guest blogger

I am thrilled to introduce a new blogger on the scene. This is her very first post and I am absolutely ecstatic that she chose Diary as the venue for her debut. Please give her a warm welcome!

.

.

HI         LILY           I         LOVE        YOU

JOJO           IS                      COOL

.

.

Yup, that’s it.

Yes, it’s a post.

It’s a post that took my guest blogger nearly thirty minutes to type, so don’t knock it.

“I would type on there. Is it my turn now? I will play on the computer!”

“Oooh, Kendall, do you want to type something on Mama’s blog? You can say ‘hi’ to my friends.”

“Oh yeah.”

She settles in to type. One tiny finger hovers above the keyboard, poised and ready. She is concentrating. She retracts the finger and turns to me.

“What is your friend’s name?”

“Hmm, well, I actually have a lot of friends who will read what you write. How about if you just say, ‘Hi, Mama’s friends’?”

Too abstract .

“Is your friend’s name Ell-ee-yah?”

“Um, well, no honey. Why don’t you just call Mama’s friends ‘Mama’s friends’?”

Nope.

“Is your friend’s name Lily?”

“Sure, honey. Why don’t you call my friends Lily.”

The little finger re-emerges. It takes up residence above the keyboard. It’s first job is to hit the Caps Lock. Hey, if you’re going to write a post you may as well MEAN it.

“Where is the ‘h’?”

I point to the h and she presses it down. She looks at it on the screen and appears to be quite satisfied with her work. She finds the i without help.

“Her name is Lily”.

She types L-I-L-Y.

“I said ‘hi’ to Lily.”

“I see that. That’s great, honey. What else would you like to say?”

She is already typing. I watch I LOVE YOU emerge, ever so slowly on the screen.

Oh man, Kenz. I love Lily too. (I keep this to myself).

“We would play here now,” she says, pointing to the Nick Jr bookmark on the top of the screen.

“No, sweetie. You already had your play time on the computer time today. You can go there again tomorrow.”

“I will type JoJo,” she says.

She types it all out … Slowly … Meticulously. It’s better than anything I’ve ever written. And then she starts to delete it. All of it.”Bye Bye Bye Bye,” she says as the words begin to disappear, letter by letter.

“Oh, Kenz, let’s leave it there. It’s wonderful.”

“It is?”

“Yes, baby. It is.”

She types it all back in. Slowly … Meticulously.

So, there you have it, Lily. Kendall’s first guest post.

Sorry, Russ, but I think you may have been outdone.

she lied

*

lie –verb (used without object)  – to speak falsely or utter untruth knowingly, as with intent to deceive. to express what is false; convey a false impression.

*

OK, so maybe it’s a little counterintuitive. Perhaps it sounds a little odd. Maybe I’m just off my rocker. But, damn it all I am THRILLED.

Why?

Because my daughter LIED.

Yeah, I know; it’s not OK to lie. As a parent, it’s my job to make sure that my kids DON’T lie. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s even something about this in the bible. It made the top ten, didn’t it? No? Weird. I wonder why not. I guess not coveting your neighbor’s wife was more important than not lying about it after the fact.

Anyway, back to my kid. She lied! Hooray!

Quick version of the background story…

The other day, Kendall apparently decided that she wanted to give a go at the tunnel slide at the pool. Big stuff – a totally new frontier. With little fanfare, she headed right up the ladder and onto the platform, where the lifeguard sat. I watched as they had a brief interaction, followed by a crying Kendall padding her way back down the stairs.

When Darby asked the lifeguard what had happened, he explained that he had told Kendall that she couldn’t go down the slide with her goggles on and encouraged her to take them off and then come back. That conversation had obviously rattled her. She was likely confused by it and probably didn’t understand what he was telling her.

She lost all momentum and became completely frazzled. She sobbed her way back to the comfort of the toddler slide and made her way down in tears. When I finally caught up to her, she was a wreck. She let me pick her up and hold her wet, shaking little body. I asked if she wanted to try it again, but the intrepid little girl of moments before was long gone.

Damn, this quick version isn’t turning out to be so quick is it? Ah well, you probably know me better than to have believed me anyway.

I curled her into an embrace and asked if she was OK. The answer I got was nothing short of miraculous. “I was scared,” she said through tears.

I. Was. Scared.

Wait! Wait! Wait!

So much for the quick version, this is important!

She labeled a new emotion!!! I haven’t heard a single, solitary reference to feeling scared since “the noise made me scary” nearly a year and a half ago. I was thrilled! And sad for her. And thrilled!

I told her how proud I was that she could tell me how she felt. I told her it was OK to be scared. I told her that Mama gets scared sometimes too. Darby chimed in with, “Me too, Kendall!”

So, yes – Scared. HUGE!

She refused to go back to the slide pool and I didn’t see a point in trying to push it. She’ll know when she’s ready. She always does. I figured we’d head back to the other big pool and float around for a while, but Kendall headed straight for the safety and comfort of the toddler pools.

Darby and I followed as she made her way around the circuit of toddler pools. She slid down the three-foot long froggy slide into two feet of water. She ran to the whale slide and ran her hands along the whale’s smooth sides, exactly the way she used to. She laid down on the warm mat by the sprinklers and ran in and out of the plumes of water, towering over the two-year olds with whom she shared the space.

She knew what she needed. By the time she had tired of the sprinklers, she had calmed down completely. Darby suggested heading back to the big pool where we could all swim together. Kendall agreed.

We walked the long way to the big pool, avoiding the scene of the crime at the slide pool. Our route took us past the gated baby area. Darby and Kendall walked together, just ahead of me.

“Darby, can we go in there?” Kendall asked her big sister.

“No, Kenz. We can’t go in there anymore. That pool is only for kids ages zero to three.”

“We will go in there, Darby,” she tried again.

“Kenz, we can’t go in there. We’re not allowed. It’s only for kids ages zero to three. And how old are YOU?”

“I’m three.”

Do you think I’d be exaggerating if I called her brilliant? Do you think I’m overstating the case? First “I was scared” and now this? This proof of theory of mind! This completely ingenious attempt at manipulating the system!

My kid lied!!!

I’m so proud!

the night watch

.

This

THIS, right here I want to SHOUT above your sleeping form

Your tiny little body curled around an improbable number of stuffed animals

This is the mom that I want you to see

This mom – here – now

This mom who is calm – unharried

This mom who is FINALLY running neither to nor from anything

This mom who is not … late, hungry, cranky, tired, in a hurry, has to take care of something first, no not now, later, in a little while, please give me a few minutes, baby, mama needs a break …

No, this

THIS mom

This mom who bows lovingly over your bed

Watching you breathe

Rapt and wrapped in your love

Your spirit

YOU

This mom who lives and breathes you

Who falls in love with you over and over again

Who has forgotten why she was frustrated with you at … dinner, bathtime, bedtime …

Who can focus on nothing – NOTHING! – but you

This mom whose heart aches with pride

.

I want you to remember THIS mom, damn it

But you likely haven’t seen much of her

If you’ve met her at all

.

Because it’s the middle of the night

And you have no idea that she’s here

Watching you sleep

amazing grace

Dear Matt,

OK, OK – you’ve convinced me. The friggin iPhone that you just HAD to have with the video function that we just HAD to pay up for was worth every dang flippin penny.

Now, I’ll ask you to please pay close attention to this next sentence, dear because I’m not going to say it twice.

YOU. WERE. RIGHT.

Gah!

Love,

Your wife

*

may take a minute to load up

needs sound

no i in kendall

*

 

*

I’m at Hopeful Parents today.

Click here to read my post, ‘no i in kendall.’

Please?

Pretty please?

I’ll be your best friend.

C’mon, just check it out.

I’ll grab the coffee and meet you there.

Go!

we would send band-aids

Jeremy and Connor

www.connorssong.blogspot.com

*

I told the girls this morning that I’d like to start our day by making cards for a fellow Mama-blogger’s husband who was badly wounded last week in Afghanistan.

Darby nodded eagerly. “Is he a soldier just like Uncle Paul, Mama?” she asked. “Did he get hurt fighting for us?”

I explained that indeed, Mr Jeremy is an incredibly brave soldier, just like Uncle Paul. She touched my hand as I welled up. Gratitude comes out my eyes; I can’t help it. “It’s OK, Mama,” she said gently.

To Kendall, I simply said, “Honey, Mama has a friend whose husband got hurt. He is in the hospital. Could you make a card for him to help him get better?”

Her little eyebrows met in a furrowed point just above the bridge of her nose and her lips tightened into a pucker. She was almost a cartoon of concern. Autism means a lack of empathy? My ass.“Did he bumped his head?” she asked.

“No, honey,” I said. “He hurt his legs.”

“We would send him band-aids for his boo-boos,” she said.

“Oh, honey. That’s really nice, but he hurt his legs very badly.”

Her grimace deepened.

“It’s OK, baby,” I said. “He’s in the hospital with wonderful doctors. They are going to make him all better.”

“He would need band-aids,” she said with conviction. Jay-sus, Mama. The guy got hurt. He needs band-aids. Duh.

I promised her that we would send him some band-aids along with our cards.

I wonder how Jeremy feels about Hello Kitty, cause that seems to be all we’ve got in the band-aid closet. Hmm .. perhaps a trip to CVS is in order.

Please join us in sending cards and love to the McGuffey family. There is no way to truly acknowledge the unthinkable sacrifice that they have made on our behalf. There is no sufficient way to convey our gratitude for all that they have done and all that they will endure as Jeremy heals.

But letting them know that we are here and holding them in our hearts and prayers is at least a start.

Jeremy McGuffey care of Jessica McGuffey

PMB X108
10715 Valley Ave E
Puyallup, WA 98372

ed note (added 8/24/09) ~~ the band-aids made it!! http://connorssong.blogspot.com/2009/08/in-which-jer-gets-band-aids-for-his.html

39 or ‘it’s my party and i’ll cry if i want to’

I turned 39 yesterday.

So, what are you gonna make of it?

Huh?

Huh?

Yeah, I thought so.

I don’t like 39.

Not one bit.

Yeah, I know I’m supposed to embrace my age – celebrate my experience and accumulated wisdom. Age gracefully and all that. Well, I don’t wanna. And I’m 39, so you can’t make me.

I don’t like odd numbers. 39. Ick.

I don’t like precipices. Precipi? Whatever, I don’t like edges. I feel like I’m flapping my arms over the edge of the abyss of 40.

I didn’t like 29 either, but at least there was 30 coming next. I vividly remember turning 29. Why can’t we just get this over with and skip to 30, I wondered. I looked forward to 30. It had something to offer. Credibility. Legitimacy. Yes, I was ready for my thirties. I liked the grown-up-edness of being thirty. (Shuddup – my blog, my lexicon. When you get to be 39 you can make up words. I read that somewhere.)  So I didn’t like 29, but it had a happy ending. (No dirty jokes please; I’m cranky.)

But 39?

39 ends in 40. What the frig is 40? I mean, I’m not saying it’s intrinsically evil. It’s not it’s fault. And I’m not against anyone who IS 40, or over 40 or well-over 40, no, no, seriously, I don’t mean you – you rock. So don’t start with the hate mail.

But I don’t like it, damn it. What does it have to offer? Credibility? I’ve got enough of that – at least with the people that I want it with. Legitimacy? Not all it’s cracked up to be, as it turns out. Seems legitimacy just means you have to show up at more meetings. Grown-up-edness? Not even a word, for God’s sake. I made it up.

So, I’ve decided to say no – er – no, thank you – to 39. Thanks for the offer – I appreciate it, but I think I’ll just sit tight here at 38. A nice, even number. A number without a sense of foreboding. Yeah, that’s it. I’m 38. It’s like invoking a stay-put when the new IEP doesn’t fit. Yep, I’ll just dig in and keep what I’ve already got, thanks.

I just won’t talk about it anymore. How old am I? Oh, I’m sorry, that information’s not available. All we seem to have here are last year’s records. It’s like cutting the tag out of a dress. Ooh! Look it’s not a large anymore. It’s a .. well, who the hell knows?

Which is precisely the point.

Happy birthday to me. Grrr.

but wait .. there’s more

.

One day later …

I walked around Kendall’s room tidying things up for bed. The musical instruments had quieted their songs for the night and were put back in their wooden crate one by one. The books promised to keep their stories to themselves and settled into their places side by side on the shelf. The room was bathed in the soft light of the bed-side lamp. All was quiet, but for the freshly scrubbed little girl chattering away on the bed.

“OK, friends,” said Pablo the blue penguin, “You would all line up for picture time.”

Slender little hands deftly moved the ‘friends’ into place. They lined up along the pillow and presumably smiled.

“OK now. You would all say, ‘Cheese’!”

She stretched Pablo’s little arm as far as she could up to his face. “Say ‘Cheese’!”

With a “Click!” the picture was taken.

“Good job, friends,” said Pablo. “You said Cheese!”

I tried to wrangle the Backyardigan friends for bed, but she wasn’t having it. “Oh, no. They would stay with me,” I was told in no uncertain terms. I settled onto my knees next to the bed as if in prayer and watched.

Uniqua was the first to go. She slid down the pillow with a “Wheee!” followed by an, “Uh oh! I bumped my head. It hurts me very much!” Her voice was deep, even slightly raspy, just like on TV.

Tyrone came quickly to the rescue, air-lifted into the scene by a tiny arm. “Oh no. Uniqua, are you OK?” A deeper voice, appropriately boyish. He leaned in to check on his friend.

“I am not OK,” replied Uniqua. “I bumped my head and it hurts me very much.”

“Oh no! I will give you a hug, Uniqua,” said a very concerned Tyrone.

Once they were securely intertwined, they were set aside – apparently to hug it out.

Tasha sprung into action from her place at the top of the pillow. She flew down with a flourish and a twist. “Ow!” she cried out. “I bumped my knee and it’s ba-leeeeding!”

Pablo swooped in. “Do you want me to take the blood out?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she answered politely. Gotta love Tasha.

A pretend band-aid and a hug sent them on their way.

I don’t know how to describe everything going through my head or my heart while I watched this scene unfold.

“She came to us with absolutely no functional play skills.”

Her integrated preschool teacher. She had marveled at the fact that she did not know how to play AT ALL.

Those words haunted me for years. It seems they still do. I remember wondering .. Don’t children just play? Is playing a skill? Is it something you learn? I was flabbergasted. For the millionth time that year, I felt like I had dramatically failed my child when I heard those words. How could I have not noticed that she didn’t know how to play?

But damn it all, here was my kid playing. And playing BIG. This was elaborate, dramatic, pretend play. Characters interacting with one another as part of a grand scene. Voices! Different, distinct, appropriate voices for each character! A sentence ran through my head.

She’s catching up!

Followed by another one.

“This is a disorder, Jess. Not a delay.”

And another.

“Her development will not ‘catch up’, per se; it will simply happen in a different order.”

The first specialist we ever saw. The speech therapist who directed us to the autism clinic - Do not pass Go, she had said. Do not collect $200. Just get help. The one who spent twenty minutes with our baby and knew. Just knew. And she was right about so many things. Not a delay; a disorder. A different order.

I’ve come to dislike disorder. I prefer Kendallorder. She shows us time and again that she will come to it, whatever ‘it’ is when she is good and ready. I guess our humble job is simply to make sure she’s armed and ready when that time comes.

Apparently she can take it from there.

no whammies

.

I’m almost afraid to talk about it. Scratch that. I AM afraid to talk about it. Did I learn nothing from this kid …?

.

That’s right – Oliver the jinx! The Brady kids convinced him he wasn’t really the jinx that he thought he was, but for heaven’s sake, the show went off the air after he joined the cast. ‘Nuff said.

But let me tell you, jinx or not, I can’t keep this to myself. Something is happening, folks. Something BIG.

Over the last three days, Little Miss Kendall has been tested beyond her limits. Far beyond. On Saturday, she spent the ENTIRE day with a group of running, screaming, squabbling, laughing, crying, LOUD girls. She sat through a picnic lunch, a ride in the car with three other girls and dinner at a table with SIX kids and NO adults. Throughout it all, she covered her ears periodically. She winced. She asked to be excused. She walked away. She went outside. She never once melted down, even when others did.

On Sunday, we took her to … cue Jaws music – doom doom doom doom doom doom … the mall (to be said in a whisper like the mom in St Elmo’s fire saying ‘jail’). We were there for HOURS. Yes, I know – call social services IMMEDIATELY. As we walked through the main atrium, a baby cried right behind us. Loudly. I looked at Darby. “Darb, do you hear that baby crying?”

“Ugh. Yeah.”

“Darb, do you hear Kendall screaming?”

“Um, no. Oh my gosh, Mama!”

Darby turned around to look at Kendall. “Great job, Kenz!” she yelled over her shoulder to her sister, who was walking a few paces behind with Matt.

Quietly she whispered, “But Mama, she’s covering her ears.”

“Right, baby. She’s covering her ears.” I glanced back at her to see that she was also humming softly. “She’s using the strategies she’s learned to block out the noise. And she’s NOT screaming.”

And then there was last night’s dinner by the pool. I ‘ve never seen nor heard anything like it. At the next table sat a mother and her three children, who looked to be about three, two and one. Busy lady. The mom had gotten up with the baby, leaving the two young toddlers sitting at the table. One of them screamed. The other responded with a louder scream. It became a contest to see who could scream the loudest. It was like a really, really bad joke.

I looked at Kendall munching her french fries.Munch. Munch. Munch. The kids continued to try to outdo one another - the volume was unreal. RIGHT NEXT TO US.

I swear, it was like some horrible test. Let’s throw the worst of the worst at her and see how she does! Well, I’ll tell you how she did. She ate her french fries. Period. Matt and I looked at each other incredulously. Neither of us would say anything; we were too afraid to break the spell. I did my best to engage her – to run interference. “How are those fries, baby? Do they taste salty or sweet?” Lame. I was too stunned to do better. Apparently I didn’t have to. Eventually the kids stopped screaming.

I’m not going to say it’s been easy on her. She’s been EXHAUSTED by bed time. But something’s kicking in. Something’s changing. The pieces are falling into place. Humming, covering ears, staying calm.

So I really, really hope I’m not jinxing it all, but for three days straight we’ve dropped that kid at the foot of the flippin Himalayas. And she’s planted her flag on Everest.

doing

I tried hard to explain it to Matt last night.

“It’s so odd,” I told him. “In so many ways, I feel so incredibly close to this woman, and yet we’ve never met. We’ve never even spoken!”

He’s heard this refrain before – I’d not be surprised to hear him add ‘ad naseum, dear’ – my amazement at these friends in the ether – after so many years, these true FRIENDS.

But today, it was one of those friends that made all the difference. So I tried to explain.

“She took a risk,” I said. He didn’t respond, waiting for more. He knows his wife. “An emotional risk. She stepped right over boundaries, somehow knowing that she could. She TOLD ME what to do. She sent me a velvet-gloved btch slap, signed with lots and lots of love.”

I stopped for a moment, hoping the import of this was getting through. “I don’t know how to tell you what it means to me that she would do that.”

“Oh, yes, it was very nice of her to take the time,” he said.

No, damn it! It was much, much more than that. I wasn’t going to give up. I needed him to understand why this mattered so much. I had to find a way to explain.

Friends and teachers and mentors come in so many forms. And sometimes one of them is simply willing to say, “I think I have something to teach you.” That’s not easy. In fact it can be really, really hard.

I told him about the e-mail that I got over the weekend from my friend Carrie. I told him how when I’d first read it, I was caught on my heels. I told him how I’d begun to make excuses. “Oh,” I thought, she just doesn’t see how much I DO take care of myself. Well, of course she’s worried; I don’t show the world that incredibly selfish side of me that spoils myself rotten! For heaven’s sake, I just don’t write about all of the things I do for myself!”

I began to list them in my head – the clothes I buy – the cars, the shoes, the cosmetics, the sunglasses, the shoes (yes, I said that twice – trust me, I buy myself a lot of shoes). “She just doesn’t hear about all of that,” I thought.

I forced myself to stop. To just STOP. I’d made a list of all the things that I do for myself and the list was comprised completely of THINGS that I BUY for myself. Ouch. BUYING for myself is not DOING for myself. Wow.

I spend an awful lot of time trying to ensure that my girls grow up knowing what matters. I teach them that THINGS don’t matter. Of course there are things that we need and things that help make life awfully comfortable,  but what kind of mother am I if I set the example for my kids that they should value THINGS over themselves?

I constantly tell them that making TIME for those that we love is the greatest gift we can give one another. But what about making time for ourselves? If we value ourselves, then don’t WE deserve our own time too?

‘Yes!’ said the wake-up call from this dear friend who saw past my line of crap and gently, lovingly made me confront what’s underneath. No matter that we’ve never met, nor even spoken, she knew. She wrote,

… it’s okay not to know. It’s okay not to be “up” and “on.” It’s okay to be pissed. It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to try your hardest and have it not be “enough.” It’s all okay. What is not okay is to ignore yourself. You will pay the price (dearly) which will inevitably “cost” your children. The social worker was right, “Take care of yourself first.”

.

I think that’s what I’m called to reiterate.

.

Take it from me … The price of not looking out for yourself is too high. Don’t pay it.

.

Those neck pains? Address.

.

The fatigue? Treat.

.

The tired of being tired, tired of being up and on. Listen to that.

.

And don’t forget that the love. you have for others, must be extended to yourself, too.

Reading it again just now I was brought to tears. Yes, Carrie, YES! I can’t be the only one who needs to hear this. I just can’t, can I?

.

We need to take care of ourselves. We have work to do. For our children, for ourselves, for each other.

I went and took a tour of a gym yesterday after work. It’s quiet, relatively private, out of the way. I stopped off after work and took my time walking around. The world did not implode in the time that I was gone. My children did not forget who I was because I came home a little later than usual. I will be joining that gym today.

An hour a day. ONE HOUR. One 24th of the day, I am giving to myself – adding it on to my work day. I’m downright giddy – energized.

Back in May, I wrote a letter to a friend who is new to this club of ours. I wrote,

You will neglect yourself. You will suddenly realize that you haven’t stopped moving. You’ve missed the gym. You’ve taken care of everyone but you. You will forget how important it is to take care of yourself. Listen to me. If you hear nothing else, hear this. You MUST take care of yourself. You are no use to anyone unless you are healthy. I mean that holistically, my friend. HEALTHY. Nourished, rested, soul-fed. Your children deserve that example.

My internal guide had fallen silent. She was preoccupied with three thousand other things. I needed a reminder. I needed a friend to say, “Enough.”

.

I have no idea how to thank her.

.

ed note .. thank you, carrie for graciously allowing me to share our conversation. i am so grateful for your wisdom and your friendship.

.