Happy 6th Birthday Jackson!

Today my baby turns 6.  It’s hard to believe it’s been 6 years.  I remember that day like it was yesterday…..

Jackson was a bit overdue and I was a bit overdone with being pregnant.  Really done, completely over the pregnancy thing.  I was in “get the kid out of me now” mode.  We checked into the hospital at 6 a.m. to be induced.  For the record we didn’t know if the baby was a boy or girl.  We were excited to find out if Jackson or Kira was going to be the new name in our family.  We got to the hospital and the nurses were getting me settled.  I was scared and nervous since I had never given birth before.  The young nurse took my blood pressure.  It was a little high, which was weird because my whole life I have had perfect blood pressure.  She said “Are you nervous about anything?”  I thought to myself “I’m not even in labor and already I want to scream and grab someone hard.”  Thankfully that nurse was at the end of her shift.  I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have dealt with her all day.  When they hooked me up to the contraction machine it turned out I was already have contractions.  I just thought it was the baby moving.  At that point I thought “That’s a contraction?  That’s nothing!  I could do that all day.  What’s all the fuss about with contractions.”  A few hours in I wanted the drugs.  I wasn’t one of those superwoman types who was going to tough it out.  If some scientist/doctor took the time to develop a drug to help with the pain, then by god I was going to support them and use it.  In came the epidural.  Of course it didn’t work like it was supposed to.  I could still feel everything in “that area”.  However, my legs and all feeling in them were gone.  My body no longer recognized that I had legs.  Thankfully Kevin and my sister were in the room to grab those things and put them up at the right times.  I couldn’t get out of bed and move around because I had to be attached to the blood pressure machine the whole day.  It was a good thing because I couldn’t have stood up on my legs anyway.  Those easy contractions were no longer easy.  NOW I got what all the fuss was about.  My sister put a wet cloth on my head to cool me down and I was like “GET THAT THING OFF ME!”  Kevin in his calm and collected voice reminded me to breathe.  I, in my pissy labor mode said “DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”  The contractions were exhausting and I remember falling asleep between them, only to be awakened violently by them.  My sister and Kevin kept looking down and could see the head.  They were both excited about it.  This was infuriating to me.  I was doing all the work and they were having all the fun.  So I asked for the big mirror so I could see too.  Which was really weird since I have a weak stomach and can’t stand the sight of blood or any kind of wound or injury.  But being able to watch Jackson being born was one of the coolest things ever and it was a great motivator to push.  Finally at 4:39 p.m. Jackson Edward Darwin Klim entered the room.  He looked like E.T.  I’ll never forget the look on Kevin’s face, peace and utter happiness and joy.  The first time I held Jackson I whispered to him “So you’re the one who has been kicking the shit out of me for the last 4 months.  You are in big trouble mister.”  He was so cute, pale and wrinkly.  My parents arrived at the hospital a few minutes after he was born.  They came in and it was a great happy moment.  I loved seeing my Dad hold Jackson for the first time.  He was so proud.  He had the biggest smile I had ever seen on him.  Jackson had high apgar scores and the nurses and doctors all proclaimed him to be “wonderful”.  6 years later he still is.

Every time I held Jackson I remember having this weird feeling of “What have I done?  What do I do now?”  I often have wondered if I didn’t have some postpartum depression because I never seemed to be madly in love with Jackson right away.  I was ambivalent about being a mother for a while.  Sometimes I was just annoyed by him waking me up every two hours and needing to eat.  I think he was about 3 or 4 weeks old when I had put him down in his crib to sleep.  And BAM, it hit me.  Suddenly I felt like my heart was going to explode, I started crying and realized how much I loved that little sleeping baby.  There is nothing like the love you have for your child.  I think of that sometimes and feel sad that Jackson will never get to experience that love.  After I realized this great love for Jackson, I called my Dad and apologized for every mean thing I said and did to him.  He just laughed and said “It’s alright honey.”  Just like a parent who has that great love for their child.

Lao Tzu said “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”  Jackson is a testament to this.  I had no idea the journey ahead of us when he was born.  But I know this – I am a much better person since becoming his Mama.  I have a life I never envisioned.  A life that is substantially greater and rewarding because of him.  Jackson is not the little boy I thought I was going to have.  In fact, he is much better than I imagined.  Happy Birthday Monkey!  Thank you for being my little boy. 

Burned Out

I am burned out.  I’m exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically.  It seems like I have been going non-stop for weeks with the kids.  I know this is part of the deal with being a mom but there are days where it just catches up with me and today is that day.  I’m at the point where I either need to have a good cry or just say “screw it” to everything that comes my way.  I’m going with “screw it”. 

Last week was the dreaded spring break week.  I hate spring break!  Of course we can never go anywhere because Kevin’s spring break is two weeks before the kids’.  So I am home with 3 kids who seem to think that spring break means they get to do whatever they want, whenever they want.  Which inevitably means they will argue.  Over everything.  Who brushes their teeth first, who lets the dog out to go potty, who picks the movie they are going to watch, who gets to give Jackson a toy, whose cup has more water in it, who gets to get the mail, who touched a toy first.  You get the idea.  An hour of this arguing is annoying.  A day of this arguing is infuriating.  7 freaking days of this is enough to warrant self admittance to a psychiatric ward.  The second day of spring break Sylvia had to go the dentist in the afternoon.  As I was checking her in the receptionist said “How are you today?”  I said “It is the second day of spring break.”  She put her pen down, looked at me and said “How are you doing?”  I said “I wish I liked the taste of alcohol so I could drink.”  She laughed and said she knew how I felt.  Her kids were grown, but she had been there.   At least there is a sense of camaraderie amongst us moms.

The worst part about being burnt out is that I lose all patience, and I don’t have a lot as it is.  I get tired of listening to the kids, I get snappy with them, I begin feeling detached from them.  I hate that about myself.  My light switch just goes off and I am too tired to turn it back on.  Yesterday, the first day back to school the kids were in the bathroom arguing over who got to put toothpaste on their toothbrush first.  I heard them and was just waiting for the referee call.  Sure enough Sylvia came out and started to complain and I just snapped back and said  “Sylvia, for 7 long days I have had to listen to you two argue over everything.  I’m done.  I’m sick and tired of the arguing.  You two figure it out.  I don’t care anymore.”  She looked deflated and went back to the bathroom.  I thought “there goes my mom of the year award and I couldn’t care less!  I’m sick of being a mom.”    I really am.  I don’t feel motherly or loving or that I even want to be anymore.  I just want peace and quiet and to sit and read a book that isn’t about the brain, behavior problems, or how to be a good parent.  I want to be on a beach, sipping lemonade, sitting in the warm sun, listening to the waves and reading some mindless novel about someone else’s life.  For a whole day!  With no one calling my name, no one needing to be fed, or diapers to change, or errands to run, or bills to pay, or appointments to go to.  Sadly there is no beach on this side of the state.  However, tomorrow night I am headed to Seattle for a couple of days for the Developmental Disabilities Board of Directors meeting.  I will have two nights in a hotel room and two days of being around adults, learning new things.  It sounds heavenly and I am grateful for the break.  Hopefully my batteries will be recharged and I won’t be the bitchy mom anymore.  There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

As I sit here and write this post I have to be honest and say I feel guilt for writing it.  I’m bitching about how I am sick of my life and tired.  But right now my friend Vicki, who is a special mama like me, is lying in the hospital fighting for her life.  So is her little boy.  Her little boy had to have major surgery last week.  As he was trying to heal and fight to get better in the ICU, Vicki had a massive seizure that landed her in the ICU.  It took a few days (scary days) but she is breathing on her own and they moved her out of ICU yesterday.  She is on the long road to recovery, as is her boy.  When you have kids like we do, you develop a unique bond because we just get each other.  We know what our lives are like.  We know what it is to grieve over a child.  We understand the special joy our children give us.  It’s a different kind of friendship, one that I am so thankful for.  Having a friend like Vicki is a gift that Jackson gave me.  And she is a gift of friendship to me.  I can’t wait for the day when I can take her to lunch and just tell her that.  Keep fighting Vicki!  You got this Mama!  I love you girl!

In honor of Vicki and in the spirit of my complaining post, I leave with this quote by Helen Keller “The world is full of suffering; it is also full of overcoming it.”

"Parent" Is A Verb

I saw this bumper sticker a few days ago that said “’Parent’ is a Verb”.  I stared at it as I sat at the stop light.  I kept thinking about what it really meant.  I think generally I have thought of “parent” as a noun.  But when I saw that bumper sticker it hit home with me that yes indeed “parent” is a verb.  The last few weeks have definitely emphasized that fact. 

Over the last month or so our house has been infested with the cold and flu.  It’s the domino effect.  One has it, passes it on the next victim, who then passes it on to the next.  It’s been never ending.  Just when I thought we were all better, Jackson decided to go for round 2, sending me into round 3.  As I write this there are 3 of us at the tail end of a cold.  Knock on wood that the constant opening of windows and spraying of Lysol is going to ward off another round.  Nothing screams “parent” like kids with colds.  Especially when the parent has a cold too. 

On top of all of this it was time to put on the first official birthday party for Daniel.  He had never really had a real birthday party before.  So for the last month I have been planning and making sure he was involved too.  He picked out his theme (Superman), his cake, and his guests.  I had a few surprises but mostly just wanted him to have a real party for the first time.  As I tucked him in to bed that night I asked him if he liked his party.  He said it was the best he ever had.  Two days later I began planning Jackson’s birthday party.  Before his is done I will start planning Sylvia’s too.  3 birthday parties in a span of 2 months makes for a great opportunity to “parent”.  And also go on a cake diet.

I think the biggest “parent” challenge as of late has been trying to determine what is the best way to help Daniel deal with his anxiety, AD/HD and behavior issues.  His behavior has become more and more challenging, at home and at school.  For the past 7 months we have been trying bio-feedback.  It has gotten Daniel nowhere.  If anything his behavior has increased negatively.  We put him in play therapy/counseling.  I signed him up for gymnastics.  I pick him up one day a week after school and we have special one on one time.  I also do the one on one time with Sylvia.  Ultimately we decided to try medication.  Neither my husband or I are big on medication but I worry about him becoming “that kid” at school and getting labeled as a behavior problem.  So we went to the doctor and talked about some options which I could research.  We decided on a medication that wasn’t a stimulant.  When Daniel came to live with us he was on Ritalin and after school his behavior was out of control.  It was too much for me to handle.  So we gave Daniel the new medication and hoped for the best.  But within a day the little boy we knew was gone and a slow, confused Zombie took over.  It was horrifying.  Within a couple of days I called the doctor and told him it was too much, we had to change.  We lowered the dosage to half and with a day the kid we knew was back.  When you have a child who is a handful, who has behavior issues and just generally takes up 90% of your time, you just want a break, you want him to calm down and focus.  But the minute he changes, you want him back.  I don’t know if this medication course is the right one.  I know for his sake we need to try it so he can be successful at school and life.  However, this is one opportunity to “parent” that is not on my highlight list. 

I suppose that’s why “parent” is a verb.  It’s an action.  An action that can be joyous, rewarding, difficult and frustrating, all in the same day.  You have to be diverse, flexible and downright silly to “parent”.  As Ray Romano said “Having children is like living in a frat house – nobody sleeps, everything’s broken, and there’s a lot of throwing up.”  So why would anyone “parent”?  To have the experience of being a “parent”?  Noun or verb?  You decide. 

Birthday Reflection

Today is my birthday.  I am sitting here in my favorite bakery (Rockwood Bakery), listening to my favorite band (The Eagles) on my earphones, eating a delicious cinnamon roll and drinking hot chocolate with whip cream.  I’m pretty lucky.  Yet, kind of sad.  I miss that call that I usually get on my birthday.  The one from my Dad where he would always say “Happy Birthday Honey” and I would feel like a little girl no matter how old I got.  I miss the frosted brownies my stepmom always made for me on my birthday.  I miss all the silly little gifts my Mom would spend a year buying me for my birthday and how she would let me eat cake for breakfast.  I think when you lose your parents your birthday loses its magic.  There aren’t many people left who actually remember your birth and all the excitement that comes with it anymore.  It becomes a lonesome day filled with memories of “the good old days”.

My birthday is also a weird day for me.  I think of the woman who gave birth to me.  How young she was.  How afraid she must have been.  How the day of my birth was no doubt traumatic for her.  To give birth to a baby you carried for nine months, never even get to see it, give it up to strangers for adoption and move on with your life.  That’s a lot.  I wonder what she thinks about on my birthday.  I wonder if she has spent all these years trying to forget it and if this is a day that she dreads.

But then…..as I sit here my phone keeps buzzing with birthday wishes from all my wonderful friends and family.  And this morning there were two little kids waiting at my bedroom door to yell “HAPPY BIRTHDAY STACEY!!!!” to me when I opened it, accompanied by hugs.  With a card they had made themselves detailing how much they love the food I give them and how they hope I have a great day.  Jackson for his part woke me up at 5:30 a.m. lying in his bed saying “mama” (this one gift I could have done without, at least for a couple more hours).  I’m having lunch later with a good friend.  Then tonight the whole family is going out to dinner which means I don’t have to cook!  Which all Moms know is truly a gift.

I guess this is going to be my birthday.  A day mixed with a little sadness, wondering, and joy.  There are people missing from my life, people who I miss so deeply.  There are new people who have entered my life and who bring me a whole new level of joy.  It’s a balance of give and take, the routine of life. I’m not sure who said “Things don’t have to be perfect to be wonderful” but it seems fitting for my birthday and how I feel today. 

Help Jackson Get a Bike!

Hi Faithful Readers!  I entered a contest to win Jackson an adaptive bicycle.  The more nominations we get the better our chances at winning.  So please go to https://www.friendshipcircle.org/bikes/2014/03/jackson-2/ and help us win Jackson a bike.  It just takes a second and is free! 

One Thing After Another

Doesn’t it seem that just when it feels you get into a little bit of routine in life, things are going along at a good pace, there are no major issues, that something comes along to throw it all out of kilter?  It seems that our life is like that in a cycling basis.  As I was watching one of my favorite shows the other night (Downton Abbey) the matriarch of the family, Lady Grantham said “All life is a series of problems which we must try and solve.  First one, then the next, and the next.  Until at last we die.”  I thought to myself “That old lady sure knows a thing or two.”

We were plugging along a couple of weeks ago when Jackson woke up throwing up.  No biggie.  I thought it was the too spicy chile I had fed him that night.  Nope.  It was the flu.  A few days of throwing up, were followed with a few days of diarrhea, promptly followed by a sneezing and a bugger nose.  In the midst of the puking stage I caught a cold.  Of course as the puking was ending and the diarrhea beginning, Kevin had to go Canada for 4 days for work.  So I have a cold, Jackson has the flu, Kevin leaves town and it’s a Friday night.  Valentine’s day actually.  As the kids and I are hanging out in the living room I notice that the purple gel sticker (about an inch big) that Sylvia stuck on the window for Jackson to look at is no longer on the window, which Jackson was currently pounding on.  Frantically Sylvia, Daniel and I begin searching for said sticker.  It’s no where to be found.  We deduce that Jackson may have swallowed it.  I call the after hours doctor hotline.  They say to go to urgent care.  I call urgent care, they are closing.  They say go to the ER.  Seriously??!!  Of course in the midst of all that chaos our credit card calls to say someone is using our card in Canada.  The automated system is slow and wants to clear every purchase since god knows when.  I can’t handle it and just hang up.  We load into the car and head to the ER.  Where we wait.  And wait.  And wait.  Although they have taken us to a room, they seem to have forgotten us.  Jackson is only patient for so long, then the yelling begins.  And my patience takes a nosedive.  I’ve had enough.  I feel like crap, so does Jackson, Sylvia and Daniel are fighting over which chair to sit in, and I start thinking about taking up drinking again.  Damnit, if only I liked the taste of alcohol!  So I do what any hysterical woman does.  I get my phone out, call the hospital I am in, ask for the children’s ER where we are and when someone answers I say “Hey!  I’m in room 104, the one with the screaming kid, is it too much to ask to have someone come in here and check out my kid?!”  I know, I’m a bitch, but it made me laugh and feel good.  And within a minute we had someone come in.  Of course he was snotty and looked at Jackson and said “I see you have special circumstances” but explained that they are very busy.  Now let me tell you, if Daniel and Sylvia hadn’t been in that room I may have punched that guy.  My kid is not “special circumstances”.  But I had to let it go.  I argued with him a bit and he left.  Seconds later someone who had some kind of authority came in and the ball got rolling.  Within 45 minutes we were out of there with a final diagnosis of - sticker wasn’t toxic so if he did swallow it, he will just poop it out, nothing else can be done.  All that hassle for nothing!  We got home, went to bed and the next day Jackson’s diarrhea arrived.  What a fun weekend!  Just when Jackson started getting better, Sylvia got the stomach bug.  She bounced back fairly quickly though.  Then Daniel got it.  He bounced back fairly quickly too but is still battling the ensuing cold. 

A week after our fun excursion to the ER I had surgery.  Nothing major but enough to ensure I needed to take it easy for a few days.  I’m slowly recovering and getting back to normal.  The worst part is that I can’t lift Jackson for 2 weeks.  We are lucky and fortunate enough to have a caregiver for Jackson for that 2 weeks.  I have many times wished I was rich enough to hire a nanny to do all the day to day hard work it requires to care for Jackson.  This past week I have essentially had one.  Surprisingly, I hate it.  I don’t like not being able to do the everyday things I do.  It’s a lot of work, but I like to do it.  I know I should enjoy the 2 weeks and let my back have a break from all the lifting, but I’m having a little trouble with letting go of that routine and daily life I am used to.  I know, I’m a control freak.  The good news is that we are all making our way to healthy.  Now I will just wait around for the next problem to solve.

Our Village

Last week my husband went to Florida for 6 days to do some house projects for his parents.  It was the longest he had ever been away from the kids and I.  Of course it was one of those weeks where I had numerous appointments and was in way over my head.  But I survived and somehow managed to keep the kids alive. 

While he was gone my wonderful neighbors decided I needed a night out to the theatre.  One had the ticket, the other the babysitting skills.  When they offered me a night out, I turned them down.  I didn’t see how I could do it.  There was homework to do, dinner to make, one kid who was grounded to their room, and Jackson needed a bath.  I just thought those things had to be taken care of by me, the mom.  When I told Kevin about it on the phone he said “You need to let people help you Stacey.”  I know this is true, I really do.  But I just can’t seem to.  I’m used to doing things on my own.  It’s hard for me to admit when I need a break or when I need help.  I decided to become a parent, I don’t think others should have to take care of my kids just because I need a break.  My neighbor who is always offering to babysit the kids agreed with Kevin and she said “We are your village!” which got me thinking about Hilary Clinton’s book.  For centuries women raised their children and others children as a group, not individually.  Mom’s had each other’s backs.  Wouldn’t that be nice, if each of us had a village and raising our children was a group effort. 

I think for my part I have a great village.  It may not be in the traditional sense but for me a village is just having others who support and love us.  Having a kiddo like Jackson who takes a lot more effort to raise and to care for on a daily basis is challenging.  Sometimes all it takes to get through those tough days is to think about all of our family and friends who love Jackson and have supported him and us on this journey.  Jackson has touched a lot of lives.  Those lives are the ones who don’t look at him like something is wrong with him, that he is different.  They just look at Jackson with love and see a little boy.  Those are the people I treasure as my village.  They have Jackson’s back.  And mine.  

Having said that, I know I need to let people help.  I need to try and stop being Supermom and just accept that I am a mom of 3 kids who needs help sometimes.  I think all of us mama’s need to do that.  None of us are perfect.  Parenting is HARD!  We need to rally around each other and support one another.   Next time I get an offer for a break, I’m taking it!  Helen Fisher said “Mothers really were not built to raise babies not only by themselves, but with only a partner.  For millions of years, a woman had much more than just her husband to help rear her young…This whole idea of ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ is exactly how we’re supposed to live.”  I think she is right.  Even though that is hard to admit!