Try This: Teach Your Kids to do Laundry at an Early Age March 22, 2007

Wednesday is one of my favorite days of the week.  Wednesday is the day that I get a break from laundry.  It’s the day set aside for my daughters, ages 12 and 8, to do their own laundry. 

You read that correctly — do their own laundry.  I know this is unusual.  I know this because other moms and I were comparing notes at Bunco last week and I confirmed that most kids that age do not know how to do laundry and would, therefore, not be able to manage their own.  I even heard stories about moms having to pick their kids dirty clothes up off the floor, or that they request the kids bring the laundry to the washer, only to find it outside the bedroom door, and many such tales.  Although I have not conquered my personal laundry struggles, I felt good that I have mastered the area of child involvement in laundry for quite sometime. 

Some folks might think this sounds cruel.  I even had a family member say, and it was said with that tone, “you mean to tell me that at 8 years old, Keely does her own laundry?”  Yep.  Absolutely. And I’m pretty damn proud of it.  Teaching kids responsibility is easier said than done.  And saying it doesn’t work.  Hands-on participation does. 

If any of you have girls, you will know why laundry is such a thorn in one’s side.  Girls change clothes, I would guess, and average of 4-5 times per day.  Usually, what they try on doesn’t get put away unless someone is standing right there to monitor.  I’ve found many, many of those articles in the wash previously.  Tried it on – didn’t like it – to the floor it goes – picked up with the dirties – rewashed – put back in circulation again. Or how about lip gloss and lip balm in the pockets?  Or rolled up panties?  Socks stuck in the pants?  Make-up stains?  Stickers – through the dryer?  Sequins, fading fabrics, Kleenexes (emotional girls), and the list goes on. 

They’ve been required to help and fold for a long time now, but the problems weren’t getting better.  I ranted and raved and then eventually developed a plan.  We’ve been on this plan for several months now, and from my perspective, it’s a winner! 

My system is very simple.  Although my girls have been an active part of laundry for a long time, it doesn’t require a long history to learn the basics.  Let your kids help with laundry until they are skilled.  This means teaching them initially to sort, then how the washer works and what colors go on what cycles/temperatures.  Despite all the fancy controls, we have all of ours on two basic cycels:  Regular wash and either warm or cold temp.  KISS – keep it simple stupid was our best bet.  Then, teach them dryer operation, timely move-over of washed clothes, lint filter cleaning, and immediate checking/folding.  If you fold immediately, an iron rarely has to be used (hallelujah!).  Some trouble shooting basics:  out of balance, too full, etc and some stain fighting tips should finish off the learning process.  My girls keep Tide to go and Stain stick in their rooms.  I’ve taught them to pretreat stains asap. 

We do our last load for the rest of the family and have it out by early Wednesday AM.  The girls have theirs sorted and ready and put their first load in before school on Wednesday.  We agreed to move it over to the dryer for them during the day.  When they arrive home from school, they have a load ready to fold and another ready to start.  Usually 3 or 4 loads takes care of all theirs.  It must all be out by Thursday morning so we resume our regular 2 loads per day minimum plan.

Harper is 5 and he’s in training.  He won’t have to do his own anytime soon, but he daily brings down the upstairs laundry.  He sees his sisters do chores and he likes it.  He’s proud of himself and he enjoys feeling a part. 

I know to some folks this sounds radical.  Some think it’s beyond the scope of what kids should have to do.  I, however, highly recommend it in the scheme of family organization and systems.  It will also serve them well in college and I think some future spouses will thank me. 

Baby Steps March 18, 2007

Knowing I’m a mom, one might imagine this post is about some sweet little memory of my precious kiddos learning to take their first steps.  Think again.  This post is about mental health – a topic that in my lifetime has become more accepted and easier to talk about over the years.  Specifically, this post is about our attempts to acheive and sustain good, stable mental health in the hectic chaos in which we live. 

One of my oldie-but-goodie favorite movies is What About Bob? starring Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss.  In a nutshell (please pardon the pun) , it’s about a crazy psych patient who turns the tables and drives his succesful and arrogant psychiatrist right off the deep end.  One of the basic parts of the plot is Dr. Leo Marvin’s (Dreyfuss) new best-seller entitled Baby Steps, which he “gives” to the obsessive-compulsive barely functional Bob (Murray) for guidance.  He, of course, gives it to him at the billable charge of $29.95, which I’m positive that insurance didn’t cover even then. 

It’s a comedy and it’s hilarious.  Bob Wiley grasps at any attempt for therapy that he can and hangs on for dear life.  Therefore, he begins “baby stepping” through life.  He baby steps out the office door, down the elevator, and even on a bus to chase the good doctor on his family vacation.  The storyline is made to be laughable, but the over-simplistic concept of baby steps has offered me some personal assistance this week. 

I shared recently with hubby that the key to a healthy mental outlook for me seems to be staying caught up.  That is, keeping up with deadlines, housework, appointments, dinner, baths, and other basic life functions.  Once I get a little behind, I’m prone to let it bother me.  A little further behind and I start shutting down.  Instead of thinking “Yikes!  I better not let things pile up anymore,” I start attempting to ignore them.  I walk around rooms that have laundry piled up.  I close the door to the dirty bathroom.  I just become kind of incapable of jumping in there to fix it.  So, I get overwhelmed, depressed, and in a bit of the funk I’ve been recently exploring. 

That’s how I get there.  Now…how do I get out?  On Friday, I was awake and functional for a total of about 4-5 hours that day.  The entire day!  That’s from about 7am until 8am Saturday morning.  Simply not acceptable.  I don’t have the luxury of enough time to get it all done in a regular day, and definitely not to sit and wallow in it.  I’ve been open about it.  I’ve shared with my hubby and my friends/support network.  I’ve blogged about it and really, I’ve faced it.  Next step – change it – freaking do something about it, girl!  Okay, so I’ve kicked my ownself in the butt now. 

It was early, early Saturday morning that I thought about the Bob movie.  It made me chuckle.  Then, it made me think.  Why couldn’t something that simple help?  It was certainly worth a try. 

While lying on the couch watching TV Land reruns, I started thinking of what baby steps would work for me.  Trying not to avoid the obvious, the giant (and I do mean giant) stack of laundry literally facing me was probably a good starting point.  I had asked Steve to move it all to one place so we could at least see what we were facing.  A trip to the dining room to add to those loads to those in the den, plus a fresh one from the dryer, suddenly yielded a mound of somewhere between 7-10 loads of clean clothes.  CLEAN!  I know it sounds crazy.  I should rejoice at clean clothes, but the scoop is that if they aren’t folded almost immediately, then they pile up also and they really aren’t much good even if clean in a big mountain.  Digging to the bottom of a mountain for clean underwear is not healthy functioning and does not support sound mental health. 

I remembered a quality comment to my recent post from my blogging buddy Joni , which I’ve quoted before, but is good enough to quote again:

 ”I would have days where I’d literally wake up and negotiate myself out of bed. I’d think, “ok, in the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is put my feet on the floor. For the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is get up and go to the bathroom.” And step by step I could get going.” 

Putting Joni and Dr. Leo Marvin’s advice together, I took on the character of Bob and came up with a baby step to get me off that couch.  10 pieces of laundry folded would be a baby step.  Just 10 pieces.  It was a start, a baby step.  I actually folded 12.  It became kind of a game.  Socks, if matched, did, in fact, count as 2 pieces.  Washclothes and little items counted, too.  If I just pulled the 10 off the top of the stack, I’d get a random enough sample that plenty of little tiny “freebies” were included.  I did that first 12 and had a Diet Coke.  I came back and did 15 more pieces.  10 was my goal, again, but 15 was exceeding expectations.  The adrenaline was starting to move a little.  Now the stack of clean laundry actually looked like a stack.  I decided to focus on that clean stack and only pull from the mound, not dwell on or analyze it.  Baby steps.  I even used that corny phrase Bob Wiley did and repeated “baby stepping through the laundry” as my sort of mantra for this project.  I took a rest, I did some computer time, and in between each I made myself fold 10 or more pieces of laundry.  Three-fourths of the laundry got completed with my baby-stepping.  When Steve awakened to find that much done, his eagerness to help out increased and it was soon all folded.  We have yet to put it away, but we did get all the kids packed and off to see the grandparents with CLEAN laundry.  We’ll baby step through putting it away later tonight. 

Former youth-groupers and dear, dear friends (read:family) Kate, visitor from the North (Boston), and Ariel, my writing advisor, came for dinner last night.  We all talked a little about our own mental health and what we do when we are down.  We shared awesome chuckles about my Bob baby-stepping method and then we all proceeded to try it the rest of the night, until we put the actual movie on for viewing.  We baby-stepped those dishes to the kitchen, baby-stepped the food into the fridge, and planned our baby-steps for this week.  While it may be true that misery loves company, I think it’s more true that people just long for the companionship of good friends.  Figuring out how we can embrace, share, and conquer our own individual struggles is an end result of that kind of friendship. 

And I continue baby-stepping through today with my regards to Bob Wiley and my good friends.  I just baby-stepped turning on the dryer and unloading the dishwasher before I allowed myself this blog time.  When the dryer goes off, I’ll have 10 new pieces to fold and yet another baby step will hopefully keep me going. 

 

Learning to Drive a Straight Drive March 17, 2007

As I’m working my way up out of my recent funk, I find myself at a bit of stagnant point, wondering what to write about.  I was just watching some late, late night TV (really early morning) and a talk show interview sparked a memory in me.  It also brought one of those really crazy, “did that really happen” kind of smiles to my face?  I stay so busy here in the present, that I rarely have time to reminisce about when I was younger.  I’m too busy looking into my kiddos faces and remembering that they were infants just a couple of days ago, or so it seems.  I know from both comments and friends and fam thatI do have a nice population of young 20 somethings that actual read my blog.  So, my fun young friends, this one’s for you. 

My first car was a 1973 Oldsmobile Omega.  Long, brown, and fast.  It had a V-8 engine.  I hated it, but it was wheels.  My Dad, smart man that he is, promptly informed me that I could drive it, or the big yellow school bus would continue to come visit.  I was a junior in high school and I chose the Brown Bomb, as it came to be known.  It was fast — very, very fast when needed and it held a lot of people.  That car went to college with me in 1988.  My hubby, whom I met in those first few weeks of school, was quick to keep reminding me that many, many freshman didn’t have cars.  In fact, Steve himself wasn’t allowed to bring his car until three years  into the college career.  I did have a car and even though I hated it, I was among the privileged of my friends and found myself with a car full of buddies often. 

Oddly enough, as I’m writing, I can’t even remember exactly what happened to the Brown Bomb.  I had one minor fender-bender in high-school, but that was it.  It certainly wasn’t an accident that took it down.  Just for the record, I’m going to call it old age.  I think it just kind of gave out?  That detail is blurry, but the fact is that in 1990, the Brown Bomb was retired and I got a cute little Mazda GLC.  It was older, too and definitely not a luxury car, but it ran and it got good gas mileage.  The trick, however, was it was a “straight drive” as we girl down here in the South refer to them.  Manual transmission might be a more correct term.  Bottom line:  I had to learn how to use a clutch and change gears and I needed to learn quickly. 

I was without a vehicle for about 2 weeks, bumming a ride for the 2 hours back to my hometown to practice and learn to drive my “new” car on the weekends.  I was a Resident Assistant in my dorm, and several of the freshman girls on my floor then had straight drives.  They would take me to practice in the parking garages at night.  I was improving quickly, but the hills were still causing me problems.  Probably one more weekend back at home would do it. 

I suppose I stayed on campus to study for a test or something one weekend, because I do remember that is was a Sunday afternoon.  My former roommate (we only parted for my RA job) and best friend through all those difficult years and still a dear friend today, Tracy, got a phone call and needed my assistance.  She was dating a hometown guy, who was also a good friend and in our “brat pack” of co-eds that hung around together.  He was just down the street at house off of “the Strip” as we call the area with the fast-food joints, bars, and other businesses that indicate you are in Collegeville,USA.  What he needed was her to bring his car to him.  No biggie. 

Ah, the plot thickens.  Seems that my buddy, Trace had indicated to Tim for quite sometime now that she could, in fact, drive a straight-drive.  He believed her, so there was never a need to prove it.  She was lying through her teeth and this was not the day she wanted to come clean!  She gets the grand idea that since I almost know how to drive one, that I can just drive it down there with her real quick like, he’ll never know, his friend will bring us home, no harm done.  Okay, it sounded good when we first ran through it and we were in the parking garage retrieving his vehicle before I had a chance to put any clarity on the situation. 

When I killed it 3 times coming out of the garage, you would think a red flag would have sort of been triggered in my brain.  No such luck.  We kept on jumping along in his much-nicer-than-my-own car.  I drank some in college, but I never did drugs and I’m just really wondering where my brain cells went this particular spring afternoon in 1990 because they clearly weren’t in my brain, or at least not functioning. 

The Strip is an uphill climb from where we accessed it and is full of traffic lights.  Definitely didn’t think this one through.  I killed it 4 more times at the light turning onto the Strip.  And then, I knew I was in trouble, but we were stuck.  We were on the busiest road on campus and driving uphill, waiting for the bottom to fall out of this ridiculous plan.  I tried to think quickly and decided to park the car, walk to Tim, and make Tracy tell the truth.  This was, after all, initially her big lie.  I was just an accessory to the crime.  I picked the first business I saw, which was a movie and music store, and planned to turn in and park.  Those brain cells still weren’t all quite lined up as they should be, as I picked a business on the left-side of the road, requiring me to turn, on the hill, acrossthe traffic.  That would have been brilliant if there had been no cars coming and it would not have required stopping on the side of the hill.  Brilliant it was not and many, many cars were coming.  I stopped and Trace and I both wished, hoped, and prayed out loud that when the traffic parted, I could get this car across the street. 

The time came.  Trace yelled “It’s clear — GO!” and I could not.  Try as I might, I kept jerking, missing the timing on clutch versus gas, making the car die, and rolling backwards.  We were lucky that no one was behind us the first several times.  I kept trying – my choices were pretty damn limited out in the middle of the road.  The more stressed I got, the worse my skills were.  Trace and I are screaming and panicking and now someone is behind us honking.  Great, a little more pressure and I’m sure we’ll be fine.  NOT! 

That last honk I heard was the one right before I felt Tim’s car reach a dead-stop thud as it hit the car behind us.  We looked at each other with a good college girl “Oh, Shit!”, put the emergency break on, and got out of the car.  It was a big, long, very dark car we had hit.  The windows were tinted completely opaque and the man getting out had some kind of uniform on.  We had hit a limousine!  Couldn’t have planned this if we had tried.  My chances of winning the lottery might be better than what happened. 

Now, before I reveal this next part, I must tell you that I am 100% not making this up.  I couldn’t if I tried.  My creative brain stamps little cards – it doesn’t make up ferocious lies and if it were going to, it would be about something more important than this.  In the limo, fresh from their concert the night before (or not so fresh as rock star world goes), was Motley Crue!  I know it’s crazy. Motley Crue!  I hit Motley Crue in a limo while semi learning to drive a straight drive in 1990 in my best friend’s boyfriend’s car because she didn’t want to tell him she couldn’t drive it.  Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? 

And what could save us now but the stupid, yet attractive, college girl routine?  Shorts were very short in the early 90’s, and generally cutoff jeans or Duckhead khakis.  I was wearing the jean variety and Tracy the khaki kind.  We were both very tanning bed tan (apparently, 4 kids later, I didn’t harm the ovaries too badly), thin, shapely, and with that big, bodacious, freshly leftover from the 80’s hair. 

I told the limo driver something was wrong with the car.  It had stalled on me, I insisted, and I couldn’t get it into gear.  Long story short, he took mercy on us.  Actually, it wasn’t even a long story.  He needed to get the Crue somewhere, the airport, I presume, and had little time for chit-chat.  His interest was to get my car out of the way, assess the damage on his, and move on.  Mr. Nice limo driver got into Tim’s car and moved it to the parking lot for us.  He said it was kind of tight going into gear, but he must have gotten it loosened up. Yes, definitely, he must have. 

I wasn’t even a Crue fan, so I don’t know their names.  Mr. Nice limo man told us they had wanted to know who hit them, and so one of them rolled the window down just enough to wave a little.  His hair was bigger than mine and Trace’s put together.  Mr. Nice couldn’t see any damage and what did he care? – he didn’t own the thing, Motley Crue wasn’t going to tell, and without visible damage, the owner would never know. 

Trace and I waved good-bye to the Crue and Mr. Nice as we walked across the street to Tim’s car.  We agreed it wouldn’t be good for Tim to know.  Trace made up some mumbo jumbo about just parking there and we walked the less than a block to the house to get him. 

I learned to drive a straight drive the weekend after and it is like riding a bike, once you learn, it sticks for good.  My first newish car I purchased myself and drove until Mar was 2 was a manual transmission and I loved it.  I found with more kids, however, I needed all my hands back and I’ve been a mini-van with automatic transmission driving Momma ever since.  I haven’t kept in touch with Tim and Tracy and I live in different cities and only trade Christmas cards and short visits every few years or so.  I still love her very much and count this as only one of the crazy memories we shared at a time in life when it is important to have good friend.  And, as far as I know, Tim still doesn’t know any of it:  that Tracy couldn’t and didn’t drive a straight drive, that I attempted to on his car, and that his car inadvertently backed into Motley Crue on the University of Tennessee at Knoxville’s Strip.

I didn’t think to ask for their autograph, but remember, the brain cells weren’t all quite right that day anyway.  And believe it or not, this is one of those bizarre, entertaining,  and “truth is stranger than fiction” tales from my past. 

The Flusher Seeks Redemption March 10, 2007

Also titled:

“Don’t Hit Your Brother with Your Panties”

“Brady Insures His Position as Houk Baby”

“No, I Not”

A bit of history is required here.  If you’ve read any posts about Brady before, you’ll know he is the cutest, sweetest, most mischevious little toddler around.  See, “Sorry, Mommy” if you need some background info.  And although we are quite content with our 4 children, Brady has taken measures to safeguard his baby-status since he could walk.  I hear Babies (youngest children in a family, that is) have a knack for such antics.  As I changed one of his toxic waste diapers last week, I thought about what outstanding natural birth control that is.  Anyone that is forced into the diaper of a 3 1/2 year old simply cannot think about ever doing this again. 

While it’s true that all kiddos have terrible Twos, and perhaps worse Threes, as we like to call them, Brady has truly tested our limits.  His most powerful, secret weapon:  Flushing. 

We’d never had a child with a toilet obsession before, so we didn’t really know what we were getting into.  Sure, we had the isolated playing in the potty incident, or the toilet paper pulled out in the floor, or even a quick dip into the potty water.  Keely even flushed a drinkable yogurt container when she was 2 and it required a call to the plumber and the toilet had to be removed and flushed out backwards to clear it.  We thought that constituted experience with potty fascination.  We had no idea what was coming. 

Brady is an artist.  There’s no random playing in the toilet for him.  Nope, it’s purposeful, quiet, sneaky, creative, and usually destructive.  I sound like a profiler watching him.  That would be great, except that profilers are usually better at stopping the criminals than I have ever been.  His habit didn’t really start with playing in the potty.  That would have been too easy, I might have caught on.  It was subtle and un-noticed from the beginning.  Un-noticed that is, until the damage was done. 

Let’s jump to right before the 2nd birthday party Fiesta we were hosting here at our home.  Hosting a party at your home = something will need repairing.  We weren’t terribly surprised when one of our toilets started flushing incorrectly.  It didn’t really have the pressure it needed.  That could be a lot of things, right?  Well, we plunged and plunged and plunged.  The problem didn’t seem to get any better.  Years ago, we became proficient with use of the famous plumbing tool, the Snake.  If you’ve not seen or used this thing, you are missing out I tell you.  It’s a long flexible coil that advances through the toilet, actually going throught the curved sections, and generally clearing the obstruction.  I said generally.  It didn’t work for us.  We had one friend who had worked briefly in plumbing and another friend who is actually a plumber.  We just sort of ignored that toilet and let it have an ineffective flush until we could get with one of them and fix it.  Unsuspecting all the while…

Soon after, the toilet in the kids’ bathroom had similar symptoms and didn’t respond to our repair attempts either.  Odd, two toilets in the same house.  When it happened to my toilet in my bathroom, I was ticked!  Here we were, a family of 6 with 4 toilets and I was forced to walk down two flights of stairs in the middle of the night to use our basement bathroom! Immediate intervention was required.  And it’s a good thing, because toilet number 4 bit the dust shortly thereafter. 

Steve got a hold of our buddy, Walt, who is an actual talented, skilled plumber.  He’s a very busy man with kiddos of his own, but has always been good to give phone advice or come help if the problem required it.  You guessed it, the problem required it.  Walt spent the better part of the weekend with us.  For 2 days, he and Steve took off toilets, carried them out to the yard, flushed them out, and re-installed them.  The upside, Steve learned some valuable plumbing skills that would bail us out in the future. 

Walt said in 20+ years of plumbing he had NEVER seen anything like what he saw at our house.  From the first non-functioning toilet, the one on the main level, the following was removed: 

• a pair of swim goggles
• a lego
• a matchbox car
• and a toothbrush

That’s right, all of that out of one toilet.  But wait, from the remaining toilets, here’s a sampling of the goods:

• a trial size hairspray
• Fisher-Price Little People (we later discovered this was a personal flushing favorite of his)
• a razor (nice safety touch, don’t you think?)
• bouncy balls
• a sock
• and my personal favorite, a full-size Lady Speed Stick deodorant, minus the lid (I had found that lid and wondered where on earth my deodorant could be)

One toilet was actually beyond repair, as it was damaged trying to get all the stuff out.  So we got a new one of those. 

We lived through that weekend, certain this habit couldn’t get any worse.  We purchased toilet lid locks for all the bathrooms.  Harper was in the throws of potty training and had tons of accidents, as he couldn’t undo the toilet locks.  Oh well, it was the price we paid to have indoor plumbing.  And things were calm, for a short while…

We became more and more lax with the toilet locks.  It was promising that perhaps he had outgrown this.  He did start normal toilet playing, but not so much with the flushing.  In our main level bathroom, right off the kitchen, I would find little toilet treats.  One day an orange, one day a teacup.  One day it was loaded with dirty clothes.  He even explained that one to me.  He was doing laundry  – just like Mom.  The washer is directly across from the bathroom and that made sense.  My friend Pam came by one day to bring some stampin stuff and asked if she could use the bathroom.  I heard a squeal and then a laugh.  She summoned me to the bathroom where I found a plastic sword and a full-size (about a foot and half tall) Nutcracker doll in the potty.  Like I said, at least he’s creative. 

When we did use the toilet locks, we found them floating in the potty.  It’s similar to those child-proof caps on bottles, you know, the ones only kids can open.  But the flushing didn’t continue, at least that we knew about.  There was a time or two when we heard a flush and little feet running, but it was usually just some toilet paper or a legit attempt at just watching the potty flush.  The Bradster was just laying low.  He wasn’t done. 

Next time, my toilet was the first to go.  Since the items are flushed over a period of time, it’s a gradual effect.  It isn’t really noticed so much until it accumulates.  So one day, my toilet is moving kind of slow and I plunge.  Doesn’t really do much good.  Still flushes, but slowly.  I went to talk to Steve about it and when I came back, I found Brady.  He was stark naked, flushing away! The toilet had filled to the top (luckily, with clean water) and was overflowing onto the floor!  It was dripping all over him and he was in sheer delight!  He had his little hands on the plunger and was stirring the potty like a witch’s cauldron.  Of course I was mad, but he was cackling and giggling and okay, it was funny.  So we clean up the bathroom, bathe the kiddo and start all over again. 

Steve tried to snake that toilet.  Amazingly or stupidly, take your pick, we still aren’t really suspecting Brady.  That is, until we heard another flush.  Here we are, trying to fix the one toilet down, and we hear another flush, then running.  He was out of control!  I found the kids’ bathroom still swiriling, and you guessed up, not flushing correctly.  Treating children humanely was about to be an over-rated concept.  But he had disappeared and here we were working on the toilet, so I just tried to calm down.  How dumb am I?  Yep, he got toilet number 3 in the downstairs basement playroom whilest we were working on the ones upstairs.  I made a mental note to put an add for a cute toddler up for adoption in the paper asap.  I was too tired to battle, as I still had to sleep and work that night. 

Steve’s new-found plumbing expertise served him well.  Bubba, as we call Steve’s big and only brother, came to help.  As I slept on that Sunday, I remember that every time I woke up, I saw Steve with a toilet in his hands.  One toilet was repaired and two more were replaced that day.  Nice, we have all new toilets now.  Thanks, Brady.  The flavor of this incident was Little People and bouncy balls – tons of them.  He was apparently more desperate and in a hurry this time, and just flushed what was handy.  Note to all parents:  the shape of Little People makes them go down easy – and stay stuck there! 

After that incident, we had  learned our lesson.  All bathrooms were officially locked.  If you were of potty-trained age, you received a butter knife with which to pick the lock.  Even Harper adjusted —  we taught our then 4-year old how to get the lock open.  Life skills 101. 

Either that or just maturity cured the flushing.  It cured it too well.  Brady hasn’t shown any interest in flushing ANYTHING since we we broke him.  This includes those necessary things like poo-poo and pee-pee.  No interest whatsoever.  He’ll go over in the corner and grunt and insist he’s not pooping.  He then comes out and says, “change my poo-poo.”  We’ve promised treats and rewards and I’m pretty sure he’s big sister even promised a trip to Disneyworld.  Maybe he saw through that one, but NO reward was enough to make him interested.  He could state to us that Poo-poo and pee-pee go in the potty, but he wouldn’t put it there.  When we asked if he would go in the potty, his reply was, “No, I not.”  His pre-school reports included a potty record.  They try to take all the kids several times a day, even those that aren’t yet potty trained.  In all the little potty blanks, Brady’s paper simply read “refused.”  And the former Flusher kept refusing. 

The wheels of change started turning on Valentine’s Day.  My Aunt Nancy and cousin Rachel visited and brought goodies.  Brady’s treat was a 3-pack of what he likes to call “Fuper Man panties.”  Translated, that’s Super Man briefs.  He’s got two big sisters he spends a lot of time with and he has chosen to call all underwear, even male underwear, panties.  His father his thrilled, especially when we try to correct Brady and he says, “Daddy wears panties.”  We decided  if it kept him interested, he could call them whatever he wanted. 

He put all 3 pairs of “Fuper” man on during Valentine’s dinner.  He loved them!  He even wore them backwards so he could see the biggest image on the back.  He danced and shook his booty and was incredibly pleased with himself.  He even took a pair off and starting hitting Harper with them.  Using his lingo, we all caught ourselves saying, “Don’t hit your brother with your panties.”  Ah, good times.  Then, he wet through all 3 pairs of Fuperman.  We asked about the potty and he repeated “No, I not”.  I then repeated my stance and said “No potty, no panties“.  A phrase every mom dreams of telling her little boy, right?  So we thanked Aunt Nancy and she got to share in the excitement, but Valentine’s was not going to be the night. 

He has stayed interested in those “panties”, asking frequently if he could wear his Fupermans.  We’ve stuck to our guns.  No potty, no panties.  But at least there was still some interest.  Some spark of hope.  Something going on in his brain, if not yet in the potty.  I’ve always believed in the theory that they will potty train when they are ready.  For all of our kids, readiness has meant being trained within a week, or even as quick as a couple of days.  I’d have to wait for that and keep changing grotesque diapies until then. 

And in the midst of my depression-like Funk I’ve recently written about, God sends a miracle.  Of all weeks, Brady decides this is the week.  With Marlee leading the pack, and the encouragement of all the other kiddos, I’m told Brady did poo-poo and pee-pee both on the little potty while I was at work.  Hurrah!  A start!  He’s also the first one to use a little potty.  Everyone else went straight to the big one.  So, we spend a few days reveling in the glory that he really could do it.  I had started to wonder.  And then, on Wednesday morning, Mr. Brady brings me down his FuperMan panties and asks to wear them.  The other kids were on their way out the door to school.  I asked him to go to the potty and we’d see what we could do.  He brings the potty into the kitchen – the morning Grand Central Station – and announces “no look at me.”  Yes, come into the main room naked and ask everyone not to look.  We played along and turned our heads and yes!!! — pee pee in the potty!  He wore the panties until he lost interest a little later that day and I was tired of wet clothes.  Thursday, at pre-school, they sent word  home to come next time in underwear – he pottied all day long! 

And now, today, we’ve been potty-only since Thursday with NO accidents.  Once he made it to the bathroom, but not the toilet.  I didn’t count that against him.  And the world of panties has expanded.  Fuperman is still is favorite, but there’s also “FungBob Kware Pants” and cars, and insects, and too many choices.  In fact, I catching him changing when he’s dry, just to wear new ones.  Once again, whatever it takes.  He’s even awakened two mornings with a dry overnight diaper (we aren’t brave enough to try nightime just yet.)  He’s obsessed.  He goes to the potty every 10.5 minutes on the average.  Poo-poo is more like a rabbit – a pellet or so every few minutes.  We don’t care.  We are rejoicing!  Talk about a natural anti-depressant – light at the end of the tunnel.  Relief is in sight.  If we can potty-train Brady (or more like if he can potty train himself), this family can do ANYTHING! 

Not only does he potty, he flushes.  His previous flushing misbehavior has been replaced by the joy of watching the pee-pee and poo-poo go down.  Oh happy day!  The Flusher has redeemed himself.  He’s polite and charming about the whole thing. 

“You are doing so good, Brady”

“Thank you, Mommy, Yes I do!” 

“Yes I do”?  Did he just say “Yes , I do”?  This is Mr. “No I Not”, after all. 

But yes, yes he do.  Yes he did. Yes he is!  Brady has made the reform of all reforms.  He’s turned the corner just when we needed it most.  He’s more than redeemed himself, he’s put sunny skies back over the Houkhouse. 

Thank you, Brady!  You can go to college wearing “Fuperman panties” if you wish! 

Overwhelming Support and Other Natural Anti-Depressants March 9, 2007

Wow friends, thanks for the insight, the ideas, and the support you all offered through those comments to my last post.   My wheels have been starting to turn very slowly, and writing that post was as therapeutic as it gets.   I started typing comments to address what I learned and gained from your comments and I found I  had too much to say, so I decided to just go ahead and post my rambling thoughts here.   I’ve inserted some of the comments I’m responding to. 

I love the way you all related in such a personal way. like this:

 “You know, I was doing okay until I got to the bottom of your post but when I read “Hubby … It must be hard to have your biggest fan be such a pain in the butt sometimes. I have un-dying faith in you …-.” That’s when the tears came! UGH! I can so relate to that statement. I know that I’m a pain in the butt to my husband sometimes (maybe a lot of the time?!?!) and we’ve been through some very bad times but just like you said, I love him so much and wouldn’t trade my life with him and my kids for anything”

 Well, we are in good company, because I cried writing the post, and it started a nice long cry that makes you need an eye-makeup artist by the next morning.  That’s okay.  It was good.   It was needed.  Hubby read it and it helped him understand me.  I must agree with momlovesbeingathome who wrote that comment.  Admitting that weakness when I need to support him the most was a really difficult piece of that post.  That is when I really lost it – when I realized I just wasn’t capable of being the support I wished I was. 

Joni - thanks for sharing those ideas about functioning. 

 ”I would have days where I’d literally wake up and negotiate myself out of bed. I’d think, “ok, in the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is put my feet on the floor. For the next 60 seconds, all I have to do is get up and go to the bathroom.” And step by step I could get going.”

Those very specific examples made me relate to an even more difficult time and brought back some more memories and tears – but healthy ones.  Those thoughts initiated a conversation between Steve and I and both of us remembering, “we’ve been through worse”. 

I appreciate all the prayers and hopefulness tremendously. In all your individual ways, you offered love, camaraderie, support, personal insight, inspiration, even a compliment or two, and concrete ideas.  I love it – thanks. 

 ”Writing is a great start, getting out and breathing some fresh air. Wake up in the morning and create your day, visulaize what you want to happen. Find someone else in a funk and cheer them up, can’t stay in a funk when you have to cheer someone else up”– tobeme

“I too am going through a rough time as well, a lot of things you wrote hit close to home for me. I just pray that soon I can see a sunny sky! I will be praying for you as well!” — lifelemons

“As always, you have provided me with great clairity and inspiration. Perhaps you can find comfort and support knowing how much you always inspire and help me. I dedicated my post today to you.” — onehappymom

For those of you that are currently in a “funk” like the one I’m giving it my all to get out of, or those of you that are facing life challenges as well, gosh, I appreciate you being so open.  I love this blog thing and now we do have a group that can help hold each other up.  There’s strength in numbers and I’ll think of and pray for you as you have so generously offered to do for me.

“Things often look bleek. But remember TOMOROW is another day.  “         — turtlesbirds

“ Here is to your husband getting the right job at the right time – the job he is meant to have – and to you being able to turn the corner on this funk.”      — mamadoggylove

And, dragonmommie – I am certainly nursing myself tonight as you suggested.

“ I do not try to deny it is happening. I plan the time for myself to be depressed, if that makes any sense. I will spend a weekend or a few days at the most to nurse myself… when I can feel sorry for myself. I think we need that time to step back from life”

 I’m going to get out of the house and play a little bunco with other females.  You are so, so right that we have to take time out.  If not, the time in becomes much less effective. 

And, one last thought regarding Joni’s words about raw prayer: 

“ This sounds trite but prayer helps me. But it has to be raw genuine thoughts. Not the shoulda’s. You know the kind “God I’m scared we won’t be provided for but I know I should be grateful…” When I come clean to God in prayer, my ability to trust him grows. Don’t know how that works. I’ve actually said I didn’t trust that he would provide even though I’ve seen it before. And then asked for more faith or a glimpse of what He’s planning for peace of mind. “

WOW – that was deep and so painfully truthful.  I’ve kept my “Suzy Sunshine” act up, even with my prayer.  Not last night — after reading your post, I realized I haven’t even allowed myself to go to those raw, even ugly thoughts with God.  But it is soooo cleansing to admit that.  To say, “God, I’m trying to believe and have faith here and so far there’s nothing!  “  Being that honest – woah.  I went to sleep with those kinds of prayers last night and I have to tell you, I woke up with a brighter outlook.  Today was a new today, and tomorrow is another brand new one, too. 

Peace, love, blessings, gratitude, and the strength to hold up through working it all out to you all.

Where Have I Been? March 7, 2007

Where have I been?  What an interesting question.  This was the question posed to me by a newly-found blogging buddy,  Mamadoggylove, when leaving a comment on my site.  And for that comment, I owe her a thank you.  She made me think, and I appreciate it.  She was kind enough to say she missed reading about my family.  Quite frankly, I’ve missed writing about them. 

So, where have I been? 

Tired?  Yes, but that’s usual. 

Overwhelmed?  Maybe. 

A bit depressed?  Perhaps. 

Back in 1996, during my several year stint in nursing management, I attended a fantastic seminar on leadership.  The speaker referred to a scenario in which, with the million things at any one time occupying one’s mind, the individual just “zones out”, so to speak.  He alluded to this happening during significant conversations, meetings, and other such times that were utterly inconvenient.  He advocated an approach of being very straightforward and basically stating, “I was gone there for a moment.  Here’s where I’ve been (if known), and now I’m back.”  Small world, I just did a quick search and found him on the internet.  He’s a pretty big speaker  it seems.  His name is Ben Bissell and I have never forgotten the above and all other kinds of leadership advice he presented.  Check him out if ever you should have the chance.   If anyone knows anyone that wants to offer me even a fraction of what he makes to come and present, you can bet I’d be all over it. 

So, heeding his advice, I’m here to say “I’ve been gone. ” Not really sure where.  In some sort of vague fog.  It’s the fog where wonderful, happy, beautiful things in life are going on all around, but there’s still this gnawing going on in me.  It’s the irony of watching my kids and the joy and energy they hold, and knowing I should be nothing short of thrilled, yet all the while, still bothered.  It reminds me of the post partum blues. 

Steve’s job search is weighing heavy on all of us.  Probably, most significantly on him, but certainly on me as well.  A friend at work said the other night, “I’m sure you could use a break.”  That may be true, but I don’t have any complaints.  I’m not really working extra.  I still love my job.  I’m right now on my 7 days in a row off that constitute my normal schedule.  But maybe it’s just the pressure, the knowing, the understanding that the money’s gone before it ever even arrives. 

Steve’s job currently is finding a job.  It could be a full-time job — too bad it doesn’t pay.  It seems that most companies now have a minimum of a 2-3 tiered interview process – some 4!  Add in between that online or written assessments, intelligence and personality tests, and the 1/2 day type “retreats” where they put him through various or group interviews, scenarios, and learning experiences.  It feels like you have to promise them a first-born child just to get an entry level job.  And although my first-born is a sassy adolescent right now, we’ve decided to keep them all.   

A few weeks ago, we were certain he had the perfect job.  He was through 3 interviews, a written assessment, a test resembling the SAT, and an hour’s worth of some test revolving around arranging “I’d rather…” statements.  They had even given him a start date.  We were gearing up to send him to Atlanta for training.  I was ready for it.  Even energized.  I had a plan mentally put together and I was all ready to put it into place.  And then, the call didn’t come.  And then the letter came.  Something about “selecting other candidates.”  In several weeks of interviewing, this job was the one he and I both felt the best about.  It was the best fit, and one I could see him excelling at.  Receiving that rejection was a blow.  It wasn’t just the job, it was the fact that our gut instincts seemed to be askew.  It really kind of messed with our reality and made us re-think our ability to accurately judge situations.  It took a chunk of our optimism. 

So, I find myself sitting here at home doing nothing.  Or worrying, or sleeping when I should be awake and vice-versa, or some combination of the above.  I find myself getting high scores on Webkinz World.  And while my kids appreciate the Webkinz cash, it’s a real sign something is off when your kids are fighting with you for computer time with their game.  The only real cooking I’ve done in a couple of weeks is that same salad I posted about last.  And I LOVE cooking. 

 In the past, if Steve and I were at home together, it was rare, and usually could be some sort of enjoyable day.  Now, we are in each other’s way.  Sharing one computer.  Micro-managing the extreme lack of funds we have.  We are tired of bumping into each other in the hallway.  It’s not quality time.  It’s frustrating time.  It’s “We’re aware that something is amiss” time.  Okay, who will change that next yucky diaper and did you move the load of laundry over, etc, etc, etc?  Routine, monotony, basic function.  Survival. 

I obsess about the phone ringing and it being a yes or no about the next interview.  I just answered 3 calls while typing this post.  One was from a potential employer.  I turned around to call Steve on his cell phone and couldn’t remember his cell phone number.  Did I mention another red flag that my functioning might not be up to par?  I wrote a post a few weeks ago about getting it together and I’m a little scared to go back and evaluate how many of the signs I meet right now to prove that life is a tad (if not more) out of balance. 

And so, here’s where I am.  Right here.  I’m right here trying really hard to keep my chin up.  I looking around and knowing I should feel blessed and feeling guilty when I give in to it and feel overcome with it all.  I’m tired of robbing Peter to pay Paul from the bank account and wondering when we can afford discount haircuts and prescription co-pays.  (If you happen to be one of my family members reading this – NO we aren’t going to lose the house or have to sell the kids and we don’t want to borrow money, yada, yada.)  I’m just venting. 

Today, I’ve decided to come out fighting, at least a little.  I at least decided to deal with my writer’s block.  It wasn’t really writer’s block, though, it was more like Function Block.  There was plenty to write about.  I just didn’t want to do it.  And so sitting here right now typing is a start.  I found a few other “starts” to which I wish to pay tribute:

• Once again thanks to mamdoggylove, whose concern through a comment kicked my butt right back into wanting to write something.
• My little Brady has been the little man rising to the occasion, taking care of us all, but especially his Mommy.  The kisses I have gotten have been too numerous to count.
• Stampin’ – ah, stampin.  Everyone needs a good hobby and a stress relief.  Thanks Andi for having a Stamp Camp I could attend.  And thanks to Kaytee, Deb, and Pam – some stampin’ buddies who always make me smile.  We all need time away and friends that make us smile.  These stampin’ projects are about the most productive thing I’ve done in a few weeks!  (oh yeah, and that damn green salad that is the only thing I’ve seemed to turn out of my kitchen  .  If you don’t know stampin’, just click and visit.  If you are local, we can stamp together – just let me know.  And if not, find a demonstrator in your area. 
• An odd, mixed blessing.  A recent interaction with a former employer attempted to open up some old wounds.  I was hurt deeply and the stability of my family threatened by this person.  The good news:  I only thought about picking the scab off this injury. I refused to let that wound re-open and instead, used it as a needed confirmation that I have the power to make decisions in my life that work best to support my faith and my family and my functioning.  I didn’t enjoy the interaction, but do appreciate the reminder.  It’s also a validation that my current place is much happier and that good friends are there to support you when needed.  TR, JB, and KC, plus all my new-found friends in my new unit – thanks simply for your presence in my life.
• Sunshine and warmer weather – oh how I’ve needed you! 
• My kids love me no matter how dysfunctional I am or how much time I take away from their computer.  Their ability to step-up when needed is amazing.
• And hubby.  Hubby who is making every effort and working so hard to get things settled so he can support his family.  It must be hard to have your biggest fan be such a pain in the butt sometimes.  I have un-dying faith in you – I just need to get myself together.  I wish I had more strength to offer right now, but I still would pick this life with you over and over again.  God could give me no greater gift on this earth than you and our children.

I’d love to hear from some of you all what kinds of things work for you when you are fighting the depression with all you’ve got.  Maybe something we share can benefit one another, so please, do tell. 

I’ll close today with a quote that continues to hang by my computer and a hope and prayer that we can all remember this when needed. 

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens;  but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. “

       — Helen Keller