Emotions can be a minefield for anyone. But for Mr. Pants they are still pretty confusing. 

I don't talk about his sensory processing or development here on the blog much anymore. Not because his struggles are gone, but because they are just normal for us now. If you are new to reading this blog you may not know that hisexperience of his senses  is different from yours and mine. His processing and integration of them is different. Unique. Designed for him, by him. And I gotta say, he's kind of nailed it. He is mostly a very comfortable kid.

Mostly.

Recently, though, he has become increasingly stressed by new, loud or busy situations. The upside to his discomfort is that he is finding ways to deal with it. It's an upside because life is big and noisy and change-y. So he needs to discover for himself how best to cope with it. And as his parents we need to allow for him to explore the possibilities without pushing too hard. Instead we gently nudge him out of the comfort zone so that he can do the work he needs to do. We don't force him into uncomfortable situations that don't matter in the long run. Ya know, like a monster truck show. I'm not gonna take him to one of those.  Because there are plenty of uncomfortable situations that he does have to figure out. Like gym class. Or coffee hour between church services (see below). 

At his I.E.P. meeting last week they once again told us that he is a solitary little guy and won't initiate play with the kids at school. And I know why. It all comes down to those pesky emotions. It's because he likes the predictability of playing alone. Playing alone allows for him to control the environment and for him to feel safe. Playing alone is not confusing. See he needs to be able to predict as much as possible especially if he is away from his comfort zone  (our home). He is still trying to read our emotions and fully understand them so it's too much for him to try and read the kids at school all at once, too. Heck, he's still figuring out his own emotional responses to life. He needs alone time and he takes it whenever he needs it. He's amazingly self aware for an almost 4 year-old.  

But don't get me wrong, he is not disconnected at all. In fact he is all kinds of attached to his family. He expresses his emotions beautifully to us and others he is close with. I just think that he is not ready to share that part of himself with too many other people (and he may never be). 

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So emotion is still confusing for him. But he's on the case. He attempts to discover how our feelings are working several times a day. 

"Mama, you happy?"  he will say when he sees that I might not be. "Mama is frustrated right now, bud. But it's ok." "Mama, you be happy soon? You be happy tomorrow? You be fusstated now? You feel hot?"  

If I'm reading something and I laugh out loud.

"Why you be funny, Mama? You get tickle? You happy? Why, you be funny? Why?"

If he does something funny and I laugh.

"No be funny at me, mama. You be happy. No funny!"

If I stub my toe and cry out he will come running (as long as it's not actual crying. That makes him run and hide. Hands over ears). 

"What happen? You get so mad?" "No bud, I hurt my toe. But I'm OK." "So you get happy now, mama? Oh, you sad? You not happy. You scared, mama?"  

He's not upset when he asks these questions. He's even keel. He's almost clinical. Investigating. Like he is socking away reasons, gathering information on how long it takes to be happy again. Then he will go  on his way, returning in a few minutes to see how I'm feeling and ask more questions. Often he even stays to quietly observe the change in emotion if it's a new emotion he has yet to get a handle on. It's kind of amazing to watch, really. I call him the research scientist. He is always thinking. Taking notes. Comparing outcomes. 

This kid. I used to be afraid for him but I'm not anymore. He shows me every single day that he can figure this life out as it unfolds. It may take him longer. His methods may be unconventional. But hey, if coffee hour between church services is too loud and crowded, who am I to force him out from under that chair? He knows what he is doing. 

"Go away, mama, pweeeeese! No grabby me, Mama. No grabby me." ~Mr. Pants (today)

I wasn't trying to grab him. I was trying to hug him. To help him off the floor where he lay after falling. I wanted to hold him in my arms and kiss his boo-boo. But that's not what he needed. So I walked away but not until I told him I'd be in the next room if he wanted my help. Walking away is mega-tron hard for me. It almost feels like I'm trying to walk through a protection spell on Buffy. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to go scoop that baby off the floor and smother him with my love. But my brain pushes me forward reminding me that it isn't what that baby wants or needs. "There is no blood. There is no broken bone. He asked you to leave him be. Stop being an exposed nerve of weepy feelings and do what your kid needs you to do. Get gone, mama."


The trainer becomes the trainee...


Before I was a mom, I worked with moms and their kids. I also trained staff on how to interact with children. So, if I had a dollar for every time I said the words "Every kid is different", I'd be living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. It's so very true and logical and obvious and all that. But you know what? I could kick myself in the shins for not developing that idea further. But that knowledge would have come from experience. An experience I was yet to have. Until now. 

My kids couldn't be more different. Plum, a social butterfly. Pants, a solitary man. This in and of itself is no trouble at all. I want my kids to be who they are. I respect them for who they are and I actually love that they are so very different yet care so much for each other. So what's the problem? Well, it's me.

I'm an extrovert. I'm huggy and touchy and feely. I talk a lot. Even to people I don't know. I'm a hasher-outer when things get tricky. I wanna discuss and get to the bottom and take care of things. And if my words can't help crate a solution, well, then my loving arms will start a-hugging and I will kiss it all away. Closeness and soft whispers of my love for you will help us both feel better. Right? Right???

For Plum, the answer is an easy and comfortable "Yes! Hug me! Love me with closeness! I feel better!!"  But for Pants? Oh hell no. Hell to the OH. HELL. NO. And it makes me nervous and weird and uncomfortable. It goes against my skill set. It makes me have to think of how to parent him all the time. I am always thinking. Always considering tone and eye contact when he gets hurt or in trouble or fights with his sister, over stimulated or is hungry etc etc etc. 

Shit, it gets harder...

As a baby this came fairly easy. He was our first and we knew no different so we were able to roll with the punches because we didn't know that it wasn't this hard for everyone. We thought we were just earning our parenting street cred and that eventually we would "get it" and it would all fall into place and we'd hit a stride that made sense. But the more he grows and the more independent he becomes, the more I am challenged to change me. Not him. It should have tipped us off that he was at his most comfortable floating in a bathtub with our hand placed just under his head and no other contact. 

He is who he is. And he is just fine being who he is. It's how we parent him that needs adjusting. I need to keep in check my extrovert Loud-y McLoud shorts while trying to parent this amazing and foreign (to me), introverted personality that needs space. He needs room to feel. To be alone. To process the shifts and changes that hit him harder than the rest of us. To relax, center and regulate without my grabby-grabby "come to mama" arms trying to kidnap him. So I have been doing just that. pulling myself back from the instinct to run to him and help. It's face-numbing at times that my version of helping doesn't help him. My way, is not his way. So I am learning. Day to day. I am adjusting and trying new things that feel weird to me but seem to be working for him. 

It's a waiting game...

I hate waiting. But this kid makes me wait. Of course he does, right? But if I wait, if I let him process his stress the way he chooses to, he will eventually come to me for that hug. But only if I wait. Only if I respect his needs first.  It's funny because I have always believed in listening to and watching your baby for cues. That babies know what they need and that they communicate those needs to you. It is then up to you to pay attention. It is how I mothered both of these babies when they where without words. When I didn't know what they were communicating, I remember thinking that I wished they could just give me a few words to tell me where it hurt or to tell me why they were sad. Well, they have them now. And they tell me all the time. It is still my job to listen. Even when the words are not the ones I want to hear. It's not easy being told to "pweese leave me alone". It smacks me in the heart sometimes. But he's telling me and I wouldn't be doing my job letting him be his own person if I didn't respect that. I might have to glue myself to the chair, but I am learning to wait it out. 

In conclusion, I have no idea....

So these days of almost four years old and all the independence it brings are filled with fine lines and constant reminders that even though I grew these two in the same body and they live in the same house with the same parents, it isn't fair to them if we streamline our parenting and force them both to be parented the same. Sure, the basics are the same. The rules are the rules, man. But it's important that we remember that their needs are not same. And shouldn't be treated as such. Now if I could just learn how to predict the future, I could tell you how this all turns out. But alas, that the fun of parenting right? It keeps you on your toes. 

To be continued...

Are your kids introverts? Extroverts? Both? 

We never know when they are going to strike. There was a time I tried to figure it out but then he'd go months without going through it and I thought he had it beat. When I thought it was food related, I found no common denominators. Then I thought it might be the result of a bad parenting day on our part. Nope. So it became one of those things I chalked up to his sensory issues messing with him all at once and there was nothing I could do about it. So I read and read and read. Sure kids with sensory integration difficulty are more likely to experience them but they are far from exclusive to sensy kids.

The facts are that night terrors strike all kids. Also a fact? They suuuuuck. They are awful. They make you feel powerless and rip your heart out and crush it. Because there is nothing you can do. We aren't talking about a nightmare. We aren't talking about a bad dream. Night Terrors are in a league of their very own. They are debilitating and well, terrifying.

It took Pants 45 minutes to come out of it. We stopped going in and instead would go to the door and repeat our calm phrases. I've learned that asking him questions helps him to start coming out of it. "Lights on or lights off, baby? Milk or juice, baby? Pillow or no pillow, baby" etc. With every answer he comes to a little bit more. But it's a process. You can't rush it or you go back to square one. My theory is that somewhere in his brain he knows he is being given a little bit of control with each choice he gets to make. I'm no doctor but it's what makes sense to me. And it is the only thing that seems help.

He comes out little by little. Sunday night about 40 minutes in, he took his first quiet break in the screaming. Daddy and I maybe let a tear fall for that. There's a mountain of relief that comes knowing he is starting to come back. This is when I start to ask more direct questions instead of choice questions.  "Do you want your wubby, baby? "Can mama come in and sit with you, baby?" He tells me no on both fronts but he tells me no. He doesn't scream no, despite his tears still falling.

Progress. We are getting there. "Mama and Daddy are right here in the hallway. You can tell us when you want us to help you, ok?"

Eventually...."Mama. I thirsty". And he's back. I bring him a juice. Daddy and I sit on the bed. He is shaking. His little face is swollen from nearly an hour of screaming and crying hard. "Wanna be in the shirt, baby?" and he crawls over and slides into the Mama Squish Box. Daddy and I resist the urge to go overboard like we want to. We want to kiss him all over his face and squeeze him and hug him and never let him go. But we are careful to go slow. Let him lead.

And eventually he comes all the way back to us. And I begin reminding myself that most experts agree that he doesn't remember it. I put my hopes in that and when he is ready I hug him tighter and Daddy sets up camp in the recliner waiting for his boy to join him for a bit of Curious George and a snack.

It's finally over. Exhale.

The next morning, I do the only thing I know to do. I pull out the super-secret lollipop stash and remind myself that he's ok.

Just breathe, Mama. Just breathe.

I don't do New Year's resolutions. Because I never keep them. So why set myself up for failure, right? But it seems I already made two and it's not even 10 am yet. I'm not in trouble though. I'm not wishing for the moon. I just whispered a few small promises into the air this morning. No life altering stuff. Just life stuff.

New Year's Eve didn't start out well. In fact it started out downright sucky sucktastic. Double ear infection was the word on the street and Mr. Pants wasn't feeling a celebration. On the way to the doctor he asked me, "Mama? I go a doctor? I go asleep? I scared, Mama" My heart broke into a million pieces as he began to cry a very throat punching cry. You know the one. Silent. Wide eyes. Fearful. "Mama, I scared." he said again. All my wishing for him to forget his surgery didn't seem to do the trick. He remembers. And the memory is scary. So as I drove my boy to the doctor on New Year's Eve, I began to quietly cry for him. "No one is going to hurt you today, bud. You don't have to go to sleep at the doctor today, baby. Mama will stay with you and it won't hurt. I promise."  "Ok, mama. I go to sleep?" "No bud, no sleep at the doctor today. She is gonna look at your ouchies in your ears so we can get medicine to make them feel better. Just like we looked in Buzz's ears at home, remember?" "Ok, Mama. I scared" as his lip and chin began to quiver again.

Being a mom is just heart ripping sometimes, isn't it?

It didn't go well at the doctor. Mr. Pants began to panic almost immediately. It was brutal and I won't describe it because he and I don't need a play by play. Instead I have made my first New Year's Resolution in years and years.

Resolution number one is for you, Mr. Pants. I promise that starting right now, I will work with you in safe and stress-free ways to help you become less afraid of the doctor. I promise. You and me, buddy. Let's do this.

So by the time we got home, Mr. Pants was whooped. I tried to coax some dinner of frozen pizzas and chips into him. I mean it's New Year's Eve! Junk food is the rule for sickies on a holiday, right? But he wasn't into it and was in bed for the night at five. FIVE. You know a 3 year old is sick when he puts himself to bed at five. 

That left Plum and I to celebrate alone since Daddy was at work making fancy food for the masses. Here at home we had our own fancy feast. Side note: when your allergies are milk, eggs and peanuts, good desserts can be hard to come by. But I was prepared. There isn't a lot of junk food that passes the "safe for Plum" test but there is one we can always count on. The classic Oreo. Throw in some So Delicious chocolate ice cream and we had a straight up party. Just the two of us.  

We played dress-up and danced to our favorite tunes. We ate our junk food and sang some songs. Basically we partied pretty hard by toddler standards. So hard that we needed to make some costume changes half way through. By the time seven-thirty rolled around, Plum was plum tuckered. She told me it was time to go to bed and have some nucks  (milks). She was out cold by 7:40 pm on New Year's Eve.

Resolution number two is for you, Plum. I promise to play dress-up with you more often than not. We are gonna get super crazy fancy up in this house this year, baby girl. Oh, yes. Yes we are.

The house was quiet. Too quiet for New Year's Eve. I mean there was a day when this night brought all kinds of mayhem and tomfoolery. Even hijinks. Lots and lots of shenanigans and, well, you get the point. Drunk and stumble-y, I kissed many many strangers and not strangers at midnight, you guys. I wore sparkling sequins and danced for hours in shoes that tortured my feet at parties where the liquor flowed like water. Sparklers and fireworks. Sweaty glittery skin. Foil covered walls. Velvet pants. Wigs and tiaras. People passed out in the yard. All very glamorous, really. And I had so much fun. Too much fun, maybe. But SO much fun. For years.

But it doesn't hold a candle to coconut milk ice cream and old dance costumes. It doesn't touch the awesomeness of digging into a bag of Oreos and watching YouTube videos of Yo Gabba Gabba tunes and miscelleneous other bits of awesome (What what, Whitney Houston! I knew you would blow Plum's mind. OOOOH! I wanna dance with some-bod-ay!!) while your baby dances and sings along. It doesn't compare to getting the medicine your sick kid needs to get better finally and knowing that he is sleeping peacefully in the next room.

Because my dream all along was to have a family. And sometimes that means sick kids and husbands working on a holiday. I'll take it anyway. So this year I rang in the New Year with this. It happens to be Pants and Plum's favorite song right now. And I think it's pretty rad. 

And then I rang it in proper with this. Like I always do.  And a grin sat knowingly on my face in my quiet quiet house of sleeping kids and I remembered (or had foggy ideas of blurry possabilities of) my younger days. Because they were great, too. They were really freaking great. And I danced by myself. And I laughed. I just cracked up. Remembering. Damn, we had some fun.

                 Mommy's alright. Daddy's alright. They just seem a little weird.... Surrender...Surrender...

My meeting with his teacher was at 4:15. I was so nervous; I got into some nice jeans (read: clean), put on a sweater and some sassy black boots. I showered, too.

I'm fifteen minutes early so I take a look around. The school is so sweetly small. And that's because it is for miniature people. I stop in the library. It's the cutest library you've ever seen.

I look at the artwork on the walls. I find Mr. Pants' pumpkin hanging among the patch. I get a bit weepy about it.

So I head to the ladies room to freshen up. And I am too tall for it. It's all too adorable.

Making my way back to begin our conference, I am eager to talk about my kid. There is a question nagging at me but I'm afraid to ask it. I received his progress report last week. It basically said he is smart as a whip. It also said he is quiet. Now a lot of people have quiet kids. It's a very natural and normal way to be. There is nothing wrong with it. But my kid is not quiet.  Not by anyone's definition of the word. I read that part over and over. "He keeps to himself". "He's observant and quiet". "Always well behaved". And I panicked. That's not my kid.  My kid is loud and insane. Laughs in guffaws and yell talks. He is demanding and assertive to a fault. But it seems he doesn't rule the pre-school kingdom yet. And a part of me is freaking out while the other half is saying be calm. He's adjusting still. That's when the question came to me. And it never left.

His teacher Mrs. K has a bubbly personality. I like her. She tells me all about the routine of the class. She explained the surprise piece of candy in his back pack the other day. She told me that Mr. Pants is becoming more and more comfortable in class. Not talking very much, but still. He is doing well. She tells me that she doesn't push him to interact with other kids because she thinks that will send him backwards. I agree. She goes on and on and I begin to tune it all out. Because that question is trying to jump out of my mouth and I don't know if I want the answer yet.

She finishes talking. She seems to genuinely like my kid and that makes me happy. She asks if I have any questions. I pause. "Do, um.." I begin trying to think of something else to ask but I have nothing. I start to fumble for my words to stall but they come anyway. "Do they, um, the other kids..." Gulp. I'm trying not to tear up. "Do they like him? Are they nice to him?" and a tear broke through but I kept it in the eye. I felt stupid. I'm such an emotional blob sometimes and I didn't want to do this here. I look down and shuffle the papers in front of me as a diversion. She smiles and says, "I know why that worries you. Yes, they do. He keeps to himself but there is a little girl named K that always eats lunch with him. She's older and she kind of took to him early on and helps him to transition. It's very sweet. And W loves to run with him on the playground. They run laps the whole time. It's so funny. They just laugh and laugh." I thank her and get up to leave.

When I get to my car, I let the tears come. Relief. I head home to my kid who has two friends. Two whole friends. And I cry happy tears about it all the way home.