Life in progress

Tag Archives: growing up


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Holiday Anxiety in Children

I sit here writing this in a state of exhaustion. If you’re a parent, I’m sure you’ve been here. Up since 4am with a child who can’t see the merit of sleeping when tired, but can only scream and cry, I’m just about ready to do the same. Most of us go through a stage when this occurs on a daily (or nightly basis) but even when that less-than-delightful slice of life is over, it can come back with a vengeance during the holidays.

But they’re supposed to be fun, aren’t they? Relatives come to visit, or we go to visit them; everyone has an extra day off work or school or daycare; there’s great food to be eaten; there’s excitement in the air because everything is different! So what’s the problem?

First, many kids can’t handle the excitement. The pressure to be good for Santa, or in this weekend’s case, the Easter bunny can be overwhelming. They don’t know what to do with their energy when all the adults are telling them to please be quiet, and at the same time ignoring them because they haven’t seen Aunt Agnes and Uncle Ralph in ages. Between that and the preparations or the traveling, the kids will start to be annoying because it’s their only way to get the attention they want. The result: anxiety all around.

Second, schedules go down the tubes. When everyone is going about their daily routine, whether it be the weekday one or the weekend one, kids know what to expect and when to expect it. The holidays present an exception to just about everything. For a small child, even the fact that he or she isn’t being served spaghetti as usual on a Saturday evening can be a cause for a little extra glee.

How to combat this depends on the child. With my two who weren’t afraid of Santa and the Easter bunny – or even the tooth fairy – schedule was essential. It was all different, yes, but by letting them know what to expect ahead of time, for instance when people would arrive, what we’re having to eat, when we’re leaving and getting home etc., they could at least anticipate how they needed to behave and when. This way I was able to spend time with them when I wasn’t busy, and they knew that then was the time to have my undivided attention. Allowing them to help out with the preparations was always a good way to spend time with them and still get something done, as long as I allowed for the extra time it would take.

Allowing them to have a say in the decision making as well, was a great way to get through the day. It gave them a sense of control, even though the choices I asked them to make were unessential to what I had planned. For instance: we’re leaving at noon – do you want to wear this coat or that one? This is something I’ve carried through to every day life, and I find it amazingly helpful in getting anywhere. Or in the case of preparation, I would ask them where they wanted the decorations placed.  Thanking them for their good decisions also aided in making them feel as though they were being well behaved, taking some of the pressure off and with it the anxiety of being good enough to receive their gifts. This is something I personally disagree with, by the way; I won’t deny them the treasures of the holidays. Rather, I will take away the extras they receive during non-holiday events, such as a favourite activity.

So you get through your day and it’s the night before. Excitement is at an all time high at bedtime because a special visitor is coming while they sleep, to leave gifts. You put them to bed praying that they won’t get up and catch you doing the deed. It’s even worse if the anxiety includes fear of the “beloved” character who is shoved down their throats sometimes month in advance of this one highly stressful night. What happens then? Right. I’ve been awake since 4am.

And so we go back to Alex’s fear of the dreaded bunny etc., and that’s the one I haven’t figured out what to do with. Alex’s anxiety isn’t, I’m sure, unique to only him. It keeps him awake at night, which is something even we adults can relate to.

I’d love to hear any suggestions you have in the comments. For the rest, I hope you can take something from this: I hope it helps.

 


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At a Loss for Words

Where’s your communication book? I’ll ask your teacher to tell you.

It’s the most common phrase that is signed in my household, aside from, I love you, and Go to sleep already.

The problem is, of course, that my son Alex doesn’t ‘speak’ the same language as I do, and sometimes I’m the one at a huge disadvantage. I, whose life consists of putting words together to make meanings clear, am unable to communicate with my own offspring. What kind of sick force in the universe came up with this irony?

Tonight I had to try to explain to Alex why he wasn’t able to eat from my plate. It’s something that I allow him to do on occasion–not something I allowed my other two sons to do–since he doesn’t eat much more than one piece of anything, being that he’s tube fed. But now, since I’m not sure I’m completely over this bug, it’s a no-no. Germs are not something I often talk about, and so once again I’m faced with my lack of knowledge, and my incompetence in being fluent in American Sign Language.

Can you fathom the frustration at not being able to say the simplest of things? With a hearing child, the conversation would be over in four or five sentences. “I’m sick, and if you eat from my plate you might get sick. Why? Because there are these things called germs – tiny things like bugs crawling around in my food. You still want some? I thought not.”

Instead? It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful that I have the resource of the Deaf school to back me up when I need it, and especially that they are teaching my son to communicate with his peers. What scares me are the stories I was told by a few different Deaf people of their hearing families – that they grew apart. The Deaf have their own community. In fact “Deaf” is capitalized when the word is used to describe a person in the same way American is – because it denotes that very community.  It’s only by virtue of the fact that Alex has a global intellectual delay that I might have to care for him well into adulthood.

In the meantime, I’ll keep trying to learn his language. Because once he’s twenty-one and has to leave school, I won’t have a communication book to write in. And I’ll be at a complete loss for words.


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What would you teach?

I often wish that I could teach people not to sweat the small stuff. I can’t stand watching people walk around with their minds so focused on trivial matters, that they’re unable to see the big picture.

So what if that guy just stole your parking spot? At least you didn’t have to take the bus with all your children, your strollers, and bags of groceries once you’re finished shopping. What’s the problem with getting the blue ipod when you wanted the black one? At least you have one. How does it matter that you listened to someone at the next table complain about their food? Did you enjoy yours? Then stop eavesdropping!

Don’t get me wrong – it’s not really the complaining that bothers me. If that was the problem, I would be just as bad as they are. It’s the fact that small things stress a lot of people out. Getting one’s blood pressure up, in my opinion, had better come with a whole lot of real problems. Yes, all the little ones can add up. We all have days like that. But even then, don’t dwell! It’ll put you into an early grave… and who wants to die over a chipped fingernail?

I think we all have something that we’ve learned from experience, that we wish we could give the benefit of to others so that they don’t have to learn the way we did: the hard way.

So tell me in the comments: of all your personal life lessons, what would you teach the people around you, if you could?


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Now, Where Were We?

It must be incredibly frustrating to lose one’s memory. We’ve all been there. It’s like when you’re having a pleasant conversation with a friend and something happens to distract you, and when you turn back to continue talking, you can’t remember what you were discussing.

For my mother, at almost 84 years of age, it’s gone far beyond. It started with the memory, then progressed to logic. For instance, last weekend I came down the stairs to find her trying to drag Alex into the next room by the hand. When I asked her what she was doing, she said he’d been bugging the hell out of her, screaming in her ear but now she was trying to get him into the next room to hook him up to his feeding pump.

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” she said. “I try ignoring him, but whenever I walk away he follows me.”

“So, why are you trying to drag him?” I asked.

“Because when I ask him, he won’t come with me,” she answered. “He won’t do anything I ask him.”

“So just walk away… he’ll follow you…”

I waited for her to get it, but she didn’t–not even when she walked into the room where his feeding pump was, and he followed her.

Most of the time, all I can do is roll my eyes.

Now, however, she’s in the hospital with pneumonia. They’re talking about letting her out on Wednesday, but her memory has begun to get so bad that she can’t remember what day it is. Not a good combination when she has meds to take.

I’m going to have to seriously start looking into retirement homes, before I end up in the hospital, sick with stress. That I’m going to have to figure out a way to look after her is precisely why I wanted to have more than one child: I didn’t expect two of them would probably never be independent, let alone unable to help with my care when I get to my mother’s age. Government and community run home care is going to be an even worse state than it is now; I’m at the tail end of the baby boom, and resources and funds will surely be depleted.

Now, where was I? Oh yes. Memory. If I leave my mother on her own I’m afraid she’ll under- or over-medicate herself. Just last weekend, she forgot it was still Saturday and she took Sunday’s pills as well. She needs supervision. There’s no way Alex would let her get a moment’s rest here – so what do I do? I’m only one person. I can ask my friend, John, to help out, but he has a life and a job. I need a babysitter for my mother.

The sandwich generation strikes again.


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Musical Memories

Music.

Have you ever heard a song on the radio that you haven’t heard in years, but that you once knew so well you could sing in your sleep? It’s fascinating to me the process in which a song like that comes back to me, note by note, lyric by lyric. I find myself singing along and remembering AS I SING. Whenever that happens, I can’t help but smile to myself at the sensation of knowing as I go.

The songs I remember from my childhood are the ones my parents listened to. I, at the time, was too young to discover anything for myself. This was before I had even been to a Disney movie, and it was long before home videos.

My mother and her best friend used to listen to Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdinck (who I’ve actually seen in concert as an adult and discovered he has an absolutely amazing voice, much to my surprise), and my dad listened to Chet Atkins. He loved the guitar.

What are your earliest memories of music? Are they memories of your own favorites, or someone else’s?


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What Do You Say To A Naked Lady?

Memories. They go back, if we’re lucky, to our early childhood. I remember waking up in the summer to hear my dad mowing the grass, or heading out to play golf. I remember playing with Barbies – I had this really cool miniature floor lamp that plugged in to a battery. I’d set up a living room in the 18″x18″x18″ cupboard in my parents’ coffee table for my dolls and turn on the light and close the door. Now that was exciting for about 30 seconds.

One of my earliest memories of television though, apart from the show “Laugh-In,” is a trailer for a movie, called What Do You Say To A Naked Lady? Thanks to Youtube, I can revisit that disturbing memory.

Allow me to share it with you:

What’s your earliest memory, disturbing or otherwise?


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JusJoJan 22 – Take Time

rose sky

Today, I’m a half a century old
Through the years, it’s true, I’ve been told
To take time with my nose
To oft’ sniff a rose
On this adage I’m most definitely sold.

Not quite a limerick, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

I think in the next half-century, (because that is surely how long I have left), I’m going to attempt not to fuss over things as much. Who needs perfectionism anyway? It is more important, after all, to take the time to appreciate the beauty that can be found in life’s imperfections. They are what makes things real and not manufactured.

Cheers to life, my friends. Live it to the fullest.

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Post on your site, and join Just Jot it January. The rules are easy!

1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!

P.S. If you missed my JusJoJan 21 installment, you can find it here on my fiction blog.


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JusJoJan 20 – Whoa!

I have love/hate relationship with those moments when I just stand back and go, “Whoa!” at something I’ve figured out after years of doing it wrong.

Today my “Whoa!” moment came to me concerning the operation of a car, which is something I’ve been doing for (I’m dating myself here) about 34 years. I was talking to the lady who manages the dry cleaner down the street, and during our conversation, we were discussing the inclement weather yesterday. She said she had been in a store for only a few minutes during the blizzard, and when she came out her windshield was already frozen so much that she had to scrape it off. That’s when I realized it.

I too, went into a store yesterday for a few minutes during the same snow storm, and when I came out, for the first time in all my years of winter driving, didn’t need to scrape the windshield. Why? Because for the first time in my life I drove to the store with the warm air blowing out at my feet and through the front-facing vents instead of the defrost, which warms up the windshield causing ice to form before I get back in. If the windshield is relatively cold all along, the snow doesn’t melt.

I’m wondering why in the name of all laziness have I believed since I was a novice driver, that if it’s cold out do I need to warm up the windshield? But that’s it! If I’m too lazy to brush the snow off when I first go out, instead of letting the warmth of the car do it, then I’ll have to either keep doing it, or waste gas letting the engine do it!

Whoa!

How I love that feeling: and how I hate having not thought of it before.

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Post on your site, and join Just Jot it January. The rules are easy!

1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!


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JusJoJan 4 – I Spy

“I spy with my little eye…”

It started out with colours, when I was a small child and progressed to “…something that begins with…” a letter of the alphabet when I was old enough to spell. It was a great way to pass the time on long drives.

I have since graduated from that delightful little game however. Sure, I played it with the kids when they were little. But around the time when my eldest son was born, my ex and I started playing another game in the car. The first one to guess the name of the band playing the song on the radio got a point. The game would start when we got in the car and wouldn’t end until we arrived at our destination. New trip, new game.

Since then I’ve started playing it with my eldest. At nineteen years of age, he’s almost able to beat me, especially when the music is of the newer variety. It’s taught him to appreciate the music that is the same age as he is and older, which is great as far as I’m concerned. I thank heaven to this day he’s never been interested in rap – possibly because of years of listening to his dad and I play “The Game.” It’s amazing how far a little competition can go.

When was the last time you played a silly game with your family and/or friends, and what was it? Let’s have some fun today, and teach each other a game or two!

Post on your site, and join Just Jot it January. The rules are easy!


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EDDD 4: Ye Olde Advent Calendar

I’ve had one of these every year since I was a child.

I used to be the only one in the house with one, now every year I buy four – one each for the kids,

oversat

and one for me.

I don’t know… Apart from the obvious miniscule sugar rush each morning, there’s something inherently comforting in hunting down the right number for the date, and then popping open the little door. And if you’re lucky, the chocolates didn’t all come unglued during shipping, and they’re not all sitting down at the bottom of the packaging.

So far, so good.

 

Blog post of December 4th, in honour of Every Damn Day December. Check it out! It’s not too late to join in!