Lesson 7: Don't forget to pat yourself on the back.

Update!  In last week's post, I ranted about the sugarless birthday policy at my son's preschool.  Most of you agreed that having a birthday with no cake is a sacrilege.  Yet I was forbidden from bringing anything other than fruit or yogurt for Z to share with his classmates on his special day .  So I complied and brought in fruit and yogurt... sort of.  I mean, the really yummy mini cheesecakes I made contained some fruit and yogurt, along with lots of cream cheese, gelatin and graham cracker crumbs.  Of course, I didn't divulge the real recipe to anyone at preschool for fear of having my cheesecakes banished.   Instead, I told an itsy bitsy lie.  I said the graham cracker crust was crushed All Bran mixed with spices and I didn't even mention the gelatin or the two pounds of Philadelphia.  I felt like a drug mule smuggling in some powder from south of the border.  I was sweating and shaking as I handed over the goods to teachers.  But they bought it!  And the kids loved every morsel. Victory is sweet.

Now back to the lesson.  My husband and I had a meeting at M's school yesterday to discuss his IEP.  M is in first grade and has sensory processing disorder  which means he needs a little extra help to get him through a long day of school.  We sat down with his homeroom teacher, resource teacher as well as the principal to go over strategies that will help him become a more successful and well adjusted student.  Although I was stressed going in, it was a great meeting and I was elated to discover that M is surrounded by such supportive individuals.  

Being a parent of a special needs kid is tough.  There is a lot of guilt involved ("Is it my fault he has these issues?") and there is a feeling that if you keep looking hard enough, you can find that magic cure to make your kid "normal".  So you don't ever stop thinking about the next kind of therapy you can try, or the next specialist you can visit.  It becomes consuming. And it's never enough because, if you stop worrying about your special needs child, then it's like you are giving up or giving in.  And I don't want to admit defeat.   

Obviously, I sometimes I feel like an inadequate mom.  At the end of everyday, I reflect about all the things I could have done differently.  I rarely take time to highlight the really good things I've done for my children.  This critical internal dialogue goes on day after day. I'm my own bully.  Trust me, she can be a mean bitch.  

M and I were talking after school yesterday and he said something that made me want to stand up to my cruel self.  "You came to visit Mrs. I today.  You know, my teacher said I have really nice parents.  She said you guys help me a lot and let me express how I feel.  She thinks I'm a lucky boy.  I am lucky, mom," he blurted as he looked me straight in the eye. We hugged.  I teared up,  and at that moment I realized I have been too hard on myself. Here was this brilliant, happy, insightful little boy telling me he loved me and his dad unconditionally.  Sure we've screwed up at times, but we have succeeded in making our kids feel special and loved.  Now that deserves some praise. 

I resolve to give the bullying the boot, and I challenge my fellow mommies to do the same. Be your own cheerleader.  Give yourself a pat on the back each day for a job well done.  I've earned it, and so have  you.

Lesson 6: Give your kids sugar.

Someone call child protective services.  I feed my kids sugar.  Gasp!

I put sugar in the sweets I bake for my boys.  I buy Lucky Charms and let them pick out the marshmallow shapes.  We have ice cream for dessert at least once a week, smothered in chocolate sauce.  After school, we sit around the table and dunk Oreos in milk while we talk about our day.  I stash chocolate bars in the pantry and use them as bribes to get my boys to a doctor's appointment when reasoning doesn't work.  And damn it, I love having cake with gooey frosting on birthdays... with a scoop of vanilla on the side!  

My son is turning four next Tuesday.  This morning I asked his preschool if I could bake something for his class to celebrate.  I know they have a heath food policy in place so I didn't suggest chocolate cupcakes, my usual birthday go-to.  But I figured an apple pie, oatmeal raisin muffins or even banana bread would be fine.  After a whole 10 minutes trying to plead my case, I was politely informed that the only thing I could bring in was fruit skewers or yogurt.  My jaw dropped.  Pardon my French, but what the FUCK?  Who blows candles off a fucking fruit kabob?  How blah.  How pretentious.  I was pissed.   I'm sorry, but kids should eat cake on their birthday.  It's tradition!  Why are we obsessed with feeding our children low fat, low carb, low sodium, no sugar everything?  Why does their food have to be organic and all natural.  Hell, let's make eating totally boring and just give them vitamin supplements instead of real meals.   

Call me crazy, call me old-fashioned, but I think every kid deserves a little sugar now and then.  It tastes good, it makes everyone happy and it doesn't hurt anyone.  Our family exercises and eats balanced meals and snacks.  We are not overweight or diabetic.  We have a sweet tooth which we indulge, in moderation.  No one has grown a third arm from it yet.  Even my dentist condones the sweet stuff, so long as the kids brush their teeth twice a day. 

When did sugar become so taboo?  My generation grew up on the stuff, along with hot dogs, Nutella and so much Lipton Soup it's a miracle our skin didn't permanently yellow from the salty bouillon.   We all turned out all right.

So let's all loosen up and let them eat cake!  

What do you think I should bring in next week?  Should I smuggle in some good stuff?  Do you have any sugar free cake recipes?  HELP!

Happy Birthday!  Have a fruit skewer kids.  Mommy ate all the cake.  

Lesson 5: Kids will spread disease and nits faster than pigeons.

Anyone in my inner circle knows I am a complete germaphobe and suffer from anxiety.   As you can imagine, being a mom to two young boys can often gross me out.  And with flu season right around the corner, I am on high alert.  I've stocked hand sanitizer, Lysol wipes, disposable gloves and every flavour of fever medication.  

Every September, my mommy friends and I dread back-to-school for two reasons: gastro and head lice.  Last year, my oldest caught gastro three times within six months.   And guess what?  No one in this house went unscathed.   That shit (no pun intended) spreads like wildfire.  No amount of Lysol or bleach saved us.   Why?   Because kids have absolutely no sense of timing or aim when it comes to puking and crapping their pants.  They pooped and barfed on every square inch of this house... except for the toilet!

Our elementary school sends home a note about lice each fall.  They advise parents check their children's heads for nits at least once a week.  Every Friday night I turn in to a friggin mama chimpanzee.  I put on rubber gloves, stick my kids in the bath and search through their hair with a fine-toothed comb.  Any time they scratch their heads I jump on them and inspect their scalps like the CDC would jump on a sick chicken during a deadly bird flu outbreak.  Just the thought of these teeny tiny creepy crawlies makes me itch all over.  What's worse than the itching is that lice are a giant pain to get rid of.

Let's be honest here.  Kids are pretty disgusting.  They may look cute and sweet, but I assure you they are disease ridden.  I had an inkling this was the case way before I had kids.  I'd see them at the park or at the grocery store.  They almost always had snot dried up under their nose, dirty fingers or weird crust caught in their tangled manes.  But now that I've caught almost every documented communicable illness from my own boys, it's clear I didn't understand to what extent children could be a health hazard.

Fact: Children are vessels for germs and bacteria.  (I read an entire chapter on the subject in one of those parenting books childless friends like to give expectant moms.)  Here's the proof.  For some reason,  kids like to lick things that shouldn't be licked.  My oldest's tongue is strangely attracted to everything from bank machine keypads to elevator buttons.  But give him some grapes and he'll suddenly dry heave.  Preschoolers enjoy sharing sippy cups at playgroups with the most mucousy children in attendance.  Boys and girls alike can't keep their hands to themselves in public washrooms.  They are obsessed with touching every toilet seat and used paper towel.  And sometimes- I speak from experience- kids like to fish out turd from their BabyBjorn potty and bring it to you as your cooking to prove they've gone poo-poo like a big boy. 

My unexplained rash this summer.  It spread all over my back.  Could my children have been the cause? Probably!

Clearly, I know what I'm talking about.  Based on my experience, I've come up with some practical advice for parents to stay healthy. Here are some tips to keep those viruses, bugs and diseases at bay:

•   Wash your hands frequently.  You get used to the chapped, stinging skin after a while.

•   Always carry hand sanitizer.

•   Never eat the icing on a kid's birthday cake.  Chances are the birthday boy or girl, and all the underage guests, unintentionally spit on the cake while blowing out the candles.

•   Don't sniff any unidentified hard or dried out matter on the floors or walls of your home.  I can tell you from experience that it's probably poop.  

•   Don't share a tube of toothpaste with your little ones... it's most likely been up a nose or for a dip in the toilet.  

•   Never eat from your child's plate... you don't know where that mouth has been.

•   During a bout of gastro, line the beds and sofas with plastic.  It makes them easier to clean.

•   Keep your distance.  You can love your kids from afar.  

I'd like to know if you have any tips for keeping your household healthy.  Also, let me know your grossest kid stories.  Thanks for sharing!

Lesson 4: Take the mom hat off and let your hair down now and then

Last night I went clubbing. (Do they still call it that?)  That's right.  I went dancing.  On a week night.  For fun.  For me.  It was exhilarating and liberating.  

I've been so bogged down with chores, chauffeuring, cleaning, cuddling and cooing that I forgot how fun I could be. Buried deep under my stretched out tummy and softening boobs is a girl I once knew.  She's funny, outgoing and loves dancing.  She laughs a lot, talks too loud and never worries about how many calories are in her mixed drink.  I LOVE this carefree girl.  For a few brief hours last night, I was the old me again (give or take a few extra wrinkles and pounds).  

I got a glimpse of my old self while I was driving my son to preschool a few weeks ago.  The radio announcer was talking about an upcoming event at a local club.  The club was hosting a launch party for the 2014 sexy firemen calendar.  The firemen would be there as entertainment.  Proceeds from ticket and calendar sales would go to major burn victims' charities.  Well, what girl could pass up seeing some hunky firemen in the flesh?  And for a good cause?  Count me in!  

My sister and cousin were my posse last night.  They are both childless and I envy their freedom.  I figured some of their "cool" might rub off on me since I'm a bit rusty when it comes to the night scene.  I ditched the cotton Hanes from Walmart and bought some good underwear.  I even found a trendy top at Forever 21.  I felt like a confident woman again. Once there, we ogled, danced and had a couple of cocktails.  It was just prefect.

I didn't get my usual full night's sleep, but I wasn't tired at all this morning.  Actually, I felt happier and more energized than I have in years.  

So I guess every once in a while, a girl's gotta let loose, right?  Sometimes I forget that I'm allowed to be me and not just "mommy".  There aren't any laws against mothers having some clean adult fun.  So ladies... call the sitter, grab those heels, wrestle on those Spanx.  It's time to hit the town this weekend.

Two of twelve firemen shakin' their stuff for the ladies and a good cause

Lesson 3: Blame it on the full moon

I'm not a superstitious person.  I don't follow astrology. I definitely don't believe the phases of the moon or cosmic showers affect our moods.  Yet some days my kids' behaviour is so erratic, out of character and down-right embarrassing that I'm left blaming it on the good old full moon.

Example 1:

After a particularly rowdy day at preschool, the educator sometimes shrugs and says to each parent as they arrive for pick-up, "I don't know what happened today.  All the children were really hyper!"   I usually smile then and tell her it must be a full moon.  Then everyone nods in agreement and chuckles.

Example 2:

Children have nightmares.  Mine are no exception. Trashing and screaming is involved.  No one sleeps.  It's standard stuff. Inexplicably, there are rare times when both my sons have bad dreams during the same night.  Double the thrashing. Double the screaming. Still zero sleep.  These nights are brutal, and have  me wishing caffeine I.V.'s existed.  "The full moon must be around the corner," I mumble to my husband through half open eyes the morning after those episodes.

So maybe these two examples don't illustrate atrocious behaviour. The full moon cop-out is acceptable, even humorous, in those types of situations.  But yesterday I used it as a scapegoat when I was informed my oldest (M) had been sent to the principal's office for disrespecting the teacher and vandalizing school property.  He's in first grade.

I don't want to make excuses for him, but we've known for two years that he has sensory issues. (Visit http://www.spdfoundation.net/about-sensory-processing-disorder.html 
for more info.) This can make adjusting to school life difficult. Similarly he's been flagged for learning disabilities.  He is being followed on our end, and the school's end, by several specialists and doctors.  He was doing wonderfully, until three weeks ago.  I started receiving several notes from his teachers. M had been skipping class, hiding in the bathroom, talking back, writing on desks and losing  his books.  Yesterday, his homeroom teacher gave up on the notes and called me.  My heart sank when I found out she had sent him to the office.  We both agreed we were doing all we could to keep M on track,  but that things we getting out of control.  Neither of us could think of a plausible reason for this sudden behaviour change. He was always such a polite and respectful boy, despite his difficulties.

As a mom, I feel guilty.  Maybe something is going on in his 6- year-old head and heart that I can't understand.  I've exhausted every avenue trying to figure out how to curb this change in attitude and get him back on track.  I'm clueless.  So when a friend of mine texted me a link to an astrology web page explaining how the recent "October monster moon" was causing havoc here on earth, I breathed sigh of relief. Maybe there are things out of my control. Maybe M is just of victim of the moon's mystical pull.  

According to the astrology article,  this cosmic storm will pass at the end of the month. Maybe things will go back to normal then.  Or better yet, maybe some extra terrestrials will have pity on me and beam me up to their planet until this whole thing blows over.

To be continued...

Lesson 2: There’s no such thing as escaping the daily grind when the kids are tagging along.

Before I became a mom, a beautiful Sunday in autumn meant heading north to a picturesque ski village.  During the relaxing drive up, I'd admire the changing colours of the leaves on the trees lining the hillside. My hubby and I would park the car at the end of the town’s main road and stroll its entire length while window-shopping. We'd ooh and aah at the rustic fall decor each quaint shop so meticulously displayed to attract tourists.   Sometimes we'd even stop in a store to buy a kitschy sculpture or knick-knack.   After a few hours, our faces flushed from the late afternoon sun, we'd stop at the local coffee house for a big cup of tea or a latté and a scrumptious pastry.  “La vie est belle,” the locals say.  Yes, life was beautiful then.    

Perhaps feeling a little nostalgic, and very adventurous, I announced to my husband this fine Sunday morning that we should take the kids up north and spend the afternoon there.  It would be like the good old days, but better because we’d have our sons to share it with. 

"I think it will be nice. It's such a gorgeous day.  The kids will enjoy it,” I told my spouse as he gathered Lego bits off the floor and I changed snot-encrusted bed sheets. 

"Sure, we can go," he replied matter-of-factly.  “But it won't play out the way you've imagined it."

"I don't have any expectations," I lied. "I just think we all need to get out of here to change the routine.  Plus, it'll be better than staying home."  

Of course, it wasn't.  I regretted the decision to venture further than our usual fifteen kilometer radius the second we hit the highway. 

12:05 p.m. 

My much-anticipated relaxing drive was anything but.  The usual “are we there yet” phrase polluted the air just minutes into the trip.  Over and over, my eldest (M) kept asking for ETA’s.  Any trip that is longer than five minutes is too long for him.  So his incessant nagging didn’t get under my skin too much because I’m pretty used to it. 

12:15 p.m.

I was able to distract both my kids with a book, which I keep in the car for longer drives.  M, who is learning how to read, decided he’d read aloud to his little brother (Z).  Sounds nice, right?  Wrong.  He purposely changed words on each page to make the story silly.  Z hated this and started yelling at M to read the story the right way.  A screaming match ensued, followed by a wrestling match during which the book was thrown back and forth.  At this point I took the book away and looked for distractions outside.

12:34 p.m.

“Look boys!” I exclaimed, trying to sound cheerful as we headed up the hillside.  “See all the trees and colorful leaves?  Isn’t it pretty?”

“Whatever.  Mom, we need a TV in here,” said M unimpressed.  Z was similarly blasé. 

I kept looking out the window, intent on enjoying the view, even if no one else seemed to care.   That lasted all of three minutes. 

12:42 p.m.

My gazing was startled by some more wrestling, screaming and loud crash followed by crying.  I turned around to find M and Z had fought.  Z won this time. (He’s only half his brother’s size but he packs a good punch, which I credit to his obsession with the Avengers cartoons.)  As payback for ruining his story earlier, Z had tossed the hardcover book at M and hit him in the mouth.  Blood poured from his split lip.  I disciplined Z, stopped the bleeding and consoled M all from the confines of the front seat.   Everyone calmed down, though hubby never even flinched.  He was focused on getting get us to our destination as fast as possible. 

12:53 p.m.

Everyone wanted out of the car.  Especially M, who shortly after the lip incident announced that he was about the puke.  Not wanting to clean vomit out of the car for the umpteenth time in a year, we quickly pulled over. I jumped out along with M.  A few deep breaths and a cold juice box later, we were back on the road.  Luckily only five minutes to go. 

12:58 p.m.

Needless to say, parking was a relief… until we pulled Z out of his car seat.  He’ll be four in November and has been potty trained since age two.  As luck would have it, he chose that moment to pee his pants.  The right leg of his jeans was soaked and I had no change of clothes.  I had recently stopped bringing extra outfits with me because he never had any accidents.  So he kept his wet pants on. 

“The sun will dry it mommy,” he reassured me.  We had to keep moving.  We had made it this far and we weren’t turning back.  My turn for deep breaths. I hoped the day would go more smoothly now that we were stretching our legs and enjoying some fresh air.   

1:10 p.m.

The village looked the same as I remembered.  I pointed out some landmarks to the kids.  They liked that there were pumpkins and scarecrows by each storefront.  I began to relax.  We stopped for some ice cream.  Z took two bites before announcing he had to poop.  He is usually constipated but for some reason he ALWAYS has to go when we are in a public place.  It’s his thing.  The café next door let us use their bathroom but only after we purchased some food and a beverage.  Despite the urgency of the situation, the employee (obviously childless) had my husband wait in a long line to make his purchase.  Six dollars and two macaroons later, my husband and Z were allowed into the stench-filled toilet.  After lining the seat with an entire roll of toilet paper, Z announced that he didn’t have to go anymore.  During this ordeal, I waited outdoors with M.  We were walking along when he decided he had to poop too.  We found a sign for a port –a-potty and ran straight for it.  It was three blocks away.  Panting as we finally reached the door, he also decided it was a false alarm. 

1:40 p.m.

I texted my husband my location.  M was shouting he wanted to go home.   I found a bench and plopped down defeated.  As I waited for the other half of my family to rejoin us, I enviously watched the dozens of happy-go-lucky couples and smiling families as they took in the village sights and sounds.  I was disappointed and upset that this did not turn out to be the leisurely afternoon I had imagined. When we are all reunited, we unanimously decided to head back home.  We’d had enough. Total time spent in the village: forty-five minutes. 

Maybe outings like this will get easier when the kids are a little older.  Until then I prefer to handle the fighting, vomiting, whining and countless spontaneous poops within the comfort of my own home. Next time I want to escape, I’ll get a sitter.