A Matter of Weight

Yesterday was Aidan's well-visit at the pediatrician, an OK event up until the flu shot where he frantically ran about the room, ultimately hiding under the desk where I had to drag him out by his skinny arm ... I sat him on my lap and acted like a human straight-jacket, but boy, is that kid strong! The nurse rubbed some kind of cold, numbing agent on his arm, sending him into a hearty round of screeches. He wriggled and flailed, one of my arms trying to embrace his body while the other hand held firmly on to his head, turning it away so he couldn't see. He didn't cry, but he fought like crazy. He was still flailing after the nurse finished and then realized ... he never even felt the shot! He relaxed, looked at his arm and mumbled ... "oooohhhh ..." My goodness ...

Earlier, the doctor and I discussed a number of Aidan's "issues," including this mysterious problem he developed a few months ago -- a strange inability to chew and swallow certain foods. As a baby and young toddler, he was the kind of kid who struggled with textures, and it took a long time for him to finally chew a baby carrot without throwing it all up over the dinner table. So for the past 5 years he has been faithfully and, while slowly, quite effortlessly eating his carrots and other "trouble" foods. But suddenly, a few months ago he's back to gagging on those "trouble" foods -- carrots, corn, and certain meats like steak or pot roast. I can't tell you how many struggles we have had throughout the summer over eating and food -- and unfortunately my temper unfailingly gets the better of me. I feel utter frustration while he sits there in tears, genuinely upset. Why, after five long and successful years, is he having a problem now?! It's frustrating, to say the least.

The doctor was a bit concerned and wants us to monitor this for a few months, making sure no more foods are added to the list. Her concern also stemmed from a noticeable drop in weight -- not enough to be too alarming, but enough to raise a questioning eyebrow. He eats quite healthily, really -- very limited junk food, lots of good stuff -- yet his portions are bird-like. I know that kids do go through spurts of ravenous hunger which clears out the cupboards, followed by a dry spell -- Aidan has certainly had his fair share of these moments. But his weight had always remained fairly steady through it all. He has grown tremendously over the summer, pretty much as expected, but this time around his weight hasn't caught up as before.

We'll keep an eye on it, of course, but it does remain a mystery. Any moms who have gone through this kind of thing before? He might have inherited my organizational gene ... but this skinny thing does not come from my gene pool.

There's a Gene for That

I recently posted a tidbit about a particular personality trait of mine -- extreme organization -- that seems to be rubbing off on my son. Indeed. His most-anticipated birthday gift arrived in the mail yesterday -- finally!! -- after several weeks of waiting.

Is this my boy or what? Actually asking for an organizational aid for his birthday ...


He got fed up with all of his Hot Wheels dumped in a box, for whenever he needed to find a particular car (isn't that always the case?!), he had to overturn the entire box, search for the car, and then clean up the mess. And unfortunately, by then -- after all that work -- whatever small drip-drip of creative juice that fired up the interest pretty much evaporated, interest lost. What better way to keep track of his "collection" -- and enhance play by saving time in the process -- than an over-the-door Hot Wheels organizer? And to ask for this as a gift? What a kid ... He plans on completing his project tomorrow.

And then you have Grace ... I believe Aidan sucked up the entire gene during his creation process, for Grace received none of it. Here she is, first thing in the morning ... It's not much ... yet ... only the beginning of the gigantic mess that will soon overtake my entire house ... literally ...

Motherhood is nothing short of an adventure and continual learning process, that's for sure ...

A Day to Cease Labor ... Phew ...

Does anyone else feel that the end of summer slipped in unawares, and then bashed us over our collective sun-kissed heads with the coming of Labor Day? Already?! I really am reeling from these past few weeks, and feel a strange exhaustion. As we took our "Family Walk" around our neighborhood this evening, kids speeding on ahead, Jack sniffing at every possible sniffable thing (gleefully stumbling upon Wiley the Cat, hunkered down under a parked van), I mentioned this to Don. It feels as if I haven't recuperated from Aidan's party, as if everything hit all at once. The planning, the party itself, then another family gathering ... all well and good, but then immediately we had to jerk to a halt and shift gears, thinking about school and new schedules and new routines. I have been feeling as if I am speeding through my day at 237 miles per hour without anything to show for it. I don't anticipate that changing any time soon, with Grace beginning school next week and having to drive her to and fro three days a week, something I'm certainly not used to doing. Changes, changes ... with no time to breath in between.

Our family enjoys holidays of every kind, from big Thanksgiving and Christmas blow-outs to fun, outdoor picnics on Memorial Day or the Fourth of July. Labor Day, too, usually falls into that category of gathering-time, yet when my mom asked me for my input on what to do, all I could do was exhale deeply and be honest ... I just don't feel like doing anything. Jim and Michelle and the boys will be on vacation; my aunt and uncle are on a cruise. There are other family members around but ... well, like I said, I just can't scrape up the energy to host something. Oddly enough, my parents were more than happy with my response, so low-key it is. No plans, no activities -- just some kind of nice meal together in the back yard later in the day. Maybe that's the breathing room I need -- for one day, at least.

Speaking of families, I've been watching Season 1 of The Waltons, believe it or not. Do you remember that show? With summer programming proving once again to be lame (before the season start-ups within the next few weeks), we haven't had much to watch. We've gotten movies here and there from the library, but it's nice to have something on hand -- a series of some kind -- to pop in when needed. Steve had given my parents Season 1 and Season 7 as gifts (why the gap? A sale, perhaps?), so I've been watching an episode here and there. Shows from the 1970's make me laugh ... often cheesy, way overacted, and seriously skimping on the historical accuracy that you see in today's shows, like Mad Men, for example. Set during The Great Depression, you often catch certain things that would never have happened. Tonight's episode, for example, featured a wandering minstrel ... who could have easily passed as the more handsome twin of Art Garfunkel, sandy brown afro and all. And when he opened his mouth to sing (I mean, lip-synch) the tunes were not of the 1930's, but rather straight off the Simon and Garfunkel greatest hits album. Hideous, really. But there's something about the show that draws me ... perhaps it's the mountain (clearly California scenery despite its claim to be in Virginia), perhaps it's the farmhouse (which has always been a dream of mine), perhaps the life that was just far less complicated in some ways ... Who knows. But despite the over abundance of cheese, I've been enjoying it.

What shows do you like to pop in now and again, for old time's sake?
And how will you be spending your Day O' Labor? Working hard to catch up, or kicking up your feet and breathing a while ...

Grace "Hearts" Jack

This morning, Grace and I went to an Open House for her preschool, a great opportunity to meet the kids in her class, say hello to her teacher, and get used to her new classroom. As soon as we walked through the door, Grace took off, immediately corralled a couple of other little girls, and gently directed them over to a particular area of play. For a while they contented themselves with the "kitchen" area, spreading a feast on the table, setting up the babies in the high chairs, etc. Later on they moved over to the doll house, then the Play-Doh table ... Only once did Grace remember that I was even in the room, coming over for a quick hug ... or so I like to think. Rather, I don't think she cared much about me at at all ... she just wanted to meet the little girl next to me, to whose mother I was speaking. She introduced herself to the little red-headed, blue-eyed girl, and from that moment on those two stuck to each other like glue.

This was also a good morning for me, for this is turning into "Preschool with Benefits" ... for Mommy made a friend too! The little girl's mom, new to the school system ... we struck up quite a conversation this morning. Interestingly, the girl's older brother is also in Aidan's class, so we've got a lot in common so far. Plus, her mom is from Ireland ... how lucky can I get?! The four of us shut the joint down, staying far, far longer than intended but having a wonderful time.

When we came home, I walked into a sweet, heart-squeezing scene in the living room. Grace was curled up with her best buddy, having a little "chat" about what it was going to be like when she's gone at school. She just needed to make sure Jack understood, and would be OK in her absence.

Oh, how this girl loves her dog! I think I solved a mystery ... she's certainly not going to miss me next week. It's Jack she might be heart-sick for ...

Time for Some Neat Little Boxes

A few months ago, I sat down with Andy (our friend and, alas, former pastor) in his living room and discussed the results of a "test" that I took to determine my "strengths." I love these tests -- whether it determines one's personality, one's interests, or in this case, one's strengths, I find it fascinating that a series of questions can, with a fair amount of certainty, "box you up" in a nice little package. Sometimes, I admit, you get some crazy ringers -- I recall a test I took in college to determine what career path I should pursue. My top, Numero Uno result? Forget my passions -- history and literature -- rather, I should be a Dude Wrangler. OK, then ...

I enjoyed this particular Strengths-Finder test because, in this case, it was quite accurate. Andy and I discussed the top 5 results, my strongest traits, and I found it to be very enlightening. It was not a surprise to me, for example, that "Empathy" was a top strength, for indeed I often find myself connecting with others at a very deep level, feeling their pain or frustration or feelings of any kind. But the one strength that fascinated me the most was one that I always knew I possessed, yet was never able to "officially" identify it until then. I am an Arranger.

I loathe chaos. I despise uncertainty. I have this intense need to organize, not only physical or material things, but also ideas and concepts as well. If I am faced with a challenge, for example, the first thing I find myself doing is breaking it down, compartmentalizing it, and then placing each facet of that challenge into a little mental box. Then, with that done, I am able to take down one box at a time and deal with it. If, for some reason, I find that a situation has far too many angles, I get anxious and overwhelmed. And then, often, it either does not get done or I procrastinate until another time, when I might have more "luck" in dealing with it.

I see this trait more and more in Aidan, and I touched on this a bit in previous posts about a few new developments regarding school -- an unexpected bus situation, a new way of doing homework, and so on. Aidan's boxes got shuffled up, and I could clearly see (and feel!) that momentary confusion, that glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes. Unfortunately, he can't name it yet or own this part of his personality, so this kind of thing is often met with a cranky attitude or meltdown of some kind. That's OK ... it's all a part of maturing.

Yesterday afternoon I decided to tackle a few of these shuffled boxes, this time pertaining to his homework schedule. Aidan learns visually, so it's helpful for him to have things in front of him to keep it under control. I spent some time in my kitchen, which is where he does his homework and, obviously, spends his time eating his meals, so I needed to focus on this primary location. Aidan was a bit taken aback to learn that his homework would not be presented to him in his daily folder like last year; rather, he would be given a project spanning a few days or a week, needing to tackle a small part of it one day at a time. There's too much freedom in that, so the wheels started turning, his and mine. I found I couldn't help myself. How can I "box up" this untidy situation?

Here's what I came up with:

My kitchen ... now "Schedule Central"

Silly? Perhaps. But Aidan loved it. The center column, between the two doors, will host his weekly Bible verse -- easy to see, easy to remember, as he sits munching on his dinner. There's a schedule of his weekly "specials" -- music, art, and so on, so we know what he's doing on any given day. Then there's the Homework Chart, with an interchangeable list of what he has to do, and when it is due.

And in a predictable twist, all of this surrounds my own marker board, complete with my own neat-and-tidy "boxes" of things I have to take care of.

Two peas in a pod? I'd say so ... but at least things get done around here.

Day One Down: "I was a little bit nervous ... but it was a great day!"

That about sums up Aidan's first day of school. He looked exhausted as he stepped off the bus yesterday afternoon, and he picked up his routine from last year immediately, hardly saying a word and making a beeline for his half-hour of computer time. I was annoyed at first, having missed him terribly all day and wanting to wrap him up in my arms and talk about his day. But he wanted none of it -- not at that moment, anyway. I sighed ... it's OK. He needs that time to decompress, embracing a complete and utter detachment from his day. Once his time was up, he came into the kitchen where I was poring over the volume of papers sent home in his back-pack, and we had a nice chat about his experiences throughout the day.

He loves his teacher. He loves the Smart Board. He already knows all the kids in his class, save one or two new little boys. He promised he would be friendly to them, "because I know what it's like to be the new boy in the class." He shed no tears, but he did feel "a little bit nervous" from the newness of it all. Hey, that's quite all right! There will certainly be new adjustments -- one thing he's not too pleased about is the homework situation. From what I could gather from his teacher's letter, sent home in a bright red folder, is that he will not be receiving daily homework assignments, but rather will get his work at the beginning of the week, to be completed by Friday. I can see why this format is a good learning tool for the kids ... but for my routine-loving boy, there's too much freedom in this. He seemed unsettled as we talked about his first project, a giant "tic-tac-toe" chart that he had to fill in with information about himself, and then give a presentation next week. He seemed lost, until we talked about a way to break it down. He didn't like it -- but he'll get used to it. He's my boy, after all ... he'll figure out a way to compartmentalize it all -- to formulate a routine, to create a structure within this "free schedule," somehow ...

Last night we celebrated the Big Day with dinner at a "real restaurant" of Aidan's choice. After running through the expected offerings first -- McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's -- and after informing him that Mommy just can't eat that food without feeling sick (it's true), he chose (with some disappointment) the Macaroni Grill. We had a wonderful time together, something we so very rarely do (the restaurant, that is -- not the "wonderful time." That's a given!). The kids loved the fact that they could color right on the papered table top, and our evening was perfectly completed as three waiters came by with a huge piece of chocolate cake, candle blazing, singing (so terribly out of tune!) "Happy Birthday" in Italian.

This morning was a bit of a different story. Perhaps the excitement wore off; perhaps the excitement finally caught up to him. He was a bear, fighting me at every turn. He was too tired; he didn't want to get out of bed; he didn't want breakfast ... He brought out the too-early-in-the-morning bear in me, and it wasn't the prettiest of scenes. Thankfully he perked up, and this time he boarded the bus with smiles and confidence.

I'm curious how this year will go. There will be new challenges for him -- not so much in the academic department, but in his own development. The changes in routine will take some getting used to -- it's all a part of growing up and learning how to adapt to what "life" might bring your way. I'm in my 30's and I'm still trying to figure this out. When Aidan was first born, I had such a difficult time figuring him out. I chalked it up to the belief that he was so much like his Daddy. In many ways, in those early days, it was true. He exhibited so many of Don's traits, and I wasn't sure how to manage it. But now, as he grows older ... oh, how much like me he truly is! In some ways it makes it easier -- I can anticipate his feelings and perceptions. But, as in many situations where two individuals might be almost too similar, there are moments of clashing as well. His willfulness and my temper are the two biggest culprits. I think my prayer for this year is that the inevitable meeting of those two entities will be softened, minimal.

Oh, it's soooo quiet around here without my boy. I do miss him. But boy, am I proud of him ...

First Day: Lots of New, All Wrapped Up with a Bow

How much can you jam-pack into one morning?

In our household ... a lot!

After a night spent shivering from the unexpectedly cold (yes, cold!) air wafting through our open windows, we woke up early with a lot to do. It took me a while to shake off the chill, grimacing as I looked at Jack, nestled warm and snuggly in his nest of covers, right between us. Apparently he knows how to take care of himself quite nicely, thank you very much.

As I've stated many a' time before, I am not a morning person. So when the alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m., I don't care if it's an annoying beep or a catchy tune from Don's iPhone ... it's still early. Couple that with the need to be immediately, fully awake and on the ball ... well, let's just say it was a bit of a rough start for me. BUT ... it's a special day! And that makes any discomfort worth it all.

After taking out the dog and feeding him, we decided to tackle a few things first before waking up the kids. Don made the coffee and began working on the French Toast that Aidan requested for his Birthday Breakfast, while I slapped together a lunch for him. Thankfully he woke up pleasantly, excited that not only was this his 7th birthday, but also the first day of school. He made a beeline for the kitchen table, its centerpiece a brightly colored gift bag. Tissue paper went flying as he dug down, screeching with delight at the buried treasure: a pitching machine, so he can fine-tune his batting skills. This was a "gift with benefits," for this gets us off the hook with his persistent badgering of needing a grown-up pitcher. The entire box weighed about 2 ounces, so I hope this doesn't turn out to be a plastic piece of junk.

With the French Toast gobbled up and his carefully selected clothes donned, we had a few minutes to wait before his bus came. My parents came down for the Big Send-Off, along with another hearty round of "Happy Birthday To You," and my boy was beaming. Yet something -- "someone" -- was missing on this fine sunny birthday-school morning. You can't have a celebration of this caliber without inviting My Friend Murphy ...

A few weeks ago we were given the information regarding the bus Aidan would be taking, the number seared into his little brain. It was the same bus as last year, so it might it quite easy for him. He was a bit upset when I told him he probably wouldn't have the same bus driver, his beloved Mr. Bill, but at least he knew now what riding a bus was like, and hopefully we wouldn't have a repeat of the horrible tear-fest of last year. He seemed fine as we waited outside.

Suddenly we saw one of those mini-buses riding up the side street. We didn't budge, for we knew his bus was a big one. It turned the corner and stopped in front of our house. It had the name of his school on the side. The door opened. We were quite confused, so we walked over to the bus driver to see what was going on. She explained there was a last-minute switch. Oh, OK, fine ...

But then I looked at my boy. That big smile, that exuberance had completely disappeared. In its place was a look I knew far too well -- a look of uncertainty, of caution, with an ever so slight tinge of fear. My boy hates change (gee, I wonder where he gets that from?). He had everything all planned out so there would be no surprises, so he would know what to expect. But this ... this! ... was bigger than expected, a surprise we didn't see coming at all. He walked up the steps hesitantly, offering a quick, emotion-less good-bye. I could almost see his little wheels frantically spinning, trying to shift gears, trying to get the situation under control. In the flurry of confusion, we couldn't enjoy the moment -- I didn't even get to hug him.

Is it a big deal? Not really. But I'm a Mom ... I'm his Mom ... and he's my precious boy ... and these things are keenly noticed. These things matter.

Last night at an ungodly hour, I slaved away making cupcakes for his birthday treat. His kind teacher said I could drop them off later on so they could celebrate at lunchtime. I was reminded once again how much I prefer cooking over baking ... even silly little boxed cupcakes. As I cleaned up, planning on icing them in the morning, I picked up the empty box, aiming for the recycling bin. Something caught my eye ... the fine print ... "Manufactured at a plant that might produce peanut products." OH! Peanuts! We were forewarned that a boy in his class has a peanut allergy, so it has to be a peanut-free classroom. Does this count? After all this work, can I still bring these blasted maybe-peanut-kissed cupcakes? UGH ... Thanks to some friendly advice, I'm going to call the boy's mom this morning to see just how sensitive he is, with a big apology attached. If it's a go, I'm off to the school later this morning with a very special delivery ...

No tears on my part this morning -- thanks, in part, to the bus confusion which distracted me. I do miss him, though. Grace is romping around the living room, dressing up Jack in various pieces of jewelry, half-watching The Little Einsteins. I miss my boy's presence in a big, big way. Oh, and just wait until Grace leaves for preschool next week for the very first time. I am accepting donations of tissue boxes now.

Happy, happy birthday to my amazing little boy. How I love you ...