Diagnosis: Autism

 We've been 10 years getting here, but at the same time I've been here all along. 

We had a two-hour appointment this morning, and at the end we got the official word: Jeffrey has Autism. That fact will go in his chart and be shared with his school and whoever needs to know going forward. 

It's official. For Terry, that was validation he needed. And I'm happy that he got that. For Jeffrey, it was just something we said was happening. After the appointment, I had to explain that it was over, and the diagnosis had happened. He just wasn't sure when that moment would be. It came and went and he didn't realize. 

For me, it's just another check mark on the list of adjusting the world to meet Jeffrey where he is. It just gives it an official vibe now. 

Jeffrey's place in the world has been unique since his birth. He was our fussiest baby. Refused a bottle or pacifier, had to be put to sleep in certain clothing, with certain blankets and in very specific positions (where the other three were sleep where they fell kids even as babies and could be moved and adjusted much more than Jeff). He was our velcro baby, so I finally broke down and got a carrier and improved quality of life for both of us tremendously. 

Accommodations were our way of life before I started using the word - but the word came into play at age 3, when we had testing through early intervention. That's when the idea of an Autism diagnosis was introduced. We were told we would have to circle back later for a more official stance on it. In the meantime, we worked on his communication skills and he ended up in a special pre-school class to address the disconnect between where he was and where he should be at 3. 

Once he saw other kids his age and heard them speaking, he broke through the wall. I firmly believe he thought he had to use complete sentences and since his brain couldn't put together complex thoughts at that age, he just wasn't going to use words. But once we realized he could use one word, a few or a string rather than a full sentence, he ran with it. 

Today, he got complimented for his complex vocabulary, his "steel trap" memory and his ability to share the knowledge he carries. He was recognized for his ability to interact and socialize, be empathetic and cooperative. 

None of that changes the fact he's facing this world from a different platform, per se. Or that if measured with the typical or "normal" yardstick, things aren't going to add up. As our mantra is in this house, "Normal is overrated" and no one needs Jeffrey to live up to "normal." Instead, we try to create a normal for him that he can navigate, without being treated differently or looked down on. 

I've learned a lot about myself as a parent. Not least is the fact that the autism at least partially tracks down through me. I sat down one day and realized that there are clear Autism signs going back three generations. And life really cleared up for me in ways I didn't realize I needed until that moment.

I have learned that "off" feeling I've had all my life had a very strong reason. I learned that a lot of the strange things about me that were either dismissed, suppressed or explained away have one very real connection - and that is a base in Autism. 

So for Jeffrey - and for his siblings - adjusting, accommodating and finding the smoothest path forward was just the way it was going to be. And that won't change after today. It's just been reinforced. 

His pediatrician has been supportive the entire time. Now we just have additional backup for helping to give him the best support to navigate a world that has different default settings than he needs. 

Easter 2023

 We skipped the baskets. 

We never have really been the fake grass and bunnies everywhere family. This year we skipped Cadbury eggs (they were out at the store. They put them out too early - but that's another story) and went light on the candy - don't ask how much we have left from Halloween. 

Sometimes though, the memories are made outside. 

The sun was shining and burned off the frost. The wind wasn't blowing. The bright sheen of spring warmth (the hint of it anyway) was making its mark on this particular Easter Sunday. 

So, the Easter Bunny decided that the egg hunt should be outside. It wasn't complicated, it wasn't widely spread out. EB didn't bother hiding the eggs too well. But the smiles and the sunshine ... and the memories. 

That's what made the day. 

Yes, a lot of them were easy. And yes, the big kids held back until Jeff had his 7 eggs. We still had one egg that was a little harder to find. It turns out, everyone walked past it at least once (except Harper). 

This was an adventure. A five minute trek outside to wander in the sunshine. A treasure hunt for Mandalorian and Frozen themed eggs. The candy may never get eaten, but the memories will remain. 

POV: COVID and Kindergarten

 Dear 2nd grade teacher,

Do you remember you are teaching 7-year-olds?

Well, let me tell you about mine. Recently, you repeatedly told your students that "this was kindergarten stuff" and they should know it. Well I can't speak for the others, but Jeffrey never attended Kindergarten. Why?

Because the year he was supposed to start his school adventure, getting a new backpack and sneakers and getting on a big yellow bus - was the year that COVID hit in March.

By August, the plan was to have all the students wear masks all day and sit with clear plastic dividers around them. They weren't going to get to run in gym - or they were but with masks on - and they had to sit far apart at lunch. No giggling in small groups, figuring out how to make friends and sit close together on the carpet for story hour.

These kids were isolated in a room together.

No thank you.

You see, Jeffrey had some communication issues early on, and at age 3 we had to have him evaluated for the autism spectrum. In order to complete those tests, I had to take a child who said maybe 20 words to an office in our local high school, where he proceeded to hide under the desk and then scream. He refused to identify objects he knew, and I'm not sure how many were just completely foreign.

Somehow, through a specialized pre-school program, Jeffrey began to speak. He would identify objects and interact with his siblings without scratching or screaming in frustration. We all began to understand his personality, and he realized the world was opening up.

At age 4, life changed for our family and he wasn't able to continue attending preschool. He had completely come out of his shell, spoke full sentences (albeit with some impediments) and was enjoying life. We did our best to keep him learning at home, and he became receptive to reading and playing games where we could teach him things at home.

This little guy found the world challenging when it was traditional. When COVID hit, the whole ball game changed from basketball to curling - and he was not prepared to be set up in this environment. At a time when he was supposed to learn all the social cues like standing in line, being quiet when told while in a large group of children, and otherwise behaving in a school setting - he was also going to be required to stop being an inquisitive, impulsive six-year-old to avoid spreading covid.

The year Jeffrey was born, his older brother went to Kindergarten for the first time. We all spent the entire year sick because - germs, and kids, and impulsive 6-year-olds.

Our family had not had covid yet. We didn't know what to expect. So, Jeffrey skipped Kindergarten. It isn't mandatory, you know. Well, it wasn't. It is now.

Yes, tons of kids spend years in daycare, preschool, and straight to kindergarten. Jeffrey didn't.

Anyway, let's jump forward again, shall we? To today.

To you teaching 7-year-olds like they should be keeping planners and scheduling out their lunch hour. To repeatedly telling them what they should be doing to your expectations - rather than TEACHING them to do things at their age level and capacity to understand.

Our son has easily 5 hours of work to do once he is done with 5 hours in front of the computer. He's learning to type, learning social cues and when to talk (everyone talks when the teacher leaves the room, so save your 10-minute lecture for yourself in the mirror because that's a normal behavior) AND he's supposed to be learning english and math and social studies - that there's a big world out there with 7 continents and animals and people that come in a variety of shapes, colors, and attitudes.

He should be playing with toys and watching his favorite YouTuber (they all have these now) or petting his cat. He shouldn't have to spend 10 hours a day at his computer in 2nd grade.

My son sounds out words in an impressive way, is working on spelling like the champ I know he is, and has a vocabulary that continues to surprise me. He works out math problems on his fingers or a timeline and is learning about metamorphosis (yep, he knows that word already). He watched beans grow roots in a plastic bag on the window and was thrilled.

He reads and learns complex concepts to regulate his emotions - something that the rest of the household can learn from him some days.

Can we NOT ruin his school experience at age 7?

COVID already tried that. We are trying to salvage what we can. Brick and mortar doesn't work for our family at this point, so we are doing our best with online school. Help us give him the love of learning we are striving to build in him. Please. 

Potty Training: The Sign Couldn't Be More Clear

I have four children. The oldest is nine. We obviously have not had to deal with puberty or the teenage acting out yet, but we are ¾ of the way through one of the dreaded milestones: potty training. If you have a child and live in the modern world, at some point you are going to have to transition from diapers to using the toilet. Some people start way early with elimination communication, which is basically reading your infant and making sure they are in the bathroom before things start flowing. I personally was never a supporter of that method. We make enough messes, thank you.

Potty Training is my Kryptonite

When it comes to potty training, I can honestly say it has been a struggle every time. I try to find the right way to communicate with each child. For the oldest, the trick ended up being sending her to her aunt's house. This is because she wanted to be like her older cousin, so she followed her to the bathroom, copied her and never went back to using pull-ups. This was on her third birthday, and I felt like I got the best gift out of the lot. My second child is a boy. I figured that was going to be tougher, since I don't have the parts to appropriately teach him. However, we got to the point I knew he had all of the parts of process down, but he was still wetting underwear or pull-ups. Whatever we put on him, he would just pee whenever he felt the urge. He didn't make a move to go to the bathroom. Why? Well, he was intensely interested in whatever he was doing and did not want to stop to go to the bathroom. This was particularly true of his technology – a Nabi tablet and a cell phone that did not have service specifically that had a few games on it to play. Therefore, taking away technology and keeping it until he learned to use the bathroom was the secret. He had maybe one accident after he started wearing underwear. Removing the distraction was the answer, and being able to get his stuff back was the incentive.

For the third child, I believe it was a mixture of my laziness, too much going on in our lives and a later development of her body to be able to control her bladder. Honestly, I have trouble admitting when I am slacking in certain areas of parental responsibility. However, my third child was three and not making much progress in potty training when her youngest brother was born. That set us back considerably. However, she finally potty trained at the age of four after numerous accidents in underwear. She could go for days with no issue, then have three days in a row with accidents. That was tough to get through, but we managed.

This time, however, may turn out a bit different.

They Say Every Child is Different; Boy, is That True

My youngest is a boy. At 1 ½, he is a very hands-on type of boy, if you know what I mean. His hands are in his diaper whenever he has the opportunity.

It is an issue because it has become a struggle to keep his clothes dry, since things tend to get wet when the diaper isn't where it is supposed to be. On the plus side, he is curious about the process and goes to the bathroom with his dad when he is home. He isn't afraid of the toilet flushing or the bathroom in general. OK, all of that is good. We are getting there; the clues are pointing toward potty training. I am very OK with that. We have had kids in diapers for nine years. I'm ready to be done with that part of parenthood.

Attention Mom: Here Is Your Sign

Yesterday, I realized the time has come. What was my logic? Well, I figure that when he has it out, has it gripped and is distance peeing across the living room floor, aiming for the coffee table – I'm going to take that as a pretty clear sign it is time to teach him there is a place and time for those bodily functions.

So, we're off on the potty training journey once again. Our approach is going to be a potty chair in the living room – a fun one with sounds. He is going to wear pull-ups, since they fall back into place easier when his hands aren't in them anyway. We're going to encourage him to use the potty to sit on and get comfortable with, and in the case that another distance peeing incident occurs, we'll teach him he has a place to use as a target. We are going to regularly encourage him to use the potty when he feels the urge. Hopefully from there, we can eliminate the distance aspect – at least until he gets older. I have seen the commercials, and I imagine my two boys will challenge each other to some version of a distance contest at some point in our lives.

I am hopeful that with his level of interest and the signs all pointing in the right direction, I'll see the light at the end of the diaper-changing tunnel soon. Wish me luck.  

The Third Side of the Coin

I keep seeing posts of ladies who are changing their profile pictures on FB to one of them with their mom. That's great. I'm so happy for them that they are proud to share their moms with the world and give them the recognition they deserve for a job well-done raising these women who are strong and capable successes in their own right, thanks to a great upbringing.

I see women who post about not having a mother on Mother's Day. They lost their mothers far too young to an illness or a tragedy, and my heart breaks for them. They deserve a happier day than to be sad and missing a strong role model that they'd love to spend time with one more time.

However, there is a third side to this coin. This isn't heads or tails. This is the narrow band that splits the two, the edge that the coin balances on with no conclusive ending to the flip. That is where I fall. You see, my mother is still alive. Yet we are coming up on the fourth year of radio silence between us - entirely my choice and one that is not changing anytime soon. I have no intention of posting a happy photo of the two of us. Just like, I have no intention of allowing her to have an influence on my children. Because of my upbringing and her toxic influence, my kids have enough to deal with as I wade through trying to be a more level-headed and better parent than I had. I admit that is easier some days than others.

In August of 2012, my mother - you know, that woman that is supposed to be there for me and help guide me and be proud of who I am - posted on FB that I am a bitch and not her child, that my father raised me. That's after telling me that she KNEW that I couldn't handle raising three children [*gasp* I have FOUR now. They're turning out pretty good] and after throwing a fit on the day of my daughter's birth because I didn't call her fast enough after MY C-SECTION. Now mind you, we had planned for months that she would be at the hospital for the birth, and it was her own mental issues and made-up health issues that prevented that from occurring. However, it became my fault that she didn't know about my daughter's birth on her timeline. Fast forward to July, when she finally came up to meet this oh-so-precious grandchild, and I made a comment about something that happened 22 years before that made her so angry she forced my stepfather to pack up and head south that night instead of two days later as planned. Then, in August, she posts to FB.

Since then, I have gotten phone calls telling me to move past this so she can spend time with her grandchildren. No apology or recognition that she did anything wrong. I have been told by family members that I should "let it go" or "just talk to her".

That isn't how a mother should be. That isn't what I should have to deal with, rather than be proud to share who my mother is. I give credit to my father for helping me become the person I am. Otherwise, I give credit to the mothers of my good friends in my formative years and I take credit for the rest. That may sound arrogant, but I grew up fast starting at age 8 and I made the right choices as I grew and kept myself out of trouble. My mother does not get credit for any of that.

Yes, I mourn a childhood that could have been less stressful and painful. But everyone deals with pain and drama, unexpected upheaval and issues. I am not crying poor me with this. At least, that isn't my intention. I just want to share my perspective on Mother's Day. On having a mother that is living but no intention to spend time with her - not even over the phone.

I made the decision four years ago to protect my children from a negative influence and attempt to be a parent that prevents as much pain and frustration as possible. My decision came when my then four-year-old said, "Why can't we see Grandma today? Is she sick again?" My little girl already had the routine down - promises of fun activities that get postponed and eventually canceled altogether because of a migraine, a round of fibromyalgia or a feigned illness because you made her mad with a comment or other action that went against her idea of how things should be. I get migraines - they're genetic and I got them from both parents.

I can't stop having migraines. My children have to deal with my migraines. They aren't going to be disappointed by a grandparent that lives five states away so they barely see her as it is. They aren't going to have someone in their lives that threatens to call them by a name she prefers rather than by their given name because she doesn't approve of the name they were given - yep, she did that too.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I will wake up with my children and spend the day with them. We won't be calling my mother. We didn't send a package or a card. I barely talk to my brothers and don't like family members knowing my phone number or address because I don't want her to have them. I prefer the peace of not having communication lines open. I prefer the way I am able to handle life more objectively without her influence. I prefer our lives without her input.

Like I said, I fall on the Third Side of the Coin.

... and then there were 4

A Walk Along Memory Lane

I was blessed to become part of Thing 1's life when she was one. She turned me into a mom, dropped me in the deep end and I've been there ever since. I love her even though we struggle. And we struggle because she is my mini me from looks to attitude - and everything in between. She is enough of her father to keep us both guessing - and she is 100% her own person at the same time.

Thing 2 is a spitfire. From the time he could babble, he commanded attention and amazed everyone around him. He makes a new friend wherever we go - whether they want to be friendly or not. He can tell you everything you never needed to know about a million topics and their videos on YouTube. He has a temper and a stubborn streak a mile wide. He also has a huge heart and really loves his family.

Milly Meltdown was our tie-breaker. She is a happy little soul that can turn angry or sad in a split second. She wears her heart on her sleeve and forgives as easily as she gets angry. We are very lucky to have this little being as the third part of our quartet of growing littles. The family dynamic would not be the same without her, and I can't imagine life without seeing it through her eyes whenever I need a pick-me-up. 

Here we are now.

Bitty Bear was the exact opposite of his older siblings. As a baby, none of the tried and true methods worked to calm him - with the exception of the Gummy Bear Song (Thank you, Youtube). He is unique and strong-willed, yet has a heart-stopping smile for those who least expect it. He has been figuring out how things work since before he could walk, and he is biding his time until he can blow us away with the way he thinks and experiences life.

Four amazing little beings, filled with personality, sarcasm and hints of both of us, mixed with whatever it is that determines their own personal perspective.

 I adore these little faces and I am so honored to be mom.

Some days, I can only hope they love me half as much as I love them.

When they grow up, I hope they understand the bad days and appreciate the good ones so much more. 

A moment with Bitty Bear

When it comes to having children, there are stages of development. We all recognize that. However, I have not always caught those times when the baby is truly becoming an aware little person.
I didn't miss that moment this morning. Bitty Bear is seven months old now. Last night, he was waving to me and to daddy.
This morning, he didn't want to lay on the blanket, did not want to sit in the bouncer chair. I was holding him and he was balancing his weight on his own two feet, almost not needing mommy to help him stay up. Luckily, it doesn't last for too long. But his time in his jumper and exersaucer are definitely being put to good use, strengthening his little legs so he'll be toddling around on them in no time.
I looked into his eyes, and his little face was lit up with joy that he was standing, mommy was right there and his world was beyond awesome. I stopped and thought, my baby boy is growing up.
He knows all of us now, recognizes voices and even the sound of his siblings entering a room (it is hard to mistake the sound for anything else, other than the stampede of a herd of elephants). He likes eating with a spoon and the other night was much more receptive to a bottle of water. Before now, he was not interested in these things.
He considers everything so carefully, from his little hand to anything that can fit in it. If he can't reach something, he studies it like he is plotting a way.
I am so glad I had that moment with him this morning. Maybe this time I won't suddenly stop and think, where did my baby go? Because I am catching the moments when he is changing.

When Desperation Breeds Innovation - MomStyle

As a mom and freelancer (hence Scribble Mama), I all too often run up on deadline and am not even close to done with the project. That is largely because I have no self-discipline and I am a dedicated procrastinator - and partly because I have two gremlins at home all day demanding attention and four wreaking havoc in the evening hours.

Today was another one of those days. With one project done and the other hopeless anyway, I thought I would take a moment to share my creative burst this morning when I should have been writing.

Milly Meltdown is in a superhero phase. As in, she thinks she is one. She regularly requests having a blanket (her baby blanket that she still has. cue the awwws) tied around her neck so she can go zooming around the house saving people and animals from the ever-present bad guys.

The other day, I saw a link. And no, I was not on Pinterest. However, it was a Pinterest-worthy idea and I am sure it has been shared there many times already. That link came to mind this morning when Milly Meltdown made her first request to have the blanket tied, and I knew it would be followed by 10 more, all while I am attempting to form coherent sentences and craft a piece worthy of making money (not much, but still it's money).

Enter, the T-Shirt Cape:

I am now "the best mom ever" that she is going to "cuddle with every day." There was a lot of super zooming through the house, enough to get one project done. 

I even completed two more capes, because obviously this will become a very coveted item once the other gremlins burst through the door at 3:30 p.m. I even have ambitious plans for a cape for Bitty Bear, although there is no concrete benefit from that endeavor. We shall see if I complete that plan or not. 

If you want to do one too, head to Pinterest. It took me longer to try to find the website that inspired me than it did to make the three capes. Note, mine are no sew, no velcro. Hint: Use a t-shirt and keep the neck of the t-shirt intact. 

My Version of NaNoWriMo

So, November is National Novel Writing Month. My intention this year, as it has been for roughly four of the last 10 Novembers, was to write a novel. I was going to have an idea, be more organized and write so many words per day to actually accomplish my goal.
I found the Snowflake Method of organizing an idea for a novel and expanding it to the point where a first draft could - theoretically - be written in the 30 days of November. I was excited. I was determined. I was ... destined to fail.

Not really. I mean, it isn't failure to get an opportunity to make more money to help the family financially. It is even less of a failure when you get two opportunities, and then find another great-sounding job that would mean good money. So, I was not destined for failure. However, life has a way of throwing logs into the path of my determined little Harley Davidson Sportster on the path of life [hey, laugh all you want. At least I am cool in my own analogy on life].

So, I had a couple opportunities. One didn't work out because of minion-related factors and Numero Uno's own job opportunities. One didn't work because, yet again, my writing style "did not fit their needs at this time." This is a mystery I need to unravel to get more freelance work. But I digress.

I have other projects that I'm working on to make money this month. However, with all of these potentials and realities and a teething Bitty Bear and a bout with a cold that gave me nausea and vertigo for two days - all sorts of fun and games - I am adjusting my hope and dream for this particular NaNoWriMo. Instead of a novel whose idea didn't get fleshed out, despite my high hopes for the Snowflake Method, I'm going to make a post a day on this blog about the family. Obviously, we are on November 11th

(Happy Veterans Day! POW-MIA Never Forgotten)

My goal is to write two posts a day until I can catch up. Then, I am going to keep writing one until November is over. Then, I'll see how I do with posting every other day or 3 times a week.

Oh, and a big part of this is posting the links to my FB at least once a week. I have a lot of blogs started that I didn't share, therefore mostly losing the point of writing in the first place. 

Wish me luck. 

Signs of Thing 2's recovery

You know when Thing 2 is sick. He talks less and sleeps more. He is very confused when he does wake up.
All of these behaviors have disappeared today. Consider the following evidence:

Scribble Mama comes downstairs.
Thing 2: "Mom, you've lost weight."
Scribble Mama pauses in surprise, considers the options for a moment and buries the questions that she has.
"Thank you, Thing 2."
Scribble Mama walks into the kitchen.
Thing 2 follows.
"Well, yesterday you had a belly out to hear (demonstrates with hand gestures) and today your belly is shorter."
Scribble Mama says, "Well, Thing 2, it is smaller, not shorter. If something is big, it gets smaller. If something is tall, it gets shorter. And thank you." [Not up for explaining that weight loss does not occur overnight, as nice as that would be.]

Five minutes later:
Scribble Mama is typing on computer at kitchen table.
Thing 2 climbs into a chair nearby.
"Mama, Jacob gets to go to a hotel with Remi."
Scribble Mama says, "And who is Remi?"
Thing 2 says, "This girl at school that is always really nice to me."
Scribble Mama says, "And why are they going to a hotel?"
Thing 2 says, "I don't know. Jacob says his mom told him they just get to go to a hotel together."
Scribble Mama patiently says, "Are they going on vacation together?"
Thing 2 says, "Yeah, they are going on bay-cation and won't be able to get back to school from the hotel."
Scribble Mama nods.
End of conversation.

And it wasn't even 11 o'clock yet, people.
Thing 2 is most definitely going to school tomorrow. He is sad that he missed out on being line leader today, which is a significant disappointment in Kindergarten. Hopefully, he can recover fully.

Bitty Bear @ 4 a.m.

So, we all know infants go through stages and develop habits and leave them behind just as quickly. Bitty Bear has a new activity for 4 a.m., and while it is adorable, I hope it ends soon.
He wakes up calmly and begins to growl. This can go on for several minutes, no yelling or crying in distress. There is just a continual growling sound from the bassinet in the pack and play. If you happen to be curious about this phenomenon, as parents and dedicated researchers tend to be, and you go look over the side of the pack and play, you will see a tiny fist, which promptly flexes and the fingers stretch to their absolute limits. The hand turns, first one way and then the other. Then, the fingers tighten into a fist again, which waves wildly through the air. This process repeats roughly for the same duration that the growling continues.

Now, it can be disconcerting. This became apparent this a.m., as Thing 2 woke up and in a panic asked, "What is that sound?!"
Scribble Mama, "What Sound?"
Thing 2 says, "The one coming from the bassinet."
Scribble Mama says, "Well Thing 2, if it is coming from the bassinet, what do you think it is?"
Thing 2 mutters "Bitty Bear," rolls over and goes back to sleep.
We are all crashing in the living room, since Thing 2 had a day and night of throwing up and was still waking up regularly last night to blow his nose and ask random questions. Hopefully tonight we can migrate back to our regular sleeping stations.

... and so it begins

Dear Diary,

Forget sending the search party. I have been eaten by wolves. 

Just kidding. No wolves, although sometimes they fit the description of a hungry pack, stalking their unwary prey. Well, that's how I feel while I'm trying to make dinner anyway. 

Today is Day 1 of once again being a trucker's family. The life has its ups and downs. It is a lot of sacrifice for Numero Uno, since he is the one doing all the work and away from our smiling faces for such long stretches. [Shhh, no need to tell them they aren't nearly as smiley when he isn't around.] Still, we make it work. The kids find reasons to be excited, even the thrown together chicken and biscuits wannabe dinner that Scribble Mama makes, or watching their favorite show on TV [current is Teen Titans; I've dealt with worse].

That's right, I'm Scribble Mama. The rest of the clan rolls out as follows:

Numero Uno - Truck drivin' hubby that loves to scare Scribble Mama

Scribble Mama - Writer, cook, dishwasher, laundress and semi-failure at housekeeper. Oh and caretaker for four minions that test every nerve on a daily basis. 

Resident Minors:*

Thing 1 - 7, soon to be 8. Thinks she is a teenager and knows soo much more than any adult

Thing 2 - 5. Brainiac that is either the biggest surprise (when he does not stop talking and doesn't seem to breathe) or the smallest burning supernova of fury you have ever met. No middle ground here. 

Milly Meltdown - 3. Sweet and endearing one moment and mad at you about ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING the next. Hey, she is three. 

Bitty Bear - almost 7 months. Breastfed bulldozer of a baby, this munchkin has an opinion and lets you know it. Mind you, he has very little interest in moving unless he can jump and bounce like a pogo stick. 

In the spirit of 'Kids say the darndest things' meets 'Convoy', my hope is to give Numero Uno a place to read what he misses and to entertain any family and friends that are interested in following this chronicle of humorous chaos. 

Happy Reading. 

 *Names are a work in progress (all names, who knows what I'll come up with as a theme)

What Being a Parent Means

Becoming a parent changes you. It shows you exactly how much patience you have (or don't have), it shows you that you never could have imagined the amount of love you have for tiny human beings as they become your heart walking around outside your body. I know, because I have four of them.

My situation is unique, because I got my first child, ready made and one year old. She is beautiful, smart and exactly like her mama, even though we don't share a single strand of DNA. So I missed out on the baby stage with Lilly. However, she was loved, protected and cared for by her daddy, her aunts and her grandparents. She had a special place in everyone's hearts because of her personality and also because she had the misfortune to end up with a womb donor who didn't realize the amazing little person that she supported for nine months and gave birth to.

I know how lucky I am to have my "bonus daughter", who never gave me morning sickness 24/7 and didn't stretch my skin. She gave me all the fun of teaching her to talk and feed herself, all the joy of watching her learn new things, enjoy new experiences and yes, every time she tries my patience.

Lilly is now 7. Over those years, her dad and I have been doing our best to give her the things she needs, some of the things she wants and to teach her how to behave and be respectful of those around her. She is an amazing child who shares with her siblings, sometimes DESPITE being told not to. She brings home candy or stickers from school and passes them out, even though she would be perfectly in her right to hoard them because she is the one who earned them or received them as part of a class party. She is giving and helpful and amazing in more ways than I can count.

Also over the years, Lilly has had things promised to her - outings that would be special for just her, overnights once x and y and z were accomplished. Thgese promises were made by people she should be able to trust and count on to follow through. Yet, time and time again, these promises are not fulfilled. She does not get to do x, even though she is now potty trained (for over 4 years). She does not get to do y because of various excuses.

Lilly has not thrown a fit or cried over these situations. In fact, she is far too understanding at the age of 7 that even if someone says she will get to do something, it may not happen today. Or Tomorrow. Or next Month. When she does get to do something, her eyes sparkle with excitement yet she nods and shows she understands the importance of behaving well and showing she deserves these rare chances to do special things. We see that a lot more often then the other people who make promises.

Today, yet again, Lilly lost an opportunity. There are people that will say that is our fault - Terry's and mine. I can not agree. There are people that have lost the privilege of being part of Lilly's life - and the lives of her siblings - because they make poor choices and do not understand that Terry and I have the responsibility to protect our children from bad influences. We want to protect them from the pain we both experienced growing up, having promises made and broken over and over, being used as pawns when an adult didn't like the way things were going or were called out on reprehensible behavior and being disappointed over and over. Life is full of disappointments when you are an adult. We know the kids will deal with things we would rather they didn't have to, but our goal is to cut down on those experiences when we can.

Once we make that decision and cut those people out of our children's lives, others need to respect that and not try to go behind our backs to take our child around that person or group of people.

People have the choice of respecting us and treating us and our children properly, or they can stay out of our lives. For the people who are still in our lives, that means we trust YOU to be around our children, to treat them properly and to be the role models our children need to grow up to be adults that people respect. That means respecting us as parents and not going against things we request and having our children around people we do not choose to have them around.

I am not sad to say that my mother, who does not live close to us, has not had any contact with my children in over 3 years and WILL NOT have contact with them. That is an entirely different issue. [However, for those who talk to her, that was not about money. It was about the fact she treats me like I should be a parrot of her opinions and misguided views. When I am my own person and voice something that hurts her feelings at the age of 30, I get insulted, called names, treated badly and then my children suffer. That is not acceptable.]

Having Lilly receive promises that never get fulfilled is also not acceptable. People that make these promises, then announce to us that they will be taking our child somewhere that
1-the rest of her family isn't welcome and
2- that we do not want our child to go
will not be taking our child anywhere. The fact that you then make it sound as if we changed our minds for NO REASON and can't respect that we are the parents in this situation, whether you agree with our choices or not, just reinforces that we are protecting our child the best way we can by keeping her home with us.

The worst part of this to me is that our child is so used to having stuff like this happen that she just brushed it off and went back to being the awesome big sister (sometimes pain in the butt) that she usually is. She didn't cry or whine.

Then again, I guess that means we are doing something right in the way we are raising our kids. We will continue to do so, without anyone else in their lives if that is what it takes.

I am sad that at this point, Jeffrey won't be getting some of the experiences that the older kids got, and Dylan and Harper won't remember much. However, I would rather they not know people than have the memories and sadness Terry and I both have from the issues we dealt with growing up with.

I blinked... and Dylan isn't class troublemaker anymore

Two short months ago, drop-offs were a nightmare. I had no idea what to try and little hope my little man would be one of the quiet, well-behaved munchkins getting folders and their name card to put in the basket and then calmly walking to the carpet.
Now I grant you, he's far from flawless in his execution. Dropping Dylan off at Headstart today, he was telling me his belly hurt. But as we pulled up, we were stuck behind the ATA bus for his classmates and an employee who works in the same building waiting for access to the parking lot. Someone behind him didn't understand they could go around, so we ended up in a five-car traffic jam on a narrow street. As we are waiting, one of Dylan's classmates begins holding up the already tenuous process of getting the line of kids into the building. He is moved from the middle of the line to the end with the teacher. Still struggling, they try to use logic, pointing to the cars and explaining they need to get into the spot where the gaggle of kids is currently located. Failing with logic, the teacher employs the next logical method - pick him up and away the line goes into school.
I told Dylan one of his classmates was having a rough day, and suddenly the repeated "My belly hurts. My belly REALLY hurts." ceases in the back seat. Suddenly he wants to see who is having a bad day. We park the truck and go into the building, following another classmate and adult. We go into the room and I accidentally almost knock over this classmate, who thirty seconds in has had enough school for the day and is fighting to get back out. The teacher is once again employing logic. Again, fail. This little boy's mom opts to take him home. The other little boy is already on the carpet with the other kids.
Dylan demands I take his jacket off, takes care of his folder and then the hesitation starts. But this morning, distraction works and there is no screaming, minimal disagreement and Harper and I are out the door.
Compared to his classmates, Dylan is the quiet and well-behaved one.
My gratitude for this realization knows no bounds.

Another day for Gratitude

First day back to school after Thanksgiving break for Dylan and Lilly. Minimal issues getting everyone up and off to their respective learning environments.
Meanwhile, we are low on staples, like bread and butter (and Ironman fruit snacks!), so it's a trip to Walmart for Harper and myself. She is excited to pick out the cart and go speed walking through the store. As we go, I realize I am grateful today for many reasons.
1. Shopping is much easier with only one munchkin in the cart. She can't reach much and we move at my pace rather than the pace of dragging feet and arguments.
2. In deference to all those ads and commercials, I keep up a running commentary as we zoom through the store. As we hit the juice aisle, Harper disagrees with something I said.
"No, no no" she tells me in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.
"But yes, yes, yes" I say back as we head for mid-aisle. the conversation repeats... and repeats.
 A heavy-set man perusing juice selections at the end begins chuckling, and somehow I do not imagine it is at the crazy cartoon character on the Hawaiian Punch. I could be wrong.
3. We finally get everything on the list (+10 or so), and we enter the checkout lane behind a thin man with a baseball cap and long, semi-scraggly beard. Harper begins her cheerful babble, noting the "cookie!" as well as sharing her opinions on who knows what else in her own unique dialect. The man in front of us turns and smiles in appreciation.

These are the people I am thankful are in the store at the same time as myself. They are the ones who know how to enjoy life, can appreciate the entertaining moments and even discover them amidst potentially annoying situations. I realize some people don't enjoy children. I am extremely grateful not to be one of those people and enjoy running into others that are not of that mindset as well.
Yes, my kids have their screaming terror-wish-I-could-disappear-in-a-hole-and-die-of-embarrassment- moments, but they are still gifts. On Monday, we had tons of fun sled riding and playing on the swingset in the snow. Today, Harper and I got through a shopping trip sans meltdowns AND had two people smile and enjoy our presence.
I cherish these moments.

Dylan, my proud little patriot

We made it to the Memorial Day Parade today. And among the moments of candy throwing, restlessness and awe at the firetrucks, Dylan became a patriot. I was so proud.

We were watching the parade, oohing and ahhing at the firetrucks and respecting the veterans. The dance team did some stunts in front of us and had Lilly impressed. Then, the SPCA came along with the dogs available for adoption. We can't adopt any more dogs, we have 4, three of whom spent a brief sojourn at the SPCA. Still, the dogs get my attention.

The SPCA mascot, a human in a dog suit, got Dylan's attention, and apparently Dylan got the mascot's attention too. Suddenly, the mascot is handing off a flag to Dylan, who waves it proudly. It did my heart good.

My daughter, the game show host

Lilly has a lot of talent. She may never be the head of NASA, but she is constantly surprising me with her humor and creativity.
Today has been all about cheese, because Terry had a large amount of cheese two days ago to sell because a pallet tipped over in the truck and the receiver refused the cheese in that pallet. So, now that we have managed to sell a significant amount of the cheese and things have calmed down, the kids show the effects.

Lilly is on a roll this morning. First, she is delivering cheese/ operating a game show?
Lilly: Mom this cheese is for you.
Me: Thanks. How much do I owe you?
Lilly: 50 bucks
Me: Ok, here you go (wave hand in her direction. That is how she pays me).
Lilly: Thank you. And since you paid me, you won this.... piano. (shows me toy piano)
Me: Thank you. Why don't you hang onto the piano for me.

Now that the intriguing cheese scenario has been handled, it is apparently time to get philosophical. Her powers of perception are going to catch me soon, I have no doubt. 

Five minutes after the cheese game show conversation:

Lilly: Mom, when we do bad stuff, who is going to watch us?
Me: What? What do you mean?
Lilly: Who is watching us right now, the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus?
Me: Oh. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny only watches you close to Easter, but Santa is watching year-round.

Bert's new baby

Bert let me know today that she and Dale are having a girl. At bedtime, I realized I had not yet shared this info with Lilly and Dylan.
Me: Guess what Aunt Bert told me today?
Lilly: What?
Me: Aunt Bert is having a girl. So Brit is going to have a little sister.
Lilly: And we get to go to the hospital.
Me: Why?
Lilly: To meet the baby
Me: No, the only kids that can go to the hospital are the baby's brothers and sisters, so Brit can go to the hospital, but you and Dylan can't.
Dylan interjects: So Aunt Bert and Brittany are both having a baby?!
Me: NO. Brit is going to have a little sister, like you and Lilly have Harper as a little sister. Aunt Bert is the only one having a baby. She is having a girl.
Lilly: So we are going to their house.
Me: To meet the baby? (Lilly nods). Yes, you will have to go to their house. But it is going to be awhile before Aunt Bert has the baby. They just found out it is a girl. She isn't ready to be born yet. She will be born after it is summer, after we go camping and see fireworks.
Lilly, with eyes lit up: I like fireworks.
Dylan frowns: I'm scared of fireworks.
....

30 minutes later, Lilly comes downstairs.
Lilly: I think Aunt Bert is going to name her baby Cinderella.
Me: I doubt that very much. Goodnight.
Lilly goes back to bed.
I filled Bert in on these exchanges and told her that is why I let her fill my kids in on the important stuff in her life. They aren't quite as goofy when she tells them.