Oh, my sweet baby boy isn’t a baby anymore.
Being a boy, he’s always been crazy about machinery. Especially big, noisy ones (as long as they are turned off.) About the time his vocabulary was exploding, we were in the hospital with Julianna three times, where he frequently got to watch the helicopter taking off and landing. So he began to connect those two words--he couldn’t pronounce either one. We loved it: “Hec-a-co-te-ter” and “hos-a-popo.” He figured out “helicopter” first, about four months ago. Christian and I sniff-sniffed and shrugged. Oh, well, at least he still says hos-a-po-po.
Last Wednesday, on the way home from choir practice, we passed Ellis Fischel and Alex looked over and said, “Mommy, is that a hospital?”
I wanted to wail.
Alex’s imagination is so vivid now. He’s into Peter Pan, but it’s Captain Hook who haunts his bedtime. These days, we send the tigers after Captain Hook, and then the big tigers sleep in his closet, and the babies on either side of him (along with Fredbird, Ruff-Ruff, Raggedy Andy, and Superman (who is a rattly dog) and the Julianna bear (who is baby blue). And on nights when that fearsome red-coated apparition is not present, Alex likes to lasso the tigers himself and haul them out of his room and down the hallway, stomping barefoot, his legs in a wide stance. It is so stinking funny. Yesterday I sent him to the table with forks, and he said, “Mommy, I’m going to eat my hand! My hand is ice cream!” He proceeds to dig his fork into his hand and then take an imaginary bite to his mouth. “Mmmmmm!”
This morning, I was rushing out the door with both kids, trying to get Alex to day care before I had to be at Mass, and because I was putting Julianna in the car, I wasn’t there to get my goodbye kiss from my husband when Alex got his. “Hey!” I protested, “I want a kiss!” But the front door had already closed. Oh, well. I finished strapping Julianna into the van and went looking for Alex, who was nowhere to be found.
Just as I was preparing to go down in the back looking for him, the front door opened and out came Alex, with Christian right behind. “You want a kiss?” Christian said.
Alex looked very pleased with himself. Man, he is SO SWEET. Please pardon the all caps, but he is SO SWEET!
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
This morning at the library
Julianna is getting tired, Alex's ibuprofin is wearing off, and it's about time to leave when I hear a solid "THUMP" from the children's stacks, and a woman starts repeating, "Oh no, oh my God, oh no, oh my God." Over and over, this dull panicky tone of voice, not screaming--just that particular timbre that brings people running. I realize that her kid has bumped his or her head. And I can't help thinking, Calm down, lady, it's just a bump on the head. We've had five this morning already.
When my children and I pass the children's desk on the way out, she's got a 5 month old baby over her shoulder, a girl on her way into unconsciousness (or sleep, who knows?), and the mother is on the phone with 911 saying that she was carrying too much and the baby slipped out of her hands and fell 5 feet.
By the time we make it outside I know that the distant sound of sirens is headed right for us. Alex is jumping up and down. "Can I see the fire truck? Can I see the fire truck?" So we stop at the corner and wait for them to arrive. A ladder truck (why, I don't know), and a Universtity Hospital ambulance scream around the corner, not twenty feet from us. It's surreal to be excited for Alex and covering Julianna's ears, simultaneously hoping that that woman really is flipping out for no reason whatsoever.
And all the way to the van, I can't talk around the lump in my throat.
love me
When my children and I pass the children's desk on the way out, she's got a 5 month old baby over her shoulder, a girl on her way into unconsciousness (or sleep, who knows?), and the mother is on the phone with 911 saying that she was carrying too much and the baby slipped out of her hands and fell 5 feet.
By the time we make it outside I know that the distant sound of sirens is headed right for us. Alex is jumping up and down. "Can I see the fire truck? Can I see the fire truck?" So we stop at the corner and wait for them to arrive. A ladder truck (why, I don't know), and a Universtity Hospital ambulance scream around the corner, not twenty feet from us. It's surreal to be excited for Alex and covering Julianna's ears, simultaneously hoping that that woman really is flipping out for no reason whatsoever.
And all the way to the van, I can't talk around the lump in my throat.
love me
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Tiger Terror
Two days ago, Alex, fearless explorer, discovered tigers in his bedroom. And although tigers are funny, fascinating creatures during the day, at night they are terrifying—or at least, an excuse to stay up later. Consequently, we have added a new dimension to the bedtime routine. I have taken to opening drawers and doors, lassoing tigers and shooing them out the door and back to Africa, where they belong.
My children put their heads together sometime about 10 days ago and concocted an evil plan to shred Mommy’s nerves. The conversation went something like this:
Alex: “OK, Juweenanna, I’ll get scared of tigers and make Mommy sleep with me. Then you wake up 4 times a night for no reason at all, okay?”
Julianna: “Eehheeeeeheee! AAAAAAAAA!”
Alex: “Great. Then I’ll wet the bed every night, so Mommy and Daddy go crazy wondering why I’m not toilet trained anymore. And when it’s Daddy’s night to get up with us, you sleep straight through. You only get up on MOMMY’S nights. Understand?”
Julianna: “EEAAAAAAAaaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAaaa!” (I know she bounced while she said it.)
Thus are the most insidious conspiracies born.
I can laugh about this today because last night, they actually both slept through the night—and so did I. For the first time in two weeks.
My children put their heads together sometime about 10 days ago and concocted an evil plan to shred Mommy’s nerves. The conversation went something like this:
Alex: “OK, Juweenanna, I’ll get scared of tigers and make Mommy sleep with me. Then you wake up 4 times a night for no reason at all, okay?”
Julianna: “Eehheeeeeheee! AAAAAAAAA!”
Alex: “Great. Then I’ll wet the bed every night, so Mommy and Daddy go crazy wondering why I’m not toilet trained anymore. And when it’s Daddy’s night to get up with us, you sleep straight through. You only get up on MOMMY’S nights. Understand?”
Julianna: “EEAAAAAAAaaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAaaa!” (I know she bounced while she said it.)
Thus are the most insidious conspiracies born.
I can laugh about this today because last night, they actually both slept through the night—and so did I. For the first time in two weeks.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
The end and the beginning
In the last month, I have had to come to terms with the reality of Julianna’s Down Syndrome.
There is an initial grieving when you learn that your child has a disability. For some people it goes on forever. We were blessed—it was over in a few days. Then for a while, life goes on as normally as it can. A baby, after all, is a baby, and a child with DS, aside from heart conditions and so forth, isn’t different from any other baby.
But eventually the delays begin to show. For a while, you don’t notice, because your baby is your baby. Then you notice, but you think, ah, it’s only a little. Then come the niggling thoughts at inconvenient moments, like the middle of the night, or while you’re making dinner: Wasn’t Alex (fill in the blank) by (fill in the blank)? Well, you think, she is going to be delayed, after all, and holy cow, look at the way she works the room! Look at her sitting up!
Until, sometime around ten months, you think, she’s not putting anything in her mouth. I mean, nothing. You say, wait a minute, she’s getting close to a year and she’s not self-feeding. We’re still nursing five times a day because she can’t eat finger food. So you ask the occupational therapist, and the OT says, hmmmmmm….well, you know, I’m kind of stumped. I think you’re just going to have to wait till she’s ready.
You begin the process of switching OTs, because waiting just isn’t an option. She’s doing too well in other areas.
But even so, she’s eleven months old tomorrow, and she’s sitting up, but not transitioning in and out of sitting; she has to be helped into all-fours; she’s not pulling up and she only stands with a great deal of support on her butt.
So now the secondary grieving begins. This grief is not so all-consuming, so stormy, as the initial spat. This one goes much deeper. It lasts for months, accompanied by uncertainty and worry and fear. This grief is the grief of having to take an ugly, objective word like “retarded” and use it when describing your child. I still can’t do it. I have to say she’s “delayed.” My entire being cringes when I even think the other.
This was 2007.
Julianna is joy, and I rise up in blazing, righteous fury when I hear of people who choose to “terminate” their babies’ lives because of DS. (“Terminate,” as if ending a child’s life is no more consequential than firing a person.) And yet I also have to be honest and say that I have never in my life been so glad to see a calendar year pass into history.
For 2008, I’ll be satisfied if we can just stay out of the hospital.
There is an initial grieving when you learn that your child has a disability. For some people it goes on forever. We were blessed—it was over in a few days. Then for a while, life goes on as normally as it can. A baby, after all, is a baby, and a child with DS, aside from heart conditions and so forth, isn’t different from any other baby.
But eventually the delays begin to show. For a while, you don’t notice, because your baby is your baby. Then you notice, but you think, ah, it’s only a little. Then come the niggling thoughts at inconvenient moments, like the middle of the night, or while you’re making dinner: Wasn’t Alex (fill in the blank) by (fill in the blank)? Well, you think, she is going to be delayed, after all, and holy cow, look at the way she works the room! Look at her sitting up!
Until, sometime around ten months, you think, she’s not putting anything in her mouth. I mean, nothing. You say, wait a minute, she’s getting close to a year and she’s not self-feeding. We’re still nursing five times a day because she can’t eat finger food. So you ask the occupational therapist, and the OT says, hmmmmmm….well, you know, I’m kind of stumped. I think you’re just going to have to wait till she’s ready.
You begin the process of switching OTs, because waiting just isn’t an option. She’s doing too well in other areas.
But even so, she’s eleven months old tomorrow, and she’s sitting up, but not transitioning in and out of sitting; she has to be helped into all-fours; she’s not pulling up and she only stands with a great deal of support on her butt.
So now the secondary grieving begins. This grief is not so all-consuming, so stormy, as the initial spat. This one goes much deeper. It lasts for months, accompanied by uncertainty and worry and fear. This grief is the grief of having to take an ugly, objective word like “retarded” and use it when describing your child. I still can’t do it. I have to say she’s “delayed.” My entire being cringes when I even think the other.
This was 2007.
Julianna is joy, and I rise up in blazing, righteous fury when I hear of people who choose to “terminate” their babies’ lives because of DS. (“Terminate,” as if ending a child’s life is no more consequential than firing a person.) And yet I also have to be honest and say that I have never in my life been so glad to see a calendar year pass into history.
For 2008, I’ll be satisfied if we can just stay out of the hospital.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Kids in Church
April 2, 2007
So far, my blogging has mostly been about Julianna. Which is unfortunate, really, because Alex is a riot. He’s always doing unbelievably adorable things, like falling asleep with my old First Communion prayer book clutched tightly in one chubby little hand (and I do mean chubby!) It’s enough to make me wonder if he really will be a priest someday. That, and the way he squeals with delight when he sees church—any church!
Then again, maybe that’s just the drums talking.
For months, Alex has been fixated on drums. He associates drums and church, which is really funny considering how rare it is to actually find drums in use at church. Every time we go to church, he runs for the music closet. The drums have to be the first thing we set up for contemporary group. Then he bangs happily on the trap set until we are done. When the pastor came to visit us in the ICU, Alex took one look at him, shrieked ecstatically, and then began miming every kind of drum he knows.
The former pastor of a local church used to have an announcement read every week, essentially telling people to remove their kids from church if they grew “restless.”
Now, I imagine if you asked, he would have insisted that was not his intention—his intention was to remove children who were screaming and causing a disruption. However, every single parent I know heard that announcement exactly the same way: KIDS NOT WELCOME.
Every parent has to juggle parenthood, ministry and personal spiritual development. When I worked for the Church, it used to annoy me that young families didn’t volunteer more. Then I gave birth to an angelic first child. Even now, in the terrible twos, he’s pretty good at church. And that made it *possible* for us to continue in music ministry—but not easy. We had to be very committed.
Alex was the first “choir baby,” but now there are more like five. A few months ago, a parishioner complained that it was distracting to have kids being “passed back and forth” in the music area during Mass. Lectors and Eucharistic ministers don’t get to have their kids with them when they serve. Why should musicians? If there is a better way to make families feel that their contributions are unwanted, I don’t know what it is.
Then, shortly after Christmas, Alex was banging happily on the toms and a man began complaining that he came to church to pray, and he wanted it quiet. No matter that it was 20 minutes after one service and 25 before the next began—church is supposed to be a quiet place. Fortunately, our parish priests are wonderful men who know how much we put into our service to the Church. They told us that we should celebrate the fact that our son loves to be at church, making a joyful noise to God.
I sympathize with the desire for a distraction-free environment to worship in. But children are the future. And children are children. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me,” and I highly doubt that he added, “As long as they are quiet and don’t bother anybody.” If we make kids—not to mention their parents—feel unwelcome, we are sabotaging the future of the church. Yes, children need to learn how to behave in church. But the only way they learn is by being in church. And that means that they’re going to act fidgety, restless and yes, probably disruptive before they learn to sit still and “behave.”
In the meantime, we ought to be looking for ways to encourage young families to participate in ministry, not looking for reasons to be annoyed that they have their kids with them. Kids who are involved will become adults who are involved. The more people who are involved, the richer our Church will become.
OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. It’s taken me all day to write this blog, anyway, and I need to be mom now!
So far, my blogging has mostly been about Julianna. Which is unfortunate, really, because Alex is a riot. He’s always doing unbelievably adorable things, like falling asleep with my old First Communion prayer book clutched tightly in one chubby little hand (and I do mean chubby!) It’s enough to make me wonder if he really will be a priest someday. That, and the way he squeals with delight when he sees church—any church!
Then again, maybe that’s just the drums talking.
For months, Alex has been fixated on drums. He associates drums and church, which is really funny considering how rare it is to actually find drums in use at church. Every time we go to church, he runs for the music closet. The drums have to be the first thing we set up for contemporary group. Then he bangs happily on the trap set until we are done. When the pastor came to visit us in the ICU, Alex took one look at him, shrieked ecstatically, and then began miming every kind of drum he knows.
The former pastor of a local church used to have an announcement read every week, essentially telling people to remove their kids from church if they grew “restless.”
Now, I imagine if you asked, he would have insisted that was not his intention—his intention was to remove children who were screaming and causing a disruption. However, every single parent I know heard that announcement exactly the same way: KIDS NOT WELCOME.
Every parent has to juggle parenthood, ministry and personal spiritual development. When I worked for the Church, it used to annoy me that young families didn’t volunteer more. Then I gave birth to an angelic first child. Even now, in the terrible twos, he’s pretty good at church. And that made it *possible* for us to continue in music ministry—but not easy. We had to be very committed.
Alex was the first “choir baby,” but now there are more like five. A few months ago, a parishioner complained that it was distracting to have kids being “passed back and forth” in the music area during Mass. Lectors and Eucharistic ministers don’t get to have their kids with them when they serve. Why should musicians? If there is a better way to make families feel that their contributions are unwanted, I don’t know what it is.
Then, shortly after Christmas, Alex was banging happily on the toms and a man began complaining that he came to church to pray, and he wanted it quiet. No matter that it was 20 minutes after one service and 25 before the next began—church is supposed to be a quiet place. Fortunately, our parish priests are wonderful men who know how much we put into our service to the Church. They told us that we should celebrate the fact that our son loves to be at church, making a joyful noise to God.
I sympathize with the desire for a distraction-free environment to worship in. But children are the future. And children are children. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me,” and I highly doubt that he added, “As long as they are quiet and don’t bother anybody.” If we make kids—not to mention their parents—feel unwelcome, we are sabotaging the future of the church. Yes, children need to learn how to behave in church. But the only way they learn is by being in church. And that means that they’re going to act fidgety, restless and yes, probably disruptive before they learn to sit still and “behave.”
In the meantime, we ought to be looking for ways to encourage young families to participate in ministry, not looking for reasons to be annoyed that they have their kids with them. Kids who are involved will become adults who are involved. The more people who are involved, the richer our Church will become.
OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. It’s taken me all day to write this blog, anyway, and I need to be mom now!
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