A Smeddling Kiss

In Which We Love the Big Apple and Things are Generally Swell.

Sometimes, no news *is* good news. The last month has not been unproblematic, thanks to the Annual Bronchitis, but has overall been pretty **** skippy.

Peanut has been having a good spell, an even keel, a righteous time. It has been... more than pleasant. We attribute this to his stellar teaching staff and the current drug combination of non-stimulant ADHD meds (2 mg Intuniv to ward off the OCD and tics) and short-acting stimulant ADHD meds (2.5 mg Focalin to get him through the beginning of the school day but wear off early enough to cause no insomnia.) Knock on wood, it's a good regimen. It won't last forever, but for now it's terrific.

We just spent 3 nights in New York city, courtesy of April vacation from school. We enjoyed the American Museum of Natural History, FAO Schwartz, Central Park, Times Square, several restaurants and a Broadway show ("Anything Goes.") It was just us, the city... and FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND BILLION KAJILLION other families. Helllllllooooo, spring break!

We are home now, after an easy 4.5 hours drive home. And no, I'm actually NOT being facetious for once - the kids were great on this trip. There were small meltdowns and such, but for the most part they were amazing. When we walked into Toys R Us in Times Square and saw the line for the indoor ferris wheel filled with hundreds of cranky families, we led Peanut through the store to see everything and then told him it wasn't going to happen. He was unhappy, we talked about it, and then... POOF! We negotiated an acceptable settlement (candy) and we were done. And Pepper? She just grimaced and went along with it. I might not love the eye rolling, but I love the maturity that brings the innate understanding that she will get a chance to do what she wants to do, if at all possible. 

It sounds like such a normal thing, doesn't it? And yet the past 7+ years have been spent strategically avoiding situations that might trigger a meltdown. It was so hard. I can type that and read it and FEEL it, but I don't know if I can express it in a way that a casual reader will understand the import of that sentence.

It was SO HARD. And I'll be honest - it was one child that was hard, for the most part, and his needs have shaped this family.  I'm not foolish enough to think that it is all going to be easy from this point on.

But I have share this with anyone who still pokes around on this blog: it is so much better.

In Which The BlogHer Swag Comes in Handy

Every year, I get at least one bad respiratory illness. So far this winter, I've been very lucky - the few little head colds I've caught haven't settled in my chest. Notice how I said, "So far...?"

Yup. I'm sick. I woke up Thursday morning with the feeling that I was wearing a lead x-ray bib on my throat and chest. Of course, I CAN'T be sick this week - there is way too much going on - so I'm pretty much trying everything I can think of to head it off before I reach the "time to visit the doctor for a narcotic cough syrup prescription" phase.

So here I am, laying here in bed, tapping away on my iPhone, slathered in Vick's VapoRub. I took cough medicine, used my inhaler, and then found a little tub of the Vick's in my medicine cabinet, compliments of the swag haul from last summer's BlogHer conference. I can't remember ever using vaporub, but I do remember reading comments on parenting websites swearing that slathering a child's feet with Vick's and putting socks on will miraculously quiet coughs.

I'll keep you posted as to how well it works.

In Which I Can't Talk About It.

Oh, yes. It's that time of the year again. BSAICBA time! Since this is an ongoing activity that I lead with a bunch of kids that I love, and since this is a secret-ish blog that very few people in my real life know about, I just can't talk about the Big Secret Activity I Can't Blog About.

Except to say... WE WON!!! WEWONWEWONWEWON!!!

Ahem.

I will not lie. This year was tough. We had a crushingly abrubt end to last year's effort (Long story short: they worked hard and performed awesomely and then a fluke mistake cost them all their points, much to everyone's heartbreak. Even the judge who informed me of the news was crying. It was awful.)

This year, we were assigned new members and it was a tough fit at first, sliding in new personalities to a well-honed machine. I'm proud to say all the kids involved - new and old - rose to the challenge and as we approached tournament time, I was thrilled that they were all having fun and feeling involved, but hopefully not too stressed. And then, winning - it was wonderful, especially in light of last year's heartbreak.

I won't lie. It was also a validation. This thing that I do, that I don't (mostly) blog about? It is a time-suck of major proportions. Not only is it a time-suck, but it is an emotional bog as well. There are all sorts of hidden landmines - it is not an undertaking for the faint of heart, and I've really put a lot of effort and thought into guiding these kids along throughout the year. And again, yes, I am purposefully vague, but trust me when I say it is one of the hardest things I do outside of my personal parenting.

Speaking of personal parenting, Peanut has been having a great couple of weeks. I couldn't have asked for a greater gift from the universe than to have him be happy and settled last week as we approached Pepper's competition.  Even last Tuesday night? When he was up until 2 am? He was pleasant and not stressed and I thank whatever gods are out there for it.  We have been in a state of constantly adjusting meds for the last few months, but luckily we are in the position of trying to find the least and yet best amount of pharmaceutical intervention for him. We are so grateful to have such a fabulous medical and special ed. team - they want our boy to shine through as much as we do.

Tomorrow I will cook a boiled dinner for my lovely husband. He has already packed away the DVD player and our DVD of "The Quiet Man," ready to set the whole shebang up in the waiting room at work and inflict an infinite loop on whatever poor patients await. My children have set a leprechaun trap over one of the heating vents in the dining room, although they never seem to have much luck. We'll see if they don't catch something this year - the whole trap area is cleverly lined with double-stick tape this time, to slow the little bugger down. 

I just hope my milk doesn't turn green again. Greenish instant mashed potatoes are kind of icky, you know?

In Which We Have Yet Another Reason to Hate Clowns.

It is that time of the year again. Yes, The Big Secret Activity that I Can't Blog About is back. A few more weeks and I'm free of the responsibility until next fall, should they choose to participate again. I've been working with most of them for 4 years now, and it's a kick to see how they grow and change each year.  

In some ways, it's a lot easier as they get older (fewer booger jokes and impromptu wrestling matches, less worry about potential trips to the ER) but also trickier in new ways (hormones, social minefields, problems at home that drip slowly into conversation over the course of the year.)

One of the pieces of this year's performance involves face paint. White face paint, to be exact. White face paint which I had no idea we were out of until it was time to USE that white face paint. Luckily, my babysitter was here to monitor the kids and the art store nearby usually has a big selection of face paint.

I ran out quickly, rushed into the store and stood before the shelves of face paint. Bottles, pans, kits... but NO white paint. I'm fuming - of course there is no white, the one friggin' color we need, right now, because all the kids are getting picked up in 45 minutes and they need to figure out the costume today.

Frantic, I finally spy a kit that includes a small pan of white, grab the thing and bring it to the counter. As the woman rings me up, I mention the lack of white face paint, and she says, "Yeah, we need to order more. A bunch of clowns came in yesterday and bought it all."

Screw you, creepy-ass balloon-blowing face-paint-hogging jerks! I hope you are happy - how's it feel to disappoint a bunch of 10 year olds, huh? You couldn't leave ONE container of white face paint for a bunch of kids who have been pouring their heart into this activity, who only have a few more days to finish up their costumes? Nooooooooo, you couldn't.

Nice work, CLOWNS.

In Which I Share Some Art I Am Working On

After school started last fall and I got hit with the FREEDOM!!! Stick, I  went a little crazy with plans for all my wide-open hours. One of the biggest downers in my life is the lack of time for creative pursuits - I used to make jewelry and sew and paint and constantly make stuff - and I determined that this year I would make different use of my free time (i.e. not spend all of my days volunteering in the schools) and do some stuff just for me. 

In typical Velma fashion, I have managed some spotty success. I tend to stop and start most of my projects, and while I can legitimately blame some of that on family life most of it is just how I'm built. Cough cough *ADD much?* cough. One of the things I picked up last fall, in addition to my Curves membership and a renewed dedication to household organization, was a beginners encaustic painting kit, because it just seemed so different from all the other painting I've tried. 

Long story short, I love it. I love the smell of the beeswax, the brilliant colors, and the immediacy of the painting. In a strange way it reminds me of the silversmithing I did long ago - something about the process of manipulating the medium through heat, I suppose. I love the opportunities for texture and color and mixed media, and I love the way the paintings feel after I buff the wax - smooth and thick and substantial.

I love the way you can turn on your heated pallet and be ready to paint in 15 minutes, and if the phone rings you can just turn off the heat and walk away. If you forget about it for a couple days (or in my case, weeks) it doesn't matter. No open paint tins to dry out, no brushes ruined by not cleaning them in time. You just turn the heat back on and the wax re-melts. Most of all, I love the way the beeswax hardens within seconds of application - no waiting for paint to dry, no taking forever to build up layers.

So, this is a detail of one of the paintings I'm working on:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is an autumn landscape I've been working on for a while... like, since last fall when the changing leaves inspired me. Knowing me, it won't be done until next fall, but I think keeping at it is an important reminder for me to enjoy the process more than the results.

In Which I Remember Summer Fondly

Face it: winter kind of sucks. After the first flush of Holidays! and Snow! and Oh So Cozy By The Fire! wears off, you just want to go somewhere warm. Everything seems like a slog - all those extra layers weigh you down. Your feet beg for fresh air, your skin shrinks and itches, and you long to feel... juicy. 

I've had it with fly-away hair and static electricity and... fleece. I know it's not just me, because every one of the conversations I've had with friends this week has revolved around relentless lingering illnesses and bad weather and just... blah. I know that come July, I'll be all "Ugh! Thank God we have air conditioning!" but right now I'd give anything to have that slightly-baked feeling you get after sitting in the sun for a while. You know that moment when the sweat pops out on your face and you reach for that cold glass of whatever and the sun seems to burn through your closed eyelids?

That's what I'd like this morning. 

In Which I Can't Get This Damn Song Out of My Head

I used to sing a lot. Chorus, chorale, glee club - these were some of my favorite activities in high school and college. Once you get past that age, though, your recreational singing opportunities are limited. There is the company holiday party, but that is a minefield - awkward without having a buzz on and possibly career-ending if you've overindulged. Plus your song selection is pretty weak. "Blah, blah angels we have heard on high, blah blah deck the halls."

For the past 20 years my singing has been limited to two places: the shower and the car. I admit it right here: yes, I am *that* goober next to you at the stoplight, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and blithely hollering to my music while you squirm waiting for the light to change. Sorry. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I don't get a lot of alone time. Be thankful I keep the windows up and the volume down, unlike that ass with the tinted windows and the earth-shaking bass two cars back.

As I've aged, my voice has dropped - I used to be a second soprano but now I'm more firmly in the alto range. I still love me some harmonies, though - and I think that's why I can't get this damn song out of my head. I find myself listening to it on repeat, first singing the melody and then switching to the harmony. It's right in my range, and I like it, even though I hate most country music with a passion.

 

In Which I Try to Catch Up

So.

Yeah.

Hmmm.

Not sure where to begin, after so long away from the keyboard.

The holidays were good, and tough, and then blessedly over.

December was hard for Peanut.  After discussing the possibility for over 6 months, we decided to try a SSRI medication to try to alleviate some of his anxiety. We ended up trying two different medications, and unfortunately he could not tolerate them. And by "couldn't tolerate," I mean became activated within a day of the first dosing.

On the first day of the first 1/2 tablet of the lowest dosage of the first medication, he perked up. On the second day he was in a good mood and couldn't sleep until after midnight. By the third day, he was not-quite manic and didn't get to sleep until 2 a.m., and so we stopped the medicine.  

He crashed coming off that medication - was sad and depressed and angry and it was awful to see, and so we tried him on a different medicine with an oral solution that we could micro-dose him with. It seemed promising, and we kept him on a teeny tiny dose for 2 weeks. (The standard dose is 5 ml and we were giving him 10 - 20% of that.)

I found myself keeping copious notes: "12/11/10: .8ml, itchy skin, mostly happy, some frustrated tears. Very talkative, hyper physically in the evening. Gave extra melatonin as first dose seemed to have little effect. Slept 11:15 - 7:45."

We dropped the dosage: "12/14/10: .4 ml, tired, lots of stop/start sentences, distracted. Bad day at school, cranky, disrespectful to teacher. Slept 10 - 8."

We upped the dosage: 12/16/10: 8 ml. Better day - cranky at times but quick recovery. Fresh mouth and quick to offend but also very affectionate and giggly. Slept 9:45 - 6:45."

Christmas approached. Snowstorms and snow days and school parties and holiday activities, yadda yadda yadda. Moods are elevated and nothing is normal with the Big Day hanging over us. Christmas Eve arrived, and we were all set for the dramatic morning reveal and the big dinner with relatives.

The four of us were sitting around in the living room, watching tv and reading. Out of nowhere, Peanut casually said, "I don't know why, but sometimes? I look all calm on the outside, but inside I'm thinking about killing myself." 

Pepper was sitting next to him and looked at me for reassurance, and in the meantime, Dr. V. had been reading the paper and was tuned out and had missed it. You know how, in dreams, you sometimes fall for a sickeningly long time and then THUD! You wake up and you are in your bed and fine? That's what it felt like, except the swirly anxiety is still in me, a month and a half later. I feel like that all the time now. It's awful.

Peanut and I talked about it for a few minutes, but then he was sick of the subject and wanted to go play on the Wii, like we'd been talking about what to eat for dinner instead of his disturbing visions of stabbing himself.  It is one thing to understand that suicidal ideation is a known side effect of SSRI medication. It is another thing to have to calmly talk to your 8 year old about what he is seeing in his head when all you want to do is scream and cry at the wrongness of it.

Fast forward to now. He is off all medications except his non-stimulant ADHD medication. He is not the happiest kid on the block, but neither has he been thinking about harming himself. Those thoughts have receded, and while I miss the cheerful, sparkly boy we saw while on the medication, it isn't an option for him. We have started meeting weekly with a new therapist. School reports are the same - not real happy at school but no major outbursts, either. Life moves on.

Pepper has been pretty good through all of this. She has her own issues, but they are more mainstream and tweenish. She got braces last month, which she hates. She loves playing basketball but dislikes her team and her coach and especially all the losing. I keep telling her that life moves on and I struggle with being kind when I say she needs to get over it. I mouth platitudes like, "Each day that the braces are on is a day closer to getting them off," but the truth is that she pushes all my buttons with her negative attitude and it is a struggle to stay positive around her sometimes. I get fed up too easily and snap back, and that adds to the swirly anxiety in my head and makes us both unhappy.

She tried out for a big play and got called back, which I kept trying to tell her was great in and of itself. There were over 120 kids who tried out and only 18 got called back. Unfortunately, she then proceeded to stand up on stage at call backs looking like she had eaten something awful because she was so nervous. As soon as she finished singing, she turned to me in the audience and shook her head sorrowfully, and I thought, "Good God, child! FAKE IT! You are supposed to be acting up there - ACT HAPPY! Act like a kid the director wants to be around for the next 4 months!"

But, alas, she has No Filter, and my big fake smile from the audience was not enough to get my message across. Lots of drama when she didn't get cast, but she seems over it now. She's snippy and teary and by turns sweet and sour. I think we are okay, though. I hope so.

In the meantime, life goes on. We took a little family trip to NH this past weekend and stayed at a place with an indoor water park, so it was a mostly happy time. Peanut's fear of water miraculously went away when confronted by this:

There was, of course, the traditional First Ski Lesson Trauma, where a child falls getting off the magic carpet lift and other beginners crash into them and then they flail around on the ground crying, "I WANT TO GO HOME! I HATE SKIING!" and all the other parents smile because they are relieved it isn't their kid acting like that this time. Whatever. 

Now it is February, which is like the Monday of the year. Time to get back into the swing of things, buckle down, and focus on what lies ahead. But first, more coffee.

(Reading back through this feels like I plucked just 2 or 3 colorful fish out of an aquarium teeming with life to share with you, but I hope to show you more of my fish soon.)

(I'm not trying to coin a euphemism, there - I just mean I hope to blog more regularly.)

(Wow, I am really out of practice with this blogging stuff.)

In Which I Can't Sleep Worth a Damn Tonight

I am lying on my couch, tucked in with a blanket and pillows, staring out the back windows. It is 1:44 am. My nose is just stuffy enough to bother me and my elbow is just twanging enough to keep me uncomfortable in any position I try.

As I was laying in my bed, I could feel the mucus gathering slowly at the back of my nose every other minute and got sick of snorffling it down, so I came out in search of a box of tissues.

But those minor discomforts weren't keeping me awake. I just can't stop thinking of all the things I have to do in the morning - scratch that, I mean "in 5 1/2 hours." And I can't stop fretting about several barely fret-worthy emotional issues and one or two big ones.

I'll tell you this, however: first item on my list for tomorrow is to call the doctor to speak about this chronic 2 am bullshit anxiety. This is brutal, yo.

In Which Peanut Cuts to the Chase

Unlike previous letters to Santa, Peanut's latest missive is rather charming in its simplicity: