Summer Without Focalin

Back in January at Noah's well check, our pediatrician became concerned when she realized Noah's growth has slowed tremendously, even a little dangerously, since starting Focalin two years ago (Focalin is a medication Noah takes for ADHD symptoms).  This is a typical side effect of the medication, and one I was worried about when he started it.  Noah was already on the 'pretty skinny' side, and I didn't feel as though he had much growth to sacrifice to the medication.

We really had a tough time deciding to put Noah on medication, but it became very evident that he was not going to survive his school career (or life, for that matter) if we didn't do something.  We fought the decision for quite a while, and it was one of the contributing factors in our delay in having him diagnosed.  If we weren't going to medicate our son, why did we need a diagnosis?  This goes in the "Who says parenting is easy?" category.  

We went from "We'll NEVER medicate our child!  Only bad parents do that!" to having our child on three medications--an anti-depressant for anxiety/OCD/depression symptoms, and two medications for ADHD.  The differences we've been able to see in Noah have been amazing.  I hate that my child is on so many medications, but as a friend pointed out, if Noah were diabetic, or asthmatic (as Avery is), I wouldn't give necessary medications a second thought.  My son deserves to be able to function, he deserves to be able to concentrate, he deserves to be the best he can be.  And it just so happens that medication helps with that.

But now we've run into the "My son also deserves to grow" issue.  He's behind his peers in growth, and seldom has an appetite.  He knows he's short, he knows he's skinny.  It's hurting his self esteem.  Therein lies the problem:  Which does he deserve more, to grow or to be able to function?  Why does it have to be one or the other?

Unmedicated, Noah has walked into oncoming traffic.  He does not see danger, or comprehend consequences for his actions.  He cannot think through problems or process the next step.  His organization suffers even more than usual (I keep hoping that maybe some day something good will come out of his OCD, but so far, his room is still a mess!), he can't complete tasks, and he literally has almost no self control.  Without medication, Noah is impulsive, constantly moving, and nothing settles him.  He is a bull in a china shop, knocking over the entire cookie display at Wegmans.

All of that sounds like a mom just making excuses for her ill-behaved child, doesn't it?

I'm not making excuses, I've lived it.  I've watched him to try to sit still, try to keep quiet, try to be "a good boy," and he can't.  It's painful.

However, per our pediatrician's recommendation, and with the blessing of Noah's psychiatrist, we are trying the summer without any Focalin.  We are hoping Noah will grow, even if it's just a little.  We are stuffing him full of whole milk and anything else we can get into him. He's taking protein supplements, and most days, I'm not even watching the fat content of what he eats.  This goes in the "It makes me feel even more like the World's Worst Mother" category.

Along with getting Noah to grow, we're also hoping he will learn, as much as he can, some responsibility and self control himself.  I don't want him medicated for life, and there are some things he just needs to learn to do on his own.  I want him to see that he IS capable of these things, and to have some pride in himself.

So far, I feel like we're surviving.  Yesterday he paced so much and his mouth moved so fast I thought my head would be spin.  Even with sending him outside at regular intervals, he still has energy to burn.  Even when I allow him some computer time  (so I can have a break!), the poor kid still can't settle himself.  Keeping Noah occupied is a full time job!  I will say this--I am seeing some maturity since we started the Focalin almost 2 years ago.  There are things he's able to do now that he could never have done then, and I'm proud of him for that.

I think pulling him off the medication for the summer will be good for all of us (ask me that question again next week....)--us being able to see what he can do, and him being able to see it in himself, also.

How I Messed Up Parenting

We all have bad days as moms.  At the end of any given day, I can easily tick off numerous ways I've messed up (my kids....), running out of fingers and toes to count on.  Most of the time, I call it a successful day if they are clothed, fed, somewhat clean, happy.... And alive...  We can pat ourselves on the back and congratulate each other for making it through another day.

Then are the instances when we mess up royally.  We snap at our kids, say things we later need to apologize for, forget our kids at school (or wonder why they are home early, having forgotten it's only a half day...), rush through the day without reading a treasured book, forget to take time to play with our kids--you know what I'm talking about.  It becomes 'one of those days.'

Oh, and then there are the times we try to "help" and just dig deeper holes, like I did....

As you know, over the past 10 months, we've lost two pets: Gretta, Noah's dog, and Sophie, my cat.  That part is important to the story.

Shawn and I were taking Avery to school the other morning, Shawn having taken the day off to join us for a field trip.  We passed our vet and Avery yelled, "That's where we took Fosie and Gwetta so they could go to heaven!"  Oh geez.

I decided to venture into damage control territory, and just really GOT.  IT.  ALL. WRONG.

"Well Avery, see, sometimes we just take our pets there for shots, or to get better, or just for check ups, like when we take you to your doctor!"

I could hear Shawn yelling at me under his breath, "STOP HELPING!!!  STOP!!!  LEAVE IT ALONE!!!!  SHUT.  UP!!!!!" and giving me looks out the corner of his eye while he tried his best to stay on the road as I messed up parenting.

Naturally, when we arrived at preschool a few minutes later, Avery announced to his teacher that he's going to heaven next time he goes to his doctor.

Yeesh....  Now I have to either hope he will forget this before his next allergist visit, or figure out how to explain it to our doctor....

Reality Check

Several months ago, Shawn and I finally came to the conclusion that yes, after a few years of going back and forth on the decision, we really do want to add another child to our family. We've told our close friends who will pray for us, Noah and Avery, and our new addition, on this journey.  We've been pricing baby things again, strolling through the aisles of strollers, car seats, cribs, clothing and toys...  Fantasizing about what Child #3 will be like, whether we will have Daddy's Little Princess or another prince, what the baby's personality will be like, what she or he will look like--and so on. We've been making plans to add on to the house, and pay off the Jeep so we can up-size my vehicle.  If we have a girl, she's already named.  A boy--well, we're hoping that if we tell God we've run out of good boys' names....  Anyway.  :)

We planned to start trying this fall when the boys go back to school, and it's been a source of excitement for us.  Every time we see a baby, we both crumple into gooey puddles.  My friend lovingly and understandingly allows me to snuggle (and sniff) her adorable, happy seven month old.  Shawn and I smile at passing babies, congratulating new moms, while cooing, ohhing and ahhing at their babies.  We've watched Noah's riding instructor grow round with child, smiling, and grateful for her happiness and good health.  Oh, we've got the Baby Bug bad!

Foolishly, we thought it would be easier this time.  Even with my current health issues, much of it has felt under control, and we've gone along our merry way, planning and preparing.  After everything we went through with Avery's conception and pregnancy, we were praying for a break on this one.

Then we hit a bump in the road.  And all I want to do is cry.

My new doctor has been running many, many tests, and one of them was my progesterone level.  When the results came back, she explained to me that normal for a woman my age would be 200-300.  Then she showed me my level--12.  That's right, TWELVE.  Progesterone is the 'pregnancy hormone.' It's the one that helps you get pregnant, and stay pregnant.

Sooo.....  With a level like mine, pregnancy would be a miracle.  Staying pregnant would be an even bigger miracle.  Both Shawn and I had some tears over that reality.  It was hard to hear, especially after one miscarriage already.  It's very scary.  Even the mere thought itself of losing another child is painful.

The good news is my doctor said it's fixable.  With proper (natural) hormone therapy and supplements, we should have me on the road to recovery within a year.  That is optimistic, but possible.  I have begun the therapy, so we're on our way.  Another baby is still a possibility.

I'm doing my best to not see a down side to this.  Okay, so it delays things for a bit.  That will give us a little longer to get things in order and prepare better.  Then there's the side of me that wonders if this is God telling us a third child shouldn't be an option for us, or just flat out isn't.  As a Believer, I know this is all part of His plan, and it's up to me to only follow Him and wait it out while praying.

I'm not good at waiting, though.  I'm impatient.  I want to be better now.  I don't want it to take months, a year, or more.  I want it to be days, weeks.  My arms ache to hold my baby, to know the child I want so badly.

This time does give me better appreciation for the two miracles I do already have.  They fill my arms and my heart with love and joy.  Maybe that's the point.

Mother's Day

I know with a title like that, I should be reflecting on motherhood, but instead I've found myself reflecting more on my marriage, just because of how my husband 'does' Mother's Day.

Some days I don't know if I'm just plain spoiled by Shawn, or if he just "gets it."  I'm thinking most likely, BOTH.  

Is it my husband?  Is it me?  Is it us together as a couple?

Would he be this wonderful to a woman who isn't me?

Is it years of me, him and us not getting it right, and finally figuring it out?

Is it just because we've both been hurt so much by life, and by others, that we can truly appreciate each other?

These are the sorts of things I ponder.

See, I don't remember my father playing outside, or really, anywhere, with me.  Even when he was home, he wasn't there, if you understand my meaning.  I don't remember my parents being loving toward each other--even as a child, it looked forced to me.  My father was always doing something wrong, or just wasn't doing things right (according to my mother, and the general vibe in our house).  Shawn doesn't remember his father playing with him either, and domestic violence was an issue in his house growing up.  Neither of us grew up with good models for marriage, or even parenthood.

"They" say that most girls marry a man who is exactly like her father.  For the record, I did not.  I did a complete 180.  And everyday I'm grateful I did.  Everyday I'm glad I married not just the opposite of my father, but Shawn.  "They" also say you can tell how a man will treat his wife by how he treats his mom.  And you know what?  Shawn treated his mom like a queen.

This year will be our thirteenth wedding anniversary.  Have we always been this way?  Oh, absolutely not!  It's taken us years to get here, and I know we still have further to go, more work to do.  But we're headed there.  Shawn appreciates me, loves me, cares for me, cherishes me--and he doesn't tell me, he shows me.  As one of my best friends constantly reminds me, I'm a regular princess, and Shawn treats me as such.  The poor guy canNOT say no to me.  If I want something, he will beg me to not use my womanly wiles in my favor ("womanly wiles"--ha!  All I ever really have to do is say "Please?").  It takes work to get to the point we're finally at, and more work to get to where we're going.

I spent this Mother's Day camping with Noah, some of his fellow Scouts, and their moms--a Mother's Day mother/son campout!  Sigh. I really didn't want to go, and quite truthfully, it did not start out well.  I did not want to disappoint Noah, and I knew I would be missing out on a very good moment with Noah. And as it progressed though, things went very well.  I'm very proud of how mature and independent Noah was throughout the weekend.  We hiked, we played wiffleball (moms won!), slept in tents (because those were actually more preferable than the cabins--ick!), pottied in disgusting bathrooms (which were actually better than the ones up the road near the cabins!), survived the boys' cooking, managed to fall asleep even though there were incredibly loud frogs (and boys), and made it through the weekend without showering.  And you know what else?  WE HAD FUN.

So, how did I go from my husband is great to a Mother's Day campout and back to my husband is great?  Oh man, if you could only see inside my brain....  HA!  Well....

Remember I said Shawn knows how to treat a woman?  This is how he showed up at the campsite to pick up the Scout trailer:

Yes, he arrived with flowers, and Starbucks coffee for all the moms.  Ohhh, he's good!  He and Avery also had a hand-painted "#1 Mom" t-shirt for me.  Once we got home, it was "Mom's Choice" for the rest of the day.  We played with the kids in the backyard, he cleaned the house for me, we had lunch at Denny's, and ice cream for dinner.  

I don't have the answers to the questions above, but I do know that I've got a winner.  Mother's Day was a treat for me, and it always has been.  My husband knows how to treat me--a woman--and it's not just on Mother's Day.  He knows how to treat me as his wife, and the mother of his children, every day of the year (okay, just so he doesn't sound 100% golden, we do have our arguments!).

Thank You

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE WOMAN WHO PAID FOR MY COFFEE THIS MORNING:

I followed you for a bit, hoping to get a chance to pull up next to you at the stoplight, or maybe in a parking lot, just to say THANK YOU.  When you paid for my coffee this morning, you helped make my morning a little easier.  You really don't quite understand the kindness you did for me.

You see, after weeks of agonizing over it, and knowing it was time, I was taking my 18 year old cat, Sophie, to the vet for the last time after I dropped my toddler at preschool.  Making the decision was not easy, and the drive into town this morning was the longest one since taking our dog for the same visit back in September.  I'm not supposed to have Starbucks anymore, but I really needed something to help steel myself against the coming moments.

Sophie and I have been together since college--eighteen long years--and I can't imagine what the days ahead will be like without her.  I miss her already.  She will always be Mommy's Sweet Pookie, I will always remember how she used to try to steal my roast beef sandwiches, and growled whenever I fed her canned chicken.  It will be odd not going into the sunroom first thing each morning to check on her, and make sure the night was kind to her, and checking each night to make sure she was tucked in and comfortable.  It will be weird not checking baskets and bags for her as I pass by them, watching her try to stuff herself into the smallest baskets imaginable, and getting in Noah's face while we eat dinner.  The past few months have been hard for her, with seizures and convulsions, sinus infections and bloody noses, and even a bit of what we realized was kitty dementia.  Knowing how vibrant, playful and loving Sophie was as a kitten, it's been hard to watch her grow old and stop taking care of herself.

I knew it was time for me to make sure Sophie no longer suffered, that she have some dignity, and for me to be merciful to the cat who has given me so much.

I was impatient while I sat behind you in my car, wanting to just get the day over with.  I'm sorry for that.  I knew I was in for a long day, and I just didn't have the patience for anything or anyone this morning.  Thank you for reminding me that it's not always about me, and thank you for making my morning a little easier.

Self Worth

*I started this several days ago.  I will publish the finished and polished piece once it is finished and polished!*

I'm speaking this Saturday....  And I haven't written my little talk yet, so here I am, procrastinating!  Actually, I'm really hoping this will get my creative juices flowing.  I've put it off because the subject is Self Worth--something I'm not sure I really know too much about, quite honestly.  But here I am!  This truly is a very disjointed, free-thinking/free association rough draft, so please pardon the mess!  I'm really worried this is going to end up sounding like some L'Oreal commercial!

Anyway.

A few weeks ago, we started planning our Spring Tea at the center.  This year's will be a fundraiser, but it will still be the same forum as in years past--except that I'm speaking.  About self worth. 

WAIT.  WHAT?!?!?!!

I feel so un-knowledgable about this subject, so why I am writing about it?  Well, that part was up to God.  When one of my mentors from the center called to ask me to speak, for once I was speechless.  I really didn't know what to say, other than "I'll have to think about it."  My mind was racing with the Enemy's words: "You're not worthy of such an honor!  What could you possibly have to say that would be important enough to share with others?  Surely they've got someone better in mind!"  I know my mentor heard all of that in my hesitation; she gently and kindly told me to pray on it, and we hung up.  I immediately texted one of my best friends with, "WHAT IS SHE THINKING???" and told her what had just transpired.  Sharon texted back, "That you're worthy and awesome and capable of doing this!  She wouldn't have asked you if she didn't think so!  DUH."  OHMYGOSH, the pressure.

This is what I heard next: A big, booming voice, telling me gently that I AM worthy of this honor, and that is exactly what I would speak about--being worthy.  Being worthy of Christ's grace and mercy, Christ's love, Christ's sacrifice.  Just plain being worthy of HIM.  Then He told me to be sure to call my mentor back and make sure she knew I was saying yes.  *sigh*  It's comical to me when Sharon and God echo each other.  Well, sometimes it is--other times it isn't!!--because sometimes they're telling me things I'm really not ready to hear.  LALALALALALA....

Really, God?  Self worth?  Are ya sure?

Oh, if you could only really understand the irony here!  I have begged and pleaded with God for a simpler topic, something I am more knowledgable of, but He isn't having it.  I then resorted to procrastinating, but now my house is more spotless and organized than ever, the dog is exhausted from playing, all my people are at school or work so the house is quiet--so here I am, banging my head against the keyboard.

WORTHINESS is something I've struggled with the majority of my life.  There are many earthly people I haven't felt worthy of and have been made to feel not worthy of.  My self esteem is usually dragging somewhere behind me, tripping myself up, so I've placed myself last, as the unimportant person.  Growing up, I always associated even a good, healthy self esteem with arrogance, and arrogant was something I did not want to be.  I can be humble, I'm good at that.  The thing is though, I take humility to an Eeyore level, rather than keeping it at a Godly level.  I've never been good at acknowledging my gifts, or taking compliments.

I suppose then it makes sense that being worthy of Christ's sacrifice is something I would struggle with also.  What do you mean I don't have to do anything to earn His grace?  Are you sure?  As Christians, we learn that Christ would've made that sacrifice for each individual person, which has always left me in awe, and truthfully, skeptical at times.  After all, I'm not worthy of that kind of sacrifice.  I've never done anything to deserve it!  Matthew 10:30 tells us about His love for each individual child of His--if He cares enough about the birds, He cares enough to know the number of hairs on our heads because we are worth more to Him than the birds.

That's the best part though, and the part I struggle with the most, still--not having to deserve it.  Why would He care enough to know how many hairs I have???  "Because you are My daughter, child, and because I put them there."

Because I am scientifically trained, I decided to approach this from a more scientific standpoint, and looked up what good ol' Webster had to say about self worth:  "the sense of one's own value or worth as a person; self-esteem; self-respect."  I also looked up worthy: "having worth or value; honorable, meritorious; having sufficient worth."

Okay, well, those definitions explain why I struggle with my self worth!  But that still wasn't the answer I was looking for.

A friend found Hebrews 4:16 for me:  "Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."  So I chewed on that for a few minutes....  I've been to the throne.  I HAVE RECEIVED HIS GRACE AND MERCY.  I have been healed by the Lord Himself.  Annndddd why?  BECAUSE I'M WORTHY.

Because the scientific approach didn't work, I tackled this subject from my mommy perspective.  What do I tell my boys about their worthiness? Well, every day I remind them that they're good enough, they're smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like them!  I remind them how much they are loved and liked simply because of who they are: MY children, and of course, God's children.  Do my kids have to do anything to earn my love?  Absolutely not.  They are worthy of my love and grace simply because they are my children.  They don't have to do anything to deserve me and my love, they simply receive it.  Would I sacrifice myself for my children's safety?  In a heartbeat.  Do my children need to do anything to prove their worthiness to me?  No, never.  I love them because they are my children, plain and simple.  They are worthy of me, my grace, my mercy and my love because they are my children.  My children are worthy to me, but if I were to try to place a price on them, I could not--because they are priceless to me, and I cherish them.

Ohhhh.

There's my eternal struggle--by birthright, I am God's child.  He lives in my heart, I have accepted Him.  But what have I done to deserve such a love?  I've certainly done plenty to disappoint Him over the past 3 and 1/2 decades, but what I have I done to truly deserve Him?  That's the part I struggle with, not having to do anything to EARN His love.  I don't have to be pretty, or perfect, or smart, or the best little ministry worker, I don't have to be the best mom or wife, I don't have to scrub my floors until they shine, or even smile at every stranger I see when I'm having a grumpy day.  I don't have to pray and sing praise 500 times a day.  Simply put, I'm worthy of Him, His grace and His mercy because I am His daughter.  He is my Provider, my Father, my Counselor, my Prayer Warrior, my Secret Keeper, my Everything.  All He asks in return is for all of me.  All I have to do is accept His grace.  All I have to do is receive.  Earlier, I said that I've always placed myself last--but God places me first.  I've always tried to imagine how God places priority on prayers and His children, so right now I'm imagining all of us lined up as first--how does that work????  That's the thing about God, in sacrificing His son for us, He placed us all first.

Yes, I am worth the all-inclusive IT.  Because I am God's fearfully, wonderfully made child.  He knows every struggle, every triumph, every joy and sadness I will encounter in this life.  He has written my story in His book, and in that story, He has written about this struggle with worthiness so I can share it with you, so I can remind you that you too, are worthy.  A reminder that as daughters and sons of the King, we are not just worthy, we are priceless.

So here I stand, before you today, worthy because I am His daughter.

*Sigh*

Honestly, for lack of any better subject heading there!

I'm surviving the new lifestyle...  Sort of.  I'm no longer drooling as I pass Starbucks, no longer dreaming about frosting, no longer missing cheese or feeling as though I'm missing out.  I've been hitting the gym (yay me!), eating better, and just really trying to be better. The GF cooking isn't going too badly, and so far, my menfolk haven't complained (pretty sure they're too scared to....).  It hasn't been too difficult to revamp most of our favorite dishes, and I've just steered clear of the of the ones I can't.  I still have yet to completely embark on the dairy-free part of this (licking the homemade whipped cream off the beater is just too good to resist!), or the adrenal diet.  Quite honestly, I'm resisting the adrenal diet.  I'm not looking forward to three weeks of eggs, boiled chicken and brown rice.  Ick.  Along with my usual gluten-full baked goods, I've also been bringing GFDF dishes/breakfast casseroles to "work" on Thursdays.  Again, no one has complained yet!  These dishes have been well-received, and I've been encouraged by my fellow volunteers.  One friend even asked for one the recipes, and I kind of giggled to myself, as I had just kind of thrown things in the mixing bowl, in true Amy fashion.

I did hit the wall this past weekend, and sort of skidded into the Chik Fil A parking lot, barely remembering to put the Jeep in gear before screaming up to the register to order a sandwich, complete with mayo, American cheese, cole slaw and Coke Zero.  I followed it up with a milkshake, after I finished hugging the ice cream machine, of course.  When I was finished with that, I begged my husband to take me by Starbucks (he refused).  And the next morning?  I couldn't get out of bed without a Percocet first.  So, I've learned my lesson.  I'm definitely on the right track, even if I can't tell on a day-to-day basis.

The one thing I cannot seem to get my head around though, is this GLUTEN FREE BAKING.  Pretty sure I'm going to die trying. So far, every single loaf of GF bread has gone in the trash.  One loaf was okay enough to make into bread crumbs, but certainly not good enough for actual bread, and definitely not up to my usual standards.  The others weren't even good enough for bread crumbs!  Last week, I actually turned out five absolutely perfect and gorgeous loaves of gluten-full rosemary-olive oil and italian bread, just to remind myself that I am great at baking, because it's been so horribly disappointing for me.  There have been tears, there's even been screaming and stomping of my feet, and yes, I'm still scraping GF pizza "dough" off the wall after I threw it in frustration...  Or tried to, but it had the consistency of mashed potatoes, so it kind of stuck to everything.  For the record, my family's gluten-full pizzas turned out just beautifully that evening.  Ugh.  All I wanted was pizza that night, and I was just really upset about yet another failed GF baking attempt.

After I stomped headed off to sulk in the bath tub, my dear husband decided he was going to save the day.  He researched another recipe from a website I frequent, and set to work.  I saw the result--a cracker-like crust, no sauce (tomatoes are nightshades, which cause/contribute to inflammation...), rice-based cheese, and broccoli as a topping--and immediately declared it Crap On A Cracker.  Being the two year old brat I felt like that evening, I flat out refused to even touch it.  No.  You can't make me.  Uh-uh.  

Soooo....  You know how sometimes as a parent you say something and immediately are made to regret it?  Yep.  Avery picked up on what I was calling the GFDF pizza, and thought that was the real name.  Unfortunately, we haven't been able to convince him that it's pizza, so whenever he asks for it (he seems to really love the stuff!), he asks for....  Crap On A Cracker, with absolutely no clue that it's a bad word.  Oops.  When we try to correct him, saying "Oh, you want pizza?"  He is adamant, "No!  I don't want pizza!  I want Crap On A Cracker!"

The other side of that story is that, as it turns out, I'm allergic to some part of that pizza.  We're not sure which ingredient yet, but Shawn was certain at first that I was exaggerating or making it up, just because he'd made it and I didn't want to eat it.  At first it was just my tummy that hurt, then my chest got tight and I felt like I had a lead weight on my chest, then my mouth got fuzzy, and finally my lips got numb.  When he realized my NP friend was screaming across her texts "TAKE BENADRYL NOW," he knew it was for real!

*Sigh*