Light and Momentary

Uncertain Compass

One of my sons has always challenged me more than the other three combined. For his whole life people have been telling me the key to dealing with him. He needs a smack on the behind. He needs his computer time taken away. He needs you to be more patient with him. He needs... something you're not giving him, is what it boils down to.

Many times I have wondered what a psychologist might make of him. When he was smaller, he struggled intensely enough with social issues and rigid behaviors that I was reasonably certain he could get a diagnosis on the Asperger's end of the autistic spectrum. I didn't think it would fit him at the time, and it's clearly not an appropriate diagnosis now, but I'm still willing to bet somebody would have applied the label. These days I wonder about oppositional defiant disorder.

I've never pursued a formal assessment. I'm not sure I want a DSM-IV label for him when maybe the best label for him is "intense and intermittently very difficult." I don't think I'd medicate a child without a clearer indication that it was needed (though I am wondering about a regimen of fish oil stealth smoothies). I suppose a therapist might be helpful, but he or she might also be one more voice with an easy answer. One more round of "he just needs"-- when I'm tired of hearing that there's an easy answer. I have never thought more about any problem than I have thought about how to provide effective, loving discipline for this child. I do not believe that I am overlooking an obvious solution. Some answers are not easy. Some things take time.

Today we had some trouble again, and I am feeling weary. The family member who says I'm too harsh was here along with the family member who says I need to yank privileges more aggressively, and they were both outspoken about what they thought should happen. The child in question went to bed angry, tearful, unrepentant. I hate that.

When I was pregnant with him I asked God not for an easy birth but for a birth that would teach me about holiness. This, my friends, is a prime example of "be careful what you pray for because you might get it." Lesson learned: holiness is really hard -- holiness and suffering are entwined. I was thinking about it a few weeks ago (since I'm in confessional mode: I was feeling a nudge from the Holy Spirit to pray about this birth in the same way and I was afraid to do it), and I felt that God was saying to me, "The difficulties you face in mothering this boy are still part of your path to holiness."

Perhaps if I were a nobler soul this would prompt me to embrace my lot wholeheartedly. Instead it makes me say, "Could I have fewer difficulties in mothering this boy and just be medium holy?

I know better. I am willing to walk this path. It just feels like a slog right now.

The title of this post comes from a song I never finished writing, a song begun when I was first getting conflicting advice about dealing with this child and his behavior issues. I felt like I was driving blind, steering by the uncertain compass of my heart. I am more confident these days: in thinking back over this afternoon, I can say that I was fair and calm and consistent.

But it still has left me tearful, and worn out, and unsure about what comes next.

Faster Than Some Speedy Bullets

• Tomorrow my second son turns nine. No school tomorrow, so I took his favorite spiderweb cupcakes to school today. (That picture is from two years ago but my spiderwebs are still about that wobbly.) Tomorrow my MIL is coming and so are four or five of his pals. Not quite ready for the party but I think we'll manage.
• I am making a note here for future reference that doubling the devil's food cake recipe in the Halloween chapter of Nigella Lawson's Feast gave me 24 cupcakes plus enough batter for an eight-inch layer. Everybody liked the end product too. I would share the recipe but (1) I am trying to be speedy and (2) I have the British version of the book, with measurements in grams, and trust me when I say you don't want me to attempt to convert to cups in a hurry.
• My children seem to have inherited my appreciation for quirky costumes. The almost-nine-year-old has been saying all month that he wanted to be a leviathan for Halloween, using a modified dinosaur costume from three years ago. He talked the six-year-old into agreeing to be an Umber Hulk. I just smiled and nodded because they change their minds, without fail, in the week before Halloween. Sure enough, all three of the trick-or-treaters presented me with new costume ideas (yes, plural) this week. The 3yo is deciding whether he wants to be a doctor or a cat. The 6yo is going to be a skeleton (thankfully, using a costume from the costume chest in lieu of the gorilla costume he asked me to make). The almost-9yo decided to be something really scary when it was discovered that he has grown an astonishing amount in the three years since he last wore the dinosaur costume: he's going to be Steve Ballmer. Why, yes, we are Linux users in this house -- how did you guess? And how does one make a 9yo boy look like Steve Ballmer, exactly? I only have three days to figure this out.
• One of these years, I tell you, I'm going to enforce a Halloween costume deadline. What you say you want to be on October 15 is what you get to be on October 31. Yeah. Maybe next year.
• On the subject of open source software, I have been trying to get The Gimp to lighten up some shadowy faces for our Christmas picture. It is not going well. I have succeeded in making various children look like mutant androids, but this is not really the look I hope to send out in our Christmas letter. Any tips? 
• I am suddenly feeling much more third-trimestery, with backache and symphysis pain and contractions all the livelong day. (I asked Elwood, "Am I looking a lot more pregnant all of a sudden?" because I wondered if baby had had a growth spurt that accounted for the increase in discomfort. Prudent man that he is, he said, "Oh, no, dear, not at all." I guess it's one of those "Do I look fat in this outfit?" kind of questions. But I'm still curious.)
• Ooooooohhhh, there were more things I was going to say but I cannot remember them at the moment. This time of year always gets to me, with the darkening days and the beginning of the end-of-year rush. The election is getting me down too this year. I have been quiet because who wants to read grumping? But I'll go ahead and stick this up for anyone who wondered if we were still alive over here, and be back soon with a cheery knitting post. (I am delighted with the way Joe's Sheldon has turned out. He just needs his last few ends woven in to make him presentable.)

Single Digits

Jo posted about being pregnant for a maximum of twelve more weeks and I shook my head a little in disbelief. I'm further along than she is, but surely to goodness I have more time than that, right? Right?

Wrong. I will have this baby in less than ten weeks.

I was on campus today trying not to freak out about The List of Things To Be Done when all of a sudden I thought about my Petely: what a sweet smile he has, and how he makes me laugh, and how he tells me out of the blue that he loves me, and how I didn't have any idea, three and a half years ago, who he was going to be.

In ten weeks I will have met one of my new favorite people. The other stuff isn't so important after all.

Gels Gone Wild

Today is crazy hair day at the middle boys' school. This picture doesn't quite show the full Darth Maul effect that Joe requested -- you'll have to imagine it.

Celebrating the light. Sort of.

We went to the Life Teen mass last night, which I don't love to do because in the evenings the big kids' participation is always dicier and the littler kids' behavior is always more raggedy. But the opening song had a line that hooked me: "early in the morning I will celebrate the light."

It sparked this whole sudden reflection for me -- about the gift of sunlight, which is especially precious as the year is fading, and the greater gift of the light of God, and a plea to God to drive out whatever darkness remains in me. This morning I was singing that line in the kitchen as Alex was making his lunch. (Actually, I was croaking bronchitically, but we'll cut me a little slack.) He asked me where it came from and I was trying to explain why it had made me think.

In response he said, "But you know what would be really cool?"

What's that?

"If human beings had sonar."

Somehow "I will celebrate the pings" doesn't hit home for me in the same way.

I am dropping Petely off at preschool just as soon as I can persuade him to put his pants on. ("I will not be cold," he assures me, but I remain skeptical.) Then I am coming home to FINISH the first round of revisions. I am doing a geeky little anticipatory happy dance.

Now With Less Green

I am on the mend after a long week. This month I have been thinking a lot about St. Therese, obeying her call to love even as she was coughing up blood in the final stages of TB. All week I thought, "A person who has been reflecting on the life of St. Therese shouldn't complain about a case of bronchitis." If I could pick a time to have bronchitis, it would be a time when I didn't have a baby occupying a sizable chunk of my thorax, but pathogens aren't like houseguests who ask politely if next month would be better for a visit.

I think I have a good reason to eat a little ice cream, though, since I lost six pounds this week.

That list in my sidebar is making me fairly itchy -- someone put a lot of stuff on that list and keeps thinking of more items to add. I am looking forward to a dissertation-free day, though, and to spending some time outside in the October sunshine. I hope it's a peaceful day for you too, whatever you're doing with it.

Aqua Lung

Well, it's technically green. And really it's just the mucus, not the lung. But hey, who can resist a Jethro Tull reference?

I think I have bronchitis. It is kicking my butt right at this moment. Pete has been sleeping horribly (I speculate that he can't move his splinted leg normally in his sleep, and it keeps waking him up just enough to fuss) and I have been going into his room to settle him. I fall asleep there in his bed, and the result is an aching back. My feet are aching too, weirdly.

I wish I could go to sleep for a few hours, but it's late enough in the day that a nap would be unwise. Plus I'm taking Pete to the doctor to see if he's good to go without the splint. I haven't seen this doctor since April, when he was pretty unpleasant to (newly pregnant shingles-suffering) me. Here's hoping for a better visit today.

(Trying Not To Be Quite So) Garden-Impaired

Back in July I asked for ideas about the weed-infested beds around my house, but I have only done anything about them in the past couple of weeks. (Jody said fall was the best time to put in perennials, so I figured I had time.) I was excited to put in some of the things you all suggested, but then realized when I went to the garden store that I hadn't told you: we have lots more shade than sun. This is mostly good -- we didn't turn on our air conditioning a single time this summer -- but rules out many of the plants I might have liked to try.

I am going to make a note of what I planted, so that if it comes back up next year I won't have to puzzle over what it might be called. I put in about two dozen bulbs: grape hyacinths, crocuses, and daffodils (my favorites). I'm hopeful that since daffodils bloom before the trees are leafed out, they'll get the sun they need. On the north side of the house I decided I would just be boring and stick with hostas for now: reliable (barring a late frost like the one that took out most of the hostas that used to live in those beds), reasonably pretty, nice and leafy to keep the weeds from getting a foothold. So I've got hostas behind and purple pansies, at the moment, in the front. I can manage to keep a few annuals in there, I think, despite my garden impairment.

Moving clockwise: on the east side of the house I put in a speedwell variant that can be happy with some shade, and cheery yellow daisies. On the south side, where it's full shade, I put in some vinca (purple-flowering ground cover) and lily of the valley. A pal offered me some ferns and they might go back there as well.

Around on the west we've had these hideous perennials: giant broad-leafed things with ugly ugly white flowers. I hate them. So I dug them all up, which was a project, and thinned out the badly overgrown tiger lilies that live by the sidewalk between our house and the next-door neighbors' house, and plopped in a mix of tiger lilies and day lilies. I am hoping for a riot of orange and yellow to replace the forest of ugly. On the northwest corner I put in another speedwell variety that prefers more sun, and some lavender. I am hoping they will grow up tall and purple and low-maintenance.

I am doing this pretty late in the season, but it's been quite warm here so I'm hoping they can get settled in before the first frost. If not, they were mostly 75% off so I'm not out a ton of money. We'll see, I guess.

Gimpy

Pete had a restless night and woke up early, cranky and still unwilling to put weight on his foot. Zero bruising, very minor swelling, but he tried to stand up on it and fell down crying. Poor little guy. I dosed him with ibuprofen, offered him an icepack, and took him to the weekend clinic as soon as it opened. (Good thing I was there early -- boy, does that place fill up quickly.)

The staff were great. We got in quickly, got X-rayed quickly, got splinted quickly, and got home an hour and a half after we left. The X-rays looked normal but the doctor said it can be tricky to identify a fracture in a 3yo's ankle. He tried to wrap Pete in just an Ace bandage, but Pete still wasn't willing to bear any weight that way. The nurse put him in a splint and he is hobbling around happily now. (The nurse also helped me out. I went in with an empty stomach and realized just before it was time for us to go that I was thisclose to throwing up in the exam room garbage can. Morning sickness in my 31st week -- not what I'm used to. She took pity on my green self and brought me a much-appreciated juice box.)

Monday morning a radiologist will review the X-ray; Monday afternoon we'll follow up in family practice. Here's hoping the hobbling is short-lived.

Oh, and there was not even a glimmer of a suggestion that they were concerned about possible abuse. I said he fell at preschool; they took it at face value. Wonder if that neighbor has any clue that her decision is still causing me stress in the middle of October?

Still Alive

This week I have been thinking, "Whose crazy idea was it to get to candidacy before the baby arrives?" ...oh, wait, that would be my crazy idea. I know that I can do it; it just feels a little overwhelming right now. It's not even the dissertation that's making me feel overwhelmed, but the dissertation on top of the rest of life with four children in three schools and a baby due the month after next and all the holiday organizing that has to happen between now and then and also an 85-year-old house and and and...

Anyway. My advisor says I'm in good shape, and I trust her. She's not worried about the fact that the powers that be have to approve my committee and the head of the department predicted they'd kick back the application because we requested voting privileges for an MD who's on clinical faculty and not a tenure-track academic. Worry, not adding days, hairs on head numbered -- I know all that stuff but I'm having a little trouble applying it this week.

Petely fell at preschool today, trying to slide down a pole on the playground, and doesn't want to bear any weight on that foot. I'll take him in first thing tomorrow if he still is complaining. Do you know, I have been kind of scarred by that wretched CPS experience. I was figuring out how the morning needs to run and I thought, "...and they'll need to confirm that this wasn't child abuse so I should take in both the director's cell number and the general preschool number, so the doctor doesn't think I'm just asking a random person to pretend to be my son's preschool director to cover up negligence on my part..." Which is ridiculous for a host of reasons, not least that I spent the entire day in a different area code from my son and could not have abused him even if I didn't think child abuse was heinous.

At the beginning of the week Elwood told an agitated boy that he needed to go outside if he wouldn't stop screaming, and I had a little inner freakout. What if a neighbor heard? What if a neighbor assumed the worst and reported us? So yeah. Just in case the short-term stress wasn't enough, two months later I am worried about going to the doctor and responding appropriately to a tantrum. Big sigh.

Gloom and doom and doom and gloom. Maybe I should stop grousing and go to bed. Another one of those things I know but have to be disciplined about living right now: each day has enough trouble of its own.

Almost 30

Weeks, that is. Pregnancy is going well -- baby is quite active but not yet big enough to do the simultaneous ribs-cervix punches that make a person wince. I keep comparing this pregnancy to my pregnancy with Alex because the due dates are so close together. Despite my being 26 then and 38 now, I'm much more comfortable this time around: no back pain (12 years of toting around various small children can do good things for a person's upper body strength), no tender veins in my legs. I am finally (FINALLY!) free of nausea, or at least close enough that I'll take it. Seriously, if you had told me in April that I would be throwing up into my third trimester, I would not have been a happy camper. But even a couple of weeks ago I had to be very careful about when I took my vitamins or they would attempt to make their way back up to the light of day.

My one minor complaint, probably related to the nausea, is anemia. For two weeks I walked around in a state of dog-tired bone-tired plumb-worn-out exhaustion. I was not surprised, though I was annoyed, to hear that my hemoglobin had fallen out of the normal range. It's always borderline (I've heard that's a common redhead complaint), and so I had been careful about iron starting in the second trimester. I had not been so careful about taking my multivitamin, figuring that it didn't do me much good if I threw it back up, and I am hypothesizing that I needed more folic acid and B6 to make all those new red blood cells. This could be, let me stress, a completely bogus hypothesis, but I am already feeling better.

Yesterday was the feast of St. Francis, one of my favorite saints, and I was trying to think of a good way to mark it as a family. You can't really celebrate his feast day with a fancy dinner since he was all about loving Lady Poverty. So instead we had a simple but special dinner, with homemade pasta. This is my 8yo cranking the pasta machine, and a bonus belly shot from the middle of week 30.

A Knitting Post

This is the post where I tell you about the knitting I've been doing for the past couple of months, an undertaking that may be unappealing to those of you who do not knit. But here goes anyway.