A soft place to land

Gone so long - Update

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 24 Feb 2021 22:45:00 +0000

It feels weird to be back here. I've taken to different avenues of sharing the happenings in our lives, but today it felt like a good day to get back here. So much has changed since 2017.

Chad's Dad, James, passed away mid-year in 2017, followed by Uncle Ray, one of my Mother in Law's brothers. The day we found out about Uncle Ray I was on the phone with my Mom learning my Dad would need a pacemaker. They say bad news comes in threes and for sure that was true.

2018 turned out to be a rather uneventful year until the last month when we learned the cancer had returned for Chad's Mom. We had a lovely Thanksgiving and then the next week she was admitted to the hospital. When they admitted her, the ER doctor confessed he was not an oncologist, but he'd seen the same spots on her liver often enough in other people that he advised we prepare ourselves. It turned out to be on her pancreas and in her lungs too. Just as she'd stated several years before, she opted out of any treatment and instead decided to live out her remaining days without the funk and side effects of chemo and radiation which almost killed her before.

She lived for just over a month after that. The cancer returned very aggressively and we felt it prudent she move in with us. It was one of the compelling reasons we even bought the house we're in currently anyway. Although she was hesitant to agree, we explained she had no choice. I think part of her knew it was the right thing to do and it would always come to this. I never in my life thought the day would come I'd be giving a grown woman a shower, trimming toenails, or changing adult diapers, yet here we were and even more surprisingly, I felt it was so sacred, this act of tangibly loving someone through simple and ordinary acts of service. She'd cared for Chad in the same way when he was a baby and this life cycle of things turning around and us pouring the same amount of love back onto her felt like a perfect circle.

I hated it for her though because I knew she hated every moment that anyone had to dare take care of her. She told me as much and often lamented that she'd become our burden...a statement that still haunts me because she was nothing even close to a burden. We enjoyed having her here. The boys really delighted in having their Mammaw at their house all the time and when she passed, there was no guilt or shame in not having spent enough time with someone. We'd filled our cup way past the top with seeing her smile and committing her laugh to memory. It was good for her to be here even though I know she disliked being away from her home and not sleeping in her own bed. That's something everyone can relate to. A vacation is amazing, but nothing compares to sleeping in your own bed.

She had the softest, warmest hands, and most beautiful nails. It's been 2 years since her death and I miss her so much. We all do. She left a mark on all of us and often when I'm having a very selfish day, one full of irritation, I can hear her voice in my mind and remember to let it go and cherish the people around me.

As I mentioned, bad things seem to happen in threes and a month after Frances passed away, her youngest brother, Stan, very unexpectedly died. He had the flu, developed a blood clot, and the clot killed him. His death was as shocking as Ray's. He was a teddy bear and had the best laugh. He really cared about people and loved them well. He was so generous and loving.

It wasn't too long after his death that I got a really bad headache that didn't leave for around 22 months. It took some incredible fortitude to press forward in finding answers, which we finally received. I had a spontaneous CSF leak caused by MCAS. I also developed POTS due to the leak. It's been a nightmare and I'm still not fully okay in some ways. They're not noticeable to others, but just internally, my guts don't ever really feel right. Unfortunately, I think that's just a side effect of a leak or MCAS. I am doing better than I have been for the last 2 years though and am so thankful to be on this side of things.

The boys have only gotten bigger. Hayden is 15, Sebastian 12, and Lennon 8. Hayden is SO tall, his voice so deep, and is into music. He likes drumming and painting. Sometimes he'll get into cooking and invent some type of something that will knock your socks off. Earlier this month is was cinnamon rolls with a strudel/coffee cake type topping that everyone raved over. He's fully into clothing, like most teens, but has his own specific style. He loves cold weather and is growing his hair long. Right now, it's around chin length.

Sebastian, we can tell, is on the cusp of change. His hands and feet seem like they should not be as big as they are, but it's all the more evidence that he's about to hit another growth spurt. He loves all things cozy and soft and still climbs into bed with us for a snuggle, a quality I hope he never loses. He's such an amazing big brother to Lennon. They play so well together and Lennon idolizes Seb. He's taken an interest in art and just bought a Japanese instrument called a Tomotone with some Christmas money. He's never shy about doling out hugs, in fact it's the first thing he does every single day. He has a huge heart and I pray he never loses it. He often makes me think of Stan in how well he is able to care for and love others.

Lennon has taken us the most by surprise. We have nothing but good days now. There are remnants, at times, of SPD when it comes to his ability to process overwhelming sensations or stress. Food remains a big ordeal when he's confronted with something he does not want to eat, but he is doing remarkably well at school. His math and reading scores are higher than I would have expected. Not because I never thought him capable, but because the amount of distraction and stress he had to deal with on a daily basis always felt like this insurmountable obstacle for him. I know my focus is awful when I don't feel great or there's an itch on my nose that I just can't scratch. So for him, to have reached this place that he's been able to cope enough with the world to move beyond this affliction is incredible. He LOVES math, something I surely wish I shared with him. He is a bit of a hoarder, but at 8 it's somewhat of a delightful idiosyncrasy. Maybe when he's grown he won't end up on the TLC show Hoarders.

Chapters Closing

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 05 Apr 2017 17:04:00 +0000

I was not immune to the sight of how ridiculous I must have seemed. Wiping tears away, as I grinned from ear to ear and clapped along to the music.

“This is my fight song….take back my life song…”

I know. I know. I shouldn’t be crying, but I’m that Mom that gets teary eyed at school performances, no matter how cheesy. The sound of kid’s voices singing in unison just gets to me. So I cry. Big deal. I also have the same reaction to the National Anthem. I can’t help it and I don’t even know that I’d want to change if I could.

This is the last school performance of my baby’s elementary years. Next year, he’s packing it up and headed for middle school. Yuck. The school work gets harder, almost in direct correlation to the amount of testosterone and body odor they emit. We’re already there practically.

I have so many questions, and yet, I’m embarrassed to ask him. He’s still young enough that all of what’s happening to his body is as much a mystery to him as it is to me. I’m on a need to know basis and there’s so much that he doesn’t need me to know. I’m intrigued though. I’ve never been around a boy going through pre-puberty at this close of proximity. I have questions. He has answers, except not really. Does he have pit hair? What about his Adam’s apple? When will his voice change? Are girls an interest to him? Do they make him feel certain ways? How much can I ask and how much should I press for answers?

In a lot of ways, I feel like I’ve been given a completely different kid than the one I brought home from the hospital 11 ½ years ago.

Right now, he’s goofy and awkward and funny and doesn’t give a flip about what other people think. But soon, I’m so sad and concerned that this is going to change. Suddenly, the child turning into a man is going to be thrust into manhood and I’ll be looking around like “wait…where’d he go?”

As their voices lifted in unison, I cried happy tears because I have a lot of hope for these kids. I know that a lot of them are deep into the shallow end of feeling like they suck as people and they’ll never get better. They are just beginning to dabble into self-doubt. Or maybe they’re already there, but one thing is for sure…they have no clue about how much their parents think they hung the moon. I’m just so damn proud to be a Momma. There’s a lot of scolding that’s happening right now and detracting from my ability to tell my kids just how much they mean to me, but dadgummit, they are old enough and to know where dirty clothes go and I shouldn’t have to explain YET AGAIN where trash goes.

Right now, as a parent, I feel pulled in two directions.

I need my poker face turned on so that they can see I mean business. But I also DESPERATELY need them to see how much they mean to me, that I’m their biggest fan, and ain’t nobody better mess with my baby.

*Sigh*

Getting to the hard parts

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 31 Aug 2015 17:30:00 +0000

“Momma, I’m scared that I won’t have any friends when I get to high school. I’m scared I’ll just be a geek that no one likes.”

Why do my kids always drop these confessions on me, along with grade school theological philosophy at times when I least expect it? Like in the car when I need to dedicate a large part of my brain to operating the car and answering the demands of our youngest son who does not understand or accept that no, I cannot retrieve whatever item he’s thrown to the floor board in a fit of rage. Nor can I focus on any other conversation through his wailing.

I suppose after almost 10 years of parenting, however, I should be ready for anything.

This. This is what I’ve been holding my breath with fear and anxiety over.

Every milestone. Every birthday. Every single day that inched them closer to adolescence, was met with both joy and fear that this day would come. Despite our best efforts as parents to fill our children up with the greatest confidence in the world, I just knew that the social insecurities of other kids would start to creep into their precious minds causing them to believe for one moment that they weren’t awesome people.

Growing up, I seemed to struggle with it more than my dear husband. Nothing against him, it was just the difference in our communities: small vs. large. Or perhaps some people are just more confident than others. Why is it that some people march into this world with more mental fortitude than others? It’s taken me until my adult years to grasp the concept that I am who I am because I actually am uniquely made by a Creator that does not make mistakes. It took an awful long time to get here though.

Our oldest son is coming into an age that terrifies me. Not because of the mistakes he’ll make, but because there’s some stuff coming up on the horizon that nobody but him and Jesus will be able to bring him through. Looking back at my own adolescence, I just know. All the signs are there and I’m almost frozen with fear.

On one hand, it’s awful. On the other, I feel like my own experience with people less than kind to me and my own very powerful insecurities are what have made me a very compassionate and nonjudgmental person. I’m able to see both sides of the coin faster than you can tell me your own side of the story. Tell me your troubles and I bet money my heart will actually ache like it’s my own. Many a tear-filled prayer has been lifted on behalf of my friends and family, as if the trouble were my own. I hurt for people. I can’t watch the news because my dreams will be haunted with the injustices of the world. True story: I once wrote the Mayor of our town about a neglected cemetery on the edge of our neighborhood because I felt the deceased deserved a better legacy than a weed covered headstone. I also wrote the President about saving the rainforests because it hurt my heart to think of a future without them.

In short, I don’t know what to do. I speak life into my children as often as they’ll actually listen, but sometimes, actually a lot of the time, the world is more powerful for what seems like more than just a spell.

As a Mom, I have high expectations for my children. I know they are imperfect, just as we all are, but also I see them with a perspective that allows me to adore and cherish their quirks and idiosyncrasies. Those are the things that have made me laugh until I’ve cried and melted me to my knees. These are the things that I know will make them successful adults. The things that their spouses will fall for over any of their flaws. The things that will make them unlike anyone else and make them extraordinary.

And so it goes with all of us until we just reach a point where we embrace those parts of ourselves that have always been a little off-center, but made us who we are. If we, in fact, actually choose to do so, because I know too many adults that seem to be on the other side of their lives that still haven’t managed to do this. They fight it and in that turmoil wreak havoc in every area of their lives as a result of the inner strife that causes. Including their interactions with other people…like my babies.

If ever there was a time that I wish I had a magic wand that I could wave and see that everything was going to turn out okay for my kids, now is the time. I don’t mind that my kids struggle, because that builds character, but where do we draw the line in knowing how much is too much?

I wonder what the world would look like if we just all quit worrying about what other people thought and embraced the unique differences between us all. What if we all quit concerning ourselves with who was right and started just trying to understand the other person’s point of view? Instead of arguing with other people because how dare they think something different than us, agree that those differences in opinion were exactly what created a society that allows us to walk freely without fear of oppression or violence. What if?

I think the first thing to happen is we might actually begin to embrace the things that make us different and instead of thinking that no one is going to like us when we arrive at a certain destination that we might be more excited about how many new types of people we’ll meet.

I dunno. I just…don’t know.

This is the hard stuff, at least some of it anyway. Parenting is becoming more complex. I guess that’s the way it is though. Just like a long distance race. It gets harder and harder the closer you get to the finish line.

Lord, help us.

Children are not children for very long

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Fri, 17 Jul 2015 20:14:00 +0000

I’ve been dreading this time since the day our oldest was born. I vividly remember sitting in the rocking chair of the nursery and sobbing very audibly over our 1 week old son and being so overwhelmed with sorrow that he’d never be a week old ever again. The moments between the double line on the pregnancy test and the day we first laid eyes on him seemed like the blink of an eye, and so it’s gone ever since.

Children are not children for very long.

Motherhood is such a push-pull between wanting stages to pass and simultaneously last till the end of time. Naps with baby interrupted by a fussy baby’s protest of that same nap. The slip slap of feet on the kitchen floor as the dimpled bottom of a giggling and naked toddler runs away before you can get the diaper on only for them to hide and do their business behind a closet door. The hugs and kisses after a meltdown. And so it goes through parenting young children. You want a lot of it to pass quickly, but not at the sacrifice of the sweet moments that can only come connected at the hip with the bad stuff.

Even from go, you earned the name “The Teenager” because of your seemingly mature mannerisms. Fluctuating personalities and quirks similar to a 2 year old tot, a teenage boy, and an 80 year old man, I could see you growing before my very eyes, as also evidenced by the rapid pace at which we had to replace your clothes with bigger sizes.

Last night you confessed that you knew the truth about Santa, and as your father broke the news to me, a part of my heart broke into a million pieces. Not because we’ve been found out, but because of what it all represents. You don’t believe, and so I have to question if that season of the year will be as magical for you. For every mature reality you begin to accept, more and more of the innocence of your youth seems to fade. You’ll be 10 in a couple of months and this fact weighs on my heart because it’s unfamiliar territory and full of scary challenges. Some you’ll have to experience on your own and some you don’t need to experience on your own, but you’ll be hard pressed to ask for our help.

We spend so much time as babies are babies and then toddlers and preschoolers just preoccupied with trying to survive and perhaps teach you important life lessons in the mix of all the chaos. We’re so busy washing hands, wiping noses, and tying shoes that it’s easy to get distracted by the fact that time is passing. And before we know it, we’ve returned from taking another kid to the bathroom to find that you’ve gone and grown up again. Kind of like getting lost in conversation with a friend and the hours pass too quickly to even hear the clock tick by. We look up and our breath gets caught in our throat as we wonder if we remembered to tell you this thing or that thing and terrified that we were so caught up in the detail that we never saw the forest for all of the trees.

At the same time of your confession, you are showing us a level of maturity that reassures us that you just might be okay despite our preoccupation with the daily comings and goings of life. You almost relish in the fact that you know a mature truth and you cannot dare spoil the secret for your younger brothers. Like the Cheshire cat, you grin at knowing you are older now and therefore, want to prove to us that you are responsible.

You make us so proud every single day. In some way or another.

But I’m just so sad. Because it starts with one and before I know it, the other two will have grown up on me too.

Life is so hectic with 3 young children, but it’s so much fun. I have all these boys that fill my life up with chaos and hilarity that not many other people understand. I feel like I’m part of a very exclusive club open by invitation only. It’s so cool and yet, so insane at the same time.

So, you know. And I suppose I knew it was coming sooner or later, but I just didn’t want it to happen so soon.

As they say, the days are long, but the years are short.

Very, very short.

The Other Boy Continued

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Fri, 30 Jan 2015 18:32:00 +0000

It was April when we caught a glimpse of the other boy (Read about that here) that we had not seen in so long, we thought perhaps he'd left long ago. The nicer, less screamy one stayed for a few months, but gradually began to fade into the toddler that we were well familiar with. The one that threw tantrums that I could only describe as what I would imagine a trapped honey badger might sound and act like. The kid that was exhausting and caused me to dig deep to find any patience to tolerate or ignore.

When Lennon would dive headfirst into a meltdown, there was no way of knowing what would cause its end. Ignoring it, addressing it, hugging it out, shouting, spanking, time out, hiding from him...all of it seemed to just feed into the rage before us. It seemed that the only thing that worked was Lennon hurting himself in an act of flailing. Either slamming his head into the floor, kicking a bare foot into a bookcase, or flapping at the wall would snap him out of his rage and cause him to seek out comfort. It's terrible when your child is in distress and the only thing you can do to help him is wait for him to hurt himself and pray it happens sooner rather than later. Nothing. Else. Worked.

It was a week ago that we finally got an answer we were praying for and while we're so relieved to know that there's a legitimate reason for Lennon's angst, it also comes with a heavy realization of just what he's been going through all this time.

They say he has Sensory Processing Disorder and we're waiting for more direction on what we do next. I know Occupational Therapy is in his future, but when that starts is a great guess.

This morning one of the evaluators sent me an article and it gives fantastic insight into how Lennon processes the world.

http://www.sensory-processing-disorder.com/sensory-processing-disorders.html

The tears started as soon as I read the description of the car. Flashing back to all the many struggles to even put clothes on his body and my anger and frustration with not understanding why pants were such a big deal. To know he's most likely been in pain during the last 2 years and/or just completely out of sync with his surroundings...good grief I can't imagine the frustration.

Just even knowing that his struggle has a name has made all the difference in the world with adjusting to him at home. Knowing that it's way more than just typical 2 year old challenges and he legitimately cannot help himself certainly has a way of softening your heart to his plight.

My heart is absolutely broken in seeing a tiny glimpse of what he must feel.

These are the rules of engagement

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 26 Nov 2014 17:55:00 +0000

These are the rules of engagement

Joint Task Force For Toddler Relief Operation

Ground Forces Rules of engagement

Nothing in these rules of engagement limits your right to use force to defend yourself against attacks or threats of attack, otherwise known as every parental interaction in the scope of toddler life.

You have the right to use force to defend yourself against attacks or threats of attack, otherwise known as Mom and/or Dad engaging in the following behaviors:

Placing clothing on your person
Feeding you any semblance of food unrequested by you. You should assume it is poisonous and destroy it immediately.
Stopping you from sticking your finger or tongue into an electrical socket or strangling the cat.

Hostile fire may be returned effectively and promptly to stop a hostile act. Hostile acts to include, but are not limited to:

Buckling you into your carseat.
See Note 1.

When toddler forces are attacked by unarmed hostile elements, mobs and/or rioters (i.e. parents), toddler forces should use the minimum force necessary under the circumstances and proportional to the threat. Acceptable force to include, but not limited to:

Screaming
Crying
Hollering
Kicking
Hitting
Swatting
Backfisting
Screaming Ow or that hurts.
A combination of all of the above

You may not seize the property of others to accomplish your mission. Unless you take it while no one is watching and you glare at them evilly when they do see you and attempt to correct you.

Detention of civilians is authorized for security reasons or in self-defense. In other words, they are your parents and they are stuck with you

Remember

1. The United States is not at war, but you are and love is a battlefield

2. Treat all persons with dignity and respect, except for your parents and the cat. They are both plotting on you.

3. Use minimum force to carry out your mission. Which actually means to use excessive force and volume.

4. Always be prepared to act in self-defense.

When the dentist made me question my abilities as a parent

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 05 Nov 2014 17:43:00 +0000

I laid my head on the desk fighting back tears. In one awful day I managed to question everything about my life. Feeling like a failure of a mother, I gathered my children buckled them into the car and drove.

It all started with the realization that the boys were overdue for a dental checkup. Seeing as how Lennon is almost 3, it seemed like a good time to also introduce him to the dentist. Ideally, I would have rather him been seen before now, but given his behavior during the course of 2013 to now, it didn't seem fair to unleash that on an unsuspecting hygienist.

Upon calling our local dental clinic, the receptionist greeted me with a very chipper voice and explained that the boys would all be new patients given the length of time since their last visit.

Questioning her logic, I asked about the date of their last checkup.

"January...2013,"she replied.

I gasped audibly and said "That can't be! I'll have to call you back."

In a panic I glanced through my planner from 2013 and all of 2014 and could not find another appointment where the boys had seen the dentist. In a tailspin, I could feel the weight of depression begin to sink in. The disbelief that I had allowed almost 2 years to pass since their last checkup. Mind you, they aren't great with their oral hygiene, so the dentist is our professional attempt at stellar hygiene. In my mind, as long as they are making those checkups twice a year, we're doing our best. Aside from that and certainly despite our best efforts, Hayden is prone to cavities and they're idea of brushing is more closely aligned with sloppily moving a toothbrush around their mouth while chewing on the bristles. I know it seems like a cliche' excuse, but as the exhausted mother of three, half of the time I forget to brush my own teeth, much less remember to brush theirs. I always make commitments that I should really try to do better and stay on top of them about brushing their teeth, but something always gets in the way and I forget. Mind you, I've never been stellar about my own dental health. I would love to live in a world where flossing was my number one priority, but sadly it's not. We remind them and always tell them to brush and they do, but the smell of their breath tells us they don't do such a great job. If it's really terrible we will intervene but most of the time we're simply both too tired to get up and actually put the brush in their mouth. I know, I know. I really don't need the lecture. But nevertheless, here I find myself in my office on a Tuesday fighting off the the depths of depression about my failure as a mother because I haven't been able to find the time to actually make an appointment to take my children to the dentist.

I flashed back to a month prior at Sebastian's parent teacher conference where his teacher informed me that he was behind in reading. Flashing back to the year prior when we really would have buckled down to do more reading with him and I recall many, many nights with Lennon screaming throughout bedtime and it taking both Chad and me to simply make it through those nights without shaking him. That sounds horrible, I know. As I sat there, still baffled that so much time had passed since their last visit, and recalled all the events looking back through my calendar and just how many doctors appointments Lennon had, it occurred to me that dental checkups were the last thing on my mind. Reading to my middle son was the last thing on my mind during that time.

And it made me sad all over again.

I know I can't change the fact that an entire year was taken from us, and my goodness I do know that in the scheme of things of what parents deal with, this is so minor. But I can't help but be sad for all that was lost. The effects are far-reaching, and we are still dealing with it.

I suppose the dentist was just the straw that broke the camel's back. But nevertheless, I found myself feeling that if I did not get them a dentist appointment that day all of their teeth would fall out of their mouth and we would be left with gummy smiles and dentured children.

So I set off to call around and find another dentist. In my mind, I cannot possibly face their last dentist which we have now been absent from for almost two years. Not to mention, they can't even see them until March. But seriously, the perceived judgment is just too much. I have always prided myself on managing to keep it together for the most part. I do struggle with feeling like I'm on the cusp of always falling apart, but somehow things stay together.

At this point, I feel it appropriate to respond to the question I get most often, which is "I just don't know how you do it all Kellye?" And to that I would answer that I don't. I just barely keep it together. It's in moments like this that I realize that I'm doing a terrible job of doing even that. I can't seem to even do the most basic thing like getting my children to the dentist twice a year. These are the thoughts in my mind anyway.

As I called around, I stumbled upon a clinic very close to our house and I got excited when I spoke to them and learned we had actually seen this dentist in 2009 but had not yet been back. Racking my brain to determine why on earth we would never have gone back, I came up empty so I called hopeful that this might be a winner. As if the light had broken at dawn from a terribly sleepless night, the kind woman on the other end of the phone responded that they could see all three boys that afternoon. Desperate and again feeling as if I was fighting a deadline not to let my children's teeth fall out of their mouth, I joyfully responded that we'd take it! It was only after that I realized we needed to get the insurance straight and perhaps that might have been the reason we did not return for another checkup post 2009.

I asked the lady to please run our policy number and call me back to let me know if they were a network provider. She promised that she would, but hours went by with time quickly winding down until our appointment and still no word from her. With approximately 30 minutes to go until their appointment, I called again to check. "Oh let me try again and I'll call you right back!" And she did...to let me know that yes, in fact, they were a network provider.

With exactly 18 minutes until their appointment I rushed out of my office in a hurry, arriving at the daycare at the time of their appointment. Literally running through daycare to collect my three children.

"Let's go! Let's go! Let's go! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

"We're only 8 minutes late" I reassured myself and fighting the damning voice in my head that is appalled at tardiness. Slamming the car in park and unlocking the doors for the big kids to unload and FANTASTIC, Lennon is one less shoe, which I dig very quickly to find under the seat. Running into the office sweating, panting, and hair a mess, I announce that the Smiths are here!

With hope and relief, I look at the Receptionist, whose face begins to contort with obvious remorse. "I'm so sorry" she started, as I fought the urge to plug my ears and ignore what was to come next.

In some crazy coincidence, another Smith family had called earlier that day. They also with 3 children and also new patients, but with another insurance carrier and an appointment directly following ours.

When I called she assumed she was speaking to that lady, the answer to her question being yes, they were certainly a network provider. For our dental insurance, they were not a network provider. Questioning what the balance would be for each of my children it was clear to me that this was not going to work out. And it was then that I laid my head on her desk and really fought off the tears.

It seems so melodramatic, I realize, but also know that I've never claimed sanity and this day was just further evidence to the internal battle I've fought since the very first day I took Hayden to daycare so I could return to work. Being a working Mom is tough. Being a Mom is tough. Period. The end.

We're halfway there

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 09 Sep 2014 01:44:00 +0000

It started when I saw him running toward me and my breath got stuck in my throat because there was no way that the long limbed man-child running toward me was my oldest son. He just seemed to have matured so much in one day’s time.

The next time, I was sorting laundry and I glanced at the tag to confirm the size so it landed in the right stack. 10-12. I couldn’t seem to catch them fast enough as the tears started to fall.

This year, on the first day of school, not only was it the first day of a new school year for our oldest and middle child, but it was a milestone for me. It was the first year I didn’t cry on the first day of school. Not so much as a tear fell from my face and my heart really seemed to be full of so much hope and peace that no tear found its way to be shed.

After the addition of our youngest son, the Dude, I felt myself so consumed with such a different set of emotions. The birth of our first and second born was met with equal happiness and sadness. Happy over the incredible miracle that a baby is, but sadness over the fact that the pregnancy was over and those babies would never be as close to me as they were in utero. Every day outside of the womb was one step away from needing me. So much of my identity as a person is wrapped up in being a Mom to little bitties, that every year older they became, is another step away from that role. These children never stop growing, you know.

I adore babies and newborns have always been something so incredibly special to me. Even very difficult pregnancies are something to be treasured and marveled at because, I mean…you grow a human being without doing a thing. The fact that a woman’s body has been created to do that is beyond any level of my own comprehension. I love children. Every year older I get, the more I appreciate them because they are so opposite from adults and the ugliness of the world. After the birth of our middle son, I struggled and at every turn fought the idea that our family was complete, but feared that it might be and simply, I was not ready to say we were done with babies.

But then Lennon slid into this world and suddenly, his birthday did not greet me with conflicting emotions. Purely, I was just happy and our family finally felt complete. Each birthday is now met with a sigh of relief that we might finally have these baby days behind us. Although miraculous and special, I can appreciate pregnancy and newborns from afar and breathe easily and happily that those days are behind us. There’s no longing, on my behalf, when I pass a pregnant woman or a couple with a new baby. Perhaps it’s due to being so exhausted and overwhelmed by our third-born, but nonetheless, every step forward is greeted with appreciation for where we are now and excitement about the future.

But now, a whole new set of emotions has surfaced, and it’s all due to our oldest turning 9 in just shy of 1 week. Parents of children that have already left the nest will use this time to jump in to say how fast the time from 9 to 18 will go and then they’re off to college. We’re halfway there. By no means is 18 the end of our role as parents, but it’s a banner year. Technically, they’re adults and we’re less responsible for the decisions they make. It’s the beginning of the rest of their lives.

I’m just not ready for this. At all. Not by a long shot. He’s almost a teenager, and I’m enjoying the person that he is right now. He’s such a spectacular kid. Obsessed with science and enthralled with the workings of the world. I’m the only girl he’s into and things won’t stay that way for long.

*Sigh* The Teenager will soon be a teenager.

Do the best with where you are right now

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Fri, 05 Sep 2014 17:15:00 +0000

I sat at a red light feeling like an utter failure.

My children were in the back seat, the older boys arguing like typical siblings, and the 2 year old screaming like an animal. It had been a long work day and their behavior wasn’t making me feel any less stressed about leaving the office to start the long decline until bedtime.

A mental snapshot of the condition of my house surfaced at the front of my mind and the defeat felt even heavier…the laundry in a wrinkled pile on the couch, the muddy paw prints from the dog and crumbs all over the kitchen floor, the dust bunnies and thick layer of dust collecting on every knick knack, the once small, now large (thanks to our 2 year old), section of wall paper that had been pulled from the wall, the dirty moldings around the door frames and every surface of our home covered with filthy finger prints. Don’t even get me started on the too small clothes the boys had outgrown crowding the closets. Good grief, it seems we live in squalor.

The red light changes just as I hand a granola bar to the hooligans in the back seat. Probably has enough high fructose corn syrup in there to kill their livers, I think to myself, but I guess it will do until we got home for dinner. What are you going to cook anyway? I thought and kicked myself that yet again, I had not done a meal plan like I’d promised myself every week before.

30 minutes later and the boys were settled in their respective childcare areas at the gym, but not before the two-year old let me know how much he disapproved of me spending any time on myself. He wailed and screamed as I shut the door behind me and took a deep breath to get in the right headspace to attempt a workout.

Earbuds in and I’m ready. 15 minutes into a run on the treadmill and one of the women that works in childcare smiles sheepishly at me as she walks in my direction.

Please don’t let her need me. Not right now.

Crap. She does. A dirty diaper and I know this means that my workout is now over.

Maybe this time he’ll let me off the hook.

Not a chance. I change his diaper and attempt to leave, but Lennon is in hysterics and shows no sign of calming.

I collect my things and we head home.

The boys are starving, so it’s a dash to cook anything. In an effort to keep my diet in check, I opt to cook their dinner and get to mine later. An animal cracker here, a sandwich crust there, I’m on my fifth bite of whatever is in front of me before I realize that I’ve completely blown all the hard work I put in that day to stay disciplined. The 2 year old is attempting to free jump out of his high chair and the older boys proclaim they hate what I’ve prepared, even though they happily ate the same thing last week without grumbling.

This is life and it’s so easy to get lost in the constant chatter of things not turning out how we’d hoped. I wish I had hours to spend in the gym to actually complete a workout without interruption, and some days that happens. Maybe not hours, but one hour is sufficient.

Our house is dirty. It's messy. The collection of junk and stuff we don't need abounds, and maybe one day soon, we'll get to one or the other. My husband likes to lament about the condition of our home, but I just can't find a care to give.

This is where we are right now. My diet isn't perfect all the time, but I give a good effort 90% of the time. I exercise my body in some way, almost every day of the week.

Our life could be described as messy, but it certainly won't be that way forever.
One day, animal crackers and sandwich crusts won't make their way to my mouth as I scramble to feed the natives. One day, our laundry hamper will take longer to fill. One day, my car and my clothes won't be laden with food particles from the sticky hands of a two year old.

It's so easy to get caught up in feeling like I've failed because I cannot keep all the plates spinning at one time. One is inevitably going to fall and bust into a million pieces.

So right now, unite exhausted parents, unite and know that it won't be this way forever. One day, we will get it together and the stuff that's bothering us now will all be a memory.

Today, take a deep breath and know that it's going to be okay.

All's fair in love and...parenting.

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 12 Jun 2014 19:56:00 +0000

Once upon a time, two little boys accompanied their mother to Target. Their mother foolishly thought that it’d be a good idea to take said boys into the dressing room with her as she tried on swimsuits. The mother thought nothing of this plan since every modicum of modesty as it pertains to nudity in their home, had gone out the window the moment these children came into the world. The children never mentioned it and none of them made a big deal. Bodies are bodies. Little did the mother know that was all set to change in that dressing room on that fine day.

It started with the 4 year old boy who screamed as loud as he could when he laid eyes on his mother now in the process of trying on said swimsuit, and announced with his outside voice that “MOMMA’s GOT BOOBS!!!” To which his mother turned bright red and shushed her 4 year old to lower his voice. However, knowing how children operate, this only added fuel to the flame. The 4 year old began chanting this phrase over and over again as his younger brother laughed and then began to chant along with him.

As quickly as she could, the mother redressed and collected her children and her things, face flushed with embarrassment, and marched right out of Target, never again to return to another dressing room with her children...at least not one that she’d be using to change clothes.

True story. Aside from Hayden’s (what we considered then) epic meltdowns at the age of 2 & 3, I’d never been more embarrassed in my life. Since then, as parents, my husband and I have experienced countless other moments of embarrassment caused by our children. Like the time Sebastian pulled his pants down and peed on the floor at a store on an Indian reservation. Or the time Hayden opened his towel after undressing from a dip in the pool, to reveal his birthday suit, exclaiming to all the party goers "y'all really wanna see this!" Or the time he told his preschool teacher that he wanted to ride her boobs. We log those moments away in our minds as a sort of tally count for just how justified we will be when the opportunity arises for us to return the favor.

Hayden is 8. He’s now at the age that things are starting to embarrass him…little brothers, Disney movies involving beautiful princesses, the mere mention of cheerleaders, or asking him how many girls he kissed any day of the week. We see his face flush just before he buries it in his knees.

It’s fine to be embarrassed. It’s healthy. A little dose of humility never hurt anyone. In fact, I believe we’re all better for it.

What’s not okay, however, is to hurt someone as a result of them embarrassing you.

It was raining buckets earlier this week, so the kids got to watch movies while at daycare. The popular pick was Frozen. Now this is where I had to do a little bit of investigation as a Mom. I’m not there, so I didn’t see it go down, but what they tell me happened is they put the movie on, and suddenly, my 8 year old boy grew agitated, plugged his ears, and expressed a general and exaggerated disgust for the movie selection. His younger brother, Sebastian, genuinely concerned and confused, innocently inquired “But I thought you liked Frozen, Hayden!” And that’s when Hayden punched his little brother in the back.

My best guess is that Hayden thought Sebby was trying to embarrass him, so he retaliated.

I get it. They’re brothers, but hauling off and whopping your brother because he asked a question, is not okay.

So what we have here, my friends, is a little turnabout is fair play. We like to take a slightly different approach to discipline. It’s common in our house when our boys can’t stop fighting, to make them sit facing each other to repeat “He ain’t heavy. He’s my brother.” back and forth to each other. It usually takes only seconds before the tension fizzles and they dissolve into uncontrollable giggles. We could have grounded Hayden for hitting his brother, but it just didn’t seem to fit.

And this is where I profess the sheer brilliance of my husband. During a trip to WalMart, he picked up a $5 poster of Elsa from Frozen. He showed it to Hayden and told him he was going to hang it in his room. Hayden was mortified at even the thought, but I don’t think Hayden believed that his Dad would do such a thing.

Oh yes, he did.

We’re not sure how long we’ll leave it up there, but it certainly sent the message home and I’m not sure our sweet Hayden will ever react in such a way ever again. Embarrassment hits home folks.

That’s called winning.

The other boy

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 17 Apr 2014 14:05:00 +0000

It was a week ago that we approached the day filled with hope and equal anxiety. After a year long struggle with what seemed to be a host of health issues for our youngest son, we were prepared that another door would slam in our faces. Surely, such a simple procedure couldn't solve the hell we were living in.

But it did. And many have asked me if I'm angry with our pediatrician, and while I'm inclined to say yes, I can't stay angry for long. As it often is found, the journey we walk provides a testimony for others. I fully believe that I'm a small part in a huge story and the path that I follow, including the stumbles and face-plants along the way, are meant to help others.

I'm not sure that anyone fully grasped the magnitude of issues that we faced on a daily basis with Lennon. What started as a nod to the terrible two's started early at the age of 12 months, slowly matured into 90 minute to 2 hour meltdowns on a daily basis, multiple times a day. Lennon was only barely using words at the age of 2 and his behavior was similar to a manic. He could toddle around the house without a care in the world and suddenly launch himself into a full-blown meltdown of epic proportions, that nothing could stifle. No amount of love, cuddling, or discipline could stop him. Instead, like a seizure, you had to let it run its course. Lest you wanted to live with a busted lip or bruises, it was best to ensure he was safe, and walk away. If you found yourself lucky enough to successfully walk away from him and not have him follow you, which was common, it was impossible to escape it completely. Neighbors have reported having heard him in the evenings when we both had our houses locked up tight. I'm certain it must have seemed like we were harboring a lunatic, or at the very least, were beating our child senseless. Nighttime was brutal. He'd often wake at 2 a.m. and scream and cry for what seemed like hours on end. He seemed tortured and tormented by what felt like something that sat just outside of our reach.

Do you know how long a year lasts when you're miserable? Do you know that misery is only compounded when, as a mother, you find yourself completely at a loss as to how to remedy the situation? I'm hard-wired by God to know how to help my children, but with Lennon, I was at a complete loss and dealt with feeling that I'd completely failed my child. To be completely honest, Lennon was a manifestation of my nightmares. He single-handedly caused me to question everything I knew about being a mother. Not many people would ever admit it, but I'm an honest person, and let's all be real, we don't always like our kids. We love them, sure, but there are days when those kids really have a way of showing you why creatures in the wild eat their young. Over the last year, I didn't like Lennon. At all. In fact, he scared me. I even sought counseling to find a way to cope. The last year has given me a new perspective on parents that shake their children. The human brain and emotional system can only take so much before it begins to find a way to seek comfort and make the discomfort stop. We never shook Lennon or hurt him in any way, let me be clear, but during the throes of his meltdowns, the thoughts that pass through your mind can be scary. It's similar to an abusive relationship where one person is scared to leave. Only in our case, we couldn't leave. Our tormentor was our son.

It's easy to blame our Pediatrician and question how he could have let something so easily fixed, go untreated for so long. But no one could have known. Lennon's issues have been all over the map, not really pointing to an issue with his ears until recently. As we approached his 1st birthday, he had low iron and was not gaining weight. He was small, yes, but when we looked at him, we didn't see a failure to thrive baby, as his pediatrician had labeled him. He didn't appear unhealthy. So our first stop was with a hematologist, and let me be the first to tell you of all the places you never want to have to take your baby, it's a hematologist. Hematologists typically practice in cancer clinics. Why would we have been referred to one? Because anemia and slow growth are symptoms of leukemia in babies. This was the beginning of the end for me. Watching them hold Lennon down to draw 4 vials of blood from his already tiny body, will always haunt me. They tested for all sorts of things, all of which Lennon was cleared.

Back to our pediatrician and despite some interventions with Pediasure and other dietary work, we were referred to a dietician and a G.I. Specialist. The dietician was a wash, as we were already doing the healthier things that were suggested like calorie dense foods, combined with Pediasure. The G.I. specialist was more helpful and really dug in to arrive at the conclusion that Lennon had acid reflux. Which was a rational conclusion to reach, given his lack of interest in food, the night wakings, and the constant state of misery he seemed to be in. So we tried Zantac. After 2 weeks, we felt that Lennon was improving, but almost as soon as he seemed to improve, he declined once again. A follow up with the G.I. doctor prompted her to put us on Prevacid granules and also, prompted her to discuss having Lennon's hearing and speech evaluated. The granules ended up being a complete joke because trying to get a spoonful of apple sauce with these granules in Lennon's mouth was similar to trying to breastfeed a python. We listened to our guts and decided to forgo the Prevacid completely and urge our pediatrician to see us to explore hearing and speech evaluations.

If you'd have asked me how many words Hayden could say, I could pull a list from my purse. I knew to the day, when he said what. Sebastian, I knew a little less, but still knew a good bit. By the time Lennon became verbal, it was a crap shoot of when he said what or how many words he could say. He's our third child, and honestly, we were so consumed by putting out the fires of his meltdowns on a daily basis, while also caring for our older boys, that I had no clue. So at Lennon's 18 month appointment, when his doctor asked me if he could say 10-20 words, I said sure. It wasn't until the G.I. specialist started asking some very specific questions about Lennon's development, that I started to really think about Lennon's capabilities.

Could he say 10-20 words really? Questionable.
Had he ever called out to me from another room to locate me? Never.
Had he ever brought a toy to me to attempt to engage me in play? Nope.
Had he ever just come to me to get my attention, when he wasn't already crying? Never.
Had I ever heard him make the sounds of an animal or car when looking at a book? Negative.

With each question she asked, small light bulbs in my brain began to brighten, until suddenly I was confronted with the reality that my son was definitely delayed and perhaps, what we were dealing with had less to do with his actual health, and more to do with his development.

Eventually, we were referred for speech and hearing evaluations. Speech was the first and after a 2 hour evaluation, she determined that Lennon was, in fact, delayed. At 2 weeks shy of 2, Lennon was functioning as an 18 month old and while 6 months seems relatively tame, in baby land, 6 months is huge. Put a newborn next to a 6 month old. Huge difference. A 12 month old next to an 18 month old. Big difference. And so it goes for each age. The speech evaluator definitely thought there was a good chance something was going on with his ears. Has he had an excessive number of ear infections? Nope. Just a normal amount. Was he clumsy? Not more than any other child his age. Does he respond to his name? Maybe 50% of the time.

The hearing evaluation was the most eye-opening visit of them all. Lennon's ear drums and cochlea barely responded to the stimulations and it was only at a high volume that he responded to the evaluators voice. All of which were consistent with mild to moderate hearing loss associated with fluid buildup and resulted in a referral to an ENT and most likely tubes. We were so hopeful that this was our answer that we practically danced into the ENT's office on the date of our appointment. The ENT looked in Lennon's ears and asked us a few questions and ultimately decided that yes, we should proceed with tubes because enough evidence was present to justify the procedure. But then, "It may work, it may not work. Usually, you only see that type of behavior with extreme hearing loss and Lennon only exhibits mild hearing loss." Everyone from our pediatrician to now the ENT were starting to throw around autism as a possibility, that the room started to spin. It was as if the wind had been pulled from our sails. So we collected our things and drove home with disappointment soaked souls.

To have felt that we were finally going to get somewhere, only to be confronted with the reality that this might not work after all and angry Lennon might just be the kid we had for the rest of our lives. Sobering. Another brick in the wall.

On the day of the surgery, I found myself so conflicted. Hope is a funny thing and even though I was beginning to accept that this was just another dead end, I was still very encouraged and hopeful. I'd heard too many stories from parents with children that had a similar dispositions to Lennons and how much improvement parents saw in their children almost immediately, that I couldn't help but attach myself to that outcome.

The surgery itself took 20 minutes. Our life completely changed for the better in 30. Because in only 10 minutes after seeing him after surgery, his entire demeanor had changed. By that afternoon, he was running and playing. He said Momma for the first time without wailing. He engaged in play with me. We laughed a lot and my heart nearly burst with joy.

Day 2 was much of the same, and so has every day since then. He's still 2, so don't mistake me in thinking that he hasn't shown those sharp angles of the former person we've gotten to know so well over the last year. But those fits pale in comparison to the meltdowns he used to have. He sat with me and let me read to him. He's repeating all sorts of words, and he's babbling non-stop. He listens. His fits last 5 minutes and even the tone and pitch of the cry is different than before.

I'm sad that we'll never get the past year back, but there's no sense in hanging my coat on a hook of anger towards someone or something that no one could have seen. The surgeon and the nurse remarked that he had "a lot of fluid" after the surgery, which leads us to believe it was even more than the ENT could even see at his first glance. No one could have known that this baby needed tubes this whole time. No one.

We're on the other side of this, and this Momma's heart is whole. My sunshine has returned and I've got my baby back.

And may the odds be ever in your favor

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 18 Mar 2014 03:00:00 +0000

The day began in true Lennon form. With a back fist to my eye ball and a similar good morning to his Daddy, Lennon emitted his typical good morning greeting. (Loud and screeching are adjectives that come to mind.)

I paused and prayed, as I am wont to do these days, that today just might be different. It was his birthday after all and you should be happy on your birthday. Not dramatic and whiney and angry and all roid ragey, but happy and very much like a scene from the tales of Winnie the Pooh.

We did get lucky though and after a somewhat rocky start to the day, Lennon found his smile and also his giggle box. I do like it when he finds those, or rather, they find him. The day to ensue is sure to be fun for all.

As our children have gotten older, my opinion of birthday parties has changed. I used to be all for throwing together a nice little shindig with streamers, balloons, and an assortment of snacks. These days, I do everything I can to persuade my children to consider other options than the birthday party. They just require so much effort and planning. I'm the girl that willingly opted for a marriage at the Courthouse with the Justice of Peace to avoid all the hoopla of a wedding, so it really only makes sense that my party planning would follow suit eventually.

Let's also just be honest. Lennon is at a stage in life that consists of moments in between tantrums, not the other way around. I'm not even sure tantrum is an appropriate descriptor for his outbursts. Don't tantrums have a time limit? Say 30 minutes? I'd say once you cross the threshold of an hour long scream-fest, you've really entered new territory. His "tantrums" only worsen when he's overwhelmed or overstimulated, and I'm sure all of our friends and family appreciate the nod to proactive headache management by not subjecting them to it.

We did lots of celebrating, just more low key. It started with lunch the day before with my parents at a local pizza restaurant, which included two types of cupcakes and Lennon enjoyed double fisting a sampling of each. Next, a trip to Toys R Us to let him pick out whichever toy he wanted compliments of his Mammaw and Pappaw. As we expected, a ball (his favorite right now), a car, and a bouncy green dragon all came home with us. Later in the day, he opened an outdoor water table from his Grammy & Poppy, which his big brothers proceeded to put together and as soon as it was practicable, Lennon climbed on and tested the stability by standing in it. The next day, we hit up a local park and not another soul on the planet had the same idea, because we had the place to ourselves. Lennon got to swing to his heart's content, walk through mud, pick up sticks and various bugs, and go in any direction he chose. The name of the game was follow the leader, and Lennon was the leader, except of course when we was fully on board with whatever his biggest brother had in mind. There was playing, more cupcake eating, a visit from Aunt Kacey, Uncle Austin, and cousin Riley, more cupcakes, and finally swimming at an indoor pool. At some point in there, we managed to sneak in a 10 minute nap, and then the rest of the day he ran in circles around the house.

He's 2 and in so many ways, I sent up a celebratory hallelujah that we survived the past year. I won't sugarcoat it in the very least. The past year has been a major challenge and has stretched our parenting bones in ways I can't even begin to describe. I've questioned every ounce of on the job training that I've earned as an 8 1/2 year old parent, and I imagine that's the way it'll go for the rest of our lives as parents.

We are hopeful and we are blessed. Recognizing that despite Lennon's uncontrollable outbursts, that we are immensely blessed with not just one, but three children, that are the picture of health. One good thing about the battery of tests Lennon's been put through over the year, is that we know that every organ in his body is perfectly healthy. We are hopeful because we're finally gaining some traction on a possible answer to why our boy might be so utterly exasperated most of the time. I am ever prayerful that the lessons we've learned and the story we've told thus far, can only serve to make us laugh as we look back, and perhaps provide another exhausted parent some humor, compassion, and a means to make even just one person not feel so alone.

Happiest of birthdays to the littlest lulu.

With love from our family and to all,

Birthday wishes

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 25 Feb 2014 23:00:00 +0000

For my 31st birthday, I treated myself to an early morning run, that ended with a front row seat to watch the sun rise. It was beautiful and filled me with such an appreciation of another year on this Earth. Just another year to be a part of this life, to watch my kids and neice and nephews grow, to love my husband, to learn new things, to live life as best I can. I decided that very day that it seemed like a very solid birthday tradition to begin and so, I set my mind to it last night that I'd do the same in celebration of my 32nd birthday.

I've learned that I have a far better chance of making good on things like that when I say them out loud. And so I did, but apparently, Lennon was listening in his sleep, because he started wishing me happy birthday in the language of his people shortly after midnight. And he continued with this every 30 minutes or so until the sun came up. The language of his people is loud. It is spoken and sung with a very gruff and agitated tone. It is coupled with climbing next to the people he loves most and kicking them in the ribs while shouting in their ears. It is a language that I've not yet become fluent in, though I can only guess (and hope) that perhaps he was very excited about my birthday and just couldn't contain himself.

Needless to say, I did not begin my birthday with an sunrise run.

Birthdays as an adult have the tendency to really suck. I mean, it's not like you get to blow off work and chores and hit the bar to drink all day, though perhaps I should line that up for next year. You still have life that needs tending and if you're a parent, kids that need parenting and dear Heaven, if they are in school, they just have stuff that they need. So there's that.

As I rushed about this morning, Lennon screaming from one room to the next, I was inclined to feel terrible about the state of the morning. To feel in some way that I'd been ripped off of a super fantastic birthday morning. But then I couldn't help but be overcome with such joy over the fact that all of my dreams for my life have come true. And not to gloat or rub it in anyone's face, but I feel crazily blessed over the fact that I've got everything I've ever wanted. A wonderful husband, 3 beautiful kids, a nice house, great jobs. We travel. I have wavy hair. I can buy sparkly nail polish and wear it if I so choose. I get to dress fashionably for work. I have super loving friends that are so encouraging, sometimes I just have to squeal to myself. I'm a working photographer and I've run half-marathons. My body is in better shape now than it really ever has been. Oh and did I mention, I'm a 1st Degree Black Belt? I just, I just...I'm speechless. And inside, 7 year old Kellye is dancing a jig.

There's always been a part of me that's felt like at some moment in time, the other shoe is going to drop. Whenever paid a compliment, I sort of feel fraudulent, because in my mind, I'm still that gangly nerd in the 6th grade with all the textbook answers that desperately wanted people to like her. Somewhere along the way though, I became okay with embracing that nerdy girl and meshing it with the woman I've grown into today. And if that's not a testament to God's work, I don't know what is.

My life is not perfect, but it's pretty close to it. Not your version, but my very own and I just feel blessed.

I cannot wait to see what this year has in store and maybe, just maybe, this year has far fewer restless baby screaming nights!

Wishing it Away

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 11 Feb 2014 03:00:00 +0000

At least three different articles have crossed my path in the past week that discuss how fatigued the average mom is as of late. Each article presents its own set of tips and advice on how to make this fatigue better or at least more manageable.

The tips range in ideas from going to bed earlier, to taking more off your plate, but each of these articles is really missing the mark on one key component.

Kids.

Children.

Babies.

There is no way around how exhausting to the bone it is to be a parent. These tips, while fabulous, fail to mention that the success of these fabulous tips, all rest on the laurels of everything else in the world being able to stop, or rather, my children not constantly being in a state of needing something all the time.

Today, I've yawned at least two bagillion times throughout the day. Even as I drank my morning coffee, I had to wait for the yawn to subside before I could actually swallow the caffeine.

Lennon was up at 4 this morning and upset at the darkness, or his legs, or the fact that we dared sleep in our bed with him in it, but yet he wants us near him...so he can kick us in the ribs, or the head, or whatever else might be in the way. He bucked. He screamed. He kicked. He did an awful lot and we got zero sleep. I suppose the one positive thing of all of this was the dog was tucked warmly away in his crate, so he didn't conduct his tip tapping patrol at 4 in the morning to also wake me up. Someone mentioned that you get used to that sound at some point in time, but it's yet to happen and so I wonder if it ever will.

After I'd gotten out of bed, instead of using my shower time to grab the last bit of solitude before the day began, I cradled Lennon under the warm stream of the shower just to settle him down. Eventually, it did work, but then it time for me to get out. He screamed for a better part of the morning and in between trying to get the older children in line and ready to get out the door, I fought back tears.

I don't know when this will get any better. This angry man-baby that just doesn't seem to want to communicate. We have a hearing and a speech eval coming up next month, and maybe that's it. Maybe he's just frustrated because he can't communicate, no matter how hard he tries. But maybe that's not it. Maybe we're just going to have to buckle down and fight through the next who knows how long while I find ways to cope with caring for a highly irrational and irritable person. It's scary, you know?

I'm sorry to the teachers of my older boys. I promise we're doing the best we can with them, but honestly, their youngest brother is taking up every bit of my energy. I hope they know that. I sort of feel like I've dropped the ball on my A game.

I know I'll miss this, and dear Heavenly Father above, I know that I'm blessed. I love these kids with every fiber of my being, but right now, these blessings have me worn thin. I will miss these tiny hands, but not the peanut butter crusted stains that mark almost every surface in my house. I'll miss tiny socks, but not the fact that they always come up one short, because the other part of the pair has conveniently been tossed under the bed with the dust bunnies and obscene amount of dog hair. I swear I swept almost every day last week, vacuumed too, but the amount I find is impressive nonetheless. One day, I know I'll look back and wish I had my smaller (ish) grocery bill, but right now, I gotta say, I'm gonna wish away this day.

I'm sorry that I didn't sign off that we read the middle kid's book for homework. I didn't sign off, because we didn't read it. We didn't get the chance. Between trying to make it through surviving and feeding these children (why do they need to eat THREE TIMES A DAY plus snacks), I had to find my zen while the smallest one was screaming and the oldest one was asserting his dominance over his 2nd in command. Between making meal plans, shopping for said meal plans, AND cooking the blasted food, there's laundry...always laundry...and even basic cleaning, I just feel like I have nothing left. Nothing, but to kiss their heads and remind them to say their prayers.

Tips to ward off fatigue. I say there's one. Send the kids to a sleepover at least once a week.

Oh, but then I miss them.

In which Lennon loses his hat in Target

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 07 Jan 2014 03:37:00 +0000

Tonight, our Pharmacist hugged me. She came out from behind the counter and hugged me. It's not that we are friends or anything. But I'm certain the look of utter defeat that covered my face was a bit alarming.

People tell me that the photos I take of my children will embarrass them one day. I wish it bothered me, but it doesn't. Simply because payback is hell.

Tonight, I attempted to digest the information from the GI Specialist we'd just seen, that Lennon might be delayed and we should get his hearing checked. As I mulled this over, I felt inclined to feel a sadness for my boy. What if it's true? What if he is just beyond frustrated because he is only saying what he understands. And all of what he understands only sounds an awful lot like Charlie Brown's teachers.

But then, I glanced at my boy, just in time to catch him as he tried to pole vault, head first and backwards, out of the Target shopping cart. I placed him back in the cart as he screamed and thrashed and settled into a belly up position with his feet tucked under his back and the top of his head down in the cart causing his torso to contort upwards in such a way that I wondered if the demons might finally vacate his body.

He grew silent until I moved to touch him and put him in a more comfortable position, and then socked me in the eyeball. Thank goodness I closed my eye first. That blow to the eye socket is really quite painful.

He screamed some more as I realized on our way back to the Pharmacy to collect his new prescription that at some point during our journey through Target, he'd lost his hat. And he'd kicked off a shoe during the process, though, thank goodness it was lodged in the base of the shopping cart.

I was inclined to look at my boy with compassion and understanding, but right now, I'm tired and am inclined to believe that in lieu of an Audiologist, we need a Priest, in a major way. What's the going rate for exorcisms anyway?

So yeah, the Pharmacist hugged me. And apologized profusely as she also told me the news that they didn't have the prescription we needed.

As in, a wasted and exhausting shopping trip.

I'm sure the Target shoppers are still talking about it.

And then he smiled

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Fri, 03 Jan 2014 17:50:00 +0000

As the mother to 3 young boys, I often find myself floundering. I have my moments of clarity when I feel like today I own this thing called motherhood. I'm winning and on top of stuff and things are organized. Coincidentally, this happens to coincide with times that my house is relatively clean. The kitchen floor has been swept and the laundry is put away. Other times, I feel like I'm absolutely failing.

When discussing the subject of becoming a parent, people will say that it's hard. The beginning is rife with opportunity that you might harm or kill the baby. You could drop the baby, smother the baby by rolling over onto him in your sleep, give too much Tylenol and end up poisoning the baby. There are so many opportunities to fail at the physical aspect of parenting a newborn, that it's draining. Eventually, said baby moves into a stage that takes up the majority of the rest of their life while they are in your care. The part of life when they take the reigns of injury and you worry most days that they might actually seriously maim or kill themselves. Toddlers are like tiny drunk adults. Constanly missing a shoe and putting everything in their mouth that they shouldn't. Plundering in drawers and cabinets that contain "child-proof" mechanisms to keep them out of the dangerous things that lurk within. They jump off of and bump into stuff that was not made to be jumped off of or bumbed into. Move into preschool through pre-teen years and these kids turn into invincible superheros. Who says you can't backflip and land on your head? If you can do it in the cartoon or movie and walk away, why is that not true for real life? Move into adolescence and adulthood and the opportunity to ruin their life in other ways is exponential.

Beyond all of that, there's this emotional aspect to it that I'm just not sure anyone has a grasp on. You're raising people. People that will (hopefully) one day hold down a job and vote and make an impact on society in a positive way. While a world changer would be awesome to have as a child, I'd settle for a child that people didn't view as a jerk or go running the opposite direction when they're about to pass them in a hallway.

But how do you do that as a parent? How do you raise a person that will turn out decently normal? It's a lot of pressure to put on a person. Enough pressure that it's no wonder most parents are within moments of snapping.

I, myself, snap at my kids a little too much. I feel like I spend 50% of my time these days playing the role of Mean Momma and the other 50% of the time feeling guilty about it. It's very difficult to be all Mary Sunshine when your children ignore you the majority of the time. Until I raise my volume loud, it's as if I'm wearing my invicible clothes and no one likes to be ignored.

I struggle. I know I'm not alone either. Parenting is hard and it's easy to lose sight of what really matters. When you're in the bull pin looking at the playbook while the team is out on the field, you're focused on each individual play and sometimes get caught up in the technicalities of the game. You have a season of losses (one after another) and at the end of the season, people are throwing labels at your team. You're a bad team because you didn't win so many games. This is my life. But just like life has a way of bringing us back to Earth, sometimes in the most humbling ways, kids do too.

During a particularly difficult afternoon, the boys had dodged and avoided cleaning their rooms. Sebby was working on a task he was having great difficulty completing. He was at that point where he was so frustrated that I made him walk away. Admittedly, I was about to blow my top because my patience was long gone. When we came back to it, refreshed and ready to tackle it again, he completed it without issue. I gave him the biggest smile and told him I was proud that he'd come back to it and to take note of how easy it was once he'd taken a moment to regroup.

"When you smile at me, Momma, it makes me smile." He said in the most innocent and babyish voices.

The struggle is real, but the reminders of what's truly important are real too. Look for them. Listen for them. Be present for them.

Despite the struggles, I know I'm a good Mom, and you are too.

My Christmas wish(es)

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 23 Dec 2013 17:58:00 +0000

"What do you want for Christmas?" It gets harder to answer that question every year. Perhaps it comes with the territory of getting older, but the answer to that question gets a bit more complicated. What I want can't be purchased online, nor can it be DIY'd from a Pinterest find. I'm sure that other Moms out there will completely agree that if any of these items on my Christmas list could be checked off, I'd be much better for the wear.

1. More time off. There was that one good week or two between the oldest and the middle having strep that the baby got hit with RSV and bronchitis and then I came down with strep (and possibly flu, though the test was negative). But I can't call in sick to work, because I have no time left. I've spent it all on my kids.

2. A house with self-vacumming floors and countertops and no I'm not talking about a Roomba. I want a steady flow of suction built into the baseboards that sucks out the dander, dirt, dust, and whatever else falls to the floor.

3. A consistent 8 hours of sleep for a full week.

4. Prozac for babies. I'm currently accepting applications for drug trials.

5. Scotchguard for baby clothes.

6. Similar to scotchguard for clothes, a bathtub that will not absorb nor allow soap scum to collect on its surface.

7. A warning message on my washing machine that will detect foregin non-clothing objects stowed away in little pockets. Things like crayons, rocks, wood chips, plastic toys, etc.

8. More good hours between the time we get home from school and bedtime. Focus on the word good here. I don't want more hours if it's going to be filled with more questioning of "how long until bedtime?"

This is life

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 07 Nov 2013 18:30:00 +0000

4:44 a.m. The typical bewitching hour. Lennon wakes in his usual way. He wails and cries out "MAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAaaamamamamamamamamamama!!!!!"

5:00 a.m. I go to him. I'm too tired to stand there and hold him and I know it will do little to no good anyway, so I pick him up. He places his head into the crook of my neck and we walk slowly, in the darkness, back to my bed. His heavy breath tells me that he's drifted off again and perhaps, we have a good 15 more minutes before the kicking begins.

5:17 a.m. He bucks and I am violently shaken from the sleep I'd just drifted into. His body stiffens and he lets out a screech. I pull him in closer, with hope that perhaps he'll be comforted. Alas, all for naught. He kicks. He thrashes. He wails, louder. I feel rejected.

5:20 a.m. My alarm beeps for the first round. I shush it and pray that Lennon and the alarm might both stop for just 5 more minutes.

5:28 a.m. More thrashing. More wailing. At some point, I grumble through my teeth "DUDE! Stop. Please. Just stop."

5:29 a.m. Realize I'm delusional as Lennon continues his kick, thrash, wail sequence.

5:30 a.m. Plead with the Lord to give me peace.

5:34 a.m. Turn off my alarm exactly 1 minute prior to the second beep and shuffle to the shower.

Oh peace. There it is.

I have exactly 30 minutes of peace before go time.

I didn't make the lunches last night, yet again, and everyone needs to eat....yet again.

Lights on for the older boys. Rubbing of the backs. "Time to wake up."

I go from room to room, and back again. Reminding the boys of what they already know, but can never remember. "Brush your teeth....No...pants. You need pants.

"Long sleeve pants?" Sebastian asks. I smile to myself and confirm that yes, indeed, it's a day for long sleeve pants.

Lunches packed. Coffee brewing. Waffles toasting. I hear arguing. Hayden is pushing Sebastian's buttons already. Confirmed that these kids wake up looking for ways to irritate each other.

Back to their room and they're playing. "BOYS! Teeth brushed. Socks and shoes. Hair. WHY ARE YOU PLAYING WITH LEGOS!"

Slip on my leggings as I'm walking to Lennon's room. Grab his clothes and hunt for him. He's in Hayden and Sebastian's room.

He wails. He rolls. He thrashes. He kicks. I try to find the zen of the morning. I resist the urge to put him in a sleeper hold and instead sing "Jesus Loves Me". Pants are on. Now the shoes. HOW DID HE GET HIS LEG OUT OF HIS PANTS?! Pants back on. He tries to bite me. I try not to cry. He wails. Louder. I wonder if I'm really cut out for this.

Sebastian appears..."Your shirt is on backwards." He looks down, laughs, and fusses with it. "You might want to grab a jacket, buddy."

I escape to my room to grab my boots. Sebastian follows me. "But Momma...I wanted 2 snacks." He says as his bottom lip begins to protrude and I recall his backpack from every day this week wherein at the end of the day I find the 2 snacks I packed, totally untouched.

"No. Sorry. I've done that and I'm not doing it anymore. You don't eat them. You get a banana."

More whining from Sebastian and further insistance that he needs 2 snacks. His shirt is still on backwards. Why is his shirt still on backwards?!

Back to the kitchen. Waffles and coffee are ready. One wants 2 plain. One wants PB&J. One wants jelly only. Done. Pour the coffee. Lunches into backpacks. Zip.

Back to the bathroom and I grab my bag.

"But Momma! I really need 2 snacks! I get soooooooo hungry."

Guilt and pity are lost on me at this point.

I ignore him and it's back to the kitchen with my bag.

Lennon is wailing...again. WHY?! For the love of all things holy, why on Earth is he always crying?!

7 a.m. Everyone is ready. Finally. Shirts are on the right way. Food in hands and backpacks locked, loaded, and ready to go. A quick check that they've done everything. "Sebastian...your hair?" He hasn't brushed his hair. Chad and Hayden head out the door and we're not far behind.

Lennon screams. He wants Dadaddadadadadada and bucks as I put him in his car seat. Sweat. I'm sweating and it's 40 degrees outside.

He's buckled. Car is loaded. Here comes Sebby. Into his seat, he buckles.

I slide into my seat and start the car.

And we're off.

Green, and yellow, and orange...and we hope it stops there

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 05 Sep 2013 22:00:00 +0000

One of the things I struggle with the most as a parent is the mistakes my children make.

As a Type A, bit of a perfectionist, by nature, it's terribly easy for me to forget that we learn by doing, and consequently, learn by making mistakes. I certainly have not lived a life void of mistakes. Lord help me, I've made some doozies.

At the heart of it, I expect my kids to make mistakes. I want them to make mistakes. I'd rather them make some big whoppers of mistakes now, than later on down the line when mistakes tend to cost little more than parental disapproval.

What's more, I don't want perfect kids. I want messy kids. Kids that say the darndest things, and push the limits. I want kids that make a situation all the more exciting, just by being present. I want kids that get excited and are curious, and all in all, take a look at the life presented and grab that veritable bull by the horns.

The kids that show up in wacky outfits they put together all by themselves. Kids that embrace change. Kids that embrace life.

That's at the heart of it all and I truly believe the majority of my heart beats for these things to ring true for my babies.

But right now, I find myself in the midst of a crazy internal struggle over my heart's desires for my kiddos and the pressure from the world for them to conform.

In the last month of school alone, Sebastian has come home on yellow and orange, way more than he's been on green.

Hayden, while he's been on green a good bit, has also spent equal time on orange and yellow.

Typically, one comes home on green, and the other on yellow or orange, and I can tell which one before they even say it, because of the look on their face.

Tuesday afternoon, I knew it by looking at Hayden that he wasn't happy with himself. He looked tired, complained he had a headache, and even said he felt like he needed to throw up. He was on orange and his physical symptoms were a byproduct of the internal stress that he, no doubt, struggled with for a better part of the day.

It's times like this that I realize that I have to find a way to put Type A Kellye in check, because that girl has some seriously high expectations of herself and her children. That girl and the mom in me that would just about do anything for my babies, are about to have it out.

Mistakes are good. That's how we learn. But this blasted color chart is making the Type A perfectionist in me just about lose my grits every time these boys tow the line or step outside that perfectly green line. As if being on green all day, every day, were some code for how they would turn out as adults.

Blech.

I hate color charts. I used to love yellow and orange. Now, not so much.

Finnegan, begin again...thoughts on the beginning of another school year

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Thu, 08 Aug 2013 13:05:00 +0000

I did not cry.

My eyes did tear, but then I was swept away on the excitement train.

This morning, Sebastian started Kindergarten and Hayden started 2nd grade.

Because both schools start at the same time (7:30....oh my gosh, why does school have to start so early!) and the schools are approximately 10 miles, give or take, apart, Daddy Chad and I had to divide and conquer. He took Hayden, and I took Sebby and Lennon.

I know...three kids need to be in three different places around roughly the same time each morning. If that alone isn't reason enough to homeschool, I don't know what is.

I was so torn about missing Hayden's first day, but then school is a bit 'old hat' for him and just like he walked into Elementary for the first time ever like he owned the place and he'd done this every day of his life since birth, he approached second grade with much the same attitude. After regrouping after drop-off to compare notes, Chad said that Hayden actually didn't even care to be walked in and his Daddy was much obliged to not have to face the onslaught of 15,000 kids and parents. Did I mention that we attend one of the largest school districts in our state? Before anyone freaks about my oldest baby getting lost in the shuffle, let me remind you that Hayden has an internal navigational beacon that leads him in the direction he needs to travel and it has rarely steered him wrong. His Daddy shared that Hayden said "I'm SO excited!" many many times on the way to the school, so I have no doubt, he was just fine. Still, it did pain me that I was not able to see it first hand. Hayden excited is something to see any day of the week!

Sebastian's drop off went so different than I could have imagined. When I packed my things for the day, I made sure to pack the makeup, because after the ugly cry I experienced a week ago over my babies growing up, I fully expected that today would be no different.

When we entered the halls of that school and I looked down at Sebby, he just looked SO much smaller than the other kids, and, in fact, even smaller than he was when he woke this morning. I suppose other parents must feel that way. Your big kid that's ready to start big school, suddenly seems so small when you put them into the masses of elementary. My heart traveled into my throat and my stomach all at the same time and I let out an audible gasp. I swallowed the tears, but expected that next time wouldn't be so successful.

We rounded the hall and there sat his classroom. In he walked and away he went, barely stopping to remember that his dear mother was even still with him. I busied myself with some additional school supplies, but couldn't bear it any longer and the tears puddled into the bottom lid of my eyes, until I glanced up and saw my dear sweet boy, excitedly showing and telling his teacher all about his school lunch that was packed for today. His shoulders bounced and his voice was three octaves higher. He was excited. Dare I say, Disney excited?

How can I not get excited for him? As a Mom, my heart is absolutely crippled and crushed at the fact that I now have two children grown enough to be in school, but on the flip side, their happiness sees my sadness and raises it by a gillion.

As a Mom, this is what I want more than anything, and it's with this fact that I send these boys off into the world and swallow my tears for another day.

They are happy, and therefore, so am I.

Living outside of fear

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 17:57:00 +0000

There’s something that has been mulling around in my mind for some time. Something I’ve tried for most of my life to turn off. I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to push it down so that I could just blend in and be like everyone else. It was and still is an open source of mockery and causes a lot of people to live in fear and consequently, act out of that fear and do and say some pretty hurtful things. I’ve been lied about, most recently in a work setting, and it’s in those instances that I find it particularly difficult to embrace this part of myself that makes up a huge part of who I am. I find it absurd that even as an adult I’m still fighting this battle of acceptance. What’s more, it seems it’s less okay at this stage of my life to really take those things to heart that people say or I find out about, because I should be in a better place and have so many more wonderful things in my life that their silly opinion shouldn’t matter. And most of the time it doesn’t, but then I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting. That there isn’t some part of me that cares. I don’t care…but then I do. Because at night and in the quiet parts of the day, I hear their voice coupled with my own inner voice of self-doubt, and it echoes over and over, until I really start to believe that the lies I tell myself and the lies those people spread, are the truth.

It just gets lonely sometimes and it’s hard. I feel like I spend the majority of my time fighting so hard to contain it or make other people feel comfortable. Feeling like I need to explain myself or help them understand so that they’ll accept me.

But here’s the kicker. It’s not my problem. It’s their problem.

And so it goes that I think that the majority of people that stand out a little, are a bit odd, eccentric, even crazy, stand a little off-center, or way out in the deep, feel this way and perhaps, maybe everyone feels this way.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my legacy, and what I want people to remember about me when I die. I think, no…I know, that I want people to think of me and be inspired. To be encouraged to live in happiness and boldness and if they are going to live in fear…to live in fear of regretting. Not to wait another second to unleash this potential that lies within and for those that would laugh at them, to laugh right back and use that as ammunition to be an even better version of themselves as each second ticks by.

To be amazing.

Just as a bird is created to fly, a fish to swim, and the sun to shine….we were created by an awesome God to be incredible.

I'm sitting here nervously debating over whether or not to hit Publish, but then I know in my heart, because the fear exists, I have no choice but to hit Publish.

Here goes...

Perhaps he is just small...

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 10 Jul 2013 01:56:00 +0000

It all started at his 9 month checkup. They checked Lennon's blood to determine if his iron levels would deem it okay to begin adding some whole milk into his diet. We were still largely breastfeeding at the time, and baby and table foods were slow going. When his levels came back low, coupled with a dip on the growth chart for his weight, they recommended we delay the start of milk and continue breastfeeding and provide an OTC iron supplement. Which we did and then returned in a month for a weight check and blood draw. Negative. Still too low, and in fact, he'd even lost weight and after seeing zero improvement in his iron levels, they upped the ante, threw in a prescription grade iron supplement, and instructed us to return in another month. At this point, we'd not only been through a bout of RSV, he'd also had ear infections, colds (seemingly back to back), began teething, and got what I'd consider to be the world's worst stomach virus.

His intake of food had picked up, though not as much as we'd hoped, but it can be difficult for babies to really grasp the different textures of food, so I chalked it up to a learning curve. I really did anticipate that we'd see some improvement at his 12 month checkup, even if it was tiny, but alas, nada. In fact, his inability to climb the growth chart, coupled with his still too low blood levels, got him labeled as "failure to thrive" and a referral to a Hematologist and Nutritionist.

I can't say they did a sufficient enough job preparing us for that visit. They mentioned it was in the Children's Cancer Clinic at our local Children's Hospital, but also told us "in full disclosure" that there are a lot of reasons babies have difficulty gaining weight. And I quote..."everything from leukemia to cyctic fibrosis to blood diseases and metabolic disorders to run of the mill anemia." If there is another parent, particularly another Mother, that can hear the word leukemia come out of a doctor's mouth and hear ANYTHING else a doctor may say after that word, please raise your hand.

Go ahead. I'll wait.
There's not much that ranks up on the ol' Mommy Fear List, than the idea of any of my children fighting a life-threatening illness. I've had friends walk that road for themselves, and their children, and it's a road that no one would willingly choose. In fact, I dare say that parent's who are currently walking that path probably wake up hoping and pleading that it would all be a bad dream. People catch a lot of grief during pregnancy when people will ask if they want a boy or a girl, and they respond that they don't care, so long as it's healthy. I don't see a thing in the world wrong with that. Kids have enough to fight with as they grow up, that anything additional, especially from a health and development perspective, why wouldn't a parent wish for healthy children!

Walking into a Cancer Clinic is hard. Super hard. Walking through those hallways, despite the bright and cheery paint, had me sick to my stomach. Passing young patients being wheeled around the hallways connected to IVs, couldn't help but cause me to wonder if this was soon to be our future. We met with the doctor, and then they proceeded to draw 4 vials of blood from my 17 lb baby, and that goes down in my mind as something I never hope to experience again. Ever.

After a painstakingly long lunch, we returned with full and yet empty stomachs to await the big news. Yes or no.

I am thrilled to say that the answer was no. It wasn't cancer! Perhaps it was something more, but at that point, anything else was a more palatable diagnosis. So we were instructed to wait. If they found anything, they'd call. If they found nothing, we'd hear nothing. And so, I had never hoped for no news more desperately in all my life.

After a month, we returned for a follow up, and got the all clear from the Hematologist. In another month we had an appointment with a Nutritionist, which I had seriously high hopes for, but I should perhaps recognize that I should lower my standards. Not only did the Nutritionist NOT ask to see the detailed food journal we'd been keeping for Lennon since the 12 month checkup, the list of recommended foods for him was laughable. I'm not against ketchup, sweetened condensed milk, chocolate syrup and caramel sauce, but I hardly see those items as something to feed a baby on the regular. So it seems that a PROFESSIONAL doling out that type of advice to patients, might only be setting herself up for future patients coming to see her for a whole other host of problems. If the Nutritionist had only asked to see our Journal or even asked me what we feed him, she would have clearly seen that we have been feeding him healthy, yet calorie dense, foods. And not to toot my own horn, but a list that any Nutritionist worth their salt, might applaud. I'm no expert, but...

The Pediatrician had already put Lennon on Pediasure therapy and instructed us to give him whatever he'd eat and we did, we still do. But his checkup yesterday revealed that he's still not meeting their standards and so the doctor's remarks seemed laced with concern and admonishment to me. Without coming right out to say it, it's as if the accusation is there that I'm not doing enough.

Now, I'm not dismissing the doctor's concerns, but perhaps this child is just small. He's hitting all of his developmental milestones and has a great appetite. He's getting taller, just not fatter, but in today's day and age, especially given the state where we live (ahem....Mississippi), I'd be hard pressed to be disappointed at having a baby that's on the low end of the weight spectrum. If his blood levels appear normal, and he's doing everything he should be doing, why is this a problem? Isn't it entirely possible that he'll grow out of this? No pun intended.

Le sigh.

Oh and quick update...he's walking.

The tragic case of the ignored mother

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Tue, 25 Jun 2013 17:50:00 +0000

Will someone please come exorcise the demons?

I'm not quite sure what's gotten into The Dude. It could be teething. It could be the antibiotic he's on for his ear infection. It could be he's tired. He's gassy. He wants to walk, but he's not fully confident. He wants his stuffed giraffe, Jeffrey, but he doesn't want his stuffed giraffe, Jeffrey. He wants his milk, but he doesn't want his milk. He wants to be held, but wait a second...nope changed his mind. He doesn't want to be held. But wait a sec...nope changed his mind again...he DOES, in fact, want to be held. He wants the cat, but the cat doesn't want him, until the cat wants him, but he doesn't want the cat.

I want to pull my hair out. I can't fix it and so it goes that every waking minute spent with The Dude is an act of just trying to keep him happy. He's 15 months and at this point, we would have long ago said sayonara to the paci and the bottles, but alas, they are still here and I get it. I understand why parents wait so long to take them away. Because it's truly the only thing right now that seems to make him happy. That, and taking every single DVD off the shelf and all of the stuff out of every single drawer in our house. Particularly the Tupperware and mismatched lids.

He spends an awful lot of time being unhappy and consequently, his poor Mom and Dad do too.

And it doesn't help that I feel absolutely scattered lately. Scattered to the wind and like an absent parent. I am trying. Lord, I am really trying, but lately, I feel like I'm falling short. I absolutely cried all the way to work this morning because I feel like I am failing. My kids think I'm just the meanest, but it seems that even with the best expert's advice on how to get out of the house without being committed to Whitfield, mornings are still THE most stressful time of the day. Strike that. Mornings when we have somewhere to be...like Monday through Friday. They like to ignore me and despite my best effort not to wear my invisible clothes every day, it seems I keep putting those on first and so, perhaps it is my fault and they truly cannot hear or see me. Until I start shouting through the invisibility and thus ripping that fabric so they see me.

*Sigh*

Please tell me that my kids won't remember this about me when they are older. Or that they might just laugh about how they use to make me crazy when they were little.

Chronicles of a Stoner

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 13:18:00 +0000

Sebastian is one of the most inquisitive people I've ever known. Graduating from Pre-K, he received the award for the best question asker. While I am certain that this aspect of his personality will aid him as he grows, at this moment in life, it's exhausting for his parents.

So in an effort to find humor in the volume of questions we get asked almost daily, some of which are big head scratchers, I'm writing them all down.

Why do lions only have 4 teeth?

When I grow up, will you still be my Mom? (But I will miss you when I grow up)

Can I walk on a cloud? Can I sit on a cloud? What if I'm real still?

How long does it take to make a baby? Like to put the stuff inside it?

Where does a centipede have his tweezers?

Momma, only if you just be nice to a cobra snake it won't bite you?

If a cat tries to eat a snake will it just crawl fast?

What are toes for?

What does to date for?

What does a baby turtle look like? What does it sound like?

What do they do when they're scared?

If you're close to your Dad, could you call him?

Are we gonna have a lot of tv's in our house?

What if we had candy toothbrushes and the house toothbrushes were really toothbrushes?

Why do y'all have to go to work? Is work y'all's school?

Are boots shoes?

What's under our cheeks?

6:15 am: "momma, when I was a little boy, did I like "Cloudy with a chance of meatballs?"

What do smurf berries look like?

What can you make with kryptonite?

Why do birds hop when they walk?

Farts really are like clouds.

I wonder if my future self has a dog.

You know, our bodies are like a puppet but we control it.

You know what I always thought Momma? That bandaids are like tiny casts.

When life hands you lemons, you take it with the right hand

noreply@blogger.com (Kellye) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 17:30:00 +0000

Boys,

Take heed. Don't mess with your mother. Seriously. You can knock me down, but so help me, I'll find some way to get back up again.

Love,

Momma

I hope I'm projecting a very strong image to these kids so that when they grow up, they realize that women are no laughing matter.

It's not that I'm hellbent on some feministic approach to life that women can do it all. We can't. Otherwise we'd have the ability to procreate without the Daddy. But no. We need them. It's just that, I want my boys to approach women with a certain viewpoint that women will always keep them guessing and just when you think you have them pegged as x, y, z, stand back, because there's more.

I suppose that's part of the reason I decided to take Taekwondo. And originally, I had little motivation to stick with it long enough to get my Black Belt. But alas, it's just so darn fun, and empowering, and it makes you strong and confident, and so many other positive things that I really can't say enough good things about it, and once I passed my first rank test, I realized that this hobby was more than a hobby. And it had all this meaning behind it and what it meant to my core to one day tie that Black Belt around my waist. Especially, what it could mean for my boys. To have a Mom that could literally kick butt and approach life with such confidence that they'd approach life with the same zest for living.

I suppose it was only a matter of time, given my tendency to injure myself. Though, I do have to say that I'm incredibly proud that it was not through the typical walking into walls or falling at random that most often befalls me. I was sparring and in a very unlucky stroke of fate, the way in which my hand collided ith my partners knee sent me reeling into a teary-eyed, try not to vomit, knees to the ground fit. I really should have known from the way that it almost immediately puffed up like a blowfish, that something probably was broken, but I'm an optimist. Nevertheless, it was broken, as I came to learn the following day.

Let me tell you, I'm incredibly happy that it wasn't my right hand, seeing as how I'm right dominant. That does not mean, however, that it's any easier. You see, humans have that whole opposable thumb thing going for them that allows us to do all kinds of neat things. Like any good band needs some good backup vocals to really make that song sore to the top, the right needs the left.

Oh, the process of discovering just how important that left hand is to the right.

Hayden truly was trying to help. He really was. But when I came into the nursery to find that the contents of Lennon's diaper was all over the changing table and the baby....*sigh*

Just try getting a wriggling 1 year old into the bathtub with one hand. Oh and let's not forget that he's covered in his own fecal matter and you're trying to avoid getting it on you or your clothes.

Then try bathing that same baby, quickly, so that you get the poop down the drain before he sticks his hands in his mouth.

Then take that baby out of the tub, safely. Seriously...is there anything more slippery than a wet baby in the tub?

Then diaper that baby, who would rather roll like an alligator prepping his dinner than lay still. Errrrmahgerd!!! Don't even get me started.

Yep...all that happened.

And as if that wasn't enough, I tried to open the Sam's Club bottle of Ibuprofen, so I could mediate the pain, and proceeded to spill the entire bottle all over the floor and dining room table. It, of course, was at that point that Lennon decided that those Ibuprofen pills were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen and proceeded to try and put them all in his mouth.

*Head to desk

I briefly (or more than briefly) thought about walking down the street to the State Hospital and asking them to commit me, but then all these boys that live in my house smiled at me and I really could do nothing more than laugh about the seemingly neverending comedy of errors.

And I suppose aside from being this strong female figure in the lives of my kiddos, there's also that overwhelming hope that they would also take life in stride and laugh when confronted with just how ridiculous things can get at times.

Because right now...all of this one handed biz, is ridiculous.