A not-so-normal Tuesday morning

Morning routine: 5 a.m. - Put the dogs & cats outside...start the coffee...fill dog & cat food bowls...change all the furry & feathered water bowls...chop some fruit & veggies for the parrots...catch the big honkin' waterbug that's crawling up the wall...WHAT!!! Hold the phone...brain comes to a screeching halt!

While I'm half asleep, puttering in the kitchen this morning, something moving up the wall catches my eye. AAAIIIEEE!!! A HUGE freakin' oriental cockroach (waterbug). I grab some paper towels and a broom (for protection) and try to catch him, but he falls to the floor and scurries under the stove as I'm trying to hit him with the trusty broom. I wait patiently for him to come out, like a sniper, but when he does he scuttles into the dining room cuz I'm not fast enough!!! Crafty bug. This is where my super hero cat, Oliver, comes to the rescue. He saw that thing moving like lightning across the floor and he POUNCED! Good kitty!!! That bad ol' cockroach is sleepin' wit da fishies. I flushed three times because I don't want it crawling back up and biting my hoohaw while I'm sitting on the throne!

It May Not Be What You Think...

Recently I was shopping in my local Trader Joe’s. There was a young mom pushing a cart through the store, one child, maybe four years old, riding in the kid seat, and another slightly older and clearly a sibling, walking along side Mom. The child in the cart’s seat was alternately happy and content, and angry and vocal. Very vocal. Mom did a lot of ‘shushing’ and looking over her shoulder, as if to assess the audience. Hoo, boy. Took me back to my daughter’s early childhood, which, coincidentally, was also my early days of first-time motherhood.

I was in a Ralphs store, trying desperately to finish my grocery shopping before my kid melted down completely. She had not yet been diagnosed as special needs; I resisted looking down that path for a few years. I usually got the shopping done while she was in someone else’s care, but for some reason this day I had her with me. I think she was about five years old, probably before entering kindergarten. I thought something might be different about my kid, but I was recently divorced, and it had been textbook messy. There was a little voice in my head, sounding a lot like my ex-husband, that said she was fine, it was me screwing up, as a less than capable parent. All I knew for sure is that I worked very hard to not give in to her demanding tantrums. Consequently, I spent a lot of private time crying, from the wear and tear, and the self doubt, and a lot of public time looking apologetically over my shoulder. This day in Ralphs, we’d made it into the check-out line. She was screaming, demanding I buy every pack of candy in sight. I had a hold of her wrist, repeating “no” and “stop it” as if it was a meditation mantra. I was near to tears as I felt so many pairs of eyes on us, and saw so many pairs of lips drawn tight in disapproving frowns.

My turn with the cashier. It’s a little tricky to maneuver a wallet with only one hand while the other is clamped around a tantrumming child’s wrist in a death grip. I was crying a little by now, and the clerk leaned over and patted my (free) arm and said, “you’re doing a great job. You can’t give in to her.” I managed the transaction, and turned to grab the cart with one hand. The manager came over and offered to carry my daughter out to my car. My eyes got huge and I told him I was afraid she would kick him. He smiled and said it was no problem. He reached down and scooped her up, slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and headed out the door to the parking lot. I followed dumbly with the cart of groceries, then he dropped in behind me as I led us out to the car. He held her until I got the bags in the back, then he put her in her car seat, not letting go until I had her buckled in. He took the empty cart and waved good-naturedly. Wow.

Back in Trader Joe’s, this animated child could be heard periodically throughout the store. I was checking out and packing my grocery bags when a particularly loud wail carried over to my young checker and me. He rolled his eyes and said, “that kid- he just won’t shut up!” He was absolutely annoyed. I said, “yeah, I had a kid like that. Really smart, but different brain wiring. Sometimes very well behaved, sometimes definitely not. I thought about giving that mom a hug and telling her to hang in there, but I didn’t want to make her cry.” My clerk looked at me for a moment, then didn’t say another word, but his face told me he was thinking, reassessing.

I wish I had hugged that mom.

September 13, 2010 begins ADHD Awareness Week. Pass it on.

Breaking News...

So, it’s the big “M.” Menopause. Suspected for months, confirmed today. Did you know there’s a blood test to verify that? A few weeks ago I called my doctor wanting her opinion on an over-the-counter product to help with symptoms, and she had a different idea. Finish the birth control pill pak I was on at the time, and don’t refill it. Stay off the pills for four weeks, then have a blood draw, to check out what my ovaries are doing. Well, apparently my ovaries have checked out completely and left no forwarding address, because my doctor said there is no-o-o doubt, based on my blood levels, that I’m in menopause.

Hmm.

Do I throw a party or go into mourning? A party sounds good, but the invitations might be tricky. And what about those party favors? Empty tampon boxes? Personal size fans? Does Party City even have an aisle for that? (Actually, a personal, portable fan would be perfect. NOW! Whew! Okay, I’m better.)

As for mourning, I miss my hair. I never understood why women this age cut their hair so short. Now I do. It’s not constant misery, but the heat index jumps up often enough and so unpredictably that short hair affords a modicum of comfort and manageability. I had to renew my driver’s license in the DMV this year, and when I got to the counter and handed over my current one, the clerk looked at it and said, “your hair was really cute then.” She looked up and said, a little sheepishly, “it’s cute now, but it was really cute then.” It was ten years ago, and it was much longer, maybe even with a little perm left in it. I said, “yeah, but that was before menopause.” She laughed so hard, other clerks started looking at her. I thought she was going to fall off her chair. So I trotted out my standard line about buying life insurance on my husband, in case he didn’t survive my change of life at least I would be able to pay off the house. That kept her going another few minutes.

The other thing here is a mixed blessing and could fall under either the party or mourning category. The loss of fertility, the inability to procreate, is an odd thing. Now, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely do not want to have any more children. I don’t feel I was particularly successful the first time around anyway, and I never tried for a number two. And at my age, it would just be foolish. But nurturing life within one’s body is an awesome thing and a beautiful responsibility. It was my choice to attempt a pregnancy twenty years ago, and my choice since then to exercise birth control and prevent a pregnancy. Now that choice has been taken away from me, and I think I’m grieving a little. I’m not feeling that “well done, good and faithful servant” thing yet.

Maybe that comes after the party.

Like a wheel turning...

OD and her SO came to my house for dinner on Easter. As they were leaving, with the extra ham I had cooked for them to have sandwiches in the coming week, and a ton of leftovers, I blew her a kiss and said, "Love you honey, drive safe and call me when you get home!" YD, who was standing behind me said, "Mom! That's the first time you've ever said that to one of your daughters!" Call me when you get home. Until two months ago, my home was her home.

The first of my babies has fledged the nest and is living in her own place. All those months she was mad at me were just her way of making the break without the pain of having to say goodbye. Time and a little distance have helped to give us both a new perspective - and respect for each other. The real test will come later. She and SO are planning a move to the middle of the country where jobs are more plentiful and the cost of living is lower. Life goes on...and on...and on.

Growing Up & Away

Well, she’s 26 ½ and OD is finally moving out. It’s not the way I dreamed it would be, her finding a little place, me helping her shop for appliances, dishes, towels, etc. She’s going out with a bang – or maybe not. You see, she hasn’t spoken to me, except in response to direct questions, since October. She comes and goes silently and when she’s here, she hides out in her room. She’s angry – at me, at the world, at life. But since she can’t take her anger out on “the world” she aims all of it at me and her sister. We are the lense through which she focuses her perceptions about what is wrong with her life.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I just can’t summon up the emotions that seem to be warranted here. I’m not angry or sad. I love her and will miss having her around, but I’m coveting the master bedroom she’s had since we moved into this house 2 ½ years ago. In all the years of being a parent, I’ve never had the master bedroom, wanting my daughters to have the bigger rooms. I’ll finally be able to set up my craft tables and have a space to work on my sewing projects. When she takes her three cats and one 75-pound dog, my house will stay cleaner. And my pet food bill will drop to whatever it costs to feed my 10-pound Chihuahua.

I pray that some time apart will help her to refocus her life and give her the maturity to see that her problems aren’t my fault or YD’s. I’m certainly not a perfect parent, and there are many things I wish I’d done differently. But if love counts for anything, then I’ve loved my daughters with all my heart since the day I first knew they were growing inside me.

OD, I wish you the best that life has to offer and will be praying for you. If you need anything, you just have to ask. Love, Mom

Circle of Life

My special needs daughter is now almost twenty years old. By this time in my life, I had been driving for four years, I had a full-time job, I was living in my own apartment and just generally getting on with a pretty good life. My daughter, being a little behind the curve, still struggles with more basic details. I have learned to celebrate the small victories, like when she dyed her hair jet black in the women’s restroom at the mall, I rejoiced it wasn’t purple. Last summer, she went to the fair with some friends. I strongly recommended she give her debit card to me, in exchange for some cash. This was my attempt to limit the potential damage to her bank account. To my surprise, she agreed. Another small victory.

Later in the day, we exchanged some philosophical text messages about the dilemmas and difficult choices presented by such limited funds. At one point, I texted, “welcome to adulthood.” My daughter texted back the equivalent of a raspberry.

I flashed back to a moment in my teenaged years when I realized I was growing up, against my will. I had been a tomboy. My favorite toys were Hot Wheels and a pitch-back. I hung out with my dad, going fishing with him and his buddies, and yes, I baited my own hook and cast my own line. I puttered around the garage with him. When he decided to build a HeathKit television, I read ahead in the instructions and lined up the little circuits and transistors. (This was exquisite fun!) My favorite photo from childhood shows my dad holding a little horny toad he found in the backyard, and my three-year-old self is right in there checking this guy out while my (older) sister is cowering in the background.

We went fishing a lot. The moment I’m remembering must have been after I hit sixteen, because prior to that age I didn’t need a license. (I know I had one because I remember the bait and tackle shop clerk asking me my weight and I didn’t want to tell him.) This awful moment came one day when my dad asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him, and I said, “no.” I didn’t know why I didn’t want to go, but after he left I cried. I’m not sure I ever went fishing again. Looking back at that moment, I was afraid, knowing I was supposed to start letting go, but not understanding how that was going to be a good thing. It was soon to be “my turn,” and I wanted to pass, thank you very much.

There have been some bumps in the road as I’ve moved on, times I’ve reached for my folks, needing support of one kind or other. They had equipped me with a great toolkit, and sometimes their support was simply to remind me of that. I pray, but frequently doubt, that I am similarly preparing my daughter.

Raising a special needs child has been challenging. Occasionally I need a mini mental vacation, and I dream of spinning reels and pencil clams, dirty hands and horny toads. I wonder what memories will comfort my daughter as her life’s journey continues…