Itchy Fingers

Warning. What you are about to read will sound like willful complaining. Disclaimer--women use ventilation as a healthy means of reestablishing equalibrium. If moms, who haven't spoken more than 4 minutes to other adults all day, then ventilation needs are increased. Please don't continue if this paragraph annoyed you.

Boys are down. Maybe. For a while. I mean Joey. He has been waking up frequently for a while. First it was the ear infection, then the wake-ups just kept going. Yesterday he spent quite a bit of the day on my body. Honestly, I'm just trying to follow his cues. Today he napped with me and Nicky (this part is sweet) in the big bed, but when we crept away (post Nicky's "rest time") he opened his eyes and seemed to have been playing possum. So I could research and analyze, or ride it out. Ahh...that I were that laid back to ride it out. So I've been thinking about the onset of object relations and potential night waking and missing the comfort object. But, honestly, at night, I'm too tired and just respond. And Moses has been helping to pinchhit in the nighttime. And clean and sweep.

I think about families that I used to see pre-family-dom. And now I think, OMG, I had no idea what was going on. Or maybe our reality is different. But the ability to see a movie, relax for more than 10 minutes a day, move down your to-do list more than one load of laundry per day. What pleasures. Or brush your hair. I love being able to have the luxury of staying at home. Really I do. I appreciate it. But please--I've got to vent to stay balanced for these little boys. It's just constant--today was a 14 hour day without any single digit minutes without a boy within inches of my body. I've always thought I didn't need much alone time. Now I lust for it!! I want it!!

But, when the boys go down (today after all, it's 9:00), it's like...overwhelming to do list. Forget about alone time--it's time to rally!!! Do I catch up on email, contact so-and-so, do the bills, try to catch up with the photo backload, post my grades, wrap presents, contemplate buying presents, (lets face it--forget about sending Christmas cards), move the too small baby clothes out, move my ill-fitting clothes out, do the dishes, make the grocery list, clean my car (orange peels, everywhere), adjust the car seat straps, clean the office, clean the house, clean the refrigerator, make a phone call to someone I have neglected to call back 2 weeks ago, send Shauna Malone photos taken by my mom, including googling her address to find our where she lives, or go to the kitchen and "prep" to get ahead for tomorrow. This is the list that occurs this moment. I actually don't have a to do list.

Maybe that's what the itchy fingers are about. For so long, I've worked on the computer. And the to do list is on the computer. Nice to sit and get some words out. Or maybe the itchy fingers are about needing to connect with adults. Hello--that's because the only adult conversations this day came from the Sears portrait studio lady. (But we bonded, ok? After being there from 11:30 to 2:30 with Joey asleep on me and Nicky starting to follow her around because we were there waiting forever because her coworker had to leave for home and she had thousands of families waiting for portraits but only one her...and she was still polite and thoughtful and reshot Nicky's photos because his original shots were pretty atrocious with the fakey smile....)

It's just that Nicky never stops talking and would be happy with 150% audience participation into the pretend play of the moment. I'm always invited, but sometimes I've got to change the diaper, wash the dish, pack the snack bag, smile at the baby...whatever. Sometimes I like to put deodorant on. Especially when I don't get to bathe. And that's all good. Except now, little JoJo is figuring out the family and has been showing that, nobody leaves JoJo in the corner. JoJo will be heard, JoJo will be held, JoJo may even quietly lead his brother one day. So I'm really pulled all over the place, roughly 10 of the 15 hours per day.

I'm just trying to hang in there for the next 6 months that are more challenging. OK, more months will be challenging. But if you're my friend or family, cut me some slack. I'm totally hanging on by threads. Is this how it is with everyone? I mean, I don't feel incompetent. To the contrary, I feel that this honestly is part of competency. And really, I do feel that I'm going moment by moment, transition by transition, meal by meal, dish by dish, feeling by feeling. Clearly, I need some village. Moses helps, but honestly (hi retro wife) he has his pressure lab full meeting the work demands. And he still gives his all.

Thanks for listening to my itchy fingers! Have good moments and holidays.

:-)Ellen

Heads

I'm wearing a pirate headband. It's a grey Mossimo t-shirt. That's Target for the now red circle shoppers. Size extra large. The grey t-shirt reminds me of all the contradictions of the day.

(1) Play pirates. Do work during the 30 minutes rest time instead of making dinner. Then instead of making dinner while Joey is still asleep, play pirates. Because Nicky really wants to play. And my heart says, he needs this more than you need to set up a chaos-free dinner hour. Nicky's pirate headband is a stripe long-sleeve shirt. Very piratey. And we're nice pirates. I contribute the idea of inviting the "not nice" pirates over for lemonade or hot chocolate. (Some like it hot, some want ot be refreshed). Nicky agrees but then decides to splash those not nice pirates into the water. BTW--the pirates are blocks and the boat is an upside-down crate. Anybody doing play therapy analysis, stop stop! Or that's what the grey-headed pirate tells herself, just stop analyzing. Somebody stop me!

(2) My library book last month actually was a historical fiction bit (can't remember the name or author) about a town in Southwestern England being invaded by pirates. Can you say, yo ho, rape, murder, kidnap for pursuit of religion. What's that word? When you go on a mission to praise God? In this case, piracy as a form of fundraising. When you think about that ride at Disneyland, isn't that someone's ironic joke? Let's make a ride where tourists watch pirates get ready to rape, pillage, and set fire to a community. And the boat serenely meanders through the town, after those first two awesome hills at the beginning of the ride. So...why am I letting the pirate play happen? I know there will be many boy things that I don't understand that have to do with adrenalin and violence. But, yeh, the irony of pretending to be something so vicious is apparent to me. I remember playing Cowboys and Indians in Christine Vansiclen's back yard. That would never go over now. And the Army guy play, too...hmm.. You could say that the pirate thing is "safe" because it is historical. But that's not true. Piracy is alive and happening off the coasts of Africa.

Nice pirates. Hmmn...

Joey. Can't wear a pirate hat. Being very careful of his head. Doctor told me on Monday that his right side is flat. Yes, I feel awful and responsible that I may be ushering in a flat head for his life. WHEN I SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT IT!! So now I am focused/ OBSESSED on keeping his head turned the other way. Yesterday I accidentally woke him up from his afternoon nap trying to change his head. Sorry Little Jojo.

And I wish sometimes that my own head would just chill out. Having kids with my hyper-anxious temperament is hard work. Poor little guys. At least they get to play pirate with me.

Inside the Tornado, or maybe watching from afar

Parenting feels like a tornado--only sometimes I feel like I'm outside watching the tornado spin by and sometimes I'm inside the tornado and not sure where the ground is or where I am in relation to anyone else. (Sorry, I just finished reading Wicked so excuse the tornado metaphor.) And the perspective switch happens can happen so quickly. What I mean is, sometimes Nicky will say or do something and I catch myself not knowing. Not knowing what I think is right anymore. Do I respond to sassy behavior with a strict limit, do I make a point to give him more nurturing, do I use it as an educating moment, am I concerned about how others see his behavior, am I unconcerned?, when is the time to make a shift in what we're doing for discipline? how much is the right amount of talking to him, setting limits, and just trying to live and hang out? What if I'm stern when what he really needs is warm, or vice versa? And if I'm using my intuition to decide on how to respond, how do I know if I'm not off? The tornado just shifts, and I constantly feel like I have to look around and see where I am in relation to everything else...and then the tornado is gone and it's calm and sunny. Wow. Why? What brought the calm? Was it something nuerological that started firing and then calmed down? Was it the effect of whatever I did to respond? Or the exact opposite. And the discipline thing is just one of many doubts I find myself tuning into.

You've probably figured out by now that Nicky is the tornado. Unbelievable to think that I've spent the past 10 years guiding parents, without knowing about the tornado effect. I don't mean to write off everything I said or did as a social worker, but there just is that KNOWING that comes from the NOT KNOWING of being a parent. And through the NOT KNOWING comes a different learning. Sometimes I feel like I just question everything...and that powerful connection of being a parent only makes it harder to find the clarity of how and when to respond.

So here's the latest example. Nicky doesn't really play with other kids at school. When I write that, my heart bleeds for him. But then you break it down. What does this really mean? Is he playing sometimes? Is he ok with this? The teachers say that he seems content, that he is "where he needs to be," that he's particular about who he plays with, and that he doesn't seem to be stressing about it, essentially. But I see him play at home. Wanting that intense back-and-forth, so sad when we don't have the time and intensity he craves for us to give to him. I wonder if Nicky looks content playing alone, but really is accomodating the fact that he doesn't know how to bridge the social gap (and is likely unwilling to sacrifice getting his way.) Tornado--to what extent am I projecting onto him? What criteria would help to evaluate how much of an issue this is for him, and if it is an issue, how to help with it? Or let it sort itself out as he grows? Or give him help in bridging the gaps? I fear that he is just reconciling himself to solitary play. I saw how proud and excited he was to have kids calling his name, and self-conscious and delighted both. And didn't know what to do with it.

Why should it be so complicated to help your kid be happy and play? Is this the curse of the social worker? Or am I tuning into my child's needs. How much is too much, how much is not enough. Hurry, answer quickly, because a tornado is coming.

The dance of the black pants and black shoes

So I need to spend my 30 minutes of work/quality adult time looking online for black ballet shoes/ aka "dancing" shoes. Why? Because couldn't find them in the dance store. Why? Because the guy who will dance in the black shoes is a boy. And the dance school world is not really designed so neatly for little boys who want to move like they're on "Dancing with the Stars."

So Nicky likes to dance and the dance began with finding a boy-friendly environment for my little guy...so that it would feel more welcoming. When you're the only guy who doesn't get to be part of the pretty pink club, it just sets you up as guy on the outs. Wait...OMG...speaking as Nicky's advocate, it actually was feeling marginalizing to be a boy. And Nicky, he needed a welcoming entry into his 3 year old dance class career. So we found Liz's class at Marrillyn Mcdowell, and she's AWESOME! She was my teacher when I used to do things "for me" about five years ago. She's young, creative, funny, but also has the dance discipline with some good levity. And she has a little girl who's almost 3.

Somehow managed to get Nicky to dance class. "Miss Liz, I'm a HARD dancer!" He took to her immediately. Which is good. Adjusting to new stuff is not Nicky's forte. And here goes Nicky being the "good listener" kid that poor Liz kept referring to as she pulled little boys off of the dance bar time and time again. Did I say boys? YES!! It's a boy class! Didn't mean to be, but that's how it's shaping up. So our deal is to try one class and then he can say if he wants to return. He liked it, so this ushered in the dance pants deal.

The big excitement today was going to get black dance pants and shoes after school. Yay!! Nicky's chomping on cheerios and chattering about pants and shoes. We went to the dance store and there weren't any shoes...so we moved on to pants. While the woman was pulling out a stack of girls' jazz pants for him to try on, Nicky pulled out the cutest rainbow leotard with metallic trim around the shoulders. Really cute--not too girly but had some style. Wait, I said not too girly, but clearly a girl item. My heart leaped. Who knew the dance of gender identity could be so trepadacious? And, let's be honest, HOW FUN IS IT REALLY TO BUY BLACK DANCE PANTS AND BLACK DANCE SHOES FOR A THREE YEAR OLD ON YOUR BIG SHOPPING TRIP? I mean, aren't rainbows more fun? We ended up walking out with Nicky wearing his dance pants and carrying a shiny blue magic wand ($3.00) which Nicky was using as a magic pirate stick, holding it with the big wand part in his palm.

So I was feeling really split in my postgame analysis. Should I have let him try on the rainbow leotard? I never gave the chance to even assess if he really wanted it or was just checking it out before the next shiny thing in his path. And what would an expensive leotard purchase have meant? Hidden at the bottom of the dressup box? Can we say, fetish training? Or maybe boldly letting him wear it wherever and whenever. "Oh, Nicky loves his rainbow leotard SO MUCH that he even sleeps in it!" No, Moses would have no rainbow leotard wearing, even if he is supporting the dance classes. But I thought about all this, maybe more. And then I said, "Wow, that has great colors..." and moved on to the pants rack.

I also thought about it at Payless, when Nicky held up a pink ballet shoe (they, too didn't have his size in black) and asked for that color.

"Miss Liz says your dance uniform is black pants and black shoes."

"Why?"

"To look really cool and dancy. Come on, let's go find your shoes."

For me, I guess I'm conscious that if I want to help Nicky explore the politics of spitting, sneezing, wearing rainbow spandex, pony tails, and pretty being a girls' domain, I have to take a deep breath and swim with him. I am totally aware, though, that my lack of endorsing the leotard and pink tights for him was one more lesson for Nicky about the confines of being a boy. If only his mother was so brave? Idunno...I just know that I have 7 more minutes to find black shoes online.

Nicky's first post

Nicky sez, "Write E-L."

OK. Done. Anything else?

"No."

Well. This is going to be a pretty exciting blog, I can tell.