Way Better

Tom called yesterday afternoon to report that drop off at my mom’s house went fairly well. It was a little rough because they (the bus driver and her helper) were trying to teach Olivia how to watch the driver for her signal that it’s safe to cross the road.

Olivia didn’t want to pay attention to the driver, she wanted to get across that road to her daddy. She was in tears once she was allowed to go to Tom.

My mom said she plans to already be across the street and will help Olivia learn to watch the driver herself. We don’t actually plan for O to have to cross the street by herself at any point this year or probably even next. She’s LITTLE for Pete Sakes!

But when I got to my mom’s yesterday afternoon Olivia told me that she liked the bus. She was a little busy playing with Alyssa and Jaxon in the dirt and on Pawp’s boat, so she didn’t have a lot of time for conversation.

When we settled in to rock at 7:30 (she’s exhausted by then. I think if I sat down with her at 7:00 she’d be asleep by 7:30, as it is, we’re finishing eating by 7:00, then we need to wash faces and hands, brush teeth and put jammies on, 7:30 really is the best I can do for settling down) she laid across my lap, cuddling with a pink-haired Barbie that had turquoise legs.

I rubbed her back and scratched her hands. She loves having her hands and arms gently scratched. I HATE scratching her hands. But I do it without complaint because I know she loves it. It’s just so annoying because she constantly moves her hand around, trying to find the perfect spot for the scratching.

Anyway, this is not about whether or not I like scratching hands. It’s about the fact that she didn’t suck her thumb as she fell asleep. She drifted off, her thumb most definitely NOT in her mouth, which means her hair was spared the pulling it usually gets when she sucks her thumb. I say this isn’t a big deal but when she doesn’t do it, I realize how much I want to hair pulling and thumb sucking to be over. I want her to be in a place of calm and peace where she doesn’t need those forms of self-comfort.

She woke up this morning at 5:45, cheerful and ready to go.

When the bus pulled up, she was ready. I put her on the first step and she climbed up the others, not bothering to look back until she was sitting next to Alyssa. They both smiled and waved. Olivia looked at me like she’s been doing this forever. As if to say, “What’s the big deal, Mom?”

That’s my girl.

Now…how to break it to Tom that even though August was a good month for eating healthy, September just might not turn into my exercise month…?

Brave

She cried when I put her on the bus this morning. She was so excited all morning, bouncing around, giggling as I chased her around the house trying to wet her hair down in the back.

We went out to wait for the bus and she was still so excited. She had her pink backpack on and her off-white sweater was buttoned up against the early morning chill. Her silver shoes sparkled in the morning sun. She grinned as she and her sister posed for pictures.

Then that big yellow bus pulled up to the driveway. She looked at me with huge eyes as her sister bounded up the stairs. I took her hand, led her to the bus and put her on the first step. I helped her climb the other three steps.
The bus driver, Mindy, chirped, “Good morning, Olivia. You have the most beautiful blue eyes.”

She turned toward me with tears in those beautiful blue eyes.

Mindy said cheerfully, “You can sit right up front with Kallie. She’s in your class.”

The tears fell and became sobs. I climbed the steps and hugged her tight. I heard Mindy call, “Alyssa, will you come up and sit with your sister?”

Alyssa moved from her assigned seat five rows back to the empty seat behind the driver. I put Olivia in Alyssa’s lap and I walked off that bus, calling to the girls, “I love you.”

To the bus driver, I muttered, “It’ll get better.”

And it will. The first day is always the hardest.

Tomorrow there might still be tears or even sobs, but it will get better. For her and for me.

I did not cry. Not this time. She’s growing up, starting a chapter of her life that doesn’t include me in every moment. And that’s good, it’s life.

Tom called me to report that his recon mission of following the bus to the school to watch her get off the bus went well. She was fine. She had stopped crying by the time the bus got to the school. Her teacher was right there to meet her and Kassie as they climbed off the bus (or to help her get off the bus, as is the case with Olivia.)

Sure, she sucked her thumb last night as she fell asleep but I expected that, remember? She stopped once, she’ll stop again when she’s ready, when she’s comfortable, when things feel ‘normal’ to her again. Once she realizes that each day, she’ll get on that bus, go to school, get back on it and be taken to Grammy’s house, she’ll be fine. Right now she’s unsure of what’s happening when. She’s figure it out. She’s a smart girl like that.

Until then? I’ll rock my baby to sleep as she sucks her thumb, telling her how proud I am of her and how smart and brave she is.

And she is. She’s brave and smart and funny and sweet. Just like her big sister, who gives love and comfort instinctively (though she’s secretly relieved that Olivia doesn’t ride the same bus home. This gives Alyssa a chance to sit back in her regular seat with her classmates and be just like everyone else.) They’re lucky to have each other.

And I’m so very, very lucky to have them.

Anxious

We’re putting Olivia on a bus tomorrow.

I’m sort of losing my mind with anxiety over this seemingly small act.

See, Olivia isn’t the strongest kid in her preschool class. She might very well be the cutest (because, duh, I’m her mom and so yes, she’s the cutest) but she is not the strongest nor is she probably the most coordinated.

But we’re putting her on a bus and hoping the teacher is out there to help her off when the bus arrives at school.

I have visions of her tripping and tumbling down those stairs and onto the paved parking lot. It gives me the shudders just thinking about it and yet I can’t seem to think about anything else.

I know. I know she’ll probably be fine.

I know the teacher will more than likely be there, waiting for her.

Even so, I’ve convinced Tom to follow the bus to school and make sure someone is there to help Olivia off the bus.

I even know that kids get on buses every single day. Heck, kids with special needs get on buses every day. But not my kid. Not my kid with special needs. This is a big deal. To me, to her. So yes, I’m stressed and

And yes, Alyssa will be on the same bus but she’s reported that the bus driver always lets the kindergarteners and preschoolers off first, which means that Alyssa won’t be there to help her sister off the bus. Heck, I don’t even want to put that chore on her eight-year-old shoulders.

But what if the teacher is busy helping another kid off another bus when O’s bus releases the littlest kids? What if the kid behind her is in a hurry and gives her a shove? I can’t stand the thought.

I sincerely hope that I can come here tomorrow and write sheepishly about how great her first bus ride was. That I can say that she loved it and that I’m stupid for being so worried. I’d love to make that confession.

But for now, I guess I’ll just sit and quietly lose my mind with worry.

Does worry and anxiety burn calories? Hey, I’m looking for any positive I can find in this situation.

And let the record show that after four weeks of eating healthy, I’ve lost 16.5 pounds. Two more days left in August. We’ll see what the monthly total ends up being. If I survive the stress of the next twenty four hours.

Dams and Mud Pies

It's been one of those weekends where we don't do much and yet it feels like a lot got done.

The laundry seemed to be less intense than most weekends. It's done.

The girls had their moments but now they're both bathed and jammied, with clean hair and toes.

Tom and I were mostly in sinc, especially as I experimented with my new soft-spoken side. Wheee!!

I picked twelve green peppers from the garden, chopped them, bagged them and put them in the freezer. Our tomatoes are FINALLY starting to ripen.

I spackled the twelve hundred nail holes in the girls' room in preparation for painting next weekend. Yes, more painting. I know. It feels never ending. Alas, it has to be done and I know that once it is done, I'll feel so much better.

The girls and I walked to my mom's house today. Well, okay, I walked, pushing a double stroller that held 100+ pounds of kid. It was a tough walk but I feel good that we did it. Alyssa did walk occasionally, so there's that.

And when we got home, we headed to the backyard where the girls played in a gentle sprinkling of water, building a dam and making mud pies.

Now that's what I call an excellent way to end a nice weekend. Now it's time for dinner, books and bed. Back to school and work tomorrow.

Soft Spoken

I've never really been all that soft-spoken. I'm not so much rowdy as I'm just...not soft-spoken. Yes, that makes so much sense.

Anyway! Last night, I was a bit of a jerk to Tom. He called from the kitchen and asked if I was done with a bowl I'd put in the sink.

I went immediately on the defensive and snapped, "Yes!" See, in my defense, I thought I heard a bit of a snap in his voice too, as if he were saying, "Hey, if you were done with this bowl, why didn't you put it in the dishwasher instead of in the sink?"

But that wasn't what he said. He just asked if I was done with it. And then he put it in the sink. And then I felt bad for snapping and his feelings were hurt and ugh...

So this morning was fine, as it usually is even after one of us has been a jerk the day before.

On my way to the grocery store with the girls, Tom called to suggest I get two pounds of turkey instead of just one because we're going through quite a lot these days as we both attempt to eat healthier.

I answered the phone softly, "Hello?"

I knew it was him, of course. Doesn't everyone have caller id these days? But sometimes, I just like to keep him on his toes. I have been known to answer his calls with, "Hola?" Or "Guten Abend!"

Today, I was soft-spoken. And I continued the entire conversation that way.

He finally asked, "Are you okay?"

I said gently, "Of course. Why do you ask?"

He replied, "You sound really...relaxed."

And you know what? I was. Speaking softly and gently made me feel gentle. It made me feel mellow.

For the rest of our trip to town, I tried the soft-spoken approach with the girls and it worked. I was more relaxed. I was gentler. They were quicker to respond to my suggestions and questions than they usually are when I'm just louder and yes, sadly, sometimes harsher.

So this is the start of an attempt to be a softer spoken wife and mother. Maybe just a softer-spoken person all the way around. It can't hurt.

Doesn't the saying go that you ger more flies with honey than with vinegar? I'm tired of being sour and quick tempered. I'm ready for a softer outlook on life.

My daughters and husband deserve this as much as I do. I'm hoping that Alyssa can learn from me that being gentler with her sister will get her the results she wants much faster than being harsh and loud. I know she learned her current outbursts from me and that makes me sad.

This is not to say that I don't think my girls should stand up for themselves and others but there are often more ways than one to get what you want from the world.

It's worth a try anyway.

The Truth About Pickles

The stress of the week is getting to us. Not only has school started, which began a major change in Olivia’s life, Alyssa headed off to third grade as if she owned the school. She came home to my mom’s every day full of joy and excitement. She watched a little television, at a few snacks (seriously, a few, not just one, not just two, but several snacks) then she headed outside to play with Pickles, the stray cat that took up residence in my mom’s backyard.

No matter how often Prissy, my mom’s big house cat, tried to run him off, Pickles appeared here to stay.

Until Wednesday, when Papa drove off with Pickles toward his (Papa’s, not the cat’s) brother’s house. There, Pickles found his forever home. He will grow up with another kitten for a brother, a border collie for a friend and all the cows a cat can want to avoid.

Alyssa was devastated. She cried all evening. Even after being promised a visit to Pickles this weekend, she couldn’t make the tears stop.

She sobbed, “It’s not fair! First my fish dies and then Pickles is taken away from me.”

She blamed Papa for taking Pickles away. She blamed Gram for letting Papa take Pickles away. She blamed Tom for not letting Pickles come live with us. The only one she didn’t blame was me because she sort of knew that if it were completely up to me, I’d have caved and let Pickles come home with us. I think pets are good for kids. Do I WANT a pet? Not really, but I know how much she wants one and so I’d have let her have him.

But I also know that Tom is adamant against pets, especially inside pets, and so I stand by him, even if I don’t really feel as strongly as he does about not having a pet. Plus, I plan to work on him in the coming years and hope to convince him to go for getting her a pet for her tenth birthday. It could happen.

So I hugged her often last night. I patted her back and agreed that it’s not fair. I brushed her hair out of face and gave her tissues. I promised her that we’d see Pickles often and reminded her that he’s now at a home where he won’t get beaten up by Prissy, nor is he at risk of getting hit by a car as he would have been at our house.
I told her that at his new house, he gets to go inside to get away from the rain, he gets to eat yummy kitten food instead of Prissy’s cat food. He’ll be loved and cared for and he’ll still be close enough to visit.

I assured her that he won’t forget her.

Just before we left my mom’s with Alyssa in tears, my mom asked her, “Would you rather I lied to you and just said that he disappeared?”

Alyssa sobbed, “No, I’m glad you told me the truth. But I miss him.”

Oh Sweetie, life can be so hard. The truth is often so very, very hard.
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But then it gets better. My mom took Alyssa to see Pickles the day after he was taken to his new home. When Alyssa got back from her visit with the kitten, she was bounding with joy.

“He remembered me!” she gasped with joy. “He even gave me high five, just like I taught him to do.”

My mom reported that when they got to Fred’s (the brother-in-law who adopted Pickles) house, Pickles was on the porch with his new little brother. When he saw Alyssa and she called out to him, he bounded off the porch and ran to her, letting her hold him and snuggle him.

This morning, after a good night’s sleep, Alyssa said wistfully, “Pickles seems really happy at Fred’s house. At least now he’s not being beaten up by Prissy. He and his little brother just play together instead of fighting.”

My girl is growing up. She’s learning that sometimes, you have to let go even when you don’t want to because it’s best for the other creature that you do let go.

Obviously I could learn a lot from my sweet, sweet eight year old daughter.

A Third Grader

Third grade, three days in, has been better for us than any other year so far. The night before the first day of school, Alyssa had a little trouble falling asleep. She was nervous, she confessed. But it didn’t take her nearly as long to go to sleep as it had in years past.

She rode the bus the first morning and has each day since, without a fuss. I walk her to the end of the driveway, she crosses the street at the driver’s signal and that’s it, she’s on her way to school with minimal help from me.

Tom has dropped Olivia off at school the last couple of days. He reports that she gets a little pouty when he starts to leave and he gives on last hug and kiss and then walks away. He’s a better man than I am.

He wants Olivia to start riding the bus. I’m hesitant. The last two days that Tom has dropped Olivia off, her teacher has already headed to the class room, which means he’s walked O to her room.

I don’t want to burden Alyssa with the job of getting her sister to her classroom. I don’t want Alyssa to have to be the one to soothe O’s fears/tears/poutiness.

Alyssa is eight years old. She’s in third grade. I want her to be a kid.

I know that having a special-needs siblings makes kids grow up faster. I know this. But I also know that we can choose how much responsibility Alyssa has for her sister. And this feels like too much. She should be able to go to school on the bus and get to her own class without having to worry so much about her little sister.

Tom is going to ask the teacher tomorrow if there will be someone actually meeting Olivia at the outside at the bus in the mornings, someone who can take her to her classroom, someone other than Alyssa.

I love that Alyssa doesn’t see her sister as a special-needs kid. She sees Olivia as a typical, annoying little sister. And I want that for both of them. I want sibling rivalry, I want bickering (even though it can drive me NUTS.) I want them to be there for each other, be kind and loving but also challenge each other. Right now they do that. I’m so grateful that they have each other and I don’t want Alyssa to ever see Olivia as a burden, a chore.

If anyone is going to be inconvenienced by Olivia’s ‘special’ needs, it should be me and Tom. We are her parents, it is up to us to see that her needs are met. If, in adulthood, she needs extra help, sure, I hope her sister chooses to be there for her, not because it’s required of her but because she loves her sister and wants to help her.

As it is, none of us are really all that inconvenienced by Olivia or her needs. She’s four. She needs a little extra help here and there. We do it because it needs to be done, often not even thinking about it. Even Alyssa realizes that due to her size and age, Olivia can’t do everything that she, Alyssa, can do. That’s normal.

Normal…it’s what we all strive for, isn’t it. Just a little slice of ordinary.