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.