Working Dad Dilemma

We’ve all heard of the Mommy Wars and the dilemma mothers have with whether or not they should work or stay home full time. I realized the other day I can fully count myself as a working mother now. No, I don’t work full-time and I am mostly home during the day, but I teach color guard and private flute lessons. It takes me away from my family four afternoons a week and most Saturdays. I also get paid. It’s not much, but I am able to contribute somewhat to my family’s finances. I am not just a stay-at-home-mom anymore. However, this is not what I really want to talk about today. I want to talk about the working dads.

I was thinking that while we just expect fathers to be the primary bread winner in our family (because traditionally, that’s exactly the case. For centuries it’s been up to the husband and father to work and earn a living, to support his family), does that mean working fathers don’t also have regrets about working and missing out on things at home? I think a lot of them do. I just don’t think they are “allowed” to talk about it like wives and mothers are.

I think mostly about my own husband, of course. He has a very demanding, very busy job. He works about 75 hours a week and gets paid for 40. He puts his heart and soul into his job. He has to. He’s a high school band teacher. It’s what they do. However, it doesn’t come without a lot of sacrifice.

Ches’ job is not one for a family man. He is rarely home in the evening or on the weekends. Even when he is, he is doing work to prepare for classes or answering calls from boosters or studying scores of new music or watching videos of other marching bands… The work is never done. I understand there are lots of jobs that are demanding of home time. However, Ches and I are really feeling the sacrifice now that we have 3 (almost 4) kids… and those kids are old enough now to have their own activities that kind of need a dad. Yes, moms can do things like Cub Scouts and after school sports and the like, but sometimes a kid just needs his dad. Mom can’t do everything, all the time. And when you are in a two parent home, Mom should do everything, all the time.

We have been talking to each other for a while now and what to do to make a change. So Ches can be home and see the kids, have dinner with the family, attend Pack Meeting, or whatever. Basically, we have two options: Ches can completely change careers, or Ches can teach at a different level (middle school doesn’t have marching band, jazz band, pep band, winter guard, winter drumline, etc., so it’s a lot less demanding on the out of school time stuff).

Now, if we went with option 1 (completely change careers), what would Ches do? We spent years and tens of thousands of dollars on his schooling. Ches has a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree in music education. He is not trained for anything else. Oh, and he’s good at it, by the way. He’s a successful teacher and his students (most of them) seem to really love him. He also loves teaching. No, he doesn’t love the long hours and he gets frustrated when he gives his all and the students don’t prepare (there’s a concert tonight and festival tomorrow and Ches is quite discouraged right now…). But over all, he really, really loves his job. He loves those kids. He cares for his students on a very personal level, too. How lucky is he to have a job where he loves what he does and he’s good at it, too? So option 1 just doesn’t seem likely.

Option 2 (switch to teaching middle school) is a lot more likely. He spent 3 years teaching middle school in Idaho (while teaching high school), a year of just middle school here in Arizona, and then two years teaching middle school while teaching high school. He can do it. Like I mentioned before, middle school is a lot less time consuming because there just plain aren’t the myriad of extra activities for the students that he has to be in charge of. The biggest problem with option 2 is the money thing. We all know teachers don’t get paid much. Honestly, we are barely scraping by (thank goodness for tax refunds… we are able to catch up on the bills!), and Ches makes as much as he does because of the extra activities. He gets a small stipend for each activity. It doesn’t adequately compensate for all the extra time he puts in, but it’s something. In middle school, he doesn’t have that opportunity. On the other hand, he would have more time to get another part time job or maybe work as an assistant with a high school marching band or whatever. Then again, we’re back to him not being home with his own family, like he wants, because he has to make that extra money. Sigh. I feel like we’re just running around in circles.

In church the last few weeks the topic has come up quite a bit, actually. The feeling I’m getting over all is that they are telling men to stop sacrificing their family time for their jobs. Even if you have to change jobs or careers, you have to do whatever you can to be home with the kids and your wife. Your family needs you at home. Ches and I have been feeling that for a while now anyway, but it suddenly just seems to be thrown in our face everywhere we turn.

Oh, the other problem is that once Ches makes whatever changes to be home with the family, doesn’t that just free him up to have more involved church callings? Ches was saying that he remembers his own dad not spending the evenings at work, rather most of his evenings he was gone for church things. I’m not saying that’s bad, and there are lots of things that need to be done. I appreciate the sacrifice the leaders of the youth make for the teenagers, whether through Young Women’s or Scouting. I know a bishop has a LOT to do to run the ward. But if the point of making this change is to spend more time with his family, how is he supposed to do that when he’s gone several nights a week to do things for the church? How much family life should be sacrificed for church callings? (Am I a total apostate for even asking this question???)

Working dads have the same dilemmas as working moms do. Budgeting time and resources to make the family unit run smoothly is really hard. There is always going to be a lot of sacrifice, whether it’s the job that suffers, the kids that suffer, or the church attendance that suffers. Something has to give. And knowing what it is that has to be cut down or taken out completely? That’s the hardest decision of all.

Broccoli Cheese Soup

I tried a new-to-me farmer’s market recently and came home with 2 pints of blueberries, 2 pounds of strawberries, a pint of raspberries, the largest Granny Smith apples I have ever seen, a head of lettuce, two bunches of bananas, and a humungous bag of broccoli. All for $16. Yay me!

I love broccoli! Fresh broccoli, to be precise. I love steamed, fresh broccoli. But even what I got was too much for my family and I had to have a way to quickly cook it up before it went bad (Yes, I could have frozen it. But I didn’t. So there).

One of my favorite soup recipes I’ve ever tried was a broccoli cheese soup. I loved it. Ches loved it. The kids loved it (this was years ago, before they started boycotting anything I made that doesn’t rhyme with “lickin’ buggets”). I looked around for the recipe, but couldn’t find it. So, after looking at several recipe blogs, I decided to make my own. And it’s my favorite so far. Ches couldn’t get over how good it was! I feel so Molly Mormon.

So here’s my soup and here’s what I did:

First, I chopped up all the broccoli I had and put it in my biggest pot. I have no idea how much broccoli it was and I didn’t bother measuring it. Sorry. (I’m not good with measurements, so your guess is as good as mine)

Then I added enough water to the pot to just cover the broccoli. In this case, it was 8 cups of water. I added 7 teaspoons of chicken bouillon, 2 teaspoons garlic salt, and one small onion (finely chopped). I let it come to a boil and then cook until the broccoli was tender, which was about 10 more minutes.

Once the broccoli was tender, I added 3 cups of milk, two cans of cream of celery soup, about 4 cups of shredded cheddar cheese, some salt and pepper, and let it all come to another boil. Then I let it simmer for about 10 or 15 minutes. And then… voila! It’s all done! Normally I like it a bit thicker (so add more cheese), but this was pretty tasty as it was. Also, it’s really filling. I only needed one bowl to feel full and had to talk myself out of a second bowl.

I’m such a Julia Child now, huh? Bon appetit!

Irritated

Is it part of pregnancy that I find myself so overly irritated by just about every one around me and everything that is happening? I am SO annoyed. SO irritated. SO bothered.

As mentioned in the comments on my last post, I feel like I have to justify all of my thoughts or actions. WHY? I do not. Guess what? I’m 35 years old. I pretty much know what I’m doing by now. I still make tons of mistakes, but WHY should I have to explain away my actions, my thoughts, my desires? This is not my first pregnancy. This is actually my fifth. This will be my fourth child born. My fourth c-section. I think I know a little bit of what I’m doing. However, I have people around me constantly trying to give me advice and tell me how I should be feeling and what I should be expecting. Ummmm, no.

We don’t even need to get into politics. I try to keep my mouth shut because no one ever agrees on politics. Why can’t people just trust that I’m going to try to make the best decisions after carefully studying and thinking out the process? We have our Arizona primary coming up. I got my sample ballot in the mail yesterday. I’m pretty sure I know who I’m going to vote for, but I’m not positive yet because there is still more to look at. There always is. (Oh no. I just realized that by advertising I will be voting in the primary now everyone knows I’m registered Republican. Let the flaming commence…) I hate politics. I’m sick of the presidential election. I’m sick of the bickering and fighting and the stupid things that are getting in the way of the actual issues (seriously… Romney speaks French fluently. Why is this a problem again? Just one example of how the politicians are taking small things and blowing them up when they never mattered in the first place).

I’m sick of being me right now. I’m sick of feeling like I’m not allowed to have an opinion on anything because I don’t speak as firmly or loudly as someone else.

I’m constantly annoyed by being told how, when, and why to do things. I’m a big girl. I can figure it out. If I need help, I’ll ask. These aren’t big things. It’s inconsequential things, like how to clean the blinds or where to put my kids’ beds. What do I actually need help and advice on? How to deal with doctors and ADHD diagnoses and major anger issues in a 6 year old… And I’m pretty sure on those I have asked for help from certain people and I completely appreciate their advice. If your child does not have ADHD and/or is highly Gifted, you have no idea what I’m going through so stop telling me things like, “He’ll just have to learn how to focus. You can’t hold his hand.” You. Don’t. Know. (Some of you reading this really do know what I’m going through, so of course I’m not talking to you in this paragraph. I need your advice and I need to hear how you dealt with things and what your child did. cough*Karen*cough)

You know what doesn’t irritate me? Support. Kind, loving words from my real friends. The ones who say things like, “I love you. You’re doing a great job. This will come to an end. I’ll pray for you.” I’d love it if you could bring me a yummy sandwich for lunch and say, “Hey, how are you feeling today? Can I take Parker so you can take a nap?” But that’s just not going to happen. My real friends are all too far away. They are the ones reading this now.

Oh yeah. I’m irritated that all y’all live far away from me. I can’t be there physically to help you, either. It drives me batty. I want to be able to be the shoulder to cry on, the one to come do your dishes or take your kids. The one to say “hey, I found this job listing from whatever company around the corner. Maybe it could help?” But no. We’re all spread out from coast to coast, in different countries, and it’s hard to not have that physical presence sometimes. So I’m irritated by that. Don’t get me wrong. I’m loving the support that I do get from each of you, my real and true friends. You are amazing and give me just what I need, when I need it. But it gets lonely sometimes when you have to stare at a computer screen in order to feel any love.

And now you know. I’m irritated, annoyed, and kind of angry on a pretty regular basis. Three more months and then this baby will be here and let’s hope I don’t have to deal with PPD this time so I can move on to being a happy mother again.

Boys Vs. Girls

It shouldn’t be a contest, but apparently it is. Everyone seems to expect that because I have three boys and I’m pregnant again that I want a little girl. Everyone seems to think that they have to wish pink on me. Everyone is very vocal about hoping that I finally get the daughter I am “obviously” trying for.

Let me make myself very clear on this. I was not trying to have a girl. I was not trying to have another baby. We thought we were done. It’s been over 5 years, after all, since the last baby. I don’t get pregnant easily. I don’t like being pregnant. This is a surprise. A happy one (I *do* love newborn babies!!), but a surprise nonetheless.

Also, I love my boys. Very, very much. I love having all boys. Yes, they are messy and loud and active doesn’t even begin to describe the boys. I love having Star Wars toys and Legos and cars and trucks and dinosaurs spread throughout the house. I hate ironing, but I love getting those crisp, white shirts on them each Sunday and fighting about whether or not they should wear a tie (the answer is always yes, by the way). Yes, I feel outnumbered in the house, but I love being the only girl. It’s what I know.

Do I want this baby to be a girl? Not really. Like I said… I know boys. I am a mom of boys. I am used to boys. I know how to change boy diapers and how to comb boy hair and where to find the cute and fun boy clothes. I know what boy toys to buy and what boy books to read to them. I know BOYS.

I will admit to having a desire for a daughter. I want to put bows in her hair and dress her up in pink plaid or cordouroy dresses. I love cute little Mary Jane shoes and white tights. I want a daughter to buy a prom dress for. To take to dance lessons and have in my color guard. I want to be able to go wedding dress shopping with my daughter someday. Several months before I got pregnant Ches caught me watching “Say Yes To The Dress” on Netflix and asked me why I was crying. “Because I’ll never have the experience of watching my daughter try on wedding dresses!” He was mystified and said, “But you’ll have daughters in law. You can go with them.”

“It’s not the same,” I answered. You see, while I am amazingly blessed to have a mother-in-law who I love dearly and who seems to be pretty fond of me, I know that is not the case for everyone. What if my sons marry girls who don’t want to have anything to do with me? Or don’t respect me? Or just plain don’t like me? What if I don’t like them??? What I have with Heide seems to be rare. I love her, I respect her, I want her to be a part of our lives. From talking with my friends, that is the exception more than the rule. That makes me sad.

Having a daughter is different than having a son. Teenage girls are SO different from boys. I work with teenage girls. I love my girls. You have no idea how much I love them and I try to keep track of them after they leave me. But I come home from work and then I whisper to my belly, “Please be a boy. Please be a boy.”

Girls are just so full of drama. Believe me, I know. I am a girl! When boys have a problem with someone, they punch it out and are done. Either they are friends again or they aren’t. Doesn’t matter. They are done. When girls have a problem, they talk to their other friends. They spread gossip and play mind games. They hold grudges. For yeeeeaaaaarrrrrssss. I am still upset at the girl “friend” of mine who, in 1994, sat down next to me in AP Biology II and said out of the blue, “Even though you’re Mormon and going to Hell, I’ll still be friends with you.” Oh, and then a year later, when my boyfriend and I broke up because we were going to universities like 2000 miles away from each other, she KISSED him that very night. Not cool. So yeah, I’m still holding a grudge. You know the movie “Mean Girls”?? That’s exactly how girls are. In middle school, high school, college, the work force… it just doesn’t end. I don’t want that in my house. I don’t want a girl because I can’t handle that kind of drama.

Boys are easy to dress. Blue jeans and a t-shrt and they’re good. Girls have to have “outfits”. And yes, there are tons of cute things out there that I drool over every time I go to the store, but the thought of having to actually buy any of that scares the heck out of me! Certain shirts with certain pants. Skirts and dresses. Casual skirts, dressy dresses. And the HAIR. My boys are lucky if we even comb their hair in the morning (well, Aiden likes his hair long, so we definitely have to brush and comb it every day…), but with girls? Brush, comb, style. Every stinking day so they don’t look like paupers going to school.

And then there are just the looks. This is going to make me sound so shallow, but it’s something I have thought a lot about. I just hope I can type out properly what I am thinking.

There is a certain standard of what is considered pretty, beautiful, cute, or whatever when it comes to females. I feel like it’s a lot more strict and a lot harder to be truly attractive as a girl. Males don’t have those same standards. I mean, how many times do we watch a TV show and the husband is this awkward looking, over-weight guy, but the wife is always super thin and super hot? Men can be downright ugly as long as they are smart and funny and friendly. Women have to beautiful no matter what.

I was a skinny, scrawny, nerdy, awkward little thing. I felt very keenly from a young age that I didn’t measure up. I never had clothes that fit me properly. I remember hanging around after church with all the kids in the gym, running around, waiting for our parents to finish gabbing so we could go home and have lunch. The older girls would play with the younger girls. You know, swing them around or play tag or whatever. I noticed, however, that the older girls only played with certain younger girls. The younger girls that wore the pretty, frilly dresses and had their hair done in perfect curls and intricate braids. These younger girls were “cute” and “pretty” already, by the age of 5 or 6. And other people noticed it. I wasn’t one of those girls. No one EVER swung me around. I was easily overlooked. Of course, my memory (like any distant memory) is flawed and it may not at all have been how I perceived it. But it was my perception. In middle school I had bad skin and a bad perm. In high school I was “one of the guys” for so long, I honestly didn’t know how to react when I was asked out on a date for the first time. (I thought he was joking. I shot him down. Big time. In front of half the band. I’ll never know if it was real. We never went out. I couldn’t figure out why someone would WANT to go out with me!) I just never was one of the pretty girls, no matter what my mom said to me.

I don’t want that for my daughter. I don’t want her to feel awkward and ugly at age 6 or 16. I’m scared of the standards our society has set out for beauty for girls and I just plain don’t want to deal with it. I don’t have the best body image of myself, and I don’t want to be a bad example to her because I feel so fat and ugly and unsure of myself at age 35. I’m scared of eating disorders. I’m scared of outside influences. I’m scared of my influence.

And now you know. I don’t want a girl. I want another boy.

I’ll find out in probably another 2 weeks. And if it’s a girl, I WILL rejoice and look forward to all the great things a girl will bring to our family. For now, however, I will continue to hope for another boy. I don’t want to hear another word about it.

Life Lesson: You Never Left Junior High

True story. No matter how old we are, we’ve never left junior high. I’m 35 years old, but I still feel as insecure as a 7th grader. I think I’m all grown up and the women around me have also grown up, but no. It’s all the same.

A couple of weeks ago I went to the park for our “official park day”. I pick Parker up from preschool and we walk across the street where we know all the kids and moms from church. It’s supposed to be fun. I don’t usually have a lot of fun, but I’m there for Parker. He loves it. I try to make an effort. I do. I just don’t feel comfortable around most of these women, try as I might. I know it’s just one-sided, but if you don’t feel like you fit in, why push yourself, you know?

Anyway, I sat there for an hour, listening to conversations where I had little to contribute, and trying to just be friendly and happy and enjoy the good weather. The women then commented on my pregnancy, and one woman asked, “So, are you having a baby shower?”

I thought it kind of an odd question. I mean, the baby isn’t due for months yet, we don’t know the gender, and it’s not like you throw yourself a baby shower, right? But, whatever. So I just answered with an, “I don’t know…”

Woman number two pipes in with, “Well, you want to know what the baby is, right? So people can buy blue blankets or pink blankets. You don’t want green or yellow. That’s just ugly.”

Ummm, okay. I like green and yellow. I’m fine with gender neutral things. But whatever.

So this whole other conversation is going on and on about how I need to know the gender of the baby (seriously folks, not my fault I have such an active baby that was moving too much during the 19 week ultrasound and we couldn’t get a look!! Also, not my fault that the doctor won’t try again until my 28 week ultrasound. Like I can afford to just have extra ultrasounds anyway. We can be patient… so can you!). And while the conversation was directed toward me and about me, I still felt like I wasn’t actually part of the conversation. I couldn’t get a word in!

Woman number one asks me again, “So, are you going to have a baby shower?”

Are you fishing for an invitation or something? Geez. I decided to be a little snarky. “Well, I don’t know because it’s not like I can go up to someone and say Hey, will you throw me a baby shower?“

I got the desired chuckles and thought that would be the end of it. (Or perhaps an offer to throw me a shower? Because I have nothing for this baby!! I know it’s baby number 4, but my personal belief is *every* baby should be showered. And it’s been years since I had a baby. We gave just about everything away. And yes, I just want the attention. I’m an attention whore, just like everyone else!)

It wasn’t the end. Woman number two said, “Well, I’m sure someone will give you a baby shower. What about [named three woman who were not at the park that day]? You’re in their group. I’m sure they’ll throw you a shower.”

Woah. “Their group”??? We have definite “groups” now? And I have seen these three women, other than passing them in the hall at church or cub scouts, in months.

I’m sure nothing mean was meant by it, but I went away from the conversation feeling icky. That’s right. Icky. I felt like I had blotchy skin (oh wait, I do!) and a bad perm (thankfully, no) and wore last year’s style of clothes (yup). Or I wore orange on Pink Friday and the Mean Girls were about to go write in their slam book… four pages, just for me.

Park day is tomorrow. I don’t really want to go. But Parker looks so forward to it. I will spend all morning picking out the perfect outfit and packing the best snacks and try out a new hairstyle I found on Pinterest in the hopes that I will be accepted into this group. Or any group.

Can we put Park Day on my Murtaugh List???

What If I Could Write A Letter To Myself?

What if I could write a letter to myself? My younger self, that is. With all that I know now that could help erase some of the pain of back then? Or what if my future, older self could write me a letter that I could get today that would tell me yes, everything really will be okay? Would it help me now to get through all our trials? And what seems so huge today… will it seem that huge in 5, 10, 25 years?

Today a couple in my ward blessed their baby. They had been trying for a long time to get pregnant. It got to the point where they were just about to give up and were looking into adoption, when she got pregnant. And stayed pregnant. It wasn’t the easiest pregnancy (really, are there actually easy pregnancies? I don’t believe there are, no matter what some women say!), and several weeks before the baby was due, the mother and her father were in a car wreck. It was bad enough that the mother was in the hospital and they were trying to prevent an early labor. It was too early to have a healthy baby. Thankfully, everything turned out just fine the worst that happened was her baby shower had to be rescheduled. The couple has a healthy baby boy a few months ago.

When the mother got up to bear her testimony during Sacrament Meeting today, she said, “If someone had told me a year ago I would be here today, blessing my baby boy, I would have laughed in their face. No, I would have cried in their face and thought it a cruel joke.”

I remember those feelings all too well. I remember how long it felt we tried (unsuccessfully) to have a baby. I remember feeling the desperation as I watched friends and family members seemingly have an easy time of it. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get pregnant. And when I finally did get pregnant, it resulted in a miscarriage. It was such a tough time. I sometimes wonder how it was the Ches and I made it through that because there was so much strain. So many tears. And then… Aiden. I couldn’t believe we actually got this little miracle who was so perfect and so lovely. I didn’t know how I could ever be so happy again. I never forgot the pain of the years before Aiden came to us, but the pain was lessened so much by that little being we were blessed with.

And now look at us… three boys. Three wonderful, active, smart, funny boys. After a long break where we thought our family was complete, we found ourselves blessed again. In the next 15 weeks we will have our fourth child. FOURTH!

Has it been easy? Not by a long shot. Am I a good parent? I try. I don’t think I am (not what this post is about, however), but I try. Is everything perfect since we got our long-awaited for children? Not by a long shot. We still have so many trials and tribulations. Sometimes it feels like we are bogged down so far into the muck there is no way of pulling ourselves out. But I don’t know what it will be like a year from now. Will I be able to look back at this year and say, “I am so blessed. We kept working and trying, and things are better. We are happy.”

That’s all I really want. To be able to acknowledge that life isn’t always great, but we’re still happy. I have Ches. I have my kids. We’re still working and we’re still trying to pull out of this muck. Little by little, we’ll get there. Maybe I don’t need a letter after all. And maybe I need the pain to make the reward that much sweeter.

Waking Up

Why is it so hard to wake kids up for school each morning? They moan and groan and tell me how tired they are and that they didn’t get enough good sleep during the night. I have one who would rather skip orchestra, another who would rather skip breakfast. It’s a battle as I try to find the right way to gently wake them in the morning so they will be in a good mood and productive in the morning right before school. I gently rub backs and whisper, “Time to wake up.” in my most soothing voice. I turn on the hall light rather than the bedroom light. I talk to them softly to ease them into wakefulness. I remember having lights turned on and blankets abruptly pulled off me to wake me up faster. All that ever did was make me even more grumpy. So on the weekdays, I work hard to help us all have good, grumpy-free mornings. (It doesn’t always work…)

Then Saturday rolls around. The first Saturday in weeks that we don’t have to be anywhere at 8 or 9 am. The first Saturday that I don’t have to set my alarm because we can just wake up whenever we want. The sun isn’t even up yet, and I can hear those little feet, running up and down the stairs. Then I hear voices. At first, the voices are trying to stay quiet, but they are boys, you know. Boys don’t know what the word “quiet” actually means. A boy’s whisper is more like a hoarse shout. I can hear one voice, then two, then three. I hear laughter. I hear screaming (at least it’s happy screaming!). I hear more running, doors slamming (at least he closed the bathroom door, right?), dishes banging.

I look at the clock. 7:15 am. Sigh. I bury myself further into my blankets, knowing that My husband isn’t leaving the house for at least 15 more minutes. Sure enough, he comes into the bedroom just 5 minutes later to kiss me goodbye. I hear the front door close and I the not-so distant sound of his car starting. It’s just me with the wolf pack. 

The kids are apparently hungry and I hear more dishes banging. Suddenly, I hear screaming. This time it’s angry screaming. Crying screaming. Dallin has toasted the last two PopTarts and Parker didn’t want his PopTart toasted. I call them to my room and convince Parker to stick his PopTart in the fridge. Dallin happily eats his breakfast and says, “At least I got myself food, right?” Several minutes later, I’m getting requests to play on the laptop or the Wii.  Someone else is asking for help getting something out of the pantry. Soon I’m going to have to drive the Cub Scout to meet his den (it’s Scouting For Food collection day). We don’t have much required of us today, but it feels like it’s going to be a full day.

8 am and I’m up. That’s all the “sleeping in” I’ll get for today.

Is it nap time yet? 

Where’s That Parenting Handbook??

I’m finding it harder and harder to be a parent. It’s not like I ever thought it would be easy, I just don’t think I ever realized how difficult it could actually be. I have three boys who are so very different from each other and each one has such highly specific needs right now. I often feel like I’m being pulled in a million directions and it’s hard for me to focus on one kid and his problems when another kid and his problems come up.

I’m going to write in more detail about each boy later. For now, here’s a run-down of what is on my plate:

AIDEN
We have decided to move forward with having him tested for ADD/ADHD. I have been quite reluctant about doing this for several years now, but a lot of factors have come in to play this school year and have brought it to the forefront of my mind. The more reading and studying I do I about it, the more I see how beneficial it would be if he is diagnosed because then we can move forward with medications and solutions. I want my son to succeed. At this point, by trying to ignore these symptoms, I’m facilitating his frustrations and failures. My job as a parent is to help my child, not hinder them. So… off to the doctor we go.

Aiden also is kind of a hypochondriac. A few weeks ago he was doing this massive study at school on OCD and is now convinced he has it. He jumped up and ran away from the dinner table one night because he said he was having OCD thoughts and his reading says when that happens, you run away from it. ~sigh~ I’m sure he does have a small amount of OCD (every body does), but he convinced himself it’s worse than normal for him. So not true. I think he’s forgotten about it, though. This week he is convinced he has asthma.

Aiden is a worrier. He worries and worries about needless things, and they escalate until he has a complete breakdown. Last night was Cub Scout night. The boys were in the van, waiting for me to drive Aiden, when I realized Aiden was sobbing in the back seat. I got him to calm down enough to talk, and everything came out in a rush. “I hate being poor! We have this stupid van from 2004. Why can’t we ever have anything new? Nothing we own is ever new!! Why do we have to spend thousands of dollars on mine and Parker’s health? And I need more money in my lunch account because my lunch time is so late and I’m so hungry that I’m eating all of my sack lunch for snack and then I’m hungry at lunch time!! Why do we have to be so poor??” Wow. So I spent some time calming him down and talking to him about each issue he said. Aiden is taking too much of his environment to heart.

DALLIN
Dallin is a sweet kid, a good helper, and hard worker, and really smart. But boy, does he have some emotional issues. He can snap in a second. Yesterday he got an answer right in class, so he got to pick out a pencil. He didn’t like the pencil (it was the only one left) and said it was dumb. So he got very angry and started throwing the pencil. He says he threw it 10 times. The last time it went across the classroom and hit a little girl, who promptly got up, left the class, pulled out a cell phone, and called her dad. Her dad called the principal, who then went to the classroom where Dallin was under a desk, kicking and screaming because he was mad about this pencil. Ches and I already had an appointment with the principal and vice-principal about Dallin, so we got to hear all about this right after it happened. Again, all his teachers and the principals and the office staff say he is a complete sweetheart. He just has these emotional outbursts for a few minutes. Then they get him to calm down, and he’s perfect for 3 or 4 weeks. Then the cycle starts all over again. It’s so frustrating.

PARKER
A few months ago Parker woke up in the middle of the night with the worst case of croup any of my kids has ever had. Nothing I could do made it better. So I actually took him, at 1 am, to a children’s all-night urgent care. He was given a breathing treatment and sent home. The next day, I was talking to one of my assistants about it, and she insisted on calling her mom and stepdad who have a clinic for children. They deal specifically with breathing issues and allergies. Stephanie’s mom checked Parker out thoroughly, and the nurses ran several tests. We found out that Parker actually has allergy-induced asthma. He is allergic to olive trees and just about every kind of grass (bermuda, ragweed, etc.) that we use here in Arizona. He is allergic to the area of the valley we live in. (He is also allergic to shrimp and cod, but not to dairy, like we had wondered.) Stephanie’s mom gave us medication and a nebulizer (it has a cool dragon mask for him to breathe into!). We got more prescriptions and bought children’s Zyrtec. He’s doing much better, overall, breathing wise. But we have to keep right on it.

And most of you know that for the last several years we have been dealing with Parker’s digestive issues. He is very small for his age — extremely short and underweight. He just doesn’t eat (turns out food just makes him hurt!). He had rectal prolapse. We spent a year and a half giving him Miralax every day and watching him to make the rectal prolapse correct itself so we didn’t have to have surgery. Right before he turned 5, after another check-up with the GI specialist, we took him completely off dairy for 2 weeks. The immediate response in his body was amazing. He doesn’t have to have Miralax every day! He is allowed small amounts of dairy, but we really watch his intake. Like I said, he’s not allergic to dairy. But he obviously has an intolerance. So he is allowed a piece of cheese pizza or a bowl of mac-n-cheese. Sometimes we even let him have small bowls of ice cream. For the most part, however, he doesn’t drink dairy milk (we buy Silk at Costco now, just for him), he isn’t allowed yogurt or string cheese for snacks, and we try to find non-dairy frozen yogurt for him to eat if we go out someplace special. We make an effort to limit the amount of dairy he has, and it has made all the difference in the world! He’s finally gaining weight!! He’s grown a couple of inches!!

CHES
I know, he’s not my son. But we have issues, too, you know! Ches broke his elbow a couple days after Christmas and it has been really hard for him. He is not in a cast of splint of any kind. It was a non-displaced fracture, meaning the bones didn’t move out of place. That’s good because it means no surgery. So Ches has been in a sling. He’s still in a lot of pain and he doesn’t feel like he has any strength in his grip. He’s getting a lot of movement back now, so we know he’s healing. It’s just slow. It’s especially been hard because he can’t play his trumpet. Oh! Did I mention it’s his right elbow, and he’s right handed? He can’t write or type. And don’t forget… he’s a band and orchestra conductor. He has to do only left handed conducting, which is hard to do. He’s used to having both hands to be effective. I have had to take over a lot more duties around the house and with the boys because Ches just can’t do it. I had to drive our entire trip to California (not fun for the pregnant lady!!). I had to cut the wood and help waaaay more than I would have liked with Aiden’s Pinewood Derby car (but hey! Aiden got 1st place!). I have to do more chores. And honestly, I’m missing out on a lot of sleep because I’m so worried about bumping into Ches’ arm during the night. A queen size bed isn’t that large when you have an expanding belly and your husband has a broken elbow. I also really miss little things. For example, Ches hasn’t yet felt the baby move. He can’t just reach over with his arm like he did when I was pregnant with the others. And the other night I woke up with a massive anxiety attack. In the past, Ches has always been there to rub my back, help calm me down, etc. But with the broken elbow, he has to stay back because I’m violently shaking and I could seriously hurt him. I miss just the feeling at night of his arm sneaking around my waist when he’s sleeping. It’s killing me to not have that physical contact when he’s RIGHT THERE.

So that’s about it. We are all crazy in this house. We all have a bajillion issues going on. And I’m feeling completely stressed out on a regular basis and like a total failure because I just can’t keep up with it all. I just want to go to bed and sleep for about a week.