Monday, August 24, 2009

What a difference a day makes

Right now the kids are spitting (of the phhhhbbbbtttttt variety) into the sunlight that's streaming into the playroom through the window. Why, you may wonder, are they doing this? In the words of T, "Look! Snow! It's spit snow! We're spitting SNOW!" Frankly, I think it's all a clever ploy to try to be able to spit without getting into trouble, and it's SO not working. I'm such a party pooper.

Saturday started off poorly and went downhill from there. Sunday was so much better. Actually, once T got some sleep, he was like a new person. So on Sunday, we headed to the pool as soon as it opened with no further issues. That afternoon while S took a nap, R stayed home with her and T and I did some errands. I love my one on one time with T - there's a totally different dynamic to it than when my attention is split (usually ineffectively) between him and S. That's also true of my one on one time with S. If I could just learn to let that be my happy place as they try to kill each other over who's looking at whose train, train track, favorite book, stuffed animal, piece of string, or carpet fiber I'd be in good shape. I'm, um, still working on that.

On Monday, our landlady came down to make sure we were all okay after the spectacular meltdown she saw on Saturday. I think she also wanted to make sure the house was still standing and that neither T nor R or I had bruises or signs of abuse. Good times!

I know that by now I should expect bad days like this from time to time, but my heart just hurts that as a mother, my child is suffering somehow (referring to not being able to calm himself down, not the injustice of being denied something he wants) and I'm powerless to really be able to help him at all. I have such high hopes that once we get back to the States, there will be more resources available and we can find someone to figure out what's going on and then help us. I'm pretty positive it's a Sensory Processing Disorder, but it would be nice to know for sure.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Didn't someone say there'd be days like this?

Today has been (in the words of the timeless Alexander book) a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Here's why: after a solid week of having to wake the kids up so they could get to preschool around 8:30 (I say around because rarely do we make it there at 8:30), this morning T decides to be up before 7 am. Normally, this would be no big deal since I've been getting up much earlier myself since I finished school, but last night I stayed up way, way too late goofing around and wasting time on Facebook and associated apps (darn you, FarmTown). I think R was looking forward to sleeping in and I know I was, so to have a four year old scream, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! ARE YOU AWAKE DOWN THERE?!?!?" wasn't in my top five ways of how to be woken up/awakened/roused/startled out of a very comfy sleep. Add that to the fact that the hot weather streak of about two weeks finally broke yesterday which made for some gooooooood sleepin'. Then add to that Friday is the one day I don't go to aerobics during the week, so nothing was sore last night, so I slept blissfully and muscle ache free until the piercing sound of T shouting at the top of his very loud lungs ended that.

And that was how our terrible, horrible, no good, very very bad day began. After that, T and R fought over how much cereal he poured into his bowl (waaaaay too much), how much milk he wanted to add to that (way, waaaaaaay too much - T's cereal to milk ratio needs to be twice the milk to the amount of cereal for some reason), and then they fought over just about everything else. T was too loud, too rough, playing too aggressively with S and on and on an on. Trying to distract him into something positive, R asked T what he wanted to do today. The answer? "Nuffin! I don't want to do NUFFIN" Oh, good lord.

Finally we mentioned pool - we were thinking indoor since it was almost noon and it' wasn't even 70 outside yet but T and S want to go to the outdoor pool. The problem with that outdoor pool is that the water feels cold on a hot day and positively frigid on a cooler day. T, with his lack of body fat, is generally blue and shivering after about 20 minutes in the water and has actually gotten so cold that he's asked to leave and go home before. Which, if you know T, is a pretty astounding statement. We decided to let the kids choose which pool in the long run and I got the kids ready while R went to change into his suit, and then he loaded the kids into the car while I changed. Unfortunately, and this is when it all headed downhill I think, I couldn't find the pool bag with my cover up and assorted pool paraphernalia. So while we were dashing around trying to figure out where that was, the kids were having a scream fest in the car. When I say scream fest, I mean it sounds like someone is in there with them and is shoving bamboo shoots under their tiny little fingernails while pulling their lips over the tops of the heads while branding them with a hot poker iron. Our new neighbors must love living next door to us!

So we warn them that they need to stop screaming or we aren't going to the pool at all. I am just terrified that someone is going to call social services or the equivalent here because our kids scream like terrorized banshees so often. And, sure enough, as soon as we are out of eyesight, the screaming begins again. So, I walk out and break the bad news - no pool. T has a meltdown equivalent to the one at the bowling alley. R, to his well deserved credit, handles the situation so well. He's firm about sticking to the consequence, but very gentle and understanding with T and his level of what I can only label as hysteria.

Fast forward to 20 minutes later after R has carried T to his room so he can have the rest of his tantrum in a safer environment, and T comes bolting down the stairs, out the door, and down the driveway with R in hot pursuit. R makes sure T isn't in the road or in danger and then backs off since T is now screaming "no! noooooo! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!' as loud as he freaking can. R carries him back inside and the screaming continues, when I notice tat S is waving to someone. So I walk out onto the patio to see , and it's our land lady who asks me what is going on. I start to tell her about the pool and the screaming and the meltdown, but it's just too much for me to deal with apparently, and I burst into tears right about the time that T breaks free from R and comes tearing outside again. Our landlady, herself a grandmother, tries to go and talk to him because our kids just love her, but T is having none of it. She finally gives up and walks off so that we can try and get him calmed down. About 40 minutes after that, we finally get him calmed down and into the house, where he falls asleep on the couch. I am seriously thinking about asking for a Xanax prescription. Something's gotta give.