I feel lost as a mother.

For the last several weeks Mr. Pants has been an anxious and over-loaded tornado. He is more often than not, a wreck. Uncontrolled. Devestated. Unwound.

His stims have come roaring back. He is side-eyeing, hulking and repeating. Life is so very difficult for him right now.

I have been floundering. Grabbing at straws. Drowning. Daddy too.

Sensory kids are never predictable. Just when you think you have it down, the game changes. Just when you think you have worked through the hardest parts, the parts change. Just when you think you know the score, well, you don't.

I am humbled. I am sad. I am hopeful. I appreciate the fact that we will never have all the answers. Even though I'd like them. Especially during weeks like these.

We are not sure why. We have some ideas.

We are not sure how to work through this. Again, with the ideas.

The old solutions are not working. New ones are met with resistance or escalation.

We will not stay lost. He will not stay in this intense place. And this is how I know...

For weeks he has struggled to be with her. She has been desperate for his company. He has ignored her. Yelled at her. Hurt her. Isolated himself from her. He hasn't been able to deal with her crying or her singing or her dancing. It would send him into a tailspin. I do not know why. Other than it feels like, it's not her. It's not personal. It's any noise or distress or change or anything but quiet solitary being is too much right now. I think.

But not today. Today he loved her. Today he played trains with her. They danced to music together. They read books. And when Mama gave them each a box of raisins to eat while they waited for dinner, this is what happened. He sat with her. His body relaxed. He wanted to be with her. And her little foot drifted onto his leg. I think she was making sure to keep him there. 

A breakthrough.

We will be ok. Mr. Pants will  be ok. This sensory shit won't rule this child.

I know because he's already done it. We created a comfortable space for him and he figured out how to move his body through space at the ripe old age of 13 months. And he will again. Only this time, he has a new backer. His baby sister who seems to only grow more and more in love with her big brother everyday.

We will be alright. We will get there. We just need some new ideas. New strategies.

And more raisins.

Yesterday, Mr. Pants had a straight up heart exploding panic attack. Yesterday, my heart went through the ringer. Yesterday, Ms. Plum showed her brother just how much she loved him. Oh man, yesterday was hard.

His heart was racing. He repeated the same phrase upwards of a thousand times. He held his wubby and rubbed his face. Nothing I did was helping. It was her. All her.

She sat with him. She cried with him. When she saw the opportunity, she leaned in to him. He let her. She kissed him. And then she kissed him again. Each kiss bringing a moment of calm. She kept kissing him. He wanted her to lie under his comforter, but she didn't understand. She ran away. His panic returned. So she did too. Her body and soft kisses, telling him, "It's ok, brother. I am here".

I have never seen a child experience such panic. I was at a loss. Such a loss. Everything I tried, failed.  When it was over I spent some time crying it out in the bathroom. When I came out, they were together. Sitting quietly in their tent. Just being.

Then Grandma Pants stopped by for a little story time. Still dipping into a panic every few minutes, Grandma drew him out with a dolphin impression that made him laugh.

Becoming more and more comfortable, he took a moment to contain himself. The worst was over and we were heading towards normal. But he still didn't want his mama to hold him. And I'd be a big fat liar if I said that didn't sting. But he needed to choose how he came back to us. And he was choosing. He chose the green bucket.

The day trudged on. He was not himself and she knew it. It is normal in our house for Plum to want to be where Pants is at all times. What is not normal is that yesterday he wanted her with him all of that time. And so she was. By his side every moment of the day until she knew he was ok. No booster seat across the table for snack. She was going to sit right next to him. She wasn't going anywhere. Which was a good thing because I hadn't cleaned her booster tray after breakfast.

He's ok. He got through it. So did Plum. But it wasn't until he came to me and asked, "Ah shirt, Mama?", that I was alright. It's been months since he needed squish box a la Mama. And this time, he wasn't the only one that needed it. So as he climbed on in, we watched some Thomas & Friends. Mama and Pants. I finally exhaled and my heart began beating at a normal pace. His did too. I stopped feeling as though I could cry at any moment. He did too. I finally released the pain I felt for him. And he let go of the pain too. We sat still together and just breathed in and out. It was completely over. Relief.

And Plum? Well, with the opportunity to tag out, she promptly went into Pants' room and played with all of his favorite toys.

Just like a baby sister should.

I haven't written much lately about Mr. Pants and his sensory stuff or language development. Because there hasn't been much to report. We do as we do. He patterns up a few times a day but we are pretty successful in pulling him out most of the time. No biggie fry. It may look weird to an outsider but our tools usually work. To me when he throws down with repetition, he is locked. Like a skipping record. And he just needs that little nudge of the needle to move forward but if you nudge too hard you scratch up the record and jump too far ahead. Side note: I wonder how many people under twenty- five are scratching their heads over that comparison. I just dated myself. Le sigh.

He is speaking a lot. Granted a lot of his speech is "scripted", as the SLP would say, but he's talking and I couldn't be happier about that. He will repeat himself a buga-billion times and I refuse to ever get tired of it. Ok, sometimes it makes my eyeballs twitch but I'm not complaining. He'll say "I cranky, mama. I cranky. I cranky. I cranky. I cranky" (plus fifty more times) and I answer him after each one , "you're cranky, bud?" and then "ok, wanna snuggle" and then, "wanna play with mama" and then "I hear that you are cranky. Are you ok?" and then well you get the point. It's a little insano if you aren't used to it. But I'm used to it. I try to help him move past that first thought. Eventually he stops and we can get past the first line of our conversation. But then, sometimes, he breaks my heart. Most of the time he is fine. It's when he isn't that I feel lost. And I don't know what to do. About ten percent of the time, he loses control and falls into a deep sadness. And then we have to pull out the big guns. Because he can't get unstuck and now he's overwhelmed. And I have to resist the urge to just cry along with him. Because that won't help. Instead, it's tight squeezes, loud whispers in his ear that "it's alright" on repeat, his wubby's, lights off and a bubba. That almost always does the trick. But that's really the hardest part. Beyond that, he is mastering his sensory needs and continuing to stimulate his vestibular system to work for him. I love to watch him run. He is so smooth. So fluid. It is mostly smooth sailing.

Well as smooth as the sailing can be when you are three. Which brings me to my point...

Did you know that three year old tantrums are freaking nuts? I mean, whoa. Pants has reached the tantrum mountain top. Two year old tantrums are like soft baby kitten whispers in comparison. There are times when I am stunned silent by the sheer commitment he will give to a proper tantrum. It is on like Donkey Kong when I interfere in his master plan. But sometimes I have to do just that and brace for the storm (read: run away).

I am not a helicopter mom. I am very big on choosing battles, letting my kids fall down and not being on top of their decision making but of course, I have to draw some lines. Shutting yourself in the dryer? Sorry dude. I don't think so. Other off limits activities? Swinging from the curtains and going Superfly Snuka on your sister. Oh and using the bed as a ramp for your ride on cars. I mean, you'd think the first time he went ass over head, he might have learned it was a bad idea. But you'd be wrong. He didn't learn that. Instead he learned that practice should make perfect. Normally a reasonable conclusion. And one I would encourage if it didn't mean broken bones and stitches. These kids get a whole lot of say in how they live their lil lives, because I think that is super important. But it would also seem that Mr. Pants could care less about how awesome I think that is, and instead would like to remind me that he can bring the world crashing down around us if he so chooses. And well, I'm sure that the neighbors still hate us very much.

Especially since my newest strategy to end the tantrum is to ignore it. I'll say something simple like, "I'm sorry you are so angry/sad/frustrated/effing pissed. That was not a safe choice. I'll be ready to play/read a book/go outside/eat lunch when you are done yelling" and I walk away/run for my life.

The tantrums are getting a bit shorter. A tiny bit. But a bit, none the less. So I believe my plan is working. We should be tantrum free in about four years if my calculations are correct. Ten minute tantrums are now down to about nine and half minutes. Nine and a half minutes of ear splitting volcanic crazy. And then he is back. My son returns to me from the edge of doom. A precious lamb (or an indifferent side-eyeing angry tiny human who won't talk to me just yet but who  worked some self- regulation magic on himself, sauntered into living room and will get back to me when he can look at me again). 

It would seem three is when the forces of evil and good begin warring in each of us. And it is our job as parents to help them get through it. One face exploding tantrum at a time.

Now I want to know about how YOU handle tantrums....

Hey there baby boy,

The sun just set tonight on your third year. Tomorrow when you get up you will be three. I can't believe it. Tonight, Daddy and I sang Twinkle Twinkle to you as you fell asleep. You love that song. And I love that you still want us to sing it to you. Is it any surprise that I am crying as I write to you? Probably not. By the time you can read this, I'm sure you will be used to your mama crying about all the love I have in my heart for you. You are an amazing kid, Mr. Pants. You need to really know that. Every single thing about you is extraordinary. You are kind. And thoughtful. And totally wild. You are smart and loving and silly. And right before our eyes you are becoming a big kid.

In this last year you have broken down so many of your walls. Engaging with people and showing love. You gave us a scare for a bit there. But you broke out of your shell. You kept your quirks though and I gotta say, I'm so glad. And you are talking! You have worked so hard to do that and we are so so SO crazy proud of you. It is music to my ears to hear your voice. I will never forget when you finally called out to me and said my name. "Mama! Mammmmaaaa!!!". My heart jumped right out of my chest. Your little voice. It was perfect.

Your most favorite thing in the whole world right now is Curious George. You call him "Monkey!". You love trains, planes, tractors, lawn movers, bulldozers, garbage trucks, rocket ships and motorcycles. But you aren't only in to heavy machinery though. I see you carting around mama's old Care Bear and pink puppy dog and caring for them. You change their diapers and nurse them. You tuck them in to sleep, kiss them on their heads and say, "Ny-Ny, baby". You are starting to play with Plum too! At first when she would try to play with you, you thought it wasn't cool. But you are warming up to her again now. Even though it's hard  that she wants to play with your toys. Your favorite game to play with your baby sister, is to run back and forth between the living room furniture and jump on it and giggle. Then Plum runs to the next one and looks back to see if you are coming. You always do. And she laughs and laughs. You have really blossomed in your role as her big brother. You say, "No no baby!" if you see her doing something that is dangerous. Oh!  And you are so polite! You say, "Oooh tank yoo!" with such happiness everytime someone gives you something.  I love that. Let's see, your favorite colors are red and purple. You still love to dance and um, dude...you are still a nudist. Let's work on that this year, ok? You are really starting to use your imagination too. You pretend to be Curious George all the time and you sound just like him.

So in keeping with tradition, I made you a slideshow of your third year. I picked one of your favorite songs. I hadn't noticed how perfect the words were before now. No wonder you love this song. It would seem it was written just for you.

You bring so much sunshine. I am so excited to watch you grow this year. Never forget that your mama loves you. Seriously, do not ever forget that. Every moment of everyday, I love you. Happy Birthday, baby.

Love, Mama

Today is the last day that Mr. Pants will ever be two years old. So it's as good a day as any to finally master the number two on his hands. On his way to school this morning, he finally got it. And of coarse, this achievment made me misty. Because I am the sap from the sappiest sugary-est tree.  Tomorrow we will begin to work on three fingers. I bet he gets that super fast. But for today, he is two. And what kind of sap would I be if I didn't start thinking about his whole little life as he walked down the driveway with Daddy to get on the bus? I mean, you know I did. I went all the way back to the very beginning.  Before he was even here. Yep, I'm a marshmallow. I went through his entire life in my head. Has it really only been three years? Because I feel like I've known him forever. As I sat down to write about him, I got stuck on something that my brother told me when I was pregnant.

When you're pregnant for the first time people tell you all sorts of things. Mostly about how you will never sleep again (TRUE!) and how you should soak up every bit of them as babies because it goes by too fast (True times infinity).

When we found out that I was growing a boy inside my body (What what! Superhero powers!), I got a lot of additional material. Like, "Boys are hard". Or, "Boys are easier than girls". And, "I hope you like the emergency room" (Who likes the emergency room?). But there was something that my brother said to me that rang in my ears and stayed in my heart. It's the only comment I remember vividly. I remember we were standing on his porch. I was wearing a black t-shirt. He was wearing my husband's shoes. What he said, hit me like a ton of bricks and I haven't forgotton it. Not for a second.  We were joking about how wild he had been as a kid and  about how I was in for it with a boy, when he paused. He looked up and said, "It's good you are having a boy. It's a really good thing. Because you will teach him how to treat a woman. And how to be sensitive and all that. You are going to be good at that". I was at once touched and scared. See both of my brothers have a set of girls. Two girls each. There were no boys on my side of the family until Mr. Pants came along. The idea that we would have to parent him into being a good person, had suddenly occured to me. Oh shit. What if I screw up my kid and then he goes on to screw up his kids in a vicious cycle that started with me not letting him eat ice cream for dinner? What if he's a total jerk as an adult because I don't know how to raise a boy? It would be all my fault!

(At this point, I usually need someone to shake me by the shoulders or smack me back into reality. Not for real smacking, more like a verbal smack across the cheek. Thankfully, I always have my friends and family for that. )

So, I thought about this a lot before lil dude was born. A lot. It really did worry me that I might not have the nuts to raise a boy. Pun totally intended. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to relate to him. Understand him. But eventually I snapped out of it and realized I was not giving birth to an alien. I was having a human boy. And I would just figure him out. It helps that Daddy is also a boy, so my plan was to defer to him on boy related issues. Like when Mr. Pants became a nudist and slammed his junk onto things as he hurdled furniture ("I mean, doesn't that hurt him? Wouldn't that hurt you?"). Or when he got a sunburn On. His. Penis. Daddy nearly passed out at the thought. Because, you know, OW.  I just didn't think to put sunblock there. But Daddy sure did. Lesson learned. Protect the goods. Got it. Beyond that, I didn't have to worry. I didn't have to do anything different just because he was boy. I just had to be his mom. It's a simple idea. But sometimes the simplest solutions are the hardest to get to.

Then Ms. Plum came along. A girl. How would this change him? How would she be different?  She's more emotional. More dramatic. More relaxed. More affectionate. I think it would be easy to suggest that it's because she is a girl. But that's really not it. It's not gender that is determining these things. She just came that way. And he came his way. We parent them the same. I'm sure sometimes that doesn't happen but it's what we strive for. Boys get the same amount of kisses as girls and girls are allowed to climb and fall just like the boys are. As I type this, Plum is playing with a semi truck. And just last night, Mr. Pants nursed his Care Bear and changed his diaper. Comforting Wish Bear, "Don Ky! Iz OK baby!" and giving him kisses.  

So here we are. Today is the last  day that Mr. Pants will be two. Three years out from what my brother said to me. I would probably bet money that when it comes down to it, Mr. Pants has taught me more than I have taught him. And we obviously have a ways to go before he's learned how to treat a partner. But I have no doubt that he will get there. Because honestly? He has no choice. I refuse to raise a jerk face. So we plant the seeds now. And the best way to do that, in this stage of his development, is by showing him. By being the people we hope that he and Plum will also be. That, my friends, is not always easy.  We give hugs and kisses all day, everyday (easy part!) and we speak to them gently (most of the time) and with respect. And when I find that I am not parenting the way I believe I should, I stop, breathe and start again. Right in front of them. We apologize to them when we miss the mark. And we don't demand things of them that they are not yet capable of. We are not perfect. Not by a long shot. The longest of shots. I mean, I've got stories. But the foundation of our parenting style is that we have four equal voices living under this roof. They are not the second class. Neither are we. Their feelings and ideas count. They are as important as our own. And by enforcing that. By not always getting my way, we are teaching them to be considerate and thoughtful. At least I think that's what we are doing.  And maybe my brother knew that's how I would parent? Or maybe he just assumed I'd be  "good at it" because I am the greatest sister of all time? 

So as I sit here thinking of all the ways we have succeeded and failed in the last three years, I am so happy. So so happy. We are bumbling through this parenting adventure with an idea of how to do it. Not a map or a fool proof plan, but some ideas. Be kind. Show love. Show respect. Use honesty and laughter liberally. Temper our human tendancy for frustration and anger with reason and understanding. It's ok to be mad. Take naps.  Accept mistakes and don't dwell. Ask for help (the hardest one for me). Eat ice cream (note to self: buy coconut milk ice cream, stat!). Get dirty. Eat your vegetables. Never withhold affection as discipline. Always consider you might be wrong. And don't be a jerk when you are right.  

That's our way. That's how we do it. It's not the only way or even the right way. But it's what suits us.

So, I agree, Uncle Pants. I think it's a good thing too.

Slow down. You move too fast. You got to make the morning last. Just kickin' down the cobblestones. Lookin' for fun and feelin' groovy....

I've been singing it to myself ever since I put Mr. Pants on the bus this morning. My misty eyes are reminding me that I had better love every second of this. In just a few weeks, Mr. Pants will be three. And after a summer of camping and growing up big, he will start preschool. Like for real, preschool. Right now he attends two mornings a week at a program for children with developmental delays. He loves it so so much. And he loves riding the bus. Like he dreams about it. When he wakes in the morning the first words out of his mouth are often "Ah Bu-thn?" Which is "On bus?". I think he's going to really love preschool too.

We decided to go ahead and send him to the city preschool. He will go two days a week but for six hours each day instead of two and half. It will be a long day. But after much thinking and re-thinking we've decided it's a good idea. All of his current teachers, Miss Mary Beth and his specialists recommend that he move up to a preschool filled with typically developing children so that he can learn from his peers. It sounds like a good idea. And most of me thinks it will be a year of great strides for him. But there is a small voice that is scared. Today I am beating back that small voice and putting it in a choke hold. We will give this a go. I can always pull him out if it isn't going well.

We meet to set his IEP goals next week and I have a list. I know that they will want to work on his fine motor skills. This kid can scale a rock wall but he can't hold a pen. Or give a thumbs up. True story, if you give Pants a thumbs up he will return a pointed finger at you and say "OH YEAH!!". Basically he does his best Randy "Macho Man" Savage impression. And when you give him the double thumbs up, he returns with a double point. Makes me smile every time. But it's also telling of his fine motor delay. So is the frustration he experiences when he can't make his fingers cut with scissors. So we will keep working on that. Because I want to be able to read his handwriting when he leaves me counter notes telling me where he is going to be during his moody teen years. Also on the list for the IEP? Eating, playing safely and talking. And I do think that being surrounded by kids that talk will encourage him to give it a go more often. Peers can be great motivators. So that's our plan. To give it a whirl.

This morning it occurred to me that sometimes I think about it all too much. I analyze and go over it in my head and drive myself nuts. Hoping and wishing things for him. Wondering if the kids at his new school will like him. Wondering if his teacher will appreciate his unique take on things. Thinking, thinking, thinking. But today as I walked him down to the bus (a privilege that is usually Daddy's), I realized that someday soon he's not gonna want us to wait at the bus stop with him. Or worse he's gonna drive out of the driveway himself. So I needed a reminder to stop thinking so much about all of this and just let it ride. And today at the end of the driveway, we waited for the bus and sang songs. In that five minutes, I saw that my baby boy was getting bigger and more awesome by the second. He jumped onto the bus and blew me kisses goodbye. And as I strolled Plum back up to the house, I cried some happy tears. This kid is amazing. He's crazy cool and funny and smart. And no amount of school can teach that. He did that all on his own. He's just fine. Even if he ends up writing in chicken scratch.

Come this August, Mr. Pants is gonna take the school system by storm. Because today Mr. Pants was approved for an Individulaized Education Plan (IEP) through the school district. Which is such a blessing for us because we would struggle to get him the speech and occupational therapy he needs without one. As I sat down to to the table to discuss their findings today, I expected to hear about his need for speech and occupational therapies. They had gone to observe him in his early intervention classroom for several days and from what I understand, he loaded them up with tons of Pantsinese conversation and side eyed them frequently while sauntering by. I am very familiar with the saunter by side-eye. It's one of my absolute favorite things he does. I know from this description that he was observing them, not the other way around. He was taking note of their likability and trustworthiness before deciding to interact with them. That's my boy.

His scores came back exactly how I knew they would. Off the charts in gross motor development and low in speech, fine motor and adaptability. But there was a catagory that I didn't expect.

He scored extremely high in "atypicality". Bwahahaha! Well of coarse he did. He's not your typical kid. I could have told them that. I hadn't known they would be scoring him on his unique-ness from the other kids his age. But it cracked me up that they did. "What does that mean?", I asked between laughs (because I knew exactly what it meant). She chose her words carefully, "Well, just that....his behaviors...are.....different from other kids his age". She was afraid this would upset me. Of coarse it did not. I know full well that my kid is totally bizzaro. And that it might be something that school personel might feel the need to rein in. But that we love about him. And his future teacher sitting next to me, smiled. I think she will to. She was the only one at the table that had yet to meet Mr. Pants. But I'll be keeping a close eye on her. Because while I know that he needs to adapt in certain areas to be successful in school, this mama will not take kindly to anyone trying to take that part of him and change it. I cannot for the life of me think of why anyone would want to.

There are plenty of typical people in this world. I mean, seriously. Mr. Pants has more creativity in his pinky finger than I do in my whole body. And Daddy and I just love him that way. Cause he's a cool cat. And come this Fall, he's bringing a new brand of typical to pre-school. And I have a feeling that he's gonna kick ass and take names.