The day our world split in two was supposed to be an ordinary Sunday. I would try to sneak in a run before church. After participating in youth-hosted liturgy with his second-grade classmates, Paul and I would go to a preparation session for his upcoming First Eucharist. As it turned out, fate had other plans for us.
My eyes fluttered open a few minutes before 6 a.m. I lingered in a bed a bit. Per usual, we had nighttime visitors. Gus lay on one side of me, Paul on the other. My peaceful morning reverie broke when suddenly, Paul began to make choking sounds. I was sure he was about to vomit and roused Mark to grab the trash can.
It soon dawned on me that the sounds Paul was making were not normal at all; they were rhythmic. Still groggy, Mark and I fumbled to turn a light. Finally, I reached the switch, and we took in the sight of Paul lying in our bed, convulsing, foaming at the mouth. We watched helplessly, powerless to stop it. Paul had wet himself in the process, and Mark transferred him to the bathroom floor, laid him on his side.
Mark and I panicked. What to do? Take him to the ER? Call 911? Yes, definitely call 911. Mark stayed with Paul while I tearfully spoke to the dispatcher. Soon our bedroom was filled with a variety of rescue personnel.
Paul, looking tiny, helpless and dazed, stared up at the seven or so strange men surrounding him.
"How long was he seizing," one asked.
Interesting question. It felt like an eternity, but I think it was only 90 seconds to two minutes.
My parents came quickly to stay with Gus and Ben. For Gus, the whole thing was a spectacle. Firefighters, a fire truck, an ambulance! Ben took it as only an 11-year-old boy can. "This is going to ruin my whole day!" he wailed, tears springing to his eyes.
As I prepared to board the ambulance for a ride to the hospital with my son, I was slightly dismayed at the mundane thoughts my brain could still produce. Should I grab a bra? I'm going to want a bra. I can't wear green socks with these black pants.
Numbly, I stroked Paul's head as we rode to Theda Clark. I could barely form thoughts to respond to the EMT's polite, benign chatter.
Once at the hospital, everyone took good care of us. I would have expected no less, but Paul remained a superstar through finger pokes, blood draws and an IV insertion. We were taken to a room for a CT scan. Through it all, Paul was responsive but not at all himself. He looked utterly wiped out, complained his head hurt. There was no trace of my funny, silly boy.
Fairly quickly we learned that all of Paul's tests were normal. Thank God. The CT scan ruled out all the major causes of seizure: brain bleeds, tumors.
I knew Paul was coming around when he quietly asked me, caressing the stuffed animals we'd grabbed, "What do my owl, my hippo, and me have in common?"
"We all have butts!" he said, breaking into soft peals of laughter.
He was referencing TriBond, a game we'd played the night before. (What do rifles, cigarettes and rams have in common? They all have butts!) Mark had chosen to read that game card specifically because he knew it would make Paul laugh. That was before. Before our lives split into before and after.
It was astonishing to me how quickly our time at the hospital passed. Two hours later and we were on our way, a follow-up appointment set with our doctor's office. I know it's not the way things work, but part of me was screaming, whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's keep him here for observation. I don't want to see the bill, but let's keep him here.
Once home Paul was completely back to normal, walking, talking, playing, eating. It was hard to reconcile the jarring images of only hours before with the average 8-year-old behavior before my eyes.
This experience is still so new. We're in after now. After is when you realize that though you've always felt so, you're not immune to scary things happening. I've learned a few things already. Daytime isn't so bad. During the day, I can watch. Nighttime is another story. At night, I can't stop picturing the events of the morning. Paul slept next to me last night so I could maintain my vigilence. I worried every time I felt him twitch.
It's strange co-existing with the normal and abnormal. Paul remains utterly himself. You would have no idea anything had transpired. On Tuesday night, though, we will need to let him sleep only a few hours so he will be sleep-deprived for his Wednesday morning EEG.
The EEG will tell us one of two things. Something could be abnormal, in which case he'd need to see a pediatric neurologist and begin treatment. Not good. Probably most likely, everything will be normal, and we won't know what caused this. Still not good. Neither, however, is awful. We will survive.
I suppose life returns to normal after these things. Eventually, I will become more comfortable letting Paul out of my sight. Certainly I will have to let him sleep solo and have faith that nothing awful will befall him. And yet, I don't think I can go back. To before. When bad things only happened to other people, when everything felt quite secure in retrospect.
For each of your children, for every day that goes by without incident, count your blessings. I know I will.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
Coloring outside the lines
As I sat in the kitchen with Gus, I felt my back tense, my heart rate accelerate ever so slightly, I pinched the bridge of my nose and struggled to maintain composure. Yes, we were having creative differences over how he should decorate his Valentine's Day mailbox.
Gus wanted to style it in his own way. I had taped red and pink construction paper to an oatmeal container and cut out a hole in the top. His little hand gripped a marker, poised to heedlessly put down whatever drawing came into his head. And it probably had nothing to do with hearts, I'll tell you that much.
I had to battle my control-freak tendencies in a major way. I think I actually employed some deep breathing to stop myself from commandeering the whole project and imposing my will.
Even as I was experiencing it, I knew I was being ridiculous. What does it matter, and what would it mean if I'd gotten my way? He wanted to do his own thing, and there was no reason for me to stop him. Yet, I had this picture in mind, this picture of perfection. How silly is it, though? I can just see it. Wow, Gus, what an awesome Valentine's Day box YOUR MOM made. She really can go online and follow some instructions.
Gus loves to draw and color, and thank God for it. Imaginative play is not a natural for me, but I can happily sit down with him and take up some colored pencils or crayons. I adore this time together. Hilariously, my youngest sometimes emulates the words I occasionally use. "This isn't my best wok [work]," he'll declare.
Inevitably, Gus creates something cool that he sees in his mind, while I take an illustration from a book or a picture from online and copy it. G thinks this is pretty impressive. But really, almost any adult can copy a picture. If you asked me to draw my own interpretation of something the way he does, I'd be lost.
Paul is the same way. He actually craves indoor recess. All he needs is a notebook and a pencil so he can happily sketch whatever is his latest obsession: birds, Greek warriors, maybe a character from his Disney Infinity game.
All of this resonated with me when we took the boys to see The Lego Movie. It took me by surprise. The filmmakers could have so easily phoned it in and still made lots of money. I mean, it's Lego. Parents will take their kids either way. Instead it was unexpectedly poignant. It was chockfull of humor and so many sight gags, it would take multiple viewings to catch it all.
I wouldn't dream of spoiling any of the major plot points, but it's not giving away too much to say it had a great message. Everyone has potential, and anyone can turn him or herself into something special.
I know it's right to let my kids follow their own paths, even though sometimes it's hard not to impose on my kids my ideas of what's aesthetically pleasing. Pablo Picasso once said, “Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up.”
I fear I've lost most of my artistic instincts, but my kids blessedly still have theirs. Each one has his own beautiful mind. Ben yearns to learn about everything, while Paul takes one subject and wants to learn everything about it. Gus, well, I'm not sure yet. If his mind is like what he puts out into the world, it's cacophonous but filled to the brim with ideas and creativity.
It may take some effort, but I intend to let those beautiful minds roam free, staying far away from adult conformity for as long as possible.
 |
| More like what I had in mind for Gus's box ... |
I had to battle my control-freak tendencies in a major way. I think I actually employed some deep breathing to stop myself from commandeering the whole project and imposing my will.
 |
| What we settled on |
Even as I was experiencing it, I knew I was being ridiculous. What does it matter, and what would it mean if I'd gotten my way? He wanted to do his own thing, and there was no reason for me to stop him. Yet, I had this picture in mind, this picture of perfection. How silly is it, though? I can just see it. Wow, Gus, what an awesome Valentine's Day box YOUR MOM made. She really can go online and follow some instructions.
 |
| Some of Gus's best wok |
Inevitably, Gus creates something cool that he sees in his mind, while I take an illustration from a book or a picture from online and copy it. G thinks this is pretty impressive. But really, almost any adult can copy a picture. If you asked me to draw my own interpretation of something the way he does, I'd be lost.
Paul is the same way. He actually craves indoor recess. All he needs is a notebook and a pencil so he can happily sketch whatever is his latest obsession: birds, Greek warriors, maybe a character from his Disney Infinity game.
 |
| Paul's output from a winter full of indoor recess |
 |
| My drawing with Google Images as my inspiration |
I wouldn't dream of spoiling any of the major plot points, but it's not giving away too much to say it had a great message. Everyone has potential, and anyone can turn him or herself into something special.
I know it's right to let my kids follow their own paths, even though sometimes it's hard not to impose on my kids my ideas of what's aesthetically pleasing. Pablo Picasso once said, “Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up.”
I fear I've lost most of my artistic instincts, but my kids blessedly still have theirs. Each one has his own beautiful mind. Ben yearns to learn about everything, while Paul takes one subject and wants to learn everything about it. Gus, well, I'm not sure yet. If his mind is like what he puts out into the world, it's cacophonous but filled to the brim with ideas and creativity.
It may take some effort, but I intend to let those beautiful minds roam free, staying far away from adult conformity for as long as possible.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
The discipline dilemma
I can imagine my cocksure younger self wondering what could be so hard about disciplining kids. I knew where my beliefs fell on the spectrum of parenting techniques. When, and if (after all my kids would come out perfectly socialized, rarely committing any bad deeds), I would sit them in timeout. Easy. Next?
On my myriad list of unexpectedly difficult parenting tasks, discipline ranks pretty high. That timeout I was so sure would work? Not so simple. In the early days, my biggest misconception was that my kids would actually cooperate for it. My boys, especially my youngest, were close to 3 before they would sit without me physically restraining them. Often, my patience with the task of holding onto a writhing 2-1/2-year-old would die long before their willpower to break free.
I've long felt utterly ineffectual in this area. At night I pray for guidance in becoming a loving but effective disciplinarian, but the skill seems to elude me still. I feel like I should be at a level of consistency in which my boys know that if they transgress, there will be a consequence, and this should, in the long run, lead to fewer transgressions. Um, we're not there.
Part of my problem is that I can't decide what kind of disciplinarian I want to be. By default, I'm kind of a softie; I'd rather be the good cop. I prefer not to haul out the big punishment guns. But then inevitably one of the boys does something to really tick me off, and suddenly I swing way out the other way, doling out penalties I don't even intend to keep. It should be no wonder to me that we are in this place.
At our boys' ages, with the exception of Gus, we've kind of reached the end of the usefulness of timeouts. It's time to find the next generation of solutions to behavior problems.
I attended one parenting workshop in which the leader noted that all kids have things that are important to them. Those things are their currency. If kids aren't meeting expectations, they can't have what's important to them.
Certainly, I've used this tack, but not very effectively. This is when I start to break all the parenting rules - threats, cajoling, bargaining, I've sunk to it all. It's awfully easy to blurt out in the heat of the moment, "OK, you're off videogames for the next two days!"
One my favorite parenting suggestions came from a book I was reading in hopes of finding strategies for Gus. The book is entitled "Parenting Children with ADHD: 10 Lessons that Medicine Can't Teach."
The author, Vincent Monastra, recommends households implement a parent-child non-aggression pact. The first part of the pact is that "it is not okay for anyone in the family to yell, threaten, hit, tease or be mean to another family member."
The second part of the pact is "if a family member says or does something that is hurtful, when they cool off, they will apologize and do something to make up."
The rule applies to everyone in the family, including parents. A make-up gesture could be anything from writing a note of apology to doing an extra chore to making the family a snack.
"In life, when we do (or say) something to another person that is hurtful, we owe that person an apology," Monastra writes. "It's also a good idea to try to make amends."
I love this idea of making amends, and the goal of setting up my kids for healthy relationships in the future appeals to me immensely.
"In healthy relationships, we don't take something away from our friend or partner if they upset us or we upset them," the author states. "Not if we want an enduring relationship. Instead, we offer an apology and make up. Why not teach that to your children?"
I read about the non-aggression pact idea more than two months ago. No, I have not implemented it with perfect consistency. Like everything in parenting, it's been a learning curve. When I'm really angry, it's not as gratifying to say, "Let me cool down and think about what we're going to do about this."
I'm trying, though, and I hope to only get better at it. On Sunday night, Ben and Paul were playing a rough game. Ben made an impulsive decision and hurt Paul. Badly. Paul was screaming; I was irate. I summoned all my patience, though, and told Ben I'd think about his consequence and let him know when I was calm.
Instead of taking Ben off videogames for a week, which may have been my first instinct, Mark and I decided that Ben would need to make it up to Paul by apologizing and doing something nice for him. Last night, Ben read two chapters of Return of the Indian to Paul.
Ultimately, I want to shape the boys into calm and rational human beings who know how to effectively handle conflict. I think this strategy will help us get there, so I'm going to try to discipline my own inconsistent self into following it faithfully.
I'm curious, though, what strategies work in your household?
On my myriad list of unexpectedly difficult parenting tasks, discipline ranks pretty high. That timeout I was so sure would work? Not so simple. In the early days, my biggest misconception was that my kids would actually cooperate for it. My boys, especially my youngest, were close to 3 before they would sit without me physically restraining them. Often, my patience with the task of holding onto a writhing 2-1/2-year-old would die long before their willpower to break free.
 |
| Ben makes amends to Paul. |
I've long felt utterly ineffectual in this area. At night I pray for guidance in becoming a loving but effective disciplinarian, but the skill seems to elude me still. I feel like I should be at a level of consistency in which my boys know that if they transgress, there will be a consequence, and this should, in the long run, lead to fewer transgressions. Um, we're not there.
Part of my problem is that I can't decide what kind of disciplinarian I want to be. By default, I'm kind of a softie; I'd rather be the good cop. I prefer not to haul out the big punishment guns. But then inevitably one of the boys does something to really tick me off, and suddenly I swing way out the other way, doling out penalties I don't even intend to keep. It should be no wonder to me that we are in this place.
At our boys' ages, with the exception of Gus, we've kind of reached the end of the usefulness of timeouts. It's time to find the next generation of solutions to behavior problems.
I attended one parenting workshop in which the leader noted that all kids have things that are important to them. Those things are their currency. If kids aren't meeting expectations, they can't have what's important to them.
Certainly, I've used this tack, but not very effectively. This is when I start to break all the parenting rules - threats, cajoling, bargaining, I've sunk to it all. It's awfully easy to blurt out in the heat of the moment, "OK, you're off videogames for the next two days!"
One my favorite parenting suggestions came from a book I was reading in hopes of finding strategies for Gus. The book is entitled "Parenting Children with ADHD: 10 Lessons that Medicine Can't Teach."
The author, Vincent Monastra, recommends households implement a parent-child non-aggression pact. The first part of the pact is that "it is not okay for anyone in the family to yell, threaten, hit, tease or be mean to another family member."
The second part of the pact is "if a family member says or does something that is hurtful, when they cool off, they will apologize and do something to make up."
The rule applies to everyone in the family, including parents. A make-up gesture could be anything from writing a note of apology to doing an extra chore to making the family a snack.
"In life, when we do (or say) something to another person that is hurtful, we owe that person an apology," Monastra writes. "It's also a good idea to try to make amends."
I love this idea of making amends, and the goal of setting up my kids for healthy relationships in the future appeals to me immensely.
"In healthy relationships, we don't take something away from our friend or partner if they upset us or we upset them," the author states. "Not if we want an enduring relationship. Instead, we offer an apology and make up. Why not teach that to your children?"
I read about the non-aggression pact idea more than two months ago. No, I have not implemented it with perfect consistency. Like everything in parenting, it's been a learning curve. When I'm really angry, it's not as gratifying to say, "Let me cool down and think about what we're going to do about this."
I'm trying, though, and I hope to only get better at it. On Sunday night, Ben and Paul were playing a rough game. Ben made an impulsive decision and hurt Paul. Badly. Paul was screaming; I was irate. I summoned all my patience, though, and told Ben I'd think about his consequence and let him know when I was calm.
Instead of taking Ben off videogames for a week, which may have been my first instinct, Mark and I decided that Ben would need to make it up to Paul by apologizing and doing something nice for him. Last night, Ben read two chapters of Return of the Indian to Paul.
Ultimately, I want to shape the boys into calm and rational human beings who know how to effectively handle conflict. I think this strategy will help us get there, so I'm going to try to discipline my own inconsistent self into following it faithfully.
I'm curious, though, what strategies work in your household?
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