Good Enough

Thanksgiving Eve started off with a bang, or should I say a chuck?

Upchucking that is. At 4 in the morning. Mr.Good and Buster came down with something that decided to visit for the holidays.

As I lay in bed, awake, and alert from soothing my sick son back to sleep I started to feel a little bitter. And then I remembered what we were going through three years ago during this very time of year.

Buster was only 3 1/2 and Missy was barely 1 year old. I didn’t think anything of it at first, when my son, who had been toilet trained for more than a year, began refusing to ur*in*nate. Our usual routine before we left for daily activities was to get up and use the bathroom right away. He started refusing to. He would hold it, going only once a day and even then it wasn’t without a fight. He seemed more emotional than usual. Buster is normally an easy going kid. When his friends were over he seemed more withdrawn, and he would ask that they be taken home.

I sensed something was not right, but I hesitated to take him to the doctor. We did not have health insurance.

Then he would claim he needed to go, and he would sit there, and not be able to. One day I took my daughter for her vaccinations. Buster said he had to go to the bathroom right when the doctor came in to the room to check out Missy. I had to excuse us all, and we went to the bathroom and waited for Buster to do his thing. He couldn’t. He was so frustrated and sad. It hurt my heart. When I finally herded us all back in the room I asked the doctor what her thoughts were about it. She said if he touched down there to often (as little boys sometimes do) that it could cause infection. A little Vaseline on the tip of the appendage should help any stinging he might be having. But she seemed concerned about it as well. She was not my sons regular pediatrician, and Missy was covered for a year under my old insurance. I didn’t feel like I could get him a full check up.

Thanksgiving came and went and Buster was still acting odd. I started to wonder if it could be a bladder infection? The only symptoms he had revolved around those toilet issues. I had voiced my concerns to Mr. Good. He knew our insurance would be reinstated soon and asked me to wait before taking Buster in. This was one of the most conflicting times of our marriage. I ached to take my son in, but my husband felt like his problems weren’t a big deal. I don’t want to make him out to be the bad guy in all of this, but poor Buster had to endure both of his parents begging, pleading, sometimes yelling at him to get over whatever it was and use the toilet. Thinking of this time makes a lump well up in my throat. I’m thankful Buster is a forgiving little boy.

One Sunday night his pain escalated. We were at his parents house which was close to a small hospital with an Emergency room that had always been good to us whenever we had midnight ear infections. This night I asked Mr.Good to take Buster in. I usually like to be the one at the hospital. I’m his mommy. I’m with him every day, all day. I know what is normal and what is not normal for my boy. I believed there was something wrong with him. I SHOULD have taken him in. Maybe the reason I sent Mr. Good with him was that I wanted him to see that there was something really wrong with him. My hope was they would diagnose a bladder infection and send him home with a prescription, and our problems would be over.

It couldn’t have gone worse that night.

Mr.Good came home more frustrated than ever. The nurses were rude and bullying. The Doctor was apathetic. Buster could not give a ur*ine sample. That was the problem. So of course they wanted to catheterise the little guy. When my husband questioned their method they told him not to be difficult.

I remember my first catheter. I was 21, and went to a local ER with one intense bladder infection. The nurse took one look at me and my boyfriend and I could see her opinions about us forming in her eyes. Then without warning she had jammed one into me. She pulled it out just as fast. Every time I pe*ed for the next week I felt exactly where the catheter had been.

And they did this to my little boy. Only they couldn’t get it in. They shoved and shoved and it wouldn’t fit. Mr. Good had to hold him down while he screamed. It is very hard for me to imagine that night.

After the catheter plan failed the nurses were at a loss of what to do and wanted to try again. My husband asked if they could try using a cup one more time. He took Buster in the bathroom and explained that the nurses would try to stick the tube in him again unless he could go into the cup. Buster tried very hard, and like a champ he finally went in the cup. They tested his ur*ine and sent them home empty handed. They told Mr.Good it was probably gas pains and that Buster seemed a little dehydrated. “Come back again if it gets worse.” The doctor told my husband.

You can imagine what Mr. Good was thinking.

He scolded me when he came home that night. He told me they never should have gone, that there was nothing wrong with our son, and he had to endure all that pain for nothing.

In my heart I felt it was the wrong diagnosis. I knew there were more trials ahead for us.

Tune in next time for more of the story. Good news, Buster lives. But just barely.

Yes it’s that time of year again.

I have a first grader. I’m a little depressed after my morning meeting with the teacher.

The upside is…the feelings of inadequacy I have about helping my son in school have spilled over into my achievements as a home-maker.  At least I have more control in this area. So this morning I’m going to clean my kitchen. I’m going to clean it till it shines. And then when Buster comes home we’ll sit down at the beautiful sparkling kitchen table and work on some homework.

That’s all I can do.

Have a good weekend ya’ll.

Why am I up cleaning the house, hanging streamers, making butterfly cut-outs in the Rice Krispy Treats only to have nine, that’s right, nine 4 year old girls come over and trash the place tomorrow afternoon?

That’s right. Wouldn’t You?

Happy Almost Birthday Missy. My only girl. I think I’m actually looking forward to this as much as you!

I sit here, eating bite sized Twix bars and fighting back tears. Sure, I jest of having a personal relationship with Buster’s teacher because I get a weekly phone call home…but it’s beginning to get old. I don’t want to have this kind of relationship with his teacher.

I feel completely helpless. It goes beyond embarassment too hear my child is pushing kids in line and talking back to the teacher. This is my first born. My test subject, if you will. I hurt because he is struggling in school. Academically he is fine. He is intelligent. He is learning to read. He is doing well on his spelling tests. I’d say after helping out in class that he is slightly above average for a boy his age, which is exactly where I would want him to be. But he is having a hard time paying attention, listening to directions the first time around, and he’s not being respectful to his teacher…These are things we work on at home. We work on respect…we work on it every day. He never follows my directions the first time around. Or the second. But how can I help him at school when he’s away and it’s even more crucial for him to get this right?

I feel like the respect issue, and keeping his hands to himself are clear cut problems that Mr.Good and I can easily address. What really has me worried is how to get him out of his own head…how can I help him daydream a little less, so that at the very least he can hear his teacher when she says it’s time to get ready to go?

I feel for his teacher, I realize she has 21 other students to help. I don’t want my child to be the problem student. I love Buster. I want him to do well and reach his potential.

I didn’t see this coming at such an early stage in his academic career.

Advice is welcome and sought after regarding this conundrum.

People are scared…you can cut the tension in the eerily quiet air. I went to the gas station and waited as people fill up gas can upon gas can…every once in awhile the power will flicker as a reminder of what’s to come.

Last year I stayed up all night reading. The wind was so loud I thought the house would tear apart. There was a loud metal snap on the south side of the house…whatever had broken scraped against the wall all night, making the storm sound even worse.

I’ll keep everyone posted as long as I’m able…keep your fingers crossed for me.

On a lighter note, my kids argue every morning at the breakfast table. It’s their ritual. This morning I put up cereal boxes as a barricade. They weren’t able to see eachother. I finally achieved quiet at the breakfast table! Woohoo!

So I woke in a not so happy birth week mood. The kitchen was hid-e-ous. I tried the technique of waiting till my husband was sick of the mess in the kitchen and actually cleaned it. It was four days before he did anything. I don’t recommend trying this particular technique if you have a husband like mine. His eyes are blind too any type of domestically made disorder. Needless to say the whole house mirrored the kitchen. I volunteered to watch three children yesterday. That equals six under six and they left quite a tornado of destruction in their path. I still haven’t had time to find a replacement washing machine for our broken one. My landlord said to see if I could find one for free on Craig’s List. He’s a winner! So I can only wash once a week. It’s getting to me. Especially when I have a child that still soils her pants at least twice a week.  OH the simple pleasures of a working washing machine. The next time you feel like complaining about the laundry pile up, know that you have it so much better than me.

I had no bread in the pantry this morning. I tried to convince Buster to buy lunch. He absolutely refuses too. He’s scared he’ll mess up the whole process of lunch buying. I threw together whatever I could find in the pantry. The day hit it’s all time low after I dropped off my preschooler and it was just Bubba and me.

Bubba is a tough one. He just turned two and gets so irritated when I attempt housework in his presence. I can’t blame the little guy. If the only time I had alone with my mom was four hours a week when the big sister was in preschool I’d want her whole attention as well. Hence my dilemma. I was stuck in the house that was hit by it’s own private tornado, and a superiorly hideous kitchen…and Bubba was staring at me with his beautiful squintchy blue eyes as if to say “what’ll we do now mamma?”

I took the high road and we went to the grocery store. I even let him walk by the cart. It was amazing how good he was if I just asked him nicely and paid lots of attentions to him. I hope I’m figuring him out because although he’s as cute as a baby kitten, he is my most taxing child.  

So we went shopping, and it was actually a warm, albeit cloudy day, here in the Northwest. So I decided to throw a picnic together and walk to get Missy from preschool, with a detour on the way home by the local park. This day was shaping up very nicely. Exercise for mom, fresh air for kids, everyone was happy.

I’m not kidding when I say everything fell in place from there. I threw together a fun activity for the 8 year old girls at church, my husband cleaned the kitchen while I was gone AND started dinner. We had a nice family meal before I took the kids out for haircuts (tomorrow is picture day) and Mr.Good ran off to Boy Scouts. He looks really cute in the uniform.

I usually don’t like to bore the blogosphere with every monotonous detail of my day as a fearless home-maker.

But it’s birth week people!   I’m just putting myself out there for you all to see and enjoy!

And since my blog is a NO GUILT blog and your feeling a little insecure because my day was so fluffing fabulous, just know that yesterday, the TV was on…well…pretty much all day. So I needed to make up for the guilt that I incurred.  I have this theory that if I am a fun mom for most of the days of the week, they’ll forget the days that I was less than savory.

And the party just keeps on going.

Feel free to send your birth week wishes to me via picture and I will gladly post how loved I am.
goodenoughblogatgmaildotcom

Last night I went to bed with a knot in my stomach.

I hadn’t checked my voice mail in a few days and when I checked it that afternoon it revealed at least 3 messages from Buster’s 1st grade teacher. The reason I say AT LEAST is because I was feeling like such a bad mother by the 3rd message I couldn’t and wouldn’t listen to the rest of  my phone messages, for fear she had left more. By the third message she had left her home phone number which I immediately called. I got her voice mail.  I left a cryptict message stammering about how I usually always answer my cell phone, and I didn’t have her number identified on my phone so this is the reason I didn’t recognize it, and I hardly ever checked my voicemail, choosing instead to call the person back, blah blah blah…I was embarrassed by my message. I wanted to erase it and start over. My grammar was all over the place, I had run-on sentences. There is no way this teacher would approve of my message! She could judge my whole parenting style on this one single message! I knew she would pick me out as one of those mothers that just didn’t have it together.

She left no details as to what the problem was. this was cruel. My mind began to wander to the problems of yesteryear…Had he yet again “karate chopped another student in the mouth? Did he start wrestling with his buddies in the classroom? Did he defend a fellow students honor by getting in a shoving war at recess? The possiblilties were endless!

Oh why didn’t she answer her phone?

To make matters worse she called my home phone even though I specified that’d I’d anxiously be waiting by my cell phone all evening. The message on my land line explained that I had left my cell as the main number to be contacted, but she could switch it to my land line. I know I was in a vulnerable state, but I think I detected some sarcasm in her voice.

Oh why couldn’t I just get a hold of her!

It was too late at this point to call her home, so I called her voicemail at school. I wanted to have another chance at leaving a voicemail….this one was going to be very organized, and concise.

Hi Mrs. Soandso…it’s Eve, Busters mom? I’m so sorry that I missed your call again, please don’t switch the numbers on my information sheet, the cell is really the best one to reach me during the day, sometimes my two year old turns the answering machine off at home so that isn’t always reliable…I’m so sorry you haven’t been able to reach me, this usually doesn’t happen. It’s a little scary what if Buster had been hurt at school and you couldn’t get a hold of me. But anyway BEEEEPPPP!

And just like that I was cut off, and yet again my message was  unimpressive to say the least. I went to bed with a heavy heart. What was Busters problem?

This morning I called the room number again, hoping she would be in early.

She was! She was very nice and informed me that Buster had been misusing school materials, having sword fights with pencils, and he actually received an injury from himself during a round of battles. He also had been cutting his hair and clothes with the scissors…What? He’s been using scissors since preschool and always been responsible. We had a good conversation, though I know I still sounded a little scattered, it was better when I wasn’t talking to a machine.

In the end she just wanted me to be aware and talking with Buster about these things, so he knew that he couldn’t get away with them. She did say he had a problem keeping his hands to himself, especially around his “buddies” but she had him sitting between girls during circle time and that seemed to help him sit a little more quietly.

Oh the woes of children in school…and Buster has always been my good one.  

If you’re feeling slightly down about your child’s performance in school thus far, look no further than the lovely Annie, who puts it all in perspective for us…

and then let me know how we parents can take that seriously?

Annie, Brilliance be thy middle name.

Before the break down of my computer which caused me to find my happy place in the form of this dot com, I had an urge…

If you are familiar with my habits you would understand that this was not an urge I get every day.

It happened while I watched my kids tear apart my couch once again, and refused to go up to their spacious rooms and play with their toys. For some reason that day I had had ENOUGH! If the couch was going to be their favorite play thing, then why did we have all those toys in THEIR ROOM!!!!

I have to say I was somewhat inspired by this post. I decided it was time to pull all the toys from all remote locations of the house, yard, and bath tub and dump it all in my living room. Never have my children’s rooms seemed so clean and clutter free. It was wonderful. My husband and I gleefully sorted books, and toys, we happily tossed 1/3 of what they owned.

When I look at the picture I realize my children already have fewer toys than the average child. I think that comes from years of asking grandparents to donate to their college fund instead of giving presents. Mr.Good and I try to pick toys that aren’t going to blow our budget or our sanity, and I think I have finally dialed in on what each child will really play with.

Buster likes toys he can put together and change with his own two hands. Missy prefers animals that she can carry around in a purse. For Bubba it is only balls and books. Anything else he just flushes down the toilet.

I have to tell you this is the kind of house work I can really sink my teeth into. I felt wonderful that weekend. If only I could find that kind of passion in my regular chores.                                  

I’m back, I’m exhausted.

I’m exhausted about being back.

The house smells worse then ever. There’s been no one cooking or cleaning in it for a month. It smells like the dank, moldy, musty rental house we first walked in a year ago.

School is starting in 4 days. I want to spring clean this house within that time BUT my Grandparents are moving in to the area and I need to help them move tomorrow.

I have committed to watch some children this school year in trade for music lessons and swapping my two youngest so I can go volunteer at my sons school once a week.

I’m participating in a Mother Goose preschool, which involves 6 of us moms take a week teaching our 3 year old’s preschool curriculum.

Structure scares me stiff.

I don’t know how I’m going to hold to a schedule. I’m Mrs. Anti-SCHEDULE!

I need a make-over. How am I going to straighten out my life so that my house will be clean for these weekly visitors, for the kids I’m babysitting, for the preschoolers I’m teaching. How will I have enough energy for everything? How do you moms of multi-age children handle all the different schedules you have to accommodate? But I don’t want to know everything right away…I need to be broken in slowly…

AAAAAAAaaaaaahhhhh!