she claims to have left. I found no twoonie, so either one of my kids is stealing, or she's lying to me (which I've caught her doing before). 

Now here's the other extreme. A parent of two boys I've watched now for about four years asked me to watch them before school. She didn't end up dropping them off at my house until 8:30, and we leave at 8:40. I was in the bathroom when she "dropped and ran" and L brought me the $20 she gave to him (see? My kids DON'T steal). When I saw her hubby at the school in the afternoon, I told him she'd paid me too much. And he said, "Don't worry about it, you are SO worth it!"

Isn't that nice? Wish I could play that back to the first parent!!

My Baby Is Growing Up

When I think about how there are only 4.5 weeks left of school, I feel a bit sick. I want to take time, slow it down, savour it. Every week seems to rush past in a blur of routine, sporting and after-school activities, and weekends that pass in a blink of an eye. It really feels to me like last month we were just starting the school year. I'm really in a daze that another one is coming to an end. 

My oldest, R, is eleven. Well, eleven and three quarters really. I can't bring myself to think about him turning twelve, then - GASP - thirteen! 

When I think of how he'll be graduating to high school this time in two short years, my eyes well up with tears. I don't know how I'll ever make it through that ceremony. I'll be a mess, I just hope I'm not going to be the only mom bawling uncontrollably, and I certainly hope I won't embarrass him. 

R is such a great kid.  I don't think I sing his praises enough. He's cooperative, helpful, patient, kind, and most of all, so smart. He's pretty much a straight A student, which as I'm seeing with L's struggles with his studies, is quite an achievement in this school! I take it for granted too much that he just does his homework without being asked, he studies for tests, and comes home telling me he has an A on yet another test. 

And now, he has reached another milestone. My baby boy now wears deodorant. Taking him out shopping to find a scent he liked seemed like such a huge thing for me. It reminded me of when my mom took me out for my first bra (even though I really didn't need one). 

Every day that I'm frustrated and sick of the daycare business, I just need to remind myself of how it allows me to spend more time with my two guys than if I was working a 9-5 (or similar) job. 

Just When You Think It's Getting Better, Reality Smacks You In The Face

Today was a tough day for L. He wasn't feeling well last night; he had a tummy ache which led him to believe he was going to throw up. Since this past winter, when he had a stomach bug twice (and never had one ever before that!) he's terrified of throwing up. So of course, being the vicious circle that it is, he convinces himself he's going to be sick, which actually does lead to him being very nauseous, even if he never was going to be sick in the first place. 

So today he got to stay home from school, since he insisted that his stomach still hurt. I figured he could use the day off to work on a project he has to do. 

But I think he really was fighting something. Not because of his physical symptoms (of which there were few) but because of his emotional ones. He gets very mopey, and anxious, and weepy. He managed to keep hurting himself (minorly, but still, to him it's big) and that continued on through the evening. By the end of the night, he was weeping in his bed. He said he was sick of the day, of hurting himself, and that if he just stayed in bed nothing else bad would happen to him. Neither DH or I could convince him to come downstairs to watch the rest of a movie we had started a few days ago. L kept saying things like, if I go downstairs I'll probably fall down the stairs, and when I suggested he hold my hand and we go slowly he then said what if I fall then and take you down? 

This is classic anxiety disorder. His brain is in flight mode, thinking up every possible bad scenario that could happen. The thing is, even though I knew what was happening, I was powerless to help him. I couldn't snap him out of it. DH tried too, to no avail. 

The night escalated. I tried several times to distract him, and could even get him to a point talking about something else that he was smiling. But as soon as I went to leave the room, it's like it all came back to him and the crying would start again. There were also the usual proclamations of him wanting to kill himself, which are surprisingly getting less shocking. I feel like that's not such a good thing. I fear I'll not take him seriously the day he decides he is serious. 

Nothing I did, nothing I tried or thought of would work tonight. I found myself wishing desperately for a syringe filled with a sedative so I could just put him to sleep. 

It's a tough thing as a parent to hear your child cry, but even harder to try every trick you know that used to work, and every new trick that you can think of but still have nothing you do console him. You feel powerless. You feel helpless. And a little bit like a failure. 

My heart aches for him. As I'm sure any parent watching their kid suffer in pain feels, I'd do absolutely anything to endure it for him. 

He's quiet now, finally, and I'm going to check in on him. My own anxiety has me thinking of all sorts of horrifying scenarios for the reason that he is quiet. I must prove to myself now it's because he's finally sleeping. 

Tomorrow's a new day. And hopefully a happier one. 

Happy Mother's Day

Dear DH

I know I'm not your mother, but I sure take on all the mothering responsibilities when it comes to you. I mean, I cook for you, I clean for you, I wash your clothes, put them away, and occasionally iron them. I keep the household running, keep all dates and appointments in mind, and make sure everyone gets where they need to be most of the time. 

So would it kill you to put in a little effort for Mother's Day? Ok, how about we rename it, "Female Authority Figure of the Household Day?" So that covers wife and mom. 

Don't get me wrong; I'm happy you washed some dishes (one small sinkfull). I'm happy you folded the laundry (that I collected, sorted, washed and dried). But you didn't make a meal, or even organize one. I was the one to suggest, decide upon, order, pay for, and then drive to pick up the Chinese takeout we had for dinner. You didn't get the kids organized to help out with some chores. R did vacuuming on his own, which was great, but L needs lots of prompting. You know that. 

All I wanted was a day when someone else would take over. So I didn't have to be the nagger, the reminder, the enforcer, the organizer. 

And you didn't step up. 

And now I'm stuck with the aftermath of having a day "off" - laundry, folded, but not even in a basket let alone put away. (You do remember I have small children here during the day, right? What do you think will happen to all that folded laundry all over the floor where they play?) - kitchen, a disaster - front hall, covered in dried mud - bathrooms, still filthy - the list goes on. 

Thanks for a memorable day.

I'll be sure to remember this come June 16th. 

From Great To Bad To Worse

Tonight was L's first trampoline lesson. He was soooo excited to start! I was excited for him to have something else to look forward to in the week.
Now I'm just disappointed, and anxious, and upset.
I don't know why I thought this was going to be any different than any other sport he's ever tried. It was the same for ballhockey, ice hockey, t-ball, soccer, gymnastics, and to an extent, swimming. He starts off gung-ho and excited. I think in his mind he's sure and positive that he's going to be awesome at this sport, he's going to excel, and he's not even going to have to try! I just wish that positive thinking would last.
10 minutes into his jumping, I could see his body language change. I was watching him from the parents' area, set above the gym. I could see that he was becoming winded, tired and that he had a stitch in his side. I willed him mentally to take a break, to remember how we always used to tell him to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.
But he didn't. It wasn't until I could tell that he couldn't continue, that he had a break on the pretence of having a drink. By then I could see that his side was killing him, and that this was a cramp that wasn't going to go away quickly.
Eventually he did go back to jumping, but with about 15 minutes left in the class (it's 60 minutes total), I could see him pulling back his sock to check his foot. And from my vantage point, even I could see the redness. Then, he quit. And started crying.
He wouldn't jump anymore, I could see the coaches asking him questions, but had no idea what was being said.
Now that I have a much better understanding of his thought process, I could understand what was going on. But that doesn't make it any less frustrating. I was looking around at the other kids wondering to myself, "why can't he just be like them?" One girl practically ripped off a toenail on the trampoline and she wasn't even upset. She got a bandaid and went back to it.
I can't help wondering as well what others may be thinking. "Why is that kid crying?" "What a wimpy kid, his parents must coddle him," "What's wrong with him?"
I know I shouldn't care, and I guess in time, I'll learn to not think about that sort of thing (or not) but I still feel like I should explain his behaviour to people. I didn't though.
After ten minutes of crying, I went to fetch him.
Here are the things he said on his way home:
"It's just like school all over again! They're pushing us too hard!" (This was in reference to the fact that they were, god forbid, actually trying to teach him something! Oh the horror! Can you believe it? I mean, come on, it's a lesson!)
"I hurt myself"
"I can't do it"
"It's boring"
And of course, lots of tears and crying about it, because aside from the two blisters he got on either foot, he said he twisted his foot. I'm not sure about that, I think it's just an aching muscle from underuse, and his feet are not strong, he is very flat footed.
I tried to remember and think of what the psychiatrist had said. I decided against my instinct to talk about it and to try to talk him around, and instead tried desperately in my mind to figure out how to switch tacks.
I remembered the dr. saying he needs a positive focus, and the only thing I could think of at the time was the coupon in my purse for a DQ Blizzard. So we went and got some ice cream for him and his brother.
The sobbing stopped, and upon returning home, he seemed to be brightening a little. That is, until we walked in the door.
"L," called R. "I have bad news for you."
I looked at L in horror, and all I could think was that his fish was dead. I prayed no, please.
"Jasper (our dog) chewed up your goose call!"
His goose call is something he'd made himself, painstakingly I might add. He was proud of it, but the outside of it was made with bamboo, something the dog would easily chew through. And unfortunately for L, he had left it on the floor.
This immediately resulted in tears, great, sobbing, gulping tears. We tried to console him, promising him that daddy would help him make a new one on the weekend, but it didn't help. To L, his mind was probably cataloging all the reasons now why trampolining was a huge NO-NO.
1. I get hurt.
2. I get tired.
3. The coaches push me too hard.
4. I get cramps.
5. It's boring.
6. I suck at it.
7. I come home to find my stuff destroyed.

Would you go back? I can't blame him too much for not wanting to go again. His mind doesn't balance it out with the positives, like, despite what happened, and the fact that the injury was minor, it was FUN!!
So now, I don't know what to do. Make him go back? Every parenting book would tell you to do just that, but here's the thing; with a normal kid, they would soon come to realize the positives after a few sessions. Your persistence would pay off, and just as you knew they would, they'd learn to love it. But with L, he's going to fight me on it every week. That is my number one reason I don't want to continue. I fight with him on everything, this is one more thing to add to the List Of Misery.
He very likely won't learn to love it. His brain has already decided its a hazard to his health, and I have NO IDEA how to change that! I have a small idea, but it involves "incentives" (bribery, really) and it just really goes against the grain here.
And if he's going to be miserable and fight me on it every week, maybe I should try to get my money back now, before too many classes have gone by.
DH says that would be sending him the wrong message; to quit straight away. He's very much a get-straight-back-on-the-horse type of guy. Of course,I agree, I don't want to let my kids grow up thinking that quitting because something is challenging is an option.
So, I don't know. I'm lost here.
Oh, and BTW, he did cheer up after I suggested he come eat his Blizzard treat, along with a little joking that I was hoping he wouldn't want it so I could have it.
The strangest thing I find about L and his episodes, is that come morning, he seems to have forgotten it. Well, not forgotten it, but he's not dwelling on it. But I am. It's the first thing I think of when I wake in the morning - what happened the day before, and it puts a sinking feeling in my stomach. But he seems fine.
Weird.