We're All Tired

So, the last two nights have had Olivia sleeping all night long; in her own bed. I know! Wonders never cease.

Anyway, travel exhausts her and so she’s been sleeping well. But during our awake times, everyone in our house is cranky these days.

Tom is laying new flooring in our kitchen/dining/entry areas. He’s cranky.

The girls and I have traveled almost 500 miles in the past four days. We’re tired and cranky.

When we got home last night from my mom’s (I have to go there to watch the latest episode of The Walking Dead every Monday evening; Olivia takes a bath there while I watch, it keeps her from seeing the zombies and other crap an eight year old shouldn’t see) Tom was almost done with the floor for the night.

We both said a few things and he said, “Don’t get mad. Remember that we’re all tired.”

We said a few more things and I reminded him, “You can’t get mad. Remember, we’re all tired.”

And then we kissed and made up.

See, we’re lucky we are self-aware enough to be able to actually say things like that. Of course, there are times when we aren’t aware of how cranky we are and we just get pissy with each other.

But last night the tiredness wasn’t so great that we were overly mean to each other. Sometimes, reminding each other that we’re both tired is our way of saying, “I love you.” That and sometimes taking the girls from one room to the other so one of us can have a moment of peace and quiet. It’s the little things, I tell you.

Another sign I was tired was that I couldn’t even stay awake long enough to watch Scorpion last night.

It appears from this post alone that I watch a lot of television. It’s true. I do watch a lot and we don’t even have cable.

But even I, television addict that I am, can decide that I’m just too tired to watch. That’s when we know that it’s time for a time out for me. Or, you know, bed.

A Giant Unicorn

That kind right there kind of describes our weekend. It was a giant unicorn kind of weekend.

My mom and I took the girls down to Bloomington to attend the Indiana University Dance Marathon.

It was amazing as usual.

This was the first year that Olivia was sponsored by a sorority. Let me say right here that every other sponsor (ie, the Alumni Association) has been wonderful and generous. But the girls of Delta Phi Epsilon went all out. They were generous beyond belief. They made this weekend more special than ever for both Olivia and Alyssa.

I have pondered over the years how hard is must be to be the typical sibling of a child with special needs, especially a child like Olivia, who’s special needs aren’t really that apparent. I worry that Alyssa feels lost in the shuffle that is our celebration of Olivia.

But the ladies of DPhiE made sure Alyssa felt as special as her sister this weekend.

When we walked into our hotel room on Friday night, we were greeted by a giant unicorn. As in, this thing is almost six feet long. It’s HUGE.



Olivia looked at it like it might pounce on her and eat her head. But Alyssa’s eyes widened, her face lit up and she pounced on the unicorn (which she names Sparkle Eunice) before it could pounce on Olivia. Olivia grinned as she watched Alyssa fall in love. Olivia then promptly forgot about the giant unicorn in the room and found the rest of the stuff that had been left for her. She found Chap Stick (one of her very favorite things) and nail polish (another of her faves). She found a Frozen coloring book and several candy bars. And not the little regular sized bars, oh no. The ladies of DPhiE gave her the GIANT candy bars, one Hershey Milk Chocolate bar and one Hershey Cookies and Cream bar. She was in sugar heaven. She also got some gummy bears and several other edible items.

But that wasn’t all.

When we arrived at the Tennis Center the next morning and there was more stuff! There was a sheet hanging on the wall with Olivia’s name and a unicorn. Olivia loves finding anything with her name on it. We got to take that sheet home with us and my mom plans to make a quilt out of it.



They had decorated an A and an O for the girls to hang in their room. Someone had painted a scene of Elsa which was beautiful.

There was also a two foot stuffed Olaf. I know! Again, Alyssa was so, so excited.

Olivia? She’s not so much into stuffed animals of any kind. But she sure loved watching her sister get all excited about those things.

She also got some feather boas. Craziness in such a good way.

We stayed many hours, told Olivia’s story on stage and then went home to sleep off the adrenalin buzz.

Olivia took three baths during our two nights/days at the hotel. I watched some HGTV and we messed around with her sleep number beds. Have I mentioned before that I hate sleep number beds? I’m sure they’re awesome for other people but I have never found a number that is comfortable for me. Seriously, never.

In the end, the only number that mattered was the 3.2 million dollars that IUDM raised for Riley Hospital for Children. How flipping amazing is that? They are changing the lives of children at Riley and the lives of those children’s parents and siblings.

We are so lucky to be a part of such a phenomenon.

Too Tight!

Anyone who has done any research on 5p- Syndrome knows that people with 5p- are going to have issues with their speech.

Some of this research even says that afflicted people will be non-verbal. Period. As in, this syndrome takes away any and all ability to speak.

Parents of children with 5p- in this day and age will tell you that the research isn’t true. Some of our children can and do speak very well.

My daughter is one of those lucky kids who has found her voice and uses it often.

Just this morning when I was putting her shoes on her (almost always a production) she shrieked, “Too tight!!!”

I sighed and took the shoe off and loosened the laces before stuffing her foot back in.

But you know what? Instead of sighing at her, I should have thrown Olivia a damned party. My child, the one who isn’t supposed to be able to speak, at least according to research that is probably 40 years old, can tell me when something is uncomfortable. She can tell me when she is sick, what hurts, if something is bothering her.

She can tell me about her day at school, a time when I am not with her.

I worry so much about Olivia and the possibility of mistreatment. It is so easy for less than ethical people to victimize children like mine, children who often can’t tell anyone that someone is hurting them. But Olivia can tell, she can tell me if something is wrong, if something is happening that hurts her or makes her uncomfortable.

I know how lucky we are that this is the case. I am so grateful for this.

I can’t imagine not hearing her voice, not knowing every single though that goes through that beautiful brain of hers.

So even when we’re rushed in the mornings, trying to get everything done before the bus arrived, I want to take a moment and bask in the sound of her beautiful voice, her words, her thoughts, even if she is shrieking at me that her shoe is too tight or that I’m ‘killing’ her as I brush the tangles from her hair or even that the shirt I picked for her to wear is too boring.

How amazing is it that this morning she asked me why I’d picked out a boring shirt instead of a tunic? I didn’t even know she knew the word tunic. She probably heard it from someone at school and used context to figure out the meaning. But however she worked it out, this morning she used the word properly as she scolded me for not picking out a tunic and instead picking a boring shirt that ended at her hips instead of skimming over them.

She’s always listening, always learning, always taking in the happenings of her world. She’s always putting her own spin on what she’s seeing, hearing, learning and then she puts back into the world for the rest of us to appreciate her brilliance and wonder at her awesomeness.

44

Last Friday was my birthday. After renewing my driver’s license I was able to go to lunch with Olivia. She’s always so excited when I can join her for lunch. I’m so lucky to be able to do this every so often. I’m sure her teacher appreciated the extra time after the regular lunch time when she’s usually with Olivia coaxing her to eat some of her lunch.

After lunch, I went to my mom’s house where she surprised me with a new sewing machine. I know! So exciting. Now I can actually sew stuff myself. Let me tell you how excited I was when I managed to thread my first bobbin and then thread the needle for the first time.

Those first two pieces of material that got sewn together will always be special. I hope to gain enough momentum to sew some pajama pants for the girls for Christmas this year.

I picked the girls up from school, fed them dinner and then my mom, Alyssa and I went to a movie. It was fun.

So here I am. Forty-four as of Friday. And you know what? My forties have been pretty great. I feel so lucky to be where I am right now. I’m working on getting comfortable in my own skin, whatever that means. I’m learning from my girls every single day and that is such a blessing.

And get this…after over eleven years of marriage, my husband and I still like each other most days. I know! That’s pretty awesome if you ask me. Love? That's kind of a given, but actually liking each other? That takes work.

So yeah. Forty-four.

Four is my favorite number (yes, I have a favorite number ,what of it?) So I figure that the year I have two fours in my age must go down as being the best year yet.

Being Heard

So there is something that I do that drives my husband crazy. And I’m trying to figure out how to stop doing it because I understand why it bothers him. But it’s so, so hard to fix it when you’re the mom.

Example: This morning, I asked Tom if it was raining. Before he could even answer, or perhaps as he was answering, I was yelling at the girls to stop pestering each other.

He got all pouty because I didn’t listen to his answer to a question I asked.

I know. I can’t help it.

Sometimes, he’ll be talking to me and I’ll actually be listening. But then one of the girls (or, more often than not, both of them) will call out to me and I’ll stop listening to Tom so I can listen to them.

This makes him pouty too.

I get it. I really do. I understand how frustrating it must be to be talking to your spouse and have them stop listening in the middle of your sentence because the children have suddenly become more important.

But see, the thing is, they sort of are more important. At least, they are right this second. They’re needs are usually pretty immediate.

Here’s another thing, I’m the most important person in the house to all three of them. I don’t say that with conceit so much as with a sense of being overwhelmed. When any one of them has something to say, they want to say it to me. When they have big news, I’m the first they want to tell. I’m lucky that way. But I’m also only one person and when three people, two of whom are children, are vying for my attention, someone has to get the short straw. And more often than not, it’s Tom.

And he’s the adult, he can wait.

Except when he can’t. Because it really isn’t fair for him to always be last on the priority list. I know this and I’m working on it. I really am, even if he sometimes can’t tell.

I’m not sure he sees the times when he’s talking to me and one of the girls will come up and start to talk, at which point, I put up a finger to shush and stall her and continue to listen to my husband.

Because he has things to say, important things, things that he deserves to have heard by his loyal and dutiful wife. Or, you know, me.

The Baby

Tom asked me this morning if Olivia is really going to be eight this month.

Yes. Yes, she is really going to be eight years old this month.

He expressed his surprise at this confirmation. Not because we wonder where the time has gone. We’ve definitely been here, present, all these years and while, sure, they’ve flown by, I can also see the lines of every single one of those eight years on my face.

Instead, the reason it seems so outrageous that our baby is almost eight years old is because, well, she’s still such a baby in so many ways.

See, Olivia is really easy to baby. She’s got this delicate, baby-like air too her. She seems to fragile even though she’s not really. She’s sweet, sassy and loves to have others take care of her.

Yeah, we’re a couple of suckers, is what I’m saying.

Here’s the thing…Tom or I still feed Olivia her meals at home.

At Gram’s house, Olivia feeds herself perfectly well. But at home, when we sit down to eat, Olivia will look at her plate, look at me, look back her plate and say, “What about feed me?”

And yes, it’s a cleaner process for either me or Tom to shovel the food into her mouth.

So our eight year old is still very much our baby. And it’s our fault.

We’re not doing her any favors at all by doing this. I know this. I also know that we need to just get over the issue of the mess and just make her feed herself.

And we will…on November 28, when she’s really and truly eight years old.

Hug

Alyssa is on a hug fest these days. She’s almost constantly asking for hugs.

I stop whatever I’m doing each time she asks for a hug and I hug her.

I told Tom this morning that he needs to do the same.

Yes, she asks for hugs at inopportune times but these hugs mean something. I think they’re her way to making sure she’s important enough to us that we’ll give them no matter what else is going on.

I get it. She’s at an age where she can feel herself pull away from us and that’s scary.

I took her to a Halloween party last weekend. She’s been to this friend’s house a few times, to other Halloween parties, in fact. When I took her when she was in second and third grades, I stayed at the party. We missed the last two years’ parties and so this year, when I called to RSVP, the friend’s mom let me know that I was welcome to stay if I wanted.

I laughed, thanks her and said, “I think Alyssa’s at an age where she actually wants me to leave.”

And she is.

Except when she isn’t.

She wants to be all independent and tough and awesome but in some ways she’s still my little girl, my child who still needs hugs from her parents.

I reminded Tom this morning that as her father, he needs to give Alyssa appropriate male affection because if he doesn’t, she could very well go looking for male affection and it probably won’t be appropriate.

He looked skeptical but then appeared to agree. We’ll see.

My girl is at a tough stage and it’s only going to get tougher but she’s smart, and she’s logical (when she’s not overly-emotional.) She’s also willing to talk to me when things are bothering her, a thing I do not take for granted. I know how lucky I am to be this girl’s mom. I just hope I don’t screw it up too much.