Musings

Here is a long drawn out post about my morning, if you dare to read, hopefully you'll get a glimpse of life at the Whitman house and some food for thought.  I was inspired by my friend, Felicity, and her blog. Check it out http://www.onecaseatatime.blogspot.com/ I am no where near as gifted a writer, but hey, the rawness of my prose has to count for something!


5:35 am : My eyes open.  I wonder, did I hear something coming from Isaac's room? No, it's quiet, but now I'm aware that I have to pee.  But I lie there for 5 more minutes, not wanting to get out of my warm cozy bed.  I listen to Lars' deep breathing and gain a sense of calm.  I think about his great Aunt Dot, whose remaining time on this earth is being discussed as days rather than weeks.  I think about the call from Lars' mom saying that Christmas at Dot's house that was scheduled for this Sunday is cancelled (can you really cancel Christmas?).  They have started her on Morphine, she's not getting out of bed anymore.  I prefer to remember all the gatherings at her house over the past 13 years I've known her.  My first farm Christmas, and feeling an amazing sense of community and love as close to 20 of us sit on the couches and floor of a tiny TV room with a gigantic beautifully decorated Christmas tree and an obnoxious amount of presents.  We sing Christmas carols.  Many too slow or slightly off-key.  I smile as I look at the cousins rolling their eyes at each other or the one person trying to speed up the singing.  I remember hearing Meredith's beautiful voice before her stroke.  It will be different not going there this year. Although not as different as it will feel for the rest of his family.  Lars has been going there every year since he was a boy.  Lars' grandfather grew up in that house.  Every Christmas, the grandkids would gather upstairs, waiting for Santa to come, listening for the jingle of his bells, the door slamming and his "ho ho ho!" as they wrestled each other on the bed.

5:40am - I am pulled out of my thoughts by Isaac, who is definitely awake now, thumping and giving an occasional scream.  Lars lumbers out of bed to go to the bathroom.  I silently curse myself that I didn't get up first, because now I really have to pee. I finally get up, and when I return to bed, Isaac is now quiet.  Cool, a few more minutes of cozy peace. I reach over and hold Lars' hand. 

6:10am - I hear Isaac talking/whimpering in his room.  I dash out of bed and run to his door.  I hear him saying "up please Isaac" over and over.  Considering he has been waking up lately yelling "NO MAMA NO!" I take this as a positive sign.  I come in and ask if he'd like some milk. Now he starts screaming.  What did I do? I take a deep breath to calm myself.  Since returning from my trauma training on Monday, I've got a renewed sense of resources.  I remember that Isaac is only 2. I remember that he is still learning to communicate and over his lifetime, he is going to learn a heck of a lot from me and how I respond to him.  I think about how much Isaac always seems to be in 'fight mode'.  He has a small window of opportunity for intervention (or non-intervention) before he rapidly spirals up into helpless panic.  I've gone through many different schools of thought in trying to parent him.  I have a stack of parenting books that are dog-earred on my bedside table.  I've tried compassionate parenting, I've tried regimented 'time out' 'cry it out' parenting.  I can't seem to help him find his own inner peace.  I can't pull him out of this fight mode he is in.  You'd think that everything that happens is life or death.  Perhaps it's just being 2.  Perhaps that excuse isn't good enough. 

I take him into my arms, and work to help him orient to his surrounding, hoping to deintensify his emotions so he can handle them.  His hands are shaking.  I point out his blanket, his crib, his mama.  He calms down just enough to answer my question, "do you want some milk?" with a whimpering "yeah...." and a snuggle into my chest.

He is breathing easier as I walk down the stairs.  Lars is coming down as well, ready to start his day.  I take advantage of his being around to ask him to make a bottle of milk.  I sit on the couch with Isaac, and he quietly cuddles, fingering his blanket and closing his eyes.  I relish moments like this.  Neither of my boys is quiet very often and the moments of solitude like this are few and far between.  I close my eyes and rest my head on his. He drinks his milk, still holding his blanket.  When he is done, he wiggles himself free and jumps off my lap, grabbing his truck and plopping on the floor, ready to play.  I plop down with him, ready to play at 6:30 in the morning. 

6:31am Within seconds of Isaac finishing his milk, Carter runs out his room.  I hear a giggle, the bathroom light goes on, I hear him talking to himself.  A few minutes later, he sits at the top of the steps, "uhhhhh?" he says loudly, in his attempt to gain my attention.  I say in mock surprise "what was that?".  Hysterical laughter from upstairs.  Isaac, fearing for his life, drops his truck and lunges into my lap with a loud "Cahgah!" (it's getting closer to 'Carter', at least he no longer says 'Caca')

6:40am Lars comes back inside from trudging out in the snow to fill up the generator with fuel (which needs to be done almost every other day in the winter).  Again, I am struck by how lucky I am to have him around.  He has already started a fire and I know he is going to be late for work, but he stays around long enough to giggle with the boys and give some hugs.  At least we didn't get enough snow that he needs to plow, which would add another 30 minutes to his morning.  I haven't seen him much lately, and long to reconnect. 

6:50am Breakfast #1.  I call the boys to the table for some cereal.  Carter wants Life cereal, no milk.  Isaac asks for Honey Nut O's.  Then yells 'milk peas!' and 'poon peas!'.  I sometimes feel more like a servant.  I pour myself a bowl of Shredded Spoonfuls and start to dig in.  Isaac sees my bowl, changes his mind and grabs for mine instead.  I relent, and start eating his O's.  We are quietly eating for the next few minutes (or was it just seconds?) Carter standing on the bench, eating, jumping and playing with his new lego fire truck.  Isaac pouring half his cereal on his shirt and tormenting his brother by getting just a little too close to said fire truck.  I try to help Isaac by feeding him some cereal, but am met by screams because I touched his bowl. 

The next hour and a half are a bit of a blur.  We play, we mediate differences, we weather some screaming fits.  At some point, I realize they are playing rather well by themselves and decide this may be my only chance to get a shower before I have to leave for work.  Sometime during the morning, I realized that my back was starting to seize up on me (I wouldn't recommend stacking wood for an hour, than swimming for 30 minutes, and not stretching afterwards).  I think how nice a hot shower would feel.  I briefly think about the days where I used to wake up when I wanted, sit in kitchen, drink some tea, do some yoga and enter my day feeling refreshed.  Isaac follows me upstairs and into the toilet room, where he decides pouring bark chips into the composting toilet would be helpful.  It is, slightly.  I leave him in there, giving his ducky a bath in the sink.  As I am enjoying my shower, Isaac appears at the glass door with a big grin on my face.  I realize he is holding a tube of super glue and has successfully gotten the top off.  I congratulate him on his accomplishment.  He seems proud of himself and wanders off.  As I continue my shower, I suddenly think of all the things that could go wrong with this scenerio and call him back.  He dutifully opens the door and hands me the superglue.  I place the tube on the shower ledge and remind myself to take it out before I have to explain to someone why that is in the shower.

8:00am I come out of the shower, run to our bedroom to get dressed, passing the toilet room and seeing bark chips all over the sides of the toilet and the floor and hear from downstairs "NO THANK YOU ISAAC!" and then a scream.  Well, at least he was polite to begin with.  I dress hurriedly, silently hoping that this will be one of the times when Carter can work the situation out himself, which he is learning slowly.  When I get downstairs, Isaac is wandering aimlessly, kicking at things and looking slightly mischievious.  Carter is guarding something with a look that is slight frustration and slight panic, arms out to his sides and waving around to establish his boundaries.  He sees me and breaks down into sobs "Isaac stepped on my fire truck and part of it broke off and he's in my space....." He goes on, but I can't remember it all. I get down on his level and repeat back everything he says. Carter nods and says "yeah!" with a big sob.  He pulls his fire truck out. The ladder has broken off, as has the trailer, all of it fixable.  I try to put the ladder back on but he snatches it from me with a loud "I can do that!".  I pause and try to remember that I am not here to solve his problems for him.  I silently thank him for reminding me of this, even though I wish it were slightly nicer.  I am here to help him find the resources within himself to deal with life.  I will not be with him all the time to fight his battles for him.  He snaps the ladder back on, but it falls off again when he tries to attach the trailer.  He screams and throws it down.  "You look angry" I tell him (duh).  "You didn't want Isaac in your space." The screaming stops.  "You wish he didn't step on your fire truck." He sobs "Yeahhhhh".  "You wish you had a place to play where he couldn't reach you."  "Yeahhhh"  "What could we do?"  He sits still for a second, takes a big breath, grabs his truck and starts playing again.  Crisis averted. I move onto Isaac. Frankly, sometimes I have no clue what to do with him.  So this time, I just say to him "Isaac, when you came into Carter's space, that made him very angry" I don't know the extent of the situation, perhaps Carter started it, perhaps it was just Isaac being Isaac.  We go on with our morning.

8:15am  Over the past few weeks, I have ordered way too many clothes from my new online obsession, Athleta.  I have a stack of pants, shirts and skirts that I tried on yesterday and wittled down to a skirt, a shirt, and two pairs of pants that I am deciding between two sizes.  I run upstairs and try on the smaller pair, glancing at myself in the mirror.  I don't pay much attention to my appearance, especially since I've become a mom.  I have my favorite fleece pants that I wear to bed and often all day as well.  But I get moments where I want to feel pretty, where I want to feel like the woman that I am.  I sometimes think about those shows where they take the construction worker woman and give her a full makeover and form fitting clothes and at the end of the show, all her friends are screaming when she is revealed.  We all want to feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman sometimes, don't we? Anyway, this latest online order was my attempt at gaining some style.  I haven't bought new clothes (besides fleeces and jackets) in years.  I glance at my butt in the smaller size, wondering if they are too tight, or perhaps my butt is too big.  I run downstairs and Isaac grabs my legs, somehow sensing the newness of my pants.  He sticks his head between my legs and smears boogers across the thigh.  Well, I guess I'm keeping this pair. 

8:30am Breakfast #2.  "Who wants pancakes?" I yell.  Isaac jumps up and down "ME TOO! ME TOO!" Carter starts rambling off "I want a fire truck playing soccer and Frank the Combine".  Somewhere along the line, I started making shaped pancakes, and it's not getting any easier.  I ask Isaac what he wants "ummmmm, ummmmm, tractor tipping" Which is what he has asked for every time for the past month.  So I somehow maneuver two wiggly boys toward the kitchen and whip up pancakes.  While making them, I help Isaac with his massive boogers running into his mouth, I help (or don't help) Carter with his fire truck ladder, I try to clean up the dishes from the first breakfast, and throw in a story about Carter's imaginary mice, FeeFee FooFoo and FaFa. 

8:45am I realize I have only one hour before we have to leave for grandma's and I better start making the move.  Somehow, we get both of them dressed, bags packed and toys put away in the next 45 minutes with minimal fuss (no small feat, I might add).  But when I suggest we bring a gingerbread cookie we made yesterday to grandma, all hell breaks loose.  Carter has a tupperware of three cookies.  Isaac had already said he didn't want one, but Carter put an extra in his bowl "in case he changes his mind"  Then Isaac grabs for the tupperware.  Carter won't let it go.  We are stuck in deadlock and the screams are escalating.  I take the tupperware. Carter sobs out his story.  We look for a solution.  "Could we get Isaac his own tupperware?" Carter immediately stops, cocks his head and says "Yeah, that's a good idea."  Isaac, meanwhile, is still screaming.  He looks possessed he is screaming so hard.  His head is twitching with each in breath, tears are streaming down his face.  I work on orienting again, pointing things out in the kitchen, showing him his blankie, grateful for my ability to stay calm.  I would have just walked away before, unable to deal with him, and waited for him to calm down on his own.  But I get the feeling that technique has left him feeling lost and abandoned.  He doesn't know how to calm himself down.  He doesn't need abandonment right now, he needs guidance.  Once he's not screaming anymore, I try to help.  "Here, Isaac, here is your own tupperware. Carter has one for his and grandma's and you have one for yourself" He takes one look at the tupperware and screams.  "Do you want one for grandma in your tupperware?" I ask, hoping that's what it was.  It wasn't.  Carter jumps in "Here Isaac, I'll break grandma's cookie in half and you can put half in yours and I'll put half in mine".  That wasn't helping either, but I praised Carter for coming up with a great idea.  I take a deep breath.  "What would you like Isaac?"  He's reaching for the cookie jar.  I pull it down.  Let's start this over.  "Would you like a cookie?" He reaches in a pulls out a tree. "Tee.  Isaac want tee." "Oh" I say "you wanted a tree instead of the person? Thank you for telling me."  We put his tree in the tupperware. He gives a big smile and takes a deep breath.  Energy discharged, system reset. Ready to go.  Only 10 minutes late.

9:50am On the drive to grandma's, Isaac starts screaming again.  I finally lose my cool. Stop the car. Turn around and firmly say. "Isaac, you need to stop the screaming. STOP! Use your words to tell me what you want.  I don't understand screaming."  It doesn't help immediately, but 2 minutes later, he stops screaming and starts saying something.  I can't understand.  Carter says "he's saying 'too tight' mama"  I realize his hood is bothering him.  I fix it. He smiles.  Carter says "can you do that to my hood?".  He grins as I fix his.  I praise Isaac for using his words.  I tell Carter how grateful I am that he can interpret what Isaac is saying.  He asks what interpretor means and I explain.  He smiles and looks proud of himself.

I think about this job of parenting.  I wonder how anyone can do it full time.  I wonder how anyone can do it and NOT be full time.  I realize that I can be a much better parent when I have a sense of inner calm, when I don't have any battles I am fighting within.  I hope to help these boys find their own inner resilience.  My best gift to them will hopefully be an ability to weather whatever life throws their way and come out stronger because of it.  We've got our work cut out for us!

I've been awake four hours, it feels like a lifetime already and I'm just on my way to work.  Over the next few hours, I see only 3 patients, and get a chance to breathe, clear my mind and write this crazy long entry. I also get a chance to revisit my chosen profession, think hard about what I'm doing and wonder where I am going with this.  But that is another 5 page discussion......
Be happy, be well. Thanks for sharing.