Words of Wisdom

     Ian's COPS obsession is reaching new proportions. I had to create COPS-free time so that the rest of us don't go berserk. Scott changed the volume settings straight from the control panel on the computer so that Ian can't make us deaf with his violent theme song. I dug out actual head phones instead of just ear buds. If Ian insists on listening to COPS while I'm in the kitchen with him, I make him use the head phones. I can still hear the musical noise, but not to the point where I want to do him bodily harm.
     My dear boy loves to act out and pretend that he is a police "occifer". He arrested Beka this afternoon. He grabbed her arms and yanked them behind her back (thank goodness she was prepared otherwise it would have been quite painful) and said in his best authoritative voice, "You're under arrest for public nudity!"
     I took advantage of this declaration, telling Ian that answering the door naked is considered public nudity and begged him to stop doing it. Time will tell if these words of wisdom made it past his earwax.
     But Ian's COPS obsession is not the subject of my post this evening. It just made a good opener. The subject has to do with something that took place at Julie's house on Saturday afternoon. I was visiting with my sweet friend, Ian of course tagging along, making his presence known through loud laughter, raucous behavior, and torturing the female gender. It was time to leave and Ian and Joey were coming back to my house to play. I was trying to find coats and boots. In the meantime, they kept going out the door, coming in the door. Out, in. Out, in. Slam, bang. Fingers nearly pinched. I couldn't take it anymore and something in me snapped.
     "Ian! You little ****! Knock it off!"
     Well, am I proud? I think not. Not only had I resorted to name calling, I had used a foul four-letter word to demonstrate my frustration. Ian stopped cold and slowly turned towards me, eyes like a bush baby. And then it happened. He looked at Joey, Joey looked at him, and they erupted into a volcano of guffaws.
     "You just said a bad word!" he wheezed, pointing his finger at me.
     I'd like to say that I handled his laughter and ridicule well . . . that would be a lie. It just made me more mad. So much so that I repeated the offensive word two more times. Upon arriving home, Ian made sure to tell everyone present what I had said. Whether they were related to us or not.
     Later, as I made some lunch for him and Joey, Ian said to me, "Mom, when you said the s word, I saw Satan reaching in and pulling that word out of your heart. Three times!"
     I guess it's true. Out of the mouths of babes. Who has words of wisdom now?
    

My Plan of Happiness

     I realize it's been a whole two weeks at least since my last post. When I started this blog I had great intentions of writing everyday. But at night, when I'm pooped and completely exhausted by children, the last thing I want to do is write about them. In relief society today, Sister Parris told us to pretend that money was no object, our children were cared for, and we had an entire day to ourselves. What would we do? Each of us had the opportunity to voice our plans of happiness out loud. As I listened to my neighbors talk about what made them happy, I realized that everything going through my own mind was centered around my kids, my family. No matter how tired or grumpy or mentally weary I am, they are always my happiness and joy. With that in mind, I think it's time to blog.

     Tawni. My oldest is nearly eighteen. Where did the time go? She often complains about being the experimental child and her complaints are usually valid. Parents have to start somewhere. I am so proud of the woman she has become. She is beautiful and kind, charitable and compassionate. She wrote me a special letter this morning telling me how glad she was to have me for a mom. It made my day. Last night, she went on a date to a rock concert. She's been looking forward to this for a long time and was so excited. She doubled with her friend Megan and Megan's date. Once the concert started, it didn't take very long for the three of them to realize that this wasn't a good place to be. The spirit was absent and Cameron was preparing for a mission and didn't think it was good to stay. Tawni's date made the comment, "I'm glad I'm not going on a mission. I'd have to miss out on all this!"
     That comment broke her heart and made her ache for the missionary she loves who is currently serving the Lord and loving every minute of it. Tawni, Megan, and Cameron made the decision to leave the concert. Tawni came home and cried on my shoulder for a bit. Then she dried her tears and went with Megan and Cameron to watch videos and make breakfast foods. I am so proud of her.
     Rebeka. Forever my sunshine, her smile and fun-loving personality brighten a room the second she arrives. She is happy, goofy, and messy the way a fourteen-year-old should be. She is my social butterfly and spends more time away from home than in it. But that makes the times when she's here even more precious. I love and treasure those rare moments when she plops herself on my bed and says, "Guess what?"
I stop whatever I'm doing and give her my full attention because I know that she's in the mood to talk. And for the next hour she is mine and I am hers. She is a beautiful young woman who grows more so everyday. I love the way she is with Ian and Christeal. Sharing a bedroom with a toddler can't be easy but Beka loves it. She'll take the baby from my arms and say, "I'm putting her to bed tonight." And off they go. With Ian, she knows how to play with him. She knows how to have fun and just enjoy little people without getting stressed. But my gentle lamb is not always so. She definately has the ability to be a lion. I love that about her. The spunk, the fiestiness, the energy... all qualities that I admire.
     Zackary. My almost twelve-year-old is growing up faster than I want. If I could stop time with him I would. He too, is my sunshine. His imagination knows no bounds and he can play for hours by himself. Watching him is like enjoying a one-man play. He acts out all the parts perfectly, never missing a line or cue. And he doesn't know to be embarrassed. He carries on not caring who is watching or listening. I love that innocence and I hold tight to it because I know it will disappear sooner than later. He is so excited for his birthday, to be twelve. He wants to be a deacon and pass the sacrament. Zack has always loved everything about the church. He loves the meetings, the doctrine, the learning, and he possesses an inborn instinct to choose the right. He is also my jokester and loves to tease, scare, torture and gross-out his female family members. But he has a real soft spot. He expressed it best about a year ago when he said to me, "Mom, Dad is for fun. But you are for lovin'."
     Ian. Ah. The fourth gift. He is so excited for Christmas. He helped himself to the decorations over a week ago. You should see his bedroom. He hung lights around his bunkbed and over the closet. He tried hanging a wreath on his door but it kept falling off so Scott put it at the end of his bed. He has lights strewn across his floor and informed me he didn't need his nightlight anymore. I'm able to keep him in line by telling him that Santa is watching. He will ask me daily, "Am I on the good list?" Unfortunately he has so much extra energy from sheer excitement--which gets him into trouble--that I often have to lie and tell him, "Yes. You are on the good list." In my book, effort and good intentions should count for something. He is obsessed with COPS right now. He found, on YouTube, a video of the chipmunks singing the theme song. He listens to it at full blast. Finding the chipmunks led him to some of their christmas songs, which in turn led him to christmas music in general. He is now obsessed with carols. Which I prefer to COPS.
     Christeal. I hope I don't get into trouble for writing about a foster child. Her presence in our home is just too big to skip. What a happy little girl! I'd forgotten how fun a toddler could be, also how much work they are. I'm picking up one mess and she's making two more, but like Scott said, "She's worth it." And she is. She is giggles, baby babbles, squeals, and laughter. She loves to push buttons, carry a purse, and hide valuables in undiscovered locations. My iPOD is still missing, although Tawni found her phone--in the toilet. This tiny human loves trinkets. She likes to carry small objects in her hands and stuff them inside her clothes. She awoke the other night, after only two hours of sleep. She was fussy and cranky so I decided to change her diaper. Inside her jammies I found six game pieces from a chess set, a christmas ornament, and a lightbulb. This morning when I changed her diaper, there was sticker on it that said, "Made in China." Along with that was a tube of toothpaste, toenail clippers, tweezers, and the television remote control. I laugh out loud each time I change her clothes.

     These five people are my treasures. And if I had a whole day to myself, where money was no object, I'd spend it with them.

Sweet and Sour

     I made meatballs for dinner. Well, the meatballs were the storebought kind, I just cooked them in homemade sweet and sour sauce. Ian loves meatballs. So does Scott. Tonight was for them. As we gathered around the dinner table as a family, for the first time in two weeks, Ian looked at his food and said, "Yuck. I don't like meatballs."
     He missed out. So did Tawni. And Beka. And Zack. So while Scott and I partook of the delicious bounty, everyone else stared at us, and murmured. And fought amongst themselves. But at least we were together.
     It occured to me, as Beka accidentally-on-purpose spilled water on Zack, that we could have family home evening while sitting there. (Maybe it was Scott's idea. My memory fails me this evening.) Anyway, I called upon Tawni to quickly think of something. She did. She said she'd been thinking of service lately and wanted each of us to tell about either something we had recently done for someone, or how someone served us. I started.
     "I noticed that someone cleaned the pantry. I don't know who did it, but it looks wonderful. Thank you."
     Tawni piped up. "It was Dad. We were looking for my phone."
     Next it was Scott's turn.
     "When my truck died, someone went to the car dealer and bought me a car. They did all the paperwork and hassle so I wouldn't have to."
     Ian pointed at me, smiling, "It was Mom! Is it my turn?"
     We nodded.
     "Let me see," he tapped his chin, "Nope. Not that one. Hmmmm. Okay. This is it. When I was like six or maybe five and we went camping? Do you remember that trip?" We nodded even though we didn't have a clue. "Do you remember that Megan cleaned my room for me?" This time we did remember. Megan Loutensock did a service for him several years ago and it made an impression.
     With his turn complete, and the attention now on Tawni,  Ian decided to go back to playing on the computer. He typed in COPS on YouTube and turned up the volume. Tawni's tale of service was told to the background music of, Bad boys bad boys. Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you? We tryed to get Ian's attention back on spiritual things, but handcuffs and sirens will trump the Lord every time. After Beka and Zack shared their experiences, we called it quits. Just then, Ian left the room. When he came back he was holding a picture of Jesus with a little child on His lap. Ian said, "We need to be nice to little kids, like Jesus. I'm nice to Jessi, and Colby, and Skyler, and Christeal."
     I turned to Scott. "I guess he was listening."
     We smiled and talked some more about helping others, especially children. My heart swelled with love for my little boy, precious and innocent.
     About an hour later, I called him to the bathroom and told him to get some toys for his bath. When he returned with a Little People schoolbus and a Hummer, I thought to myself This is going to be messy. In spite of my misgivings, I left him alone and started picking up the house. After about fifteen minutes I decided to check on him. I found him naked, standing on a stool holding a dripping waschcloth. The sink was on, the tub faucet was on, and there was a lake on the floor. The carpet outside the bathroom squished when I walked on it and the paint on the baseboards was bubbling. These were not the only casualties. Two bottles of shampoo lost their lives. One expired on the bath mat. I needed a forklift to heft the sodden thing into the washing machine. I hope the machine can handle all the bubbles. I keep picturing that scene from Mr. Mom when the suds overflow. Needless to say, I was not happy. And my boy knew it. His bedtime moved suddenly from eight o'clock to seven fifteen.  He managed to escape a few times, seeking sanctuary with his father, but I am Mom and my sweet doth cower beneath my sour.
   

Open Arms

     We have a new addition to our family. She may be temporary, she may be permanent. But while she is in our home we will love her as our own. Call us crazy, gluttons for punishment, tell us we have a "save the world" complex. It's all true. We can't help ourselves. We just love kids.
     Last Sunday we met our new foster baby for the first time. She came to our house for a get to know you visit. Before the doorbell even rang, we were all in love. Beka walked into the kitchen and said, with a precious smile on her face and a light in her eyes, "She's here." When that sweet bundle of baby fat toddled into the house it felt like she was coming home. Tawni, Beka, Zack, and Ian were enamored. They sat and listened to the current foster parents talk about her, about the cute things she does and says, about her home situation, her likes and dislikes. They asked questions and played with her. I was so proud of them. I sat on the couch observing my family and my heart filled with love. My kids are exceptional people. The way they unselfishly welcomed a tiny stranger into their home, knowing she would demand more of my time and energy, and yet their arms were opened wide.
     And little Ian. One of the reasons I wanted to do foster care again is because of him. I wanted him to be able to experience having a foster child, so that he might better understand how he came to be in our home. He has questions about his birth family and we will sit together and look at pictures and talk about them. He knows their names and is just beginning to grasp the concept of adoption. I know having a foster child will help him in many ways. He has been so sweet and loving. I've seen such a tender side of my boy these last few days. He told me, "I will protect her. I won't let anybody touch her toys."
     "Are you going to be a good big brother while she is with us?" I asked him.
     His eyes lit up at the realization that he, like Zack, was now a big brother. "Yes, I am."
     And so far so good. Tonight he played kitchen and dollies and when his little sister screeched for a certain toy he wasted no time in giving it to her. I'm sure the novelty will wear off eventually, but I am so proud of him.
     The previous foster parents, bless their hearts, told me they have been praying for weeks about this little girl. They just felt like she was in the wrong place and needed to be with a different family. When they walked into our home, they felt the rightness of it. And so did I. My heart was so full of warmth and that tingly sensation, that my ears were literally ringing with it. It's been a long time since I've felt the Holy Ghost that strongly. Any doubts I've harbored about doing foster care again are all gone. I always knew it was the right thing to do, but sometimes fear gets the better of us. I don't know how long this precious child will be with us. I hope forever. But if she returns to her birth family, then that means goals were met and her parents did everything they could to improve themselves for her. It means saving a family. What is better than that? Nothing. But my heart will break . . . And when it's not quite healed, I'll open it up again to make room for another sweet someone.
    

Family Night

     Monday night. A time of togetherness, a time of learning, a time of love. And perhaps the most painful night ever endured by mothers. Last week I watched a Supernanny re-run and decided to use one of her object lessons for family home evening. It was perfect. A fun and simple way to try and rid my children of their potty mouths. I prepared in advance, gathering my supplies and buying donuts for a fun treat. I even had a scripture to add an element of spirituality, thus enhancing my lesson.
     Ian was very excited for family night. He had his scriptures ready immediately following dinner and kept pestering me and Scott. He wanted home evening now, even though we were still eating. Finally it was time. I had him pass out paper towels to each person as we sat around the kitchen table. I then said, "Let's have an opening prayer. Ian? Will you say it?"
     He very importantly uttered his standard two second recitation. "Heanwy Fadda tank you for dis day Cheesus ist amen."
     "Ian has a scripture for us, too." I nodded at him. "You can read it now."
     With Scott's help, Ian read Mosiah 4:14-15. It took a while. When he came to the part about not suffering the children to go naked, he succumbed to a sudden case of giggles. Upon finishing the comedic scripture, I asked my rebel offspring what King Benjamin commanded the parents to do.
     Tawni knew the answer. "He told them to teach their children not to fight and quarrel."
     "Right. What about the next verse?"
     Tawni continued, "You need to teach us to love one another."
     "Okay." I then took a lemon and cut it into slices. I passed a slice to everyone. "Go ahead and suck on your lemon."
     Ian wasted no time. His little face contorted and his body shivered from head to toe. I wasn't much better. Zack barely licked his, over-dramatizing so that we would all see how cool he was. Beka pointed out that she didn't even pucker. Scott said his tasted good and proceeded to eat it. Tawni suffered from sore afflictions, known as cankers, and would not participate.
    Filled with great wisdom, I pointed out that name-calling, mean talk, and crude words were like the lemon. They left a bitter taste in our mouths and in the mouths of those we hurt. Then I had everyone lick a finger and dip it into a sugar bowl. The sugar represented the sweetness that comes from love and kindness. Wouldn't we rather sweeten our spirits with good words than make them bitter with lemon words?
     Ian piped in, "Can we have donuts?"
     While we feasted on dessert, I informed the kids that there were certain words I didn't want them using anymore. Ian smiled, "Like naked?"
     That got everyone else laughing. "No. Naked is fine. I don't want you to say suck, dumb, stupid, hate, or," I looked directly at Zack, "freak."
     "Oh man! Freak is awesome!"
     "It's not nice."
     Once the donuts began digesting, it was time for family prayer. Scott asked Tawni to say it. Ian reached down to the floor and picked up his Clone helmet. He put it on his head right as Tawni started to pray. She barely got past the opening when Ian said, in a muffled voice, "Hey! Who's in here?" Tawni started laughing so hard she had to cut the prayer short. Ian was smiling, delighted with himself and his ability to cause mayhem. Trying to restore order, I told Zack to get in the shower and Ian to put on jammies. That's when everything changed.
     "No!" Ian shouted, running from the room.
     For the next twenty minutes, I battled with him, pleading, coaxing, threatening. "If you want friends tomorrow, what do you need to do?"
     "I don't want to play with friends. I want a shower."
     "It's Zack's turn for a shower. You can have one tomorrow."
     "NO! NOW!"
     I don't remember when he finally put his pajamas on, it's all a blur, but I remember what he said to me.
     "I hate you!" "You're mean!" "Want Daddy!"
     There went my Supernanny inspired lesson.
     Getting Ian to take all his medicine after that was torture. He fought me the whole way, screaming for Daddy.
     "Fine. Go get Daddy. I'm done."
     Daddy came. Daddy gave him his amoxicillin. Daddy did it too fast. Daddy made Ian throw up all over the floor.
     Mommy looked at Ian smugly and asked, "Who does your medicine better? Mom or Dad?"
     Ian, looking just as smug replied, "Daddy."
     After all that, being the good mom I am, I read my child a story. We cuddled, we laughed, and when the book closed I said, "Time for bed, sweetie."
     The devil returned, leaping off my lap, running down the hall screaming for Daddy.
     Instead of chasing after him, I reached for my computer and the comfort of a blog.

Unfair

     Not only does Ian suffer from fetal alcohol effects, he also suffers from asthma. Severe asthma.  Last May he was hospitalized after contracting a simple cold that triggered a massive attack. He spent three days in the hospital, the first being Mother's Day--yes, now is the time to feel my pain and express sympathy--thank you. Last Saturday Scott and I were on date with his crew from the fire station and their wives. We were having a delicious meal at Market Street Grill, courtesy of Captain Kirk. (That is not a typo.) Luckily we'd finished the meal and were awaiting dessert when the call came. It was Tawni. Ian couldn't breathe. She'd given him his medication, but it didn't help.
     Prior to this, Ian had a stuffy nose for about two weeks. Nothing major. Just snot. But on Friday, he developed a cough. Saturday it got a little worse. By the time we arrived home after our date, he was throwing up every time he coughed. On my bed, and all over the freshly cleaned carpets. I know it's shallow to mention it, but hey, it's frustrating. After emptying his stomach, he then began to cough up thick mucous. Scott put his paramedic skills to good use and listened to his lungs. The tops were wheezy and there was no air flow in the bottoms. We administered a breathing treatment with the nebulizer, but it didn't help. We decided to take him to the emergency room.
     Luckily, Ian didn't need to be admitted. With another breathing treatment and oral steroids, his lungs cleared, although the terrible cough remained. It is now Wednesday night. He has not been to school. This is the third week of school he has missed since it started in late August. I just can't keep the kid well.
     We had a follow-up appointment with the pediatrician yesterday. She increased Ian's maintenance medication from 44mcg 2X/day to 110mcg 2X/day. He also gets three Decadron tablets every night this week, Albuterol every four hours, nasal spray, Benadryl, and 2 tsp of Amoxicillin 2X/day. The poor kid is a walking pharmacy. And every medication Ian has to swallow triggers his gag reflex. It takes me twenty minutes to get the Amoxicillin into his body. Every puff of Albuterol is straight adrenalin. You couple that with a kid who has major ADHD, poor impulse control, and no understanding of consequences, and you end up with something like a mean alcoholic on speed.
     He and I have been together none stop since Saturday night. I am tired.
     But I shouldn't complain. He's the real one who suffers. A few weeks ago, Ian was battling another cold. He lay in his bed, miserable, while I attempted to settle him for the night. He asked me one simple question.
     "Will my ashthma go away?"
     I had to be honest. "No, honey. It doesn't go away. It will always be there, but you won't always be this sick."
     His bottom lip trembled right before he burst into tears.
     Ian is seven. He's beginning to notice the differences between himself and other kids. He wants desperately to be well. He wants to play, have pets, play with other people's pets, run without coughing, have skin that doesn't itch constantly, and he doesn't want to take medicine.
     Life isn't fair. This little guy's been given a double whammy. He has a lot of illness and issues to overcome. I worry about him constantly, I ache for him daily, and I love him fiercely.

Coolness

     Every now and then my kids seem more likeable to me than at other times. I like hearing their voices, seeing their faces, and I don't mind their noisy friends who drink the sodas and eat all my food. During these times, I also pay close attention to the things they say. The last two days, Ian has been down right hilarious without even trying to be. It started at school yesterday, when he lost a tooth. His teacher put it in an envelope for him to take home. He was so excited to show me, he took it out of the envelope as soon as he got in the car, and promptly dropped it between the seats. Recovery efforts were in vain. Scott, being an inventive dad, made Ian a fake tooth out of paper and told him he could fool the tooth fairy with it. He of course said this loudly, in my prescence. Ian was delighted. Conning the tooth fairy is right up his alley. This morning, as I was making pancakes in the kitchen, I heard his exultant cry from the bedroom. "It worked!"
     Also last night, Scott and Ian sat on the couch together, viewing UFC. The guys came out to fight, wearing some tight, revealing shorts, not unlike a Speedo. Ian took one look and said, "That is very inappropriate."
     I made a double batch of pumpkin-chocolate chip cookies yesterday. Ian had some with his pancakes this morning, and after school, he wolfed down at least eight before I commented.
     "Those are your favorite cookie aren't they?"
     "Yup," he said with crumbly drool on his chin.
     "You're sure eating a lot of them."
     He reached for another, "Well--I want a healthy body with strong bones--Duh."
     I couldn't have said it better myself. I hope all that pumpkin will help to loosen what's been sitting in his colon for three days.
     I got a late start getting ready for the day this morning. Which meant I put my make-up on at 2:00 this afternoon. Here's what happened.
     Ian's aunt, Jeni, has been in town for the past week. Ian informed her that she forgot his birthday and wanted to know when he could open his present. He's called Grandma and Grandpa's house--which is where Jeni stayed--every day. Last night he called again.
     "Gwampa? Can I come over and hang out or somthin'?"
     Right after school today, he called again. "Can I come over there?"
     Ian's grandma answered. "Yes. There is something here for you."
     "My present?"
     "Yes. Jeni left it here for you before she went back home."
     He eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and he almost hung up without saying goodbye. This was at two o'clock. I told him I needed to put on my make-up. He followed me into the bathroom and retrieved my make-up bag for me. He then proceeded to take out all the things I needed. Mascara, powder, eye shadow, lip gloss, etc... After each item he asked me, "You need this?"
     "I do. Thank you for helping."
     He peered at me intently while I made myself presentable. Then he said, "Boys have mohawks and coolness. Girls have make-up and prettiness."
     "Am I pretty?" I asked.
     "Psh." He shrugged.
     Good enough. I'll take it. The poor kid had to wait another twenty minutes so that we could do the junior high carpool. He sat patiently while we made three different stops. After nearly an hour, it was finally time to go to Grandma's.
     "When we get there, I'm going to build my Legos."
     "What if Jeni didn't get you Legos?"
     "She did. I just know it."
     And guess what? She got him Legos.
     Thanks, Jen.