Happy Anniversary, Cochlears

Two years ago today the husband and I took the biggest risk of our lives. March 31 was the day we had looked forward to and dreaded since the birth of our first son. It was the day little Atrain would trade in his hearing aids for cochlear implants. Actually, to be more accurate, it was the day his parents exchanged his high-powered, yet impotent acoustic hearing devices for two surgically implanted bionic ears. It was the only way he would have a chance at breaking the sound barrier that threatened to keep him from communicating, from connecting.

So, we loaded our one year old baby into the car and headed to Primary Children’s Hospital. We signed papers that said we would not sue the surgeons if anything went wrong while he was in the OR. Handing him over to the anesthesiologist and listening to him yell my name down the hospital halls was the worst moment of my life. The next five hours felt heavy, like my blood had turned to liquid led. But, I also felt strength—as if I was not the one lifting my head, moving my feet, inflating my lungs. And I wasn’t; God was with us that day.

I have never been more scared, and then relieved than when Atrain’s surgeon walked into the waiting room to report. All had gone well. As I held him in the recovery room and through all of the stages in the months that followed, it was hard not to loathe myself. Cochlear implants don’t instantaneously allow one to hear—it takes a lot of work. They are not a “cure” for deafness, and many would argue that we were selfish and ignorant for trying. But I ask what about parenting isn’t selfish? I don’t mean to say that answering the call for good parents to raise good kids who will be honorable members of their communities is not also selfless. But whether your kids are deaf or not, we all make choices about what they will hear and say, what they will and won’t be exposed to, how they interpret their surroundings, etc.

When the day comes that my children can choose for themselves, I don’t want their choices to be limited. Sure, I can’t control everything, in fact sometimes I wonder if there is anything at all that I can control. But, I hope to give them every opportunity to experience a fulfilled, happy life. If Atrain ever decides that taking off his implants and using ASL is the way he will be most happy and fulfilled in life, I will sign right along with him and be happy that I gave him the choice.

Until then, I will be selfishly satisfied every time my child asks me to turn up the music, every time he’s able to join in a game of “duck duck goose,” on the playground, every time he laughs at Mater’s silly sayings, and every time he clearly tells me “I love you more than all of the cars and the roads in the whole world.” I love you too, Atrain. Happy Anniversary.

A Happy Heart

Dear Elder I,

My heart is full today, overflowing actually. And there is no particular reason. Scenes from the weekend keep replaying like hazy old movies in my mind: Atrain asking me if I was married then telling me with sweet squinting eyes that he loves my pretty hair; Jdog working on his gorilla sitting pose, and kicking and squirming with excitement whenever the light up ball rolls past him on the floor; driving like a crazy woman through the city with Allerina trying to find a church playing the General Young Women’s broadcast; and going on a date with the husband, having him near me—so close, so kind, so considerate.

For the past week or two I’ve felt sort of stuck in a puddle of mud. I’m not sure if it’s the anxiety and stress hanging on from the ER weekend, but every brave attempt I made to pull myself out just sucked me deeper into the mire. But for some reason today I made progress. Nothing all that different happened, but I know that God was helping me see and feel all that is good in my life (rather than focusing on everything I need to worry about). I did remember to say a good prayer this morning. Maybe that made all the difference.

We went to church, and then went to our family’s homes as usual. Maybe it was watching dad play board games with Atrain for an hour, or hearing him say that Atrain is as close as you get to an angel. It might have been mom’s sweet smile and steady spirit that steadied me. Perhaps it was the impromptu violin recital at the in-laws that helped fill my heart with gratitude. Or maybe it was listening to Jdog copy Atrain’s crazy, excited squeals. I don’t know exactly what it was, but I feel refreshed, renewed and full of thanks. Life is good. It’s not easy, but it is good.

JD, you’re not going to recognize Dalliwag when you return. He’s already excited about trying to grow taller than you. He’s well on his way and he still has over a year to work on that goal. It will be fun to see you two side by side when you get home. Also, it sure will be fun for you to meet little Jdog. He is such a sweet baby—a somewhat serious little fellow who makes me work hard for his giggles—but so darn patient and precious. Just what our crazy house needs.

Anyhow my brother, sounds like little Atrain is up. He is complaining he is dizzy. Poor guy. The doctors didn’t have much to offer us in terms of treatment of childhood vertigo caused by LVA. Keep him in your prayers. I love you. Oh—and your lady in waiting told me this weekend that you are “one in a million.” She is sure a sweetheart, but you already know that.

Love, MJ

Hans, the Babysitter

Today was an exceptionally average day…until the husband came home. We cleaned the apartment with the help of a new motivational job chart that Atrain really took to heart. Of course there were a few sword-fighting sessions between chores, but I was pleasantly surprised by Atrain’s ability to stay on task. Jdog (aka baby Michael from Peter Pan) hung around my waist and screeched at his big pirate brother named Tiffany (still unsure about the origin of scurvy name). We had lunch with a few work friends at the cafeteria. It is always fun to see Atrain’s excitement over the food selection and soft serve ice-cream machine. “Mom, I can’t believe this,” was the phrase of the afternoon. We ran a few errands, got dinner ready, and played in the sand box. By all accounts, it was going to be an exceptionally average day.

And then the husband came home. He surprised us while we were making 4-wheeler tracks in the sand box. We chatted about our days as we watched Atrain play. Then, from somewhere within the deep, beautiful recesses of the husband’s marvelous mind, a light bulb turned on. “Tonight is my AOA banquet,” he said urgently. “What?” I asked, not because I didn’t hear him, but because it was a little hard to hear that tonight was the ceremony where he would finally get a little recognition for the thousands of hours he’s spent frying his brains on text books for the past three years. And we didn’t have a babysitter.

Panic mode. I couldn’t just throw in my chips and fold. I missed my own honors induction banquet and it’s my only MPA regret. Atrain was extremely tired, having missed his nap. I couldn’t take him. For a moment I considered loading him into trusty Bob stroller where he might fall asleep on the way to the banquet, but that was a stretch. Perhaps I could get him to go to bed soon enough that I could beg someone I was comfortable enough inconveniencing to come and stay with him while I jetted over to the awards ceremony. So, that’s what I did. But, my “comfortable inconveniencing” list isn’t very long, and after a few phone calls to other mothers, I had no luck. I started to consider accepting defeat as the husband walked out the door in his suit. It was simply too late of notice and too ridiculous to expect anyone to drop their lives to sit at my home while the big boy slept. As I put Atrain down for the night I sent out one last desperate text message to my buddy from work, a really nice, tough, dependable undergrad I’ll call Hans.

Jdog was asleep and I was lying down with Atrain, imagining the husband up on stage accepting his accolades with no one to take pictures of him, admire him, and to tell him to stop being embarrassed because he deserves all of the applause. As soon as Atrain fell into slow, deep breaths, I heard my phone beep. A text message. I wiggled myself free from our cuddle and untangled my hair from his fingers. I darted to my phone on the dresser and it was Hans. He could come, as long as his study group could come to. No problem. I even had a bunch of uneaten food on the stove they could eat while they studied. My heroes. I called to make sure that he was sure, and he was. As I threw on my nearest dressy outfit I wondered when the last time was that Hans had babysat.

The undergrad study group arrived just as I got Jdog loaded into the car seat. I thanked Hans, told him to eat anything in my fridge he wanted, and said to just call me if Atrain woke up. I can imagine how startled my big boy would be to find a few unfamiliar faces in his home without his mommy and it wouldn’t be pretty. But, I forgot about it, knowing that he would be safe. Hans is pretty strong. He could probably take anything Atrain had to dish out. Probably. I threw on my high heels and ran out the door, all the way to the medical school. There I found the handsome husband sitting at a table with an empty chair next to him, waiting for the keynote speaker to begin his speech. Jdog and I were a conspicuous addition to the formal, serious looking crowd. But I didn’t care. I swept my undone hair behind my ears, adjusted my skirt, cradled my baby in my arms and slipped in right beside the husband.

The husband squeezed my hand. A little smile grew across my lips. We made it. We still have another year to go, then another five years of residency after than, and (of course) a lot of decisions to make along the way. But, if we’ve managed to get this far. What’s another year? Sure there will be a few (or a lot) more forgetful evenings and desperate calls for babysitters, but it will be worth it. Just like it was worth it to hold his hand and watch him walk sheepishly to the front for his AOA top five in the class moment of recognition. I am sure proud of him.

I am also proud of Hans, who bravely answered a text from a desperate mother tonight, and drug his study group to our home to guard my sleeping boy. What a champ. All was well when we returned with left-over cheese cake in tow to offer our gratitude to the brave undergrads. Thank you, Hans. If you're brave enough to answer my call tonight, your mission call to Germany should be a piece of cake.

A Dizzy Day

This morning when Atrain awoke he wouldn’t lift his head off of his pillow. He had a tummy ache and was dizzy. LVAS vertigo was creeping up on him again. Poor kiddo. He was late for school, but I decided to go at his pace. I don’t know how often to expect dizzy mornings like this (and the specialists don’t know either), so I need to set a precedent for how to handle them. We can’t just default to the Disney Chanel.

I tried not to push him too hard, but also wanted him to know that we were still going to try to follow our schedule as planned, and to let me know if he started feeling better. We changed him into his underwear and clothes, ate breakfast on the blanket on in the living room and read scriptures all with his head glued to the floor. When he announced that he needed to go to the bathroom I carried in his port-a-potty, and held him steady while he did his business (even though he protested). I was trying to be brave. So was he. “I’m having a sick day,” he said. “You’re right,” I responded, “We’re just going to go slow.

Sooner or later he started to chipper up, occasionally holding his head up to adjust his cars or take a bite of toast. We read a few stories and then Atrain began to stand, pushing his dump truck down the hall. I exhaled. He was getting better. I asked if he would like to go to school, and told him how excited his friends would be to see him. “And Sammy will be so happy and say, ‘It’s Atrain,” he elaborated. “Yep, then Zoe will say, ‘We missed you,” I assured him. He smiled. I love that little smile.

We packed his lunch and headed to his school. As soon as we came in the classroom his friends and teachers did just as we predicted. “It’s Atrain!” They yelled, “He’s here, he’s better!” And after he heard his little friends’ welcome, he was as steady as steel. After telling his teachers, I headed to the indoor track to get a bit of exercise and linger close to Atrain, just in case the vertigo returned.

I walked around the track with Jdog in my arms and kept my eyes on the playground through the two way glass, waiting for Atrain’s class to appear. I let my guard down and shed a few frustrated, confused tears. Then Jdog looked up at me with his squishy sweet smiles and I pulled myself together again.

There are a lot of things I can’t control in life. As much as I would love to be able to create perfect circumstances to perfectly prepare my kids for everything they may encounter in life, I can’t. I shouldn’t want to anyway. It’s more important for my kids to understand that there will be disappointment, there are a lot of things we can’t understand, people aren’t perfect, organizations aren’t perfect, and (especially) I am not perfect. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do our best with what we’ve got, and always keep trying to get better. I won’t stop trying to be a better mother for them. They deserve the best.

If I Woulda Been an Attorney

Tonight on the way home from Spork the husband and I were imagining what our lives would have been like if I had gone to law school. I toyed around with the idea right before I finished my undergrad, but opted out because I was too intimidated. I can still be such a cowardly lion, searching desperately for a badge of courage. I would have loved law school, but I didn’t know it then, so I can’t be too hard on myself for not trying. Besides, I still have a lot of time, and I wouldn’t trade my experience with my master’s degree in public administration. Perhaps someday I will make a great city attorney.

Anyhow, as we drove home the husband was envisioning how his med school live would have been with his lawyer wife: no debt, a decent home, and me having to go by my maiden name so just incase I was in the business of medical malpractice (which I wouldn’t have, but the irony is just awesome). Then I reminded him that I may not have scored high enough on the LSAT to score a spot at a school in state—and then where would we have been? Wedded partners studying law and medicine in two different states. Yuck.

But he refuted my logic, “You would have scored enough easily…plus you’re a woman.” Great. I was really enjoying the boost of hypothetical self esteem until he reminded me that I’m still just a woman, struggling for air below a glass ceiling. But I’m not really mad at the husband. He’s just a poor, practical man, thoughtlessly sticking me in a smaller economic bracket because I’m a girl.

If he could have read my mind he would have been scared stupid by such poisonous phrases shaping themselves into blow darts. But instead, these words stumbled off my lips, “What? You’re saying that I would have made it into law school here because women are stupider?” Yep. And as soon as I spit out that last little ‘er’ we both started laughing. I didn’t even have the composure to pretend like I meant to say it.

To the women of the world: sorry I screwed that one up.

Aging

Yesterday Allerina came to spend the night at our home. I love that little girl. But she really isn’t so little any more. And, every time I get to have her over, I start feeling older.

She was wearing a jacket that said ’15 on the sleeve. It took me a moment to realize that those numbers stood for the year she is going to graduate. Then it took me a long time to admit that ’15 is 13 years after ’02.

She said she wanted to watch a scary movie because she’s “so into them lately.” So, I pulled out an old “What Lies Beneath” VHS I got from the DI. She had never even heard of the thriller that made the husband sleep in his parents’ room when he was a teenager. Thankfully she did know what a VHS tape was.

While here she watched me fumble in circular frustration after misplacing my phone, my key card and my keys. I’m glad it didn’t all happen at once, and that they were all soon recovered, but the recurrent episodes of forgetfulness are beginning to scare me. Plus, I sound so much like my mom whenever I get flustered (not that that means that I’m old).

Finally, I couldn’t get enough of her “teenage drama queen” mode. It’s rather easy to access. All you have to do is say something slightly inflammatory about boys, or friends or PMS and her beautiful brown eyes start rolling. If you want her to become especially peeved, tease her about being boring.

My diva of a little sister is anything but boring; however this seems to be her worst fear. I was giving her a hard time about how she and her friend threw the fish (I gave her for her birthday) off of the deck after taking turns with the poor little thing flopping around in their mouths. And this is what she said, “Ok, maybe that was sorta stupid, but at least I wasn’t sitting around alone playing board games.” Instant laughter jumped right out of my mouth, and I hugged her. “You’re such a good girl,” I said. “In your mind, the worst possible thing you could be doing is not drinking, or drugs, or even noncommittal make out sessions with stupid adolescent boys. It’s playing board games.”

…Which brings me back to confess that I am getting old, and probably quite boring, because I would love to just sit around some night with the husband playing board games. But at least my cool little teenage sister still wants to hang out with me. Maybe I’m not that old and boring after all.

An Anne Frank Moment

Tonight the husband and I went on a date. And neither of us broke a bone. It was a great night, made possible by super babysitters Gpatts and her sidekick Leaf. Kram and his wife Ashat sponsored our night at the Texas Roadhouse and then to the Pioneer Theater play, “The Diary of Anne Frank.” The food was ok. The play was amazing. The company was even better. I love Anne Frank. I love hearing her thoughts and listening to her feelings. Watching the dramatic reenactment of their time in hiding was profound. When the play was over it was difficult to applaud, even though the acting was superb. Anne makes me want to be a better person. She reminds me what I love so much about life, and why I enjoy writing about living. Her story also reminds me about all the things in life I don’t understand. That list is tragically long. Number 1229 on my “don’t understand” list is why I did not know who Anne Frank was until I was a senior in High School. Even though my 7th grade History Fair project on World War II won first prize, I had never read nor heard about Anne and her family’s time hiding in the annex. And, the moment that I realized that I was supposed to know all about her was rather humiliating. The husband (aka Wonderboy who stole my heart in high school) played the violin in an orchestra that toured Europe the summer before our senior year—quite sophisticated, I know. I’m still impressed that I convinced him to fall for me, the girl that spent her summers weighing trucks at her father’s feed mill. When he returned from Europe he brought me a ring and many stories. One such story was about visiting an annex in Holland where Anne Frank lived. I tried to pretend that I knew who Miss Frank was because we were with Wonderboy’s family, but inside I was really wondering who this Anne girl was, why he was exploring her attic and whether or not I should be jealous. Wonderboy’s mom read my confused expression and called my bluff, “You don’t know who Anne Frank is, do you?” I tried to mumble through an “I can’t quite remember…tell me who she is again” explanation, but I just looked even more stupid. His sweet mom just laughed, blamed my junior high years in the small town Laman, and shrugged it off as an “Anne Frank” moment. For years I worked hard to recover from that moment, but I’ll never live it down. To this day the phrase, “it was an ‘Anne Frank’ moment,” can still be used to define inexplicable lapses in my knowledge or memory. Heaven knows there are more to come.

A late Missionary Monday

Hello Brother,

I'm so proud of you. I hope you're doing well. I'm glad to hear that you enjoy being a training. I hope that means that your companion is enjoying it too. I'm sure he is. You are such a great person to spend time with, I hope he appreciates that...if he doesn't, I'm sure he will after he's transferred away. I'm also glad to hear that the language is coming along well. The husband was at the same point in his mission when he was made trainer and he remembers being stressed about the language, wishing that he knew more, etc. But the Lord always fills in the gaps. I sure have a lot of gaps to fill.

Yesterday was full of ups and downs for me. The greatest up was definitely being at the home with everyone for Sunday dinner. Allerina came across a video of you, Katiedid and Dalliwag doing a music video to Jack Black's "the Greatest Song," or something like that. I was laughing my face off at you guys. Each of you were dressed in one of Kaitiedid's old dance costumes--including Dalliwag, who was wearing a bathing suit like unitard. It was so funny. Thanks for that.

Another up was the Sunday school lesson that helped me get passed some of my downs. The downs are the usual worries--Atrain's balance issues, my various struggles with motherhood and all the demands therein. We were talking about Christ feeding the five thousand plus. It was right after John the Baptist had been killed. Christ had been seeking some "alone time," but there were throngs of people following them. He had compassion on them. He filled their spiritual and physical needs as he taught and fed them. Then after he had compassion on them, his time alone eventually came, and then he walked on water to meet his disciples on the boat.

I don't know if you ever struggle with wanting a moment to yourself--a moment in your schedule, a moment in the many needs or demands that you face, a moment to do something outside the demands of your call. But I do. I feel selfish that I do, but I do. As we were going through those scriptures, I thought of the compassion Christ had when he wanted to be alone to morn John's death. He had compassion--that was the key. And many miracles followed. I'm going to pray for more compassion this week so that God can make me equal to my callings in life, so that he can fill in my many gaps.

I sure love you and hope you're doing well. Keep up the good work my dear. Thank you for your example and friendship.

Love, MJ

Losing Bedtime Battles

It’s hard for me to go to bed tonight. Both boys are sleeping soundly in their beds. It’s not very often that I find myself awake with both kids asleep. They usually put up their fists and assume their best defensive postures before heading to bed. Atrain’s battle tactics take the form of frequent bathroom expeditions now-a-days. Jdog fights tooth (well, gum) and nail to stay in my arms at bedtime. He is four months old now, so we’re supposed to start “sleep training.” We’re trying, but I’m not a very good teacher. I know, I know Dr. Weissbluth…self-soothing is a very important skill for my baby to learn. I know that healthy sleep habits=happy, smart babies. I just have a hard time leaving him crying alone in his crib. He’ll only be this little for so long. The nights he wants me to snuggle him to sleep are numbered. So maybe my kids will end up being unhappy and dumb, but at least they will know they are loved.

Because I spend many of my nights soothing Jdog to sleep, his bedtime often becomes my bedtime. When this happens it’s hard to ignore the part of me that feels a little cheated out of a few productive, quiet night hours. Then I remind myself that my days as the most important woman in their lives are numbered. So, when I see that my boy’s bedtime battle strategies are starting to overwhelm my defenses…it’s ok to accept defeat, climb into bed, and cuddle. This phase of soothing little ones to sleep (then sneaking out of bed at midnight to find a quiet spot for my mind to mellow) are marked. And I don’t want to miss any of it.

Sweet little Jdog

I’m thinking of using the last few posts to springboard my new novel, “The Chronicles of Potty Training.” I’ve become so comfortable using potty terms and telling potty stories that The Puddle has lost propriety. Not that I’ve ever really been a “proper Polly” anyway. My mom always cringes when I consider changing Jdog’s diapers in semi-public places. She probably wouldn’t think twice about it if someone else’s daughter decided to change her baby on her lap in a restaurant. I think it’s just that she can’t believe she raised such a redneck. I love reminding her.

Anyhow, enough dirty talk. I need something sweeter to salivate over…something sweet and squishy and smiley. Something like Jdog. Aint never been a sweeter babe. Lately he’s learned to crank his neck around and turn his body to the side, just to look at me. I look down at his little blanket to see his big blue eyes and plump cheeks checking me out and I can’t help but snuggle right up next to him on the floor and watch him shove a hand full of my hair right into his mouth.

Jdog is a sweet, and somewhat serious baby. He smiles a lot, but you have to work hard for his giggles. Yesterday Atrain began playing “extreme peek-a-boo” with him. This game involved the traditional cover-your-eyes approach, but whenever Atrain uncovered them he screamed, laughed and danced the “peek-a-boo” part. I thought Jdog would cry, but no—he’s so sweet he just laughed at Atrain’s crazy game…just like he puts up with (and even is starting to look like he enjoys) the constant head-butting, smothering and silly singing/screaming. He is quite a patient baby.

For example: yesterday my sweet neighbor invited us and a few other families over for lunch. We arrived and Atrain said, “Wow—it smells good in here.” And he was right. She had prepared a five course gourmet lunch. It was amazing. She even made individual pizzas for each of the kiddos. Too bad picky little Atrain wasn’t impressed. All he wanted to do was ask the other kids to play “monster under the table” and race his cars down her hallway. I was so conflicted, trying to allow my taste buds to savor each succulent bite, coo at my sweet baby J, and wrestle my three year old into submission all at the same time. My stress reached a pinnacle when Atrain and the other kids somehow tipped over my neighbor’s full length mirror. It came crashing down right on Atrain’s head. We were so lucky that no one was hurt. I sat Atrain on the couch and sternly told him not to move a muscle while I cleaned up the mess, to which he responded, “You’re breath sort of stinks.” My first thought was, “I didn’t know you know the word ‘breath.” Then I didn’t know whether to laugh or get embarrassed or strangle him, or squeeze him and tell him how glad I was that the broken mirror didn’t ruin his sense of smell. So I just told him again to stay put.

Here is where the sweet Jdog comes in. Amidst all of the chaos he just sat there and smiled and let the other ladies admire him. Once the daggers of broken mirror were sent to the dumpster and the area was vacuumed, my neighbor brought out the cup cakes and Atrain retreated from “monster mode,” batted his big blue eyes and dished out angelic pleas for the delectable dessert. He does know how to be sweet too.

But today I am especially thankful for my sweet baby J, who puts up with a lot of tough love from big brother, a lot of mindless moments from mother and enjoys every instance he gets to snuggle with father. He sure is good at snuggling.

Port-a-Potty

Today the husband and I found ourselves in a rather precarious situation. We have a wonderful maintenance crew who respond promptly to our requests to kill our unwelcome insect visitors. (Yes, I’ll have the blood of thousands of ants on my hands in the next life. Too bad they infest the same floor my kids roll around on.) When we returned from the grocery store we found that they sprayed while we were away—which means that we needed to stay away for at least a few hours while the fumes diffused.

The husband suggested that we head over to the med school and watch a movie on the projectors while we wait. I married a genius. So, we pulled my trusty double bob out of the bike room and quickly loaded it with all of the essentials: left over quesadillas, fruit roll ups, water bottles, “A Toy Story” DVD, and—oh yes—the port-a-potty. Atrain isn’t quite comfortable with public restrooms yet, and I knew the kid would need to go while we were away. The solution was to wrap the plastic potty in a blanket and tuck it under the stroller’s canopy. It fit perfectly. No one would ever know we were transporting a bathroom for our three year old.

Our plan worked perfectly. The movie was a huge hit with Atrain. Jdog slept like a little angel in his half of the stroller. I snuck in a little computer time. The husband studied away. And, when Atrain needed to go, I pulled out the potty to let him do his business—all while our ant enemies were being exterminated.

But, then it was time to go. “What should we do with it?” I asked the husband, eyeing the little potty. “Dump it,” he said as he fastened both hands onto the double stroller and chuckled. Clearly the dumping would be my job. Good thing it was just #1. I wrapped it in the blanket, listening to its contents sloshing around. After slowly cracking open the door I felt like tip toeing down the hallway to the restroom. If only invisibility were an option. Then I wouldn’t have to run into anyone we knew who might ask to see our “new little one” wrapped in the blanket in my arms.

I made it safely to the women’s restroom only to see that it was closed for cleaning. Yes—now I had a great excuse to pass the potty off to the husband. We made a swift exchange, and he made it successfully in and out of the men’s room in under 30 seconds without making human contact. Then we stowed it safely away in the blanket, under Bob’s deep canopy. We were nearly home free.

It was a windy afternoon. The walk home would be less than five minutes, but I held Atrain tightly in my arms the whole way so my skinny little man wouldn’t blow away. Jdog and the potty were safely bundled deep in the stroller. Half-way home we spotted a couple of the husband’s classmates. “Crap, hope they don’t spot the pot,’ I thought. We made small talk for a moment, then one of them said, “I didn’t know you guys have three kids.” Busted. “No, we just have two…that’s just…my lap top,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t see my computer case sitting on top of the stroller. “Oh,” she replied, “they sure are cute kids,” she said. “Thanks.” If she only knew.

Too much to write

There are too many things I could write about today:

1. My dream about Jimmer Fredette; or about how I am jealous of him—not his skills, just the husband’s attention to him. One word: bromance.
2. Waking up to watch Atrain wobble off balance down the hallway, wondering if he would soon start puking, praying that he wouldn’t, and loathing myself for not doing more research about vertigo and LVA last week.
3. Maybe I’ll write about how we showed up an hour late at the in-laws for dinner to see a perfectly set table with a NCAA themed dinner (complete with orange jell-o basketballs and basketball shaped meatloaf), and about how I didn’t even remember that I forgot the green beans until we got home tonight.
4. I could write about being the potty hover mother at church and at the grandparents’ homes, or how Allerina literally scared the Pee out of Atrain when they were playing “monster in the closet;” and how he decided to get in the tub, fully cochleared and clothed at Grandpatty’s home while I was trying to help with the dishes; and about how I broke down into tears in front of the in laws thereafter.
5. I could write pages about my dad’s bbq steak. He really needs to teach me how to make meat taste like chocolate. That is, after we own a grill. That is, after we live somewhere that can accommodate a grill. MMmmmm.
6. I probably won’t write about my family fears and complaints that had me sobbing to my sister, Bambie. I hate it when I feel selfish.
7. I could revisit my regrets that resurfaced as I saw the pictures of P-diddy and Famous’ recent beach-side excursions; I had a six month window of exploration in Hawaii with the husband and I blew it with 21 credit hours and a part time job. Oh well. I loved my undergrad degree.
8. Perhaps I’ll write about the ride home that went from 60 to 120 minutes of the husband fishing for my true feelings in an ocean of frustration. Thank heavens the I-15 corridor was closed and the husband is always open to long drives and discussions. He is much more patient with me than with treacherous traffic. What a good man.

Or maybe I’ll just go to bed.

Cuts and Butts

I’m sitting in the parking lot of “Cookie Cutters” waiting for Atrain to wake up so that we can snag a walk in appointment. I tried to cut his hair this week. I’m usually pretty good at it, but I don’t know what happened this time. I was wrestling Atrain with the scissors when the husband looked up from his computer and said “MJ!” with a guffaw, “It looks like a girl’s cut—like the duck butt cut.” I was angry. Considering the difficulty of the task, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. “What? You try it!” I barked back at him. Then I stood back. He was right. It was an extremely short version of an A-line. Even though I do prefer an A-line on Atrain over the bowl cut the husband loves, I’m going to need a little help correcting this one.

I also need a little help recovering from one of Atrain’s sweet observations. This week has been the week of the potty, so we have all become accustomed to toilet “tell and show.” Every time we need to go, we tell everyone, then show each other the results. It’s supposed to help boost confidence in the trainee. But today it burst the confidence of the trainer. Before we left for Cookie Cutters I was trying to get Atrain to go one last time. So, I announced that I needed to go, and that we should race to see who got to the potty first. Atrain won, and he did his business beautifully. I followed suit and when I was finished Atrain looked up at me and said, “You have a bouncy bum!” with a silly grin.

Hum. At first I gave myself the benefit of the doubt, thinking that maybe he didn’t mean what he had just said. After all, I was feeling pretty good about myself after covering quite a few miles on my morning run. “What did you say?” I asked. “You’re bum—it’s bouncy!” He said laughing as he slapped me on the rear, admiring its jolly jiggle. “You’re right, Atrain, I have a silly bouncy bum!” I said, giggling at the situation. Oh well. I needed a little more motivation to work of the extra few pregnancy pounds still bouncing around. Glad my kids keep me in check.

The Road to Success

I never thought this day would come, but I think it’s actually here. Atrain is doing his business in the potty. His shop was set up for so long in his pants that I began to wonder if I should invest in kindergartener-sized pull ups. But no—his nasty address has changed once and for all. Even though he left a few yucky messes along the way, (and I’m sure there will be a few more to come) cleaning up accidents beats consuming dirty diapers, hands down.

I am so proud of my little man. Every time he has a successful potty venture I squeal with delight. I’ve even been known to do a few high kicks and “bring-it” bathroom dances. Then I see his “really, mom?” expression and I quickly suppress my excitement. But inside I’m doing the Haka.

Two days ago I picked him up from preschool and I asked him if his pull-ups were still clean and dry. “Yes,” he replied, and then went on, “when I feel it, I say, ‘momma, I need to go potty.” I had listened to myself repeat this phrase many times, but for some reason when he said it, something clicked. No more pull-ups. No more, “Mom, I’m poopy—change me!” No more negotiating, begging and pleading with my three year old to take up toilet ventures. I was time to get dirty.

When we got home I changed his pull ups and announced that we were all out of replacements. Good thing I hid them, because he went looking. “What about in the bag?” he asked. “Nope—we’re all out. “What’s up there?” He asked, pointing to the top of his closet where I hid the stash. Darn, he caught me. “Those are Jdog’s diapers,” I lied. “I guess you have to wear underwear and put your poopy in the potty.” And that was that.

He didn’t like the idea of messing his underwear and he didn’t want to sit on the big potty, but after a momentary struggle we made a bargain: he could watch a few shows on TV if he did it while sitting on his little potty. So, there we sat—me on the recliner with Jdog eating and sleeping in my arms, Atrain on the little potty, ready to poop and pee in the living room. And what followed was magic.

After two PBS kids episodes he had peed, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was growing evermore uncomfortable keeping the rest of the nastiness inside. So I paused the TV to give him a little motivation. He whined, right on cue. I responded, “If you poop in your potty you can watch more.” Then I left him alone for a moment so that he could decide (he’s always appreciated his privacy while pooping). In under a minute he yelled excitedly, “I did it!!!” I walked back into the room, and sure as the stench burning a hole in the little plastic potty, he had done it.

I was so happy. I didn’t even mind dumping the contents and bleaching everything it touched. The little king had gone to the bathroom. He called for his toys, he called for his treats and he called for his PBS episodes, three. It was nice to discover that he cared about all of the incentive schemes, after all. We are on the road to success.

A Pee Poem

Puddles of Pee

Puddles of Pee

It’s fun to be three

And make puddles of Pee

Oodles of Stress

Oodels of Stress

Cleaning such a sick mess

Equals oodles of stress

Oh how I’ll be,

Oh how I’ll be

such a happy mommy

Without Puddles of Pee.

Regression

Today my world spun backwards. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fight the gravity of regressive forces sucking me into a deep, dirty, grumpy hole.

The ants came back. They crept into the pajamas I left on the floor when it was dark. When I awoke for my nightly writing routine I slipped them on and quickly gained new appreciate for the term “ants in my pants.” After our third attempt at extermination today I feel like either poison or dead pests are sticking to the bottom of my feet.

Little Atrain chose to poop in his pants. I caught him right as he stood in the doorway of the playroom, contemplating the act. I offered him any of the toys and treats in the potty box if he would just sit on the toilet for a few minutes. “No thank you,” he said. I told him I would buy him the biggest truck at the D.I. if he would just use the toilet like a big boy. “I want to be a baby,” he said. I threatened to take away his potty training toys. He went through the list of toys he owned that weren’t potty training toys and said, “That’s ok.” I begged him. He screamed, “I don’t want to!” I gave up. He pooped his pants.

After that incident I told the husband that I feel like I’m a horrible mom. He laughed at me. I wasn’t joking, so this wasn’t the reaction I was searching for. I nearly started spilling it all, trying to explain to him how frustrated I feel when I spend a half hour trying—unsuccessfully—to convince my kid to use the toilet; how guilty my conscious becomes when I wonder if my sweet little Jdog feels neglected as he watches all my attention focus on his balky big brother; and how much I hate that I can’t keep myself away from the delicious plate of brownies on the counter. But, then I realized that I would need an interpreter to relay such a load of motherly emotion to the husband. It’s not that he’s not supportive. It’s just that sometimes we speak in different languages, and I didn’t have the energy to interpret my feelings today. So, right after, “I just feel,” spilled over my lips, I stopped the dam from breaking and took the kids to the park to get some fresh air (and avoid the ant extermination fumes).

Sometimes days just don’t work the way you want them to. I want to teach my children to be good. I want to keep my house clean. I want to have dinner together at the table as a family without the TV—even if that dinner is pizza and the TV viewing is epic. And I don’t want to feel like the only one working on these things. But some days, sometimes, things don’t work the way you want them to. And that’s ok.

Tomorrow’s agenda: work hard, recover my sense of humor, and be ok with backwards.

My Hero

I tried to resume life as usual today after the weekend turned our world upside down. It was difficult to sleep without checking in on Atrain every other hour, listening to him breathe, hoping he wouldn’t wake up vomiting with his eyes spinning from right to left. When he finally arose and yelled, “mommy,” I brought Jdog into his room and curled into my boys on the bed. I savored how it felt to snuggle between them: Atrain gently played with my hair in one of his hands while squishing his brother’s cheeks with the other; Jdog flailed his arm back and forth against my clothing while he ate, pausing occasionally to smile at me, then diving back in for another helping. For a moment, I felt at peace.

As soon as we were up I rushed Atrain to school. After making some cookie dough for their Purim celebration this week I decided to run around the indoor track with Jdog and watch their class play on the playground through the one-way glass. I had nearly finished my run by the time they entered the play area. I stared at my son running to the gate, standing in line with his school-mates, listening to the teacher’s instructions, and then bounding out on the playground like any “normal” child. It was hard to believe that we were just in the ER this weekend. And it was hard to think that without any warning we could be there again tomorrow. Tears were creeping into my eyes as I replayed the weekend worries in my head. I couldn’t stop watching him. I reached for my phone to call the husband, but as soon as I picked it up, it rang. It was him.

He explained that he couldn’t start on his research until he burrowed through a few miles of bureaucratic red tape. I gave him my sympathy, but felt selfishly relieved inside. I could have him today. I needed him today. I picked him up. He came with me to the bank, picked Atrain up from school, and then we went on a family outing to McDonalds while the odor from our second round of bug spray dissipated from our apartment.

It was so good to have the husband near me, to admire our boys with him, to talk about plans with him and to wonder about life with him. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with him. Especially when life is a little off balance and I’m constantly teetering on the brink of tears. He keeps me centered. He dries my eyes before they begin crying. With Jdog in one arm and a plastic sword in the other, he saves me from scurvy pirate Atrain and any tick-tocking crocodiles lurking around these parts--especially when I am the crocodile. The husband is my hero.

A Weekend in the ER

Dear Elder I,

Hello sweet brother. Thank you for your letter. I would love to write you back a more personal, hand written letter some time. I hope I can make the time to do that this week. I sure do love and appreciate you.

This weekend was a doozy. I’m still recovering emotionally. Atrain was in the ER at Primary Childrens hospital. There’s nothing like a weekend in Primary Childrens to help you realize how fragile life is, how helpless we all really are, and how dependent I need to be upon God.

On Friday our little family went to Spork to spend the night. A friend of the husband’s had passed away and we were planning on attending his funeral; so sad, such a great man. He died from using dirty Heroin. But, we were trying to make the most of the time in Spork with Atrain, so we took him to a little play with Grandpatty and his cousins. “No Dogs Allowed,” was the name of it—it was funny, but not for the reasons the writer intended I’m sure. At least it kept the kids entertained.

Atrain had a good time with the cousins, and we went home and settled in bed like usual. He was so excited to be sleeping at Grandpatty’s with his favorite little people. I love watching him run around with them, reading books with them, trying to exercise his negotiation skills with them, etc. He’s such a huge light in my life. After a few hours of sleep he woke up yelling for me, so I laid down by him. Then I heard him gag, and up came everything he ate for dinner. About fifteen minutes passed and it happened again, then again, and again and again. I sat by him watching him wallow in his misery, feeling so sorry for my little guy. He hates throwing up and I hate watching him. He’ll let the initial upchuck come, then fight the rest, swallowing it back down. When Baby J woke up and needed attention the husband came by Atrain’s side.

By 7am he had thrown up about 15 times. When he saw that it was morning he tried to get up, but couldn’t stand. His eyes were spinning from side to side. He said he was dizzy. He said he was going to fall over. Every time he moved from one position he cried and his eyes kept spinning. We made a call to Dr. Grandpappa and he said to take him into the ER at PCH. Spinning eyes are not a typical flu-like symptom…they usually always mean something worse, especially when your kid has cochlear implants.

Within 15 minutes and after a quick Priesthood blessing, we were on our way to the hospital. The husband and I weren’t saying much. Worrying about our little Atrain kept our minds too busy to think about talking. Occasionally I would ask the husband what he was thinking, hoping that his thoughts were more optimistic than mine—his Cochlears? A tumor? Extra fluid in the brain? Balance issues? Flashbacks to the weeks after his CI surgery…he can’t get an MRI, what if the ER docs need to do an MRI? What if they have to remove his internal devices just to figure out what’s going on? I kept praying and hoping that he was just dehydrated, which made him dizzy. But I knew that probably wasn’t the case.

When we pulled into the ER instead of home Atrain started crying, “I don’t want the doctors. I want to go home and watch Peter Pan. Home! I want to go home,” he said. “I know Atrain, so do I,” I said, “but the doctors will help you feel better.” We signed all of the paper work and waited for them to call us back. The husband was looking up everything he could about nystagmus—spinning eyes. Jdog slept in his car seat. Atrain kept his eyes closed as he laid on my chest and clung his little arms around my neck. As I wrapped my arms around his long, skinny body I tried to divert my mind from its destructive thoughts. But it kept pushing my imagination right over the deep end. I wouldn’t know what to do without this little man in my life.

They finally took us back and Atrain was brave as they examined him. The ER doc didn’t have many answers. The Neurologist didn’t have many answers, but helped us rule out some of the scarier tumor scenarios. The ENT doc had a few guesses that weren’t all that comforting. We called all the specialists and friends we knew to get more input. Nothing. The docs decided to do an IV to get some fluid into him. He protested when I told him, but when the nurses came in to place it he didn’t even make a peep. They wrapped his IV arm in a little splint to keep it in place. Once they were gone he examined his hand and concluded that it was broken. Then he said, “I was so brave.” That tipped me over the edge. As I bounced baby J down the halls my breath shuttered as I cried and plead with God to help him be OK. I was trying not to let my fears overwhelm me. I was trying to hold onto my hope and my faith, but I needed help. I thought of the father of the child in Mark 9 who said to Christ, “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.”

After a few hours the ER doc came in our room with a possible explanation. He had pulled a research study done by a few docs at PCH. The study discussed the episodic occurrence of vertigo among individuals with Large Vestibular Aqueducts. LVA is the congenital defect that causes Atrain’s deafness, the reason why he has CIs. Apparently 48% of kids with LVA experience random episodes of vertigo—the “room is spinning” sensation that can happen to people in old age. I guess the Vestibular system controls your balance and when it’s a little large, sometimes your world can start spinning.

We didn’t expect this. No one had ever warned us about the possibility of random vertigo episodes associated with LVA. I guess that LVA is such a unique condition, and episodic vertigo only happens to a portion of the tiny LVA population—so it’s not well known or well researched. We don’t know what can trigger it. We don’t know how often it may occur. We’re not even 100% sure that this is what happened, but it was the most likely explanation.

Atrain kept the IV fluids down and they moved us to the overnight watch unit. When we got there he asked for dinosaurs. The dinosaurs came. He asked for Peter Pan. Peter Pan followed. He asked for chocolate milk. They started him on popsicles, which made him and us happier than we had been all day. He loved them. I loved the root beer slushy and jello that he didn’t eat. He began opening his eyes more, and could now lie on his back. He kept his head glued to the pillow, but it was progress. Soon enough he started to lift off of the pillow to tell us, “It’s my sick day today,” and “My broken arm is taking a big drink,” and “I’m not so dizzy any more.” Every time he spoke the husband and I smiled brightly, then exchanged relieved glances.

Night soon came and Atrain was keeping down the pizza, crackers, water and popsicles he dined on to his delight. Jdog needed a better place to sleep. The husband and I agreed that it was better that I take poor J home, away from the RSV floating around in the hospital. Hopefully he hadn’t already caught it. I was torn, especially when Atrain cried as I left, but I knew that the husband was the best company he could have. When I got back to our apartment I opened the door and saw all of Atrain’s toys, the unfinished plate of his food on the table, and his shoes lying next to the cubbies. I lost all composure. After putting baby J to bed I got into the shower and sobbed. The thought and fear of not having little Atrain in my home shook me.

I know that everything I have is from God. I know that it all can disappear in a moment—not because God is cruel, but because that’s just life. Even though God can, I don’t think He takes what He has given away from us. Loss and suffering and sickness and sin are just part of the world we live in. But that doesn’t mean that I should stop trying to rise above it all, to hope for something better. That’s why I believe in God—“whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men…” (our scripture, Ether 12:4). As I stood there sobbing and praying that my son would be alright, I simultaneously knew that sometimes some things aren’t alright and it’s not God’s fault. But in the chaos and calamity I also know that He has the power to save and to heal.

I couldn’t wait to get back to my boys at the hospital. When I went in the room they were snuggled by each other on the bed, sleeping. Atrain quickly awoke and asked for a snack. Good thing I had brought him some “sugar toast” from home. He sat up and snarfed it and I knew he was going to be fine. Soon enough he tried out his legs and exclaimed, “I can walk, look, I can walk,” although his balance was still visibly impaired, he was walking. We went home a few hours later. He is a miracle.

We still don’t know what to expect from here. It was a huge wake-up call that the condition that caused his deafness also has other miserable surprises lurking in Atrain’s future. But, we will keep going with a better perspective on what He faces, and also a better understanding of how much we really don’t understand. Such is life, right? I’m thankful he is well, hoping his improvement will continue and recommitted to praying more sincerely, with the certainty that life is uncertain and all I can really do is fasten my hope to God.

I better be on my way, brother. The kids will be waking soon and it is another day with many more unknowns waiting for me. I sure do love you. I’m so thankful for your service, your perspective and example. Keep up the good work.

Love, MJ

Ps-looks like the husband will be in Texas for two months this summer. He’ll be at MD Anderson Cancer Center doing research with the awesome docs there. It will be hard, but also an amazing opportunity to help him match at a good residency program in Radiation Oncology. Many things happening these days….hopefully I can write you more about the other humdrums of life soon. Love you.

Scurvy Pirates

Today, we were pirates. Atrain was Gabriel, the pirate. I was Wendy, the pirate. Jdog was Captain Hook. And where was Peter Pan? He was in his secret school hide-out of course. Good thing too—we would have scared the scurvy likes of him right over the plank.

We wore striped shirts. Pirate Gabriel wore his backwards. We had sword fights with tennis rackets. We boarded our ship named Bob and sailed the seven seas. Upon our return to land the first mate refused to use the potty. I let him pee his pull-ups to his disgusting delight. Mr. Hook made us carry him around, bring him food and swab the decks. Then we changed his diaper and made him laugh. Oh it is good to hear the Cap'n laugh.

Our rowdy crew turned in for naps after scavenging the premises for edible goods. When we awoke, we were ready for an adventure. We bundled our britches and set out into the wind to find buried treasure. Pirate Gabriel was a scary sight. At some point he turned his pants around to match his backwards shirt. He nearly asked me to zip his coat up backwards, but opted out because the hood impaired his vision. Apparently pirates can only tolerate one covered eye.

The wind whipped through our hair as we pillaged toward the playground. It was deserted, so we forced a few neighbors to join our foray. Once a good group of boys had gathered, the beautiful chaos began. With sticks in hand they chased, they crept, they climbed and they dug. Captain Hook had fallen asleep in the Bjorn and before I knew what was happening, Pirate Gabriel’s shoes were drowning in the deep, icy swing-set puddle. He was poking at the floating snow chunks with his sword as he dangled his body over the swing. I yelled his way to tell him not to get too wet, but the damage was already done. He was now splashing, and having the time of his life. “Aarrggg,” I said, and I watched as his backwards pants soaked up the cold, muddy water. After all, what would a pirate day be without a little mud.

A Clarification

After reading my last two posts, one might assume that the husband is lazy. Tis not so, I assure you. I just like to poke fun at him for being a bather. If I had to get up at 4am every day to study my pants off in order to make a good impression that wasn’t even guaranteed, I would want to soak my worries away in the tub on Sunday too…that is, if I liked bathing. I would also want to go to bed at a decent hour…but I don’t.

Also, just to clarify, Atrain did poop in the potty today. Yesterday he said that he did, but the toilet flushed before I could see the evidence. He’s been known to “pretend” when it comes to potty training these days. Guess the potty box of toys is a little too appealing. But, one poop is progress…even if the other half of it ended up in his pull-ups a half hour later. Poor kid. I bet it is uncomfortable to cut yourself off mid-bowel movement just so that you can show mom, claim your toy and retreat to your preferred pooping zone. We’re getting there though, and I couldn’t be more excited.

Finally, in light of recent comments, I made an amendment to my equation:

u[E(2d+b-y)+5s-x+pp-mD/9bf(g+rw)+3C]=24^th

where th=the love of my life, the husband.

Love languages

Some people say that love has many languages. When I was dating I mostly spoke in the language of butterflies; now that I’m married I’m multilingual. I understand “I’ll do the dishes tonight,” “let me kill that spider for you,” and “wow you look great after a long day and you’re still in your running clothes” in many dialects.

Tonight I communicated my love to the husband in a very significant form of speech. It’s the, “I’ll stay up after you go to bed and dig your car out of the snow during a blizzard as I wait for the cops to free the keys you locked in there weeks ago” language. Even though he probably won’t be able to back his little car out of its snowed-in parking spot tomorrow morning and the kids and I will end up driving him to work/school anyway, at least he knows that I love him.

Shaving or Writing

I haven’t shaved my legs for a week…maybe more. Gross, I know, but I can’t seem to squish the time into my shower schedule. I get in, scrub down, check the baby on the floor, wash my hair (sometimes), and get out. Five minutes, tops. If the husband and I had a race to see who could get ready for church the fastest, I would definitely win—as long as he didn’t know we were racing.

This morning he was lounging in the tub while I did the morning routine with the kiddos. We woke up, played a game, vacuumed the ants up off the carpet (again), made breakfast, instituted a new potty training method, ate breakfast, read the BOM, wondered if all the ants were going to start crawling out of my vacuum, plugged in a true video, fed the jdog, then went to the bathroom to begin getting ready for church. The husband was in the tub and in my way (OK—maybe he wasn’t wrinkling in the tub the entire morning, but almost). So, I thought I would scare him away with my leg hairs. I flashed him my sexy, hairy calf and said, “If I had as much time to spend in the tub as you do, my legs would not look like this.”

The husband considered me for a moment without even showing a speckle of fear in his expression. He smiled (knowing that what he was about to say would send me reeling) and said, “You have enough time—you just choose to use it writing.” My eyes sharpened into daggers. “Hum…so, that’s what you think?” I replied as I stormed out of the bathroom.

Obviously he hasn't noticed when I sneak out of bed at night to type on my laptop. He may not notice a lot of things because his brain works much differently than mine. Hence, I thought I would translate my time into an equation that he can understand. Solve for X:

u[E(2d+b-y)+5s-x+pp-mD/9bf(g+rw)+3C]=24

E=exercise; S=schooling; B=breakfast; y=study; Bf=breast feeding; G=Groceries; C=cooking; R=reading (kids books); W=writing; U=unknown; H=shave; pp=diapering/potty training; M=mothering; D=disciplining; P=playtime

And there you have it. Shaving every day is impossible. So is writing. But I guess the husband is right on one account--I'd much rather be writing than shaving.