Unstoppable

'Hey, wait a second!' said Atrain, in a moment of surprise and stupor. You see, he just realized the direction we are headed now does not take us back to California. Indeed, it takes us home--a moment he has been dreading the entire trip. 'I don't want to go home!' he wailed, and has been wailing ever since. Along with, 'Please turn around the car,' and 'I'm really sad I'm not going back!'

It is a sad, pathetic scene. But I'm also trying to hold back my giggles. I wonder how long this will go on. Determination/stubbornness has always been one of Atrain's strong suits. We're going on a 100 mile long fit now. I wish i had a big enough bag of mommy tricks to derail this train. 'I guess this is the sign of a good vacation,' said the husband. I would hate to see the sign of a bad one.

Running Low

"I will put my underwear on, mom, I promise!" rants Atrain behind his closed bedroom door. And then--clunk--another heavy object (probably one of his cars) collides with the wooden barrier between he and I. "Why is it so hard to take that kid out of the bathtub," I wonder. Just moments before this he was giggling with defiance, running naked--and deaf--down our hall. I hate bath time. Nothing about motherhood makes me want to pull my hair out more than trying to force Atrain into clothing when he is silly, defiant, can't hear a thing that I say, and totally taking advantage of it.

It was the perfect ending to a perfectly frustrating day. Today was round two of Atrain's cochlear implant programming up north. It took me three hours to drop off baby J at Famous and Pance Farmstrong's home last night, and an early morning drive two hours north to the audiologist, five different attempts at cochlear programming games, three bribery pep talks and two walks around the building--just to sit there and watch Atrain implode while he exclaimed, "I don't want to!" Why, you ask? I believe the fact that baby J got to spend the night at the Farmstrong household was at the heart of it all. Atrain believed he should be there too, and there is no way to force a child to effectively participate in cochlear implant programming if they don't want to. The accuracy of a CI map can't hinge on the mood of a 3 year old--and yet, it must. So, we called it a loss, rescheduled, and drove another three hours to pick up baby J. When we finally arrived, Atrain was in heaven.

It's so hard to keep my head screwed tightly on my shoulders on days like today. Sometimes I feel like I have sticks of dynamite shoved down my throat, and my kids are having a ball lighting the wicks and watching momma attempt to keep the explosions contained within her. I remember seeing the look on my father's face whenever he was trying to disguise the chaos rumbling inside him--his eyes bulging with annoyed frustration, unable to look directly at our guilty little faces, using calm words, but occasionally pounding his fist against a wall, and always carrying lead feet as he walked away. Now I know why. I just wish I had a staircase to stomp up and down.

There were a couple of redeeming moments today that mended my muddled mind. On the way back from the appointment we stopped at "Old McDonalds" to get a happy meal, hoping to glean a little joy from its contents. It did not disappoint. The toy was a karate Power Ranger character that kept Atrain contently imagining battle scenes all the way to the Francypants household. The second, and most healing occurrence, was when we arrived to pick up Jdog. When he heard my voice from the other room he immediately started crying. I ran to him, scooped him out of his high chair where he was previously feasting on peaches, and held him against my chest as he pawed my hair and clasped onto my shoulders. He was so happy to see me.

That feeling filled my tank. Even now, as I listen to him whine (now clothed and in bed) about going to bed, I remember those chubby little arms squeezing my neck. Jdog sure loves me. It's all I have to call this day a success.

The Question

Just a few minutes ago Atrain asked me a question that I have been waiting for him to ask me for a few years. We finished our nightly routine: read our scriptures, said our prayers, read a book and made small talk about the day. And then, I kissed him and asked--as I do every night--if he will hand me his cochlears. He looked at me with a small, thoughtful smile and asked,

"Mom, why do I have cochlears?"

My heart filled with love and confidence. I could feel God helping me through the conversation I have been thinking about ever since I held my 5 week old baby with bright red, glowing hearing aids on.

"Some boys and girls have cochlears, and some don't," I said. "Just like some boys and girls have glasses and some don't--some babies need cochlears and some need glasses."

"What do you think about that?" I asked.

"When I take off my cochlear," he said as he proceeded to remove the coil from his head, "I can't hear on that side...watch...hear?"

"Yep." I said. "And did you know that when you were a baby and you didn't have cochlears to hear, God told me that you are so special...and that you would be blessed to hear so well with cochlears."

My heart burned within me and I could feel my eyes start to well up with tears as God reminded me, again, how special the boy staring at me really is. Atrain was nodding his head as he listened intently to every word.

"God loves you so much, Atrain. Ever since you were little, God has told me how much he loves you and how good and special you are." I said.

Atrain grinned kindly and he said, "And when you grow little, you can have cochlears too."

"Maybe," I responded, "I would love to have cochlears, but I will never get to grow little like you...just bigger."

"Then when you are big, you can have cochlears too" he added, and then continued to let me into his world. "And look, when both cochlears are off, it's really hard to hear," he said as he took both off. I mouthed, "wow" at him, and he quickly put them back on with a smile.

"How does that feel?" I asked, honestly curious.

He thought for a moment, and then said, "Kinda scary."

My stomach got a little heavy when those words came so clearly out of his mouth, but I could feel the Spirit move our conversation along. "But momma and daddy are always here, and you are so brave, Atrain. You are the bravest, strongest boy that I know," I said.

"Look!" he said as he flexed his muscles and made a fierce, fighting face. "I am strong."

"I know. I'm so proud of you. And God knows that you are so strong. You make me strong" I said and let a few tears go. "That's a happy tear."

Atrain smiled at me and gave me the biggest hug. I am so proud of that little boy. And tonight during our conversation I was reminded just how much God is aware of him and aware of my mothering needs. I was impressed by how simple, but profound our conversation was. I hope I can raise Atrain to understand what Christ meant when he commanded us to "love thy neighbor as thyself"--a commandment that I am constantly working on. There are all kinds of people in this world, and we need to work to understand and rejoice in our differences and develop empathy for each other's challenges. Atrain doesn't fully understand the challenges ahead of him, just as I can't fully grasp the challenges ahead of me. But, I know that God does. He can help us "turn the other cheek." He can teach us true charity. And, he can prepare us for whatever is to come.

Gothridge, the caterpillar

Today our little family loaded into our little car and took a little drive up the canyon. We were headed to the reservoir where we intended to spend an hour or so skipping rocks. But, as it turns out, it costs five dollars to take the road that leads to the water--a price we were actually willing to pay. (Avoiding a derailment of plans and a disappointed Atrain is definitely worth five bucks). However, it also turns out that the little man in the ridiculous government toll booth didn't have change for a ten. Our brains began buzzing for alternative family entertainment. And, though nothing could top rock skipping, chucking rocks off a lookout point was the next best option--and that's where we met Gothridge.

His little furry body was expanding and contracting like an accordion as his sixteen suction cup legs shuttled across the pebbles on the ridge. I spotted him out of the corner of my eye as Atrain and I backed away from the edge-a squatty little black and rust colored caterpillar sporting an assortment of long grey whiskers. He was cute. So cute, in fact, that I lunged toward it and put my hand forth as a pedestal to crawl up on. And, he did.

Atrain wasn't sure what to think. He was a little aghast by my spontaneous love for the little bug--something that surely doesn't happen often when I encounter odd creatures. But, he was certainly interested as the little caterpillar slinked across my hands. "Do you want to hold it? " I asked. "No," he replied quickly." "Well, should we let it go?" I asked. "Yes, up by the colored leaves," said Atrain. So, we walked a little ways and found a nice place to bid my little bug buddy goodbye. I let him down on the ground, and Atrain and I continued on our way to find a few good rocks for chucking off the mountain side.

I headed up the trail, but Atrain planted his feet near the caterpillar's farewell point. A crinkled look of confusion contorted his face. "Let's get it back!" Atrain said, his voice wavering with emotion. Apparently Atrain's connection to the little bug ran deeper than he anticipated. Sometimes you don't realize how much you like something until it's gone. "OK!" I responded, excitedly. And, we scanned the perimeter of the vicinity. Sure enough, within a few seconds we found our little caterpillar wandering near a few fallen leaves. "Let's find him a home," I said as I picked him up.

Back at the car lied an empty blue water bottle. We filled it with a couple of twigs and a few leaves, then let the little caterpillar climb inside. He looked reasonably content with his new blue surroundings, but I wouldn't know how to tell if he wasn't, either. Atrain sure thought the crawling little bug was happy. "He's climbing up the side!" Atrain said, giggling with glee as he watched the bug's accordion legs work its way up the plastic. Baby J just reached and reached from the husband's arms, itching to take a whack at the blue container everyone seemed so interested in. "I don't think we should keep it," said the husband, "it's not good to take him out of his surroundings...we might kill it." "Really," I replied. "This coming from a man who kills dear every year?" I poked at him. He gave me a defeated smile, then agreed to take our new "pet" home.

Once we were all buckled into the car and headed back down the canyon, Atrain held the blue water bottle on his lap, admiring his new little friend. "It's ok, don't be scared," he said in a high pitched voice as he talked to the caterpillar. "What do you want to name him," I asked. Atrain thought for a few moments, then said, "Gothridge." I shot a surprised smile at the husband, then replied, "Gothridge, huh. That's a good name. Where did you hear that?" Atrain thought again, and then said, "I don't know, he's just Gothridge." "Good name," I repeated approvingly. I sure hope we don't kill him too soon.

Sir Atrain

I have a little hero. Usually he goes by Atrain, but today he was dubbed a knight and adorned with the finest apparel the dollar store had to offer (with a few pieces of armor put on reserve for future "good goodbye" reward purposes). So, with helmet on head and sword in hand, he helped me turn our church into a traffic zone/women's workshop. We drew a road with tape along the entire length of the hallway, littered it with toy cars, and rearranged furniture. "Follow me this way," he said, directing our road construction, and adding "no, no--put that here, not there" if I ever misplaced an element. Sir Atrain is a skilled engineer, and a loyal companion. I don't know what I would have done tonight without his company. He was definitely my knight in shining armor.

One on One

Atrain had a horrible drop off at school today. The kind that make me tear up too. I know I'm supposed to remain robotically matter-of-fact when he throws a fit. But, it is hard when he says, "I'm just so sad, mom," with big tears in his eyes, "I want to be home with you." I love my little man. He really is so brave. And, he puts up with a lot. It's hard to stand my ground and remind myself why going to preschool is so important for him--the listening environment, the peers, the social skills--when he's not excited about it. But I did. And, after I read him a book (the big one, not the little one, per his request) I left him crying, but in good hands.

I question myself a lot with that kid--much more than any other circumstance or relationship in my life. He is deaf. Yes, he can hear miraculously well with his cochlear implants, but when it comes right down to it, he experiences so much that I can't completely understand. When his implants are off, what would it be like to talk--to move your lips and feel words come out--but not be able to hear anything that you said? How would if feel to explain something that's different about yourself to your peers? How frustrating is it to hone into one voice in a crowded room via hearing technology?

I don't know. I'll never really know. But, I will just keep loving him with all that I am. And I'll keep doing everything I can to let him know that he can do great things on his own--even though it hurts to let (or make) him. I think he could use some good one on one time with mommy. Maybe we'll go shopping for a few "good drop off" treasures to look forward to in the next few weeks. Or maybe we'll just go throw rocks into the creek. That will help him recover from our tragic parting this morning. Good thing I left a love note in his lunch box today.

Flu Shot

Today our little family took an afternoon outing to Spork for Baby J's 9 month check up (one month late). He was such a happy little fellow, crawling around the office, standing on everything, shaking his head "no," interjecting into my conversation with the nurse with his "ha ha huh huh" fake laugh. This kid makes me laugh. He is in the 95th percentile for height and the 60th for weight. Another string bean in the family. When the nurse left to prep for his immunizations she asked if we would all like flu shots too. "Sure," I responded, looking at the husband who was nodding, and then at Atrain, who (thankfully) was too busy teasing J to hear what the nurse had asked me. "We won't tell him until it happens," I said to the husband, who agreed to my devious plan.

With Atrain, there are some situations that I should never prepare him for--not many, but there are definitely a few. Getting a flu shot is at the top of the list. Last year I tried to prep him for his flu shot a couple of weeks in advance. That ended with a disastrous, growling, wailing, crying, gnashing of teeth, "Doctor, DON"T TOUCH ME!," episode at our local clinic. He was completely hysterical up until the moment it happened. He watched himself get poked, didn't even wince, and never shed another tear. So, the nurse's suggestion was divine providence.

The nurse came back with baby J's shots in hand. She poked him four times. He wailed. I hated it, and mentally reprimanded myself multiple times for forgetting his blanket. I got a shot. The husband got a shot. And, Atrain was half way out the door when I picked him up and said, "time for your little shot." He threw his head back, roared in disapproval, and then watched as the nurse lifted up his sleeve and stabbed his little arm with the needle. Not even a twitch. It was over almost before it started, and Atrain was pretty proud of his (non)decision to get a flu shot. I was pretty proud of it too.

Camp Out

The husband and Atrain are sleeping under the stars tonight. I guess, that is, if you count camping in the back of a pick up truck with a hard top "sleeping under the stars." I can't even imagine how much fun they're having. They left with a pile of blankets, a bumble bee lantern, a jumbo bag of monster marshmallows and the "Fox in Socks" book. It's always a riot to listen to the husband read that book. He's so judicious in his account of the tweetle beetle battles in a bottle on a poodle eating noodles.

Atrain loves his daddy so much. Tonight while I was trying to clean up I found the husband's Family Home Evening card name tag hanging next to Atrain's tag on the hooks in his room. I wonder when Atrain sneaked them in there. This has been a fun week for my boys. They spent a lot of time catching up on playing catch, going to the D.I., crashing at family members' homes and chasing me down at work events. I smile wider than the Grand Canyon when I see my boys strolling down the sidewalk to me.

Training is over, which means back to the routine. I do enjoy my routine. Maybe a bit too much. Tonight I tried and tried to talk myself into loading myself, baby J, and the port-a-crib into the back of the truck to rough it in the woods. I was really even ready--bags packed, baby food stocked, blankets gathered. But, when Jdog showed signs of resistance, I bailed. Maybe I should push myself a little more...take a few more risks. I used to be so good at that. I hope someday I'll recover my lost sense of spontaneity. But not tonight. Instead, I'll be content cuddling my pillow with the window cracked open, letting a lonely cricket lull me to sleep while I wonder what the boys are up to.

The Wedge

Tonight the husband, Bananza, Atrain and I were watching the finale of "the dancing show" before Atrain's bedtime. Atrain cleaned up all of his toys by himself to earn such a late night privilege--not to mention that I am super lenient after a long day without him. When I return home from training I feel like building train tracks and reading books with my boys all night long. But that wouldn't bode well for the babysitters the next day. So, we opted for a short dancing show party, and Atrain brought his A-game.

It was hilarious to watch this little man twist, boogie, jump off walls, roll on the ground and strike all sorts of copy-cat poses. He looked like a little kung-fu warrior, that is until the warrior got a wedgie. His fury of movement extinguished as he stood in the middle of the living room, reaching behind his back to unbend the undies that had worked their way between his little bum cheeks. And all of the sudden the dancing show was eclipsed by Atrain's eternal dig.

The husband, Bonanza and I sat on the perimeter of the room, wondering when the poor little boy would find relief. By the fourth unsuccessful attempt to remove the wedge, we were all giggling uncontrollably. Atrain's quest for comfort reached its pinnacle when he dropped his pajama pants, clenched onto a wrinkle in his undies and pulled. Finally, the boy found freedom from the worst wedgie we had ever witnessed.

Completely Uncool

I watched the Hawaina boys today: the four sons of my cousin Kanada. I adore them. They are so full of fun, ideas, energy, and desire. Atrain looks forwards to every opportunity to be with them; he watches them so closely and wants so much to be a full fledged member of their inner circle whenever we are there. The Hawaina boys are good boys--worthy of his adoration. Whenever we are there the boys always make Atrain feel like the coolest cousin around.

But today a very uncool moment made me swell with angst and anger. It wasn't the boys' fault. It was a nosy little neighbor girl that made me feel like a roaring, mean mother bear. After lunch I let the boys open the front door and ride their scooters around the sidewalk circle while I washed off a few dishes. It didn't take me long--maybe three minutes before I joined them. But, the moment I walked through the door I regretted every minute: there was Atrain, standing still on his scooter, looking down at the sidewalk while a nine(ish) year old girl examined his implants while cousin Gav stood nearby.

"Hey!" I shouted, with probably a little more force than necessary. Immediately the two older kids looked my way and guilt swept over their faces. They took their hands off Atrain's cochlears and my little man rode away. But, I pursued the situation, trying to control fire burning in my mind. "What are you doing, guys?" I said, with a contrived calm tone. "She asked, 'what are those things,' so I told her about his cochlears," said eight year old Gav. I looked at the little girl and said curtly, "Did you ask Atrain for permission to touch him?" She gave me a sheepish smile and said, "No." I responded with a blunt, angry tone, "You never do that. It's really rude to touch anyone's cochlears without asking. It's like me sticking my finger in your ear without permission--and still I would never do that."

She looked a little sorry, but something in me mead me want to grab her elbow and stomp her over to her front door to let her mother know what had just happened. But I held back on account of her being just a curious kid; but as I write this I'm wondering if I should have pounded on her front door and congratulated her mother for raising such a rude child. But I didn't know her mother, and I didn't want Atrain to see me making even more of a scene. Further embarrassment on his part was unnecessary. And I could tell by the way he rode his scooter away from the scene of the crime that he was unsure of what to think about what had just happened, and needed a good, loving conversation about saying "no" when others touch us in unwarranted ways.

So, I said to the little girl, "Please don't ever do that again, to anyone whose body looks a little different than yours." And then she responded with the absolute worst phrase a sorry little girl could have muttered, "He has a hearing problem, right? That poor little boy." I was astonished. "What?!" I said, confused and surprised again by her stupid remark. "Did you even talk to him? Probably not, because if you did you would have noticed that he can talk and hear as well as you." And then I stopped myself, realizing that I was taking the whole thing a little too personally.

But how could I not? I hate moments like that. I hate knowing that there will be more of them--especially more when I will not be there to scold the ignorant little gremlins. I know it's rude for me to speak that way about another child, but I don't care right now. Every chance I get when Atrain and I are asked questions about his cochelars, I try to defer the answer to him with hopes that it will help build his confidence to respond to curious kids in the future. But I guess we need to revise our game plan to screen for the inevitable impolite, improper and downright rude comments and gestures. Too bad I can't screen him from everything forever.

The husband swore when I told him what happened, and then agreed that we need a family home evening lesson next week about self respect, and what to do when others don't respect your self. I need some good resources. I'm looking forward to it.

Craving

Early this morning Atrain awoke with one thing on his mind, "I want a popsicle!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. My first instinct was to ignore his odd outburst--he often talks in his sleep. But as the yelling continued, it soon became clear that he was indeed wide awake, craving a popsicle. It took me a half hour to convince him that he had to wait until the morning. I should have just handed one over, dove back under my covers bed and called it even. Maybe next time.

Las-ter-day

-noun

1. any point in time preceding this day, possibly referring to the previous week.

2. a short time ago: Remember lasterday, Mom? When you bought me the saw man car at that grocery store? Let's go there that again.

-origin:

around 2011; Atrain; three year old english;

-related forms:

las-ter-year

In Over my Head

I finally finished the header for July today. Not that it takes all that much time to sit down and put a Photoshop collage together. I just haven’t been around. And when I am around, I spend most of my time packing, unpacking and playing with the boys. I do love playing with my boys. We haven’t had enough unstructured playtime lately, and I think it’s taken a toll on us all—especially Atrain. He has had an accident every day for the past four days: strange. Particularly the one where he was standing on his scooter in the kitchen and all of the sudden his scooter was rolling in urine. Ew.

And then there’s been an increase of fits, a needy “I can’t do it by myself” attitude toward things he used to be excited to do alone, whining and whining and whining and odd baby-like behavior (steeling Jdog’s binki and curling up in his crib). Hum. I think Atrain is a little off kilter. Perhaps all of the coming and going and subsequent motivating, begging then insisting has made him feel a little out of control. And, I’m at a loss. I feel like I’m a first-time carriage driver trying to rein in a steed that’s galloping toward a cliff.

Maybe that’s a little bit of an overstatement, but I do feel rather unprepared and incapable of doing the simplest things—hence the upside down boots in the header. I feel like I’m in over my head. Why is it so hard to tell my three year old that we can’t just mimic baby J’s loud screams during sacrament meeting at church? Correcting him today only amplified the problem. Perhaps he needs more positive reinforcement, and more one on one time with momma to remind him how much I love my big boy.

I read the “You are Speical” book with him tonight. Then we read it again, and again. I want my kids to grow up knowing that I love them no matter what happens, and for who they are, no matter what they do or don’t do. Obviously, bad choices mean bad consequences, but I never want my discipline and/or encouragement to be so overbearing that they question my love and admiration. So I’m going to set a special emphasis on my unconditional love for my boys this week and forever. Moroni 7 46-47 is the best reminder, “…if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—but charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.”

Sleep Over

My mind is like mush. It often feels this way after I put the kids to bed. Today was not the greatest day. I didn’t get anything done that I wanted to do. Instead, I spent my time making up for my mistakes. I left Baby J’s port-a-crib (the handy, portable bed that has been his bed by my bed) at my mother’s house yesterday, so the bulk of my time was spent putting together the real crib. And, for some odd reason I decided to put it up in Atrain’s room.

The experiment needed to happen at some point. I’m just not sure if now was a good time for it. My state of being is not exactly stately right now. The weight of worrying for the kids alone is wearing on me. I know that the husband worries about them, but in the day to day ‘to dos’ it means a lot to have someone else’s voice chime-in to harmonize with mind. It’s not that I am incapable of reminding Atrain to put his pajamas on twenty times in a row. It’s just that when the number of requests I’ve issued exceeds the number of fingers on my hand, my confidence begins to crack. I wonder if the words coming out of my mouth make any sense. I wonder why I’m even speaking at all. And I wonder why—when given the express choice—Atrain prefers “time out” over dressing himself. Othingnay akesmay ensesay.

Until, that is, I hear my boys giggling and blowing raspberries at each other as they “try” to go to sleep in the same room. For some reason, those sounds bring me back home. I’m laughing as I listen to them live it up after hours, even though I know that I’ll have to go in there soon enough to break up the party. I already went in there once to remind Atrain that he needs to stay in his bed. He tried to convince me that his new bed on the rocking chair counted; too bad that it doesn’t. I’m sure that I’ll hear Atrain trying to join his brother in the bed we ‘built’ today. I can’t even think about how angry he will be when I tell him he can’t. Even with a mushy mind, it’s easy to understand how much they love each other.

So, maybe I’ll just join the slumber party. I’m sure that my presence will greatly increase the chances of the Sandman joining in the fun too. Who cares about the hallway full of homeless odds and ends that became displaced when the crib moved in. Never mind the sink full of stinky dishes. I’m not even going to try to catch up on the blog. I’m going to have a sleep over.

That Bites

When Atrain was just a little tyke (well, littler) two small, calloused lumps appeared on the surface of his skin. They itched. He scratched. They swelled up to the size of a quarter. I drew lines on his skin to monitor the growth of the strange, red, risen lumps. Twenty four hours passed and they only grew larger. So, being a first time mom, I did what I knew how to do best: panic.

I called the dermatologist and exclaimed that I had a medical emergency. They wiggled a bit of room in their schedule for my lumpy toddler. When I got there I had to hold Atrain in my arms while they took a core sample of the strange circular growths. I guess they needed a pathologist’s trained eye to tell me that they were simply bug bites. And Atrain had an obvious allergic reaction.

Ever since then I try to carry a bottle of bug spray with me whenever summer time rolls around. But why does it take me one bad night of bug bites to make me remember just how important it is to be thorough? The poor kid got eaten alive the first night of the family reunion. I thought I sprayed him down well enough, but I thought wrong. Some hungry, blood sucking, deet-immune mosquito feasted on the back of my little boy’s forearm. Now Atran’s little arm is so swollen it looks like Pop-eye’s. Poor kid.

I left church today to break the Sabbath by buying Benadryl and Cars band-aids. Hopefully having Lightening McQueen smiling up at him from his inflamed forearm will help his arm look a little less lop-sided. Right now I’m really having a hard time believing in the importance of biodiversity.

Attention to Detail

The things that attract Atrain's attention astonish me. He showed his adept attention to detail at 9 months old when he would cry with distaste if I pulled my hair back in a pony tail. No joke. He's a little more lenient now a days when it comes to my hair-dos, but if he disapproves, he lets me know. "Let me take your elastic out for you, Mom," he says, then adds, "I'll go slow, I promise...I promise!" As I wince when he pulls, plucking hairs out of my pony tail.

Today he focused his attention on the wheels of a little Hot Wheels car we bought from the big grocery store. We were there to pick up a present for my Dad's birthday and Atrain wanted to get Grandpa a car. I'm pretty sure he had ulterior motives, because of course he needed one to match. So, we brought home two toy cars today: one for Atrain and one for Grandpa.

But as soon as his new car hit the speedway (aka our couch) there was an immediate problem. Atrain was wailing as he looked at the car and exclaimed, "It's broken! It's LOOSE! My car is broken!" I examined the vehicle, but could see no apparent problems. But Atrain was not satisfied. So, I sat patiently with him, trying to understand the source of his anguish. "It's LOOSE! See! Do you understand?" He continued to ask me. I was trying really hard to interpret Atrain, who was now flailing his body against the floor. I put the car on the cushion and rolled it to and fro (just like Atrain does), and I finally spotted the problem. The circular paint that encases the rim of the tire was slightly off. So, when the wheel turned it appeared to wobble. It looked loose.

"Wow!" I said, "this is a huge problem!" as I rolled it toward Atrain. "I can't believe the wheel is loose." And with that, Atrain immediately perked up. Bingo. We were speaking on the same wave length. All he wanted was to be understood. "I bet Grandpa will be able to fix it. Do you think we should trade him cars for now?" Atrain cheered right up as we traded toy cars with grandpa. Luckily, all four paint jobs were up to par with Atrain's high standards. If only all three year old obsessive crises were as easily averted.

Tantrum

Every now and then I have mothering moments that make me feel like I’m in the middle of a three ring circus, trying to tame a lion in front of thousands of onlookers. But, I don’t have a whip. All I have are a few repetitive phrases. And lions like Atrain don’t really care for words when they’re angry. They just bare their fangs, throw their heads back and roar.

We were just going to get toilet paper. That’s all. That’s all I wanted. And maybe just a little sneak peek at Target’s curtain selection to see if they sell anything stylish and suitable to help me trick my boys into bed on time. I’m getting tired of looking at the blankets hanging in the bedroom windows. (Why can’t the summer sun go to bed at a decent hour?) Had I known that the curtains live next door to the bicycles, I would never have ventured near such temptation. But as soon as Atrain spotted the shiny wheels, he was hooked.

I acquiesced his request to “just check out” their bikes. Mistake #2. When we got there he couldn’t see a single bike that wasn’t hung on a rack. “Phew,” I thought. Jdog and I weren’t going to have to follow him around in the store for an hour pretending we have purchasing intentions after all. But, Atrain had other, more elaborate dramatizations up his sleeve. “I want that bike bell,” he said. “You already have one, but if you want another one you can earn it,” I responded. He crinkled his nose, tightened his vocal chords and said, “NO. I don’t want to earn it. I want to buy it!”

I could see the ground beneath his feet begin to shake and knew that his volcano would erupt soon. So, I braced myself as I said, “Remember Atrain, we earn things. We can’t just buy them.” An immediate, distraught scream exploded from his throat, right on cue. After a few unsuccessful attempts to contain the damage, I did what anyone would do if a volcano exploded in the middle of a store: take the baby out of the cart, leave the goods behind and head in the opposite direction.

Atrain followed me, as I knew he would—and his outbursts continued, as I knew they would. But I was proud of myself for keeping my cool in the heat of the situation. As he roared and screamed and pulled my arm I asked, “Do you think this is a good choice or a bad choice, Atrain? Is this the way we act in stores? Are you earning a new bell for your bike when you act like this?” He finally began to come to his senses as we neared the entrance to the store. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I’m sorry! We left our toilet paper! Can we go back and get our toilet paper?” So after I gave him a big hug, we went back to retrieve our toilet paper.

This is no the only tantrum we’ve encountered in the last few weeks—and certainly they are nothing new, just more often. I don’t know what has spawned this string of horrible episodes of late. Maybe it’s all of the changes we’ve experienced in the last few months: new school class, dada in Texas, shifting summer sleep schedules (or the lack thereof), Jdog becoming evermore mobile and into Atrain’s toys, etc. Or maybe it’s just that he’s three. I don’t like it when he’s unhappy. And I don’t enjoy feeling like a ringmaster. Maybe I need a new approach—better taming methods. If you have little lions yourself and you know a few good tricks, I would love to learn them.

Sunset Run

Tonight we went on a sweet sunset run. It was a great way to decompress after our two-day long audiology appointment. I love taking my boys out in the stroller. They love it too. Jdog is even big enough to be propped up like a big-boy without his car seat attachment. He mumbles delightful “sshchhskisshc” sounds, scratches the various fabric textures and kicks the tray as we jog down the sidewalk.

On special occasions I even let Atrain bring his scooter along. Tonight was one such occasion. But I made him get dressed in his one piece pajamas before we left the house, just so I could giggle at how cute he looks scooting down the sidewalk in helmet and PJs. He chugged his little legs along side me and the bob as we watched the sun set slowly on the horizon. The perfect way to end a stinky day.

Fat Tomato

Today felt like getting hit in the face with tomatoes: juicy, giant tomatoes that snickered as they splat against my forehead. Atrain awoke at 5:45 with a grumpy hangover. That didn't bode well for the day's activities: mapping the cochlear implants at the audiologist--a series of sound tests that also test Atrain's patience. So when we arrived at the audiologist I should have been more prepared for a difficult appointment. But I wasn't; especially because Atrain's vertigo spells had an effect on his cochlear maps. I guess that it's kind of like getting so sick that you experiencing drastic changes in vision and need a new glasses prescription overnight. Not a common phenomenon.

I definitely hadn't braced myself for impact of that fat tomato. My son's hearing has been somewhat 'blurry' since our trip to the ER on mother's day--maybe even before then. I hate things I can't control and don't understand. I especially hate that no one really knows what he is experiencing, that there are no solid warning signs or certain triggers, and essentially no answers. It's all educated guesswork, and it's hard to trust a trial and error process when my son's health is at stake.

Atrain is fine. He did much better at the appointment than I did, in fact. He took the tedious appointment in stride, patiently playing the electrode beep computer game and telling the audiologist what he could and could not hear. All the while, I sat there annoyed by my ignorance and all that I can’t control. I even started to imagine every rude, irresponsible thing I wanted to do when we left the office: cut people off in traffic without using my signal, change a poopy diaper on a restaurant table, allow my kids to yell, run and wreak havoc in a public library, etc. Then I pictured myself snapping back at all of the people shooting dirty looks in my direction. “Deal with it!” I yelled at each and every one of them. If only I were so brave. I’m sure it would feel good right now. Release some tension. Maybe even make me laugh. I need that.

Missing Texas

Home is sweet. As soon as we walked through the door I felt my entire body exhale. It’s good to be back in our beds. It’s good to be back by our neighbors (two of my favorites helped me carry in all the bags from the car in one trip—a fete that is rather impossible when attempted alone). It was even good to greet the pile of laundry in the hallway.

But we will miss Texas. We will miss the pool. We will miss the produce (the best cantaloupe and avocado I’ve had in a long time). We will miss the escape from ‘real’ to do lists. But most of all we will miss the husband.

Tonight Atrain ran to the door and swung it open when he heard that dada was on the phone. The husband usually calls around quittin’ time, and Atrain loves to greet him at the entrance to our apartment building. I tried to explain to him that dada is still in Texas. His face scrunched as he screamed, “NO! Dada will be home in five minutes.” I tried again to tell him that he is still in Texas. Atrain repeated his “NO!” response. He is very tired from the plane ride yesterday, and almost everything was a battle today. It didn’t take long for me to become exhausted with explanations about how “it will only be three more weeks.” So I just stopped trying and let Atrain believe that “NO—it will be only one minute!” I sure wish.