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? 

Last night I dreamed that I was in an all adult version of the stage play Annie. In my triumphant return to the theater I played an adult version of the littlest orphan Molly. The one who Annie mothers and sings to. That was me. When I woke at midnight to find that I was in bed and that I still felt like left-over poop pie, I fell back asleep and dreamed I was making sausages and other delicious meats with a few pals from high school. Then we all went to Burger King for some of their new cheddar jalapeno potato bites. They were excellent. While at BK, I argued with the staff over the size of my giant coke. Apparently it wasn't big enough? Anyway, when I woke at 1:30 am I was starving. Finally, 7 hours later I felt better. 

I'll back up. 

Yesterday morning was wonderful. I cleaned up the house and had a Cinderella moment with a pregnant robin outside our window. I could feel spring a coming. I am so very excited for this. Because this winter has kind of been terrible. Someone is always sick or crying it seems. While I always try very hard to NOT wish the days away, this winter made that goal a bit tough. Because it suuuuucked. 

So our morning was fun. The house got cleaned. We played a bit outside, where I had a hilarious conversation with Mr. Pants about his parrot that had become frozen in a block of ice. "Whoa mama. Look at this! Da macaw is frozen in a Popsicle! He dead, mama?" He wasn't upset, just asking. I told him he wasn't dead, just in carbonite. And he said " oh ok" and ran off. With that, Mr Pants received his first lesson in Star Wars lore. 

It was a good day. Until it wasn't anymore. 

Things began descending into hell around 11 am. Mr. Pants decided to once again be a turd-face for his Head Start worker (Sorry Miss. J!). And for an hour  I ran interference as he tried to steal everything from her bag and hide it in the house somewhere. He participated in almost nothing she tried to do with him but you know who did? Plum. She was all in. Miss J's grasshopper. She waited patiently and happily completed all of her "work" while Pants ran through the house screaming or trying to run everyone over with dump trucks. 

We were managing though until Plum got stuck behind the recliner when she tried to retrieve the marker that Pants had swiped from her and thrown back there. I lifted her out and felt my back shift and pop. When you have blown discs in your back, that is no good, man. It will send the icy wave of fear through you. It will stop you in your tracks and make you sweat. 

Miss J left and I got Plum down for her nap while Pants began taking pictures and cork boards down off the wall and eating paper. He TP-ed the living room and drew on himself with a successfully stolen Head Start marker. I found him in a pile of clothes he had removed from his dresser. You know that scene in Clue when yet another person (this time it's Yvette) is killed and the cast finds them? Instead of freaking out, they all just sigh and walk away? Yeah, that was me. I walked away defeated. My back hurt. I made myself some lunch a midst strewn toilet paper and half eaten art projects. I was hungry, man. And did I mention that my back hurt? So I ate. My feelings and my pain. I ate them. 

Moments later I felt that dread that comes when you know you are about to toss your cookies. Yep. All that lunch? It didn't stay down. I had somehow managed to hurt my back and get ridiculously sick all in the same afternoon. There is nothing that can be done at this point but laugh and text your husband, dudes.  And shed a few tears of self-pity. And explain to your kid that mommy is  going to be OK  (Your kid who has been a little punk all day long is suddenly concerned about you). I am reminded while barfing my face off that this lil dude is a good person despite his three year-old impulses. 

"You spit out your food, mama?"
"Yeah, bud. Mama doesn't feel good. I'm OK, though. Go watch some tv and I'll be out in a minute" 
"You no feel good, mama?" 
"Right, bud. Mama's tummy hurts. It's OK, go watch some TV"
"You need a hug, mama?"
"Not just yet, dude"
"I call Fireman Sam. He know what to do!"
"Sounds good, bud."
"Mama? Is Daddy coming home?"
"I hope so duder." 

He waits til I'm done. He has decided against a hug in favor of a few apprehensive love pats to my leg. "OK, mama?" "Yeah bud."

Daddy arrived home a few hours later and I went to bed at six. I woke at 8 to the smell of bacon. It turned my stomach. "Why for the love of baby puppies are you making bacon?", I moan.  "I'm not. Come here. A little girl we all know had discovered the irresistible bowl of bacon grease and wore it as a hat" 


I mean, that's what you are supposed to do with a bowl a bacon grease, no?  Thankfully, I married a dude that can roll with the punches. And you know what I found when I rounded the corner to the kitchen? This...a good old-fashioned sink bath for bacon grease head. 

I dragged my sad butt back to bed smiling a little. Bacon grease head. These kids. 

Needless to say, I was no fan of yesterday. But I will say that Plum's curls are looking extremely luminous this morning. So today is looking up already. My final dream of the night was of playing baseball with my brothers in the backyard we grew up in. Under the willow tree we played in (and swung from it's branches) that has since been half taken down. Our dog Misty was running the bases with us. She was a good dog. I haven't seen her in 20 years. I woke with a smile on my face and feeling pretty good.

So good riddance, Yesterday.  Hello today. You are bound to be a better day...right? 

Last week the kids and Daddy created Mr. Bagel-Eyes. He was a cool character and as pointed out by a friend on our Facebook page, sure, he looked a bit like he had been smoking the reefer. I mean, the Fruit Loop smile gave him away. That and the bulging bagel eyes.  He was a fantastic snowman. Just outstanding. A stellar creation.

We positioned him in perfect view of the living room window so that we could enjoy him. And every day Mr. Pants would sit and spend some time chatting with him. I imagine they talked about their days, favorite foods and Buzz Lightyear.

When Mr. Bagel-Eyes lost his nose on day three, Mr. Pants came to me with urgency. I was to call Dr. Sarah (our family doctor) to help him. Mr. Bagel-Eye's nose was broken. So I did what any mama worth her salt would do. I called the doctor on our Elmo phone. I received my instructions and quickly ran out into the cold to replace and set his nose. Crisis averted.

But there was another crisis coming and it was one that mama would not be unable to fix. There would be no rescue from Dr. Sarah. Even Daddy, who can fix anything, would not be able to save him. No one could. Because no one can stop the sun and the rain.

I held my crying child yesterday as he sobbed in my arms. "Mama, make a rain go away! Get Daddy, Mama! Daddy fix him! Call Dr. Sarah, Mama! He hurt! Mama, PWEEESE!" I was taken aback at first. His tears falling so fast and hot onto his cheeks. His words were fast, loud and desperate. His feelings were intense. And so very real. He was deeply sad and suddenly angry. The two emotions mixing together and creating a powder keg of terrible. And then I saw what he saw. The rain had moved in and Mr. Bagel-Eyes was melting. His friend was melting.

I held him. I tried to explain that Mr. Bagel-Eyes comes back when it snows. That he wasn't hurting, only melting into water to help the grass grow. Anger washed over him, "I don WAN GRASS!!!!!"  I was talking too much. So I closed my explain-y mouth and opened my soothing one. And I just kept holding him. I just let him cry and be sad. And when Daddy woke up, he did the same.

Throughout the day he went back and forth to the window. He went from quiet and sad to explosive and angry. He went from crying to talking about his friend. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He would hold things that he loved closely. His favorite books. His Buzz Lightyear pajamas. He would hold them and watch out the window.  He wanted us to hold him and then he didn't. He was hungry and then he wasn't.

Isn't that how we all grieve?

Daddy and I went back on forth on how to proceed. Our desire to demolish Mr. Bagel-Eyes' final remains to get it all over with was weighed against the very real probability that it would look as though his parents, in whom he placed his trust, were, in fact, murdering his friend. So, yeah,  we didn't do that. Instead we talked about his snowman friend with him every time he brought it up. We sat with him in the window and let him ask questions about the rain and snow. And slowly, so so slowly, he was able to start living his life again. He would play and be his regular self. Every so often returning to the window to check back in with his friend. His words became more hopeful. He talked about it snowing again. And as the day pressed on, we realized he was working through it. He had gone through the hardest part.

This morning, Daddy and I cringed as we looked out to see that Mr. Bagel-Eyes was further melted. We both knew that Mr. Pants was going to have to walk past him to go to school. I'd be lying if I said that didn't stress us out. What would he do when he saw him? What if he had a melt down before school? How would we deal with trying to get him to school if he was a hot mess?

When the time came we took a deep breath and walked out the door. He stopped. My heart sank. He walked over to what was left of Mr. Bagel-Eyes. He was quiet. Then he said to me in a quiet voice, "Mama, he broken. He sad." "He melted, buddy. Do you want to tell him goodbye?" and then my sweet boy placed his hand on his friend and what he said next squeezed my heart and made me have to fight back the mama tears. He said "I wuv you, buddy. A rain no hurt you no more, ok? Ah bye-bye." Then he turned to me and said, "Mama, a go to school."

And with that, we left.

We talked about his friend on the way to school and how we can make another snowman when it snows. How snowmen love the snow because that's their habitat. And he listened to me. He was ready to talk about it. He was through his stages of grief. And I was moved by my three year-old's ability to process his first real loss. It might seem silly but Mr. Bagel-Eyes wasn't just a snowman to Mr. Pants. He was his friend.

And Mr. Pants wasn't the only one that learned a lesson here. Daddy and I did, too. We were reminded that the feelings our children feel are so very real. No matter the reason. No matter how childish the situtation may seem to an adult. They are real and should be treated with respect and compassion. They should be honored. Always.

Oh and what else did we learn?

Do. not. ever. build a snowman that can be seen from the front window of the house. Because, mother hell, it's hard to watch a friend melt away.