The Hunt

The melting snow drip drip dripped from every rooftop and awning so steadily that it was possible to believe it was raining when I was out on the sidewalks of this city early today. The shining sun and singing birds, the joggers and bike riders, reminded me that spring really is here, emerging again after the recent snowfall.

The boys rallied for the egg hunt this morning - you'd have never known how feverish Lyle was if not for the bright pink cheeks. And although Baxter ventured so far as to say, "I think there really might not be an Easter Bunny after all - I think you guys might put out all this candy," he carefully avoided eye contact as he said it so I knew he didn't really want me to agree. My answer ("All I know is that I never touched an egg or piece of candy last night and yet they're all over the house this morning") was the truth; Matt played Easter Bunny this year.

Here is a 5-minute video of the egg hunt highlights. It may not be interesting to anyone besides the grandparents, but if you'd like to hear me making a total dork of myself acting surprised about everything, you won't be disappointed! We have watched last year's video quite a few times, the kids and I, and we love it - especially Lyle's adorable 2-year old ways and both kids looking so much smaller. Makes me wonder what next year's vantage point will be.

Musings on a Day at Home

The boys and I stayed home together today, giving Baxter another day of rest. The kiddos stayed in their pj's all day, even when we walked the half block to 7-11 to pick up some eggs for the sugar "flu-kies" we made this afternoon. I am only dressed because I went to the gym early this morning, which was a bit rough after a poor night's sleep. The kids've done very little this spring break week, aside from our Horton Hears a Who outing. In fact, I've done very little myself, or at least it feels that way, and I seem to be in a bit of a time warp. Life is strange when there's no car pool, no nursery school, to give the week its familiar shape. Perhaps it's simply this combination of factors, but I was feeling out of it this afternoon. Fatigued. And I seem to have a bit of a fever tonight. I have an unusually full day at work tomorrow (6 hour-long clients back-to-back without a break - yowza) and hope that I will wake up feeling well enough for it.

But before I turn in early, I have a few observations and photos from my day with the boys today:

1) When left to their own devices for more than 10 minutes, they were able to amuse themselves quite well. At one point, they played a game in which they took turns giving each other a good thwack on the rear end and then laughing uproariously (I tried to figure out how to phrase that to avoid showing up on the freakier Google searches). Next, they were happy to "spit" (more like raspberries) on a piece of construction paper, declare it "Disgusting!" and then pass it to the other brother. Which begs the question: what will the teenage years look like? And one of my favorite games is when Baxter randomly asks, "Lyle, what + what = what?" to which Lyle earnestly starts guessing numbers. "100, Baxter?" - "Nope." - "17, Baxter?" - "No way, Lyle!" I love crazy sibling shit like that.


2) A highlight of my first use of the new Kitchen Aid mixer (which was mentioned in comments earlier today - it was fantastic!) was when I had my back turned and Lyle switched it on - with the mixing blade pointing up, full of the wet ingredients for cookie dough. One word: EVERYWHERE.

3) These boys are being ludicrously kind to each other these days. I think there was only one argument all day, and that was about whether there was enough natural light in the playroom to warrant turning the lights on. Lyle insisted it would be "wasting electricity" and Baxter turned the lights on anyway. High-pitched three-year old screaming ensued. But, really, if there's going to be an argument, I'll take that one.


3) As I mentioned earlier today, it is supposed to snow tonight, tomorrow, oh, and Saturday and Sunday a bit, too. I had to stop, mid-cookie baking, when I saw the sun hitting the tulips like this on our dining room table. I'm going to keep it in my pocket tomorrow to remind me that spring was once here for a short while and will be back.

Spring Break Fun: Horton Hears a Who

It's spring break for the smaller people around these here parts and, although I'm still working this week, today is one of my days off.

We had Big Plans to go to Pump It Up for a rambunctious indoor play date with Lyle's nursery school classmates, but when Baxter was still up coughing last night at 10 pm I realized it was time for Plan B. Now, Plan B had to be good, Wonderfriends*, because there was a lot of pre-asthmatic-coughing excitement built up around Pump It Up. At the same time, Plan B had to involve a certain amount of stillness so as not to aggravate the cough. Tricky combo, that. Matt bailed me out last night from Madison, where he's on his third business trip in as many weeks, by texting the word "movie?"

Score! Movie! And thank God I'd planned ahead, because I was able to present Plan B this morning when the boys climbed into bed with me, Baxter's lip already quivering due to his suspicion that I was going to say a big fat "no" to Pump It Up (I may have hinted at something along those lines when I came in with more medicine late last night). Tears were barely averted - it was only when the words "popcorn" and "candy" were uttered that Plan B became acceptable. Phew!

Our outing to see Horton Hears a Who at the Davis Theater in Lincoln Square was made all the more exciting by the fact that it was Lyle's first visit to a movie theater. It really helped that he was at the Dan Zanes show two days ago and so understood that the seats would tilt and it would get dark. He was a little disappointed, however, that there were no numbers on the movie theater seats - he will probably remember Seat 17 for the rest of his childhood. That was apparently worth the price of admission to the little one.

My expectations of this movie were fairly low, to be honest. As far as I'm concerned, Pixar has set the bar awfully high for kids' movies and I've become a bit of a snob about anything else. Which may be, in part, because I haven't seen anything else halfway decent for kids in a long time. I'm not going to say that Horton Hears a Who was fantastic, but it was perfectly enjoyable. There were some real laugh-out-loud funny moments for all three of us, and Baxter was frequently leaning halfway over the seat in front of him (which, thankfully, was vacant) out of pure excitement. I also heard him say, "Oh, MAN!" quite a few times. Further, I was pleasantly surprised with 3-year old Lyle's ability to sit through this 1.5 hour movie, although I'm not going to lie: the movie popcorn in a small Lyle-sized bag and occasional M&M's really helped. I was pretty sure that he wasn't taking in much more than the snacks and the thrill of the cup holders, but on our way out he was actually able to talk about the movie with us, so I guess he did.

And, you know? Even with the whole "A person's a person no matter how small" and the "we're just people living on a speck on a clover but we are interconnected with the larger universe" thing going on, I didn't cry much at all! So I'm thinking it wasn't that schmaltzy, either, because there was a lot of potential for weepiness in that story, let me tell you.

So, I'm going to go ahead and give it 3 stars and 1 teardrop (out of 5). Go out and enjoy it with your kids.

* Thank you, Cara, for coining the term Wonderfriends in my comments today. LOVE IT!

Early Spring by the Lake

The boys and I found our local park by Lake Michigan to be more mucky puddle than play area yesterday, so we headed over to the beach and reacquainted ourselves with its streams, rocks, and the chilly sand of the early season. We also found that the other children had come out of hibernation. I wanted to stay out until dark.

Here there be Scarves

Matt's parents came yesterday to spend the afternoon and evening with the boys.

And the skies opened, revealing the very heavens above, and together Matt and I flew on the wings of angels far up into the sky and slid down on a rainbow singing the Hallelujah Chorus...

Or holed ourselves up in the office for 3 hours and did our taxes and all kinds of other financial crap. But whatever. The Devil's in the details.

We did go out later for an absolutely incredible Indian dinner here. (We decided to do this once we found out we were getting a decent refund - thank GOD - because if we had owed, we'd have taken our forks straight out to the dumpster in the alley and started digging. I kid you not.) So we did go out and do something nice, I swear. Now stop hounding me. Sheesh.

Anyway, this is all a very long and obnoxious way of saying that Matt's parents were here and we were beyond grateful. Furthermore, my mother-in-law brought some adorable fleece scarves she'd made for the boys out of carefully-chosen fabric (CARS movie printed fleece for Lyle, sharks for Baxter), and they wore them all evening, by grandparent report. They were (appropriately) not allowed to sleep in them due to the inherent choking hazard, but one tiny scarf had been made for Lyle's "Baby" - it matched Lyle's, and Oma determined that Baby was unlikely to meet his demise by choking on a CARS scarf in the wee hours, and so he got to wear his to bed.

Have we discussed the fact that OMA ROCKS?!

Oh God. I have to cut back on the chocolate.

Fast forward to this morning...one of the best parts about having a 7-year old in the house is that he is savvy enough to operate most of our techmology himself. So when the boys woke up at 6:07 am (thanks, Captain Time Change!), they were able to go turn on a Wallace & Gromit DVD themselves and we could attempt to go back to sleep despite the sounds of Wallace asking for his Wensleydale and Gromit shooting at a penguin from a steam train car.

When I finally got up and went into the living room, I frightened the boys by laughing out loud very heartily. This might not sound nice, but you would have, too, even though most of you are ever so much nicer than me.

I can be certain of your laughter because this is how they were watching TV:

They are dorks, I know this. But they're my dorks. They come by it naturally, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

PS: Just to freak you out further, here's Baby all decked out in his jaunty new scarf as he headed to church today, tucked into Lyle's seat belt:

Making French Toast with the Boys

As Baxter put it, "At least we didn't break anything..."

(Not unless you count the egg broken all over the counter, no. And, since the glass bowl Lyle threw into the mixing bowl was Pyrex, it didn't break.)

What Really Counted Today

You know those days? The ones when your children are clinging to their worst selves for dear life, as if by showing their sweetness they might be tossed into the wild ocean and eaten by bloodthirsty sharks? Do you know those?

Yeah, I thought so.

That's the kind of afternoon I had with the boys. The kind where Lyle doesn't nap and so is alternately grouchy and ridiculously punchy, and Baxter springs from the dismissal line at school like a hugely overgrown puppy, nearly knocking us over with his full-body hug and getting reprimanded by the older gentleman he smashed into along the way. The kind where I step out of the car to pump gas and wish I could stay all afternoon out there in the cold, hunched over alongside my car, breathing fumes. Where I have to pick up a couple things at the grocery store (is that really, truly so much to ask?) and they are so hyper I want to slink down the aisle while they are loudly suggesting I buy them some Popsicles ("Because it weally is a warm, warm day, Mommy...") and hide around the corner, preferably snuggled in among the really good cabernets, if you know what I mean. Oh, and the kind where I finally pull over to the side of a busy street and confiscate every last glove, mitten, hat, and anything else not tied down to the car (or the children) that might be thrown across the back seat or into the front seat because if that happens one more time I will lose my shit and start throwing things back at them. Big things.

Yes, the kind of afternoon where I suddenly grow sharp, ugly fangs, and frightening horns spring from my head, and I say crazy things at full volume and retract hot cocoa promises. And all I want is for these two crazy-making little people to find another corner of the house for, oh, 4 years or so, allowing me to read a book and cook some more good food. In silence.

But then. Then they decide they'd like to sleep together, since we're already warm and cuddled in the queen-size bed in the playroom reading Harry Potter and The Berenstain Bears, and they look so sleepy and sweet that I let them. And so I move the monitor and take about 10 essential items from their bunk bed and toss them into the big bed among the drowsy guys, and I see the adorable grins on their faces as they cuddle up together, falling asleep before I am even out of the room.

And I can see that this will work out just fine, them sleeping together tonight and this raising of two children, and realize that most of that time when they are making me crazy they are also really enjoying each other, and although I lingered at the gas station today breathing fumes in exchange for peace and quiet, that does count for a lot.

A whole lot.

Big Fancy Brother

We tried to go out to play today. Really, we did. Matt was able to take a little holiday time off this morning and we all bundled up to get some fresh air and attempted to go to the neighborhood playground for some exercise. However, once out in the below-zero wind chill, Lyle didn't make it further than the corner ATM. To Matt and Baxter's credit, they spent about 15 minutes at the playground, and had a rousing game of catch with an ice ball. (Don't you just love hearing about life in the midwest, those of you who live elsewhere?!)

Once both boys were back at the house, they made up this fantastic game which served the dual purposes of a) burning off some energy and b) making their mother very happy to see them getting along so well. Believe me, not every interaction between my sons looks like this; if it did, I would not have pulled out the video camera. But they're able to play together well more and more often these days, and they remind me of a couple of energetic little puppies.

The fun continued when they were called upstairs to lunch and Baxter agreed to help Lyle wash his hands (often a bone of contention). As I passed by the bathroom door I heard Lyle declare happily, "Baxter? You are my big, fancy brother!!"

Here are the two fancy brothers having a great time together in the play room (adult supervision highly recommended):

Family of Valentines

For my little guys, Valentine's Day is about a few different things. It's about waking up to some candy and a couple of new books on the breakfast table, and then handing out some of the yummy cookies they made for our friends and neighbors. For Baxter it's about bringing Scooby Doo Valentines to school and giving them to everyone during the class party in the afternoon. For Lyle it's about wearing pajamas to preschool and getting to watch "Harold and the Purple Crayon" on DVD. (I mean, seriously, a movie at preschool? Unimaginable excitement.)

For my big guy, Valentine's Day will probably mean fighting his way through another day with a bad head cold, and eating the Red Vines I've given him. Oh, and maybe sneaking a few of those yummy cookies when no one's looking. Those oughta take the edge off that cold.

But for me? My Valentine's Day highlight this year is about giving Baxter one of these lovely hearts that he's been pining for ever since I gave one to Lyle last week. Okay, and it's about giving one to Matt, too, because I also want him to have something to hold onto when he misses me.

You see, I'll be leaving on a jet plane after work tomorrow night for my Second Annual Unbelievably Fabulous Girls' Weekend, this time in Minneapolis because the friend who lives there is quite pregnant and not up for travel. I wrote about last year's amazing weekend here, and have been looking forward to doing it again all year; as in, I was excited in August that we were already halfway to the next one. That kind of excited. I have no doubt that I will have a wonderful time again this year. However, it is somewhat unfortunate that this weekend with friends and my trip to California are only going to be separated by two days; days which I will spend with the boys in their entirety, but which are still only two days bookended by time spent away from them.

And so we're going to need these hearts, all of us. My guys with their beautiful flecked glass hearts and me with the colorful Lego heart creation that Lyle made for me, the one that the boys fill with hugs, kisses, and love every time I leave the house. (Truly, every morning there's a huddle by the door as hearts are filled with smooches and "squeeeeeezy, squeeeezy hugs!". It would melt the heart of even the grinchiest Grinch.)

We'll hang on tight to these hearts, my sweet family of Valentines, over the next 10 days as we separate, come back together, and then separate once again, holding the love close until we are all under one roof and life returns to normal around here.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

We are Living in the Future

The boys did a video chat with my parents in California tonight:

Such mild-mannered urchins I have.

Cats and Dogs and Allergens: Oh, My!

So that Suzuki violin class? The one we won in the auction and went to visit tonight to see what we thought of it? Where Baxter excitedly got measured for his quarter-sized violin?

The one that both kids wanted to participate in, with even Lyle whining for a violin (which he could have soon, if we so choose)? Close to our neighborhood? With the really fantastic teacher?

Yeah, that one.

Well, it's in the teacher's house. A perfectly lovely house, I should note, but one that has cat and dog hair swirling into the air and taking off from the floor every time a child so much as places his violin down on the floor to play the "who can pick up their bow properly the fastest" game. With the actual multiple felines and canines racing through the house at the end of class.

There is no way I can spend all that time in that house every week, this much became clear by the completion of the hour.

Damn these allergies.

Damn them.

They'll Have to Carry Me Down the Aisle in a Coffin

Baxter, Lyle and I were in the boys' room one recent morning, getting them dressed for school.

I can't remember how the topic came around to marriage, but I jokingly asked Lyle who he thinks he might marry someday. He didn't know how to answer this ridiculous question so instead focused on the fact that it would mean he could "be a fiance", an idea with which he is hilariously obsessed.

I asked Baxter if he remembered who he wanted to marry at age 3. He remembered, if only because we love the story so much. "You?" he asked, laughing. "Yes, me! And you used to cry all the time about the fact that I was already married!" He cracked up at this. (It really was funny: oh, the dramatic sobs at the dinner table!)

Lyle laughed, too. "I can't marry Mommy!" he joked.

"No, you can't, Lyle!" squealed Baxter. "And neither could I!"

"And anyway," he continued sagely, turning towards me, "what I didn't even know then is that you'll already be DEAD when I'm getting married!"

God, how I used to love that kid.

A Musical Interlude

We seem to have entered a musical period around here. It started fairly innocently, when Matt and I decided, on a lark, to bid on a set of two introductory violin lessons during the nursery school's online fund-raising auction.

I played violin and viola for a number of years, as I alluded to once before. I enjoyed playing, and although I wasn't particularly stellar at it, I was decent enough to be part of a youth orchestra and a string quartet - which I especially loved, much in the way that I later preferred singing in a choir to performing solo. (Everyone needs a viola player and an alto!) In fact, now that I've been focused on such things in recent weeks, I have been surprised to realize how much music was a part of my life growing up, in a way it surely is not anymore. I eventually left string instruments behind in favor of choirs and theater productions, which were the highlights of my extra-curricular life for many years.

Perhaps if I'd started learning the violin at a younger age I would have been better at it and stuck with it longer. Probably not. But, I have talked a lot to Baxter over the years about starting an instrument. He's always been interested, but I haven't felt he could sit still long enough until pretty recently. When I saw this auction item, I thought it might be a good way to give it a try. The instructor is in the neighborhood and sounds great. He teaches the Suzuki method, which is how I learned and what I would prefer for my kids.

Now that we are the lucky winners of those Suzuki violin classes I am starting to realize what we're getting into. This isn't really just two "try it out" lessons - there are the weekly individual lessons, yes, but also every-other-week group lessons. There's the measurement and ordering of the correct rental violin, and perhaps the ordering of a rental for me as well, since it's ideal for a student to have an adult to imitate (do I still have any skills left to imitate?!). I have discovered that Shar Music, the company whose catalog I pored over in the '80s, picking out new strings and a comfortable shoulder rest, now has a website from which I can order my son's copy of Suzuki violin book 1 and the accompanying CD. It's all rushing back to me.

When I mentioned to the instructor that I sort of wanted to make sure that Baxter liked it before jumping in, I got a very kind and sensible email response about the fact that the responsibility to start and keep playing an instrument at this age has a lot to do with parental motivation and coaching kids through the hard moments. He explained that he would coach me along the way about how to teach Baxter in small, doable steps while keeping it really fun for him.

So, although this is going to cause some - er - interesting scheduling issues for us in addition to daily practice, we're going to jump in and see what happens. We are committed to working on it through June. (Of course, if it doesn't seem like a good fit after our two "free" (i.e., paid for) sessions I have no qualms about saying "sayonara", but if Baxter's interest wanes come mid-March we'll see it through.)

Oh, and thanks to a positive reference to the Music Together program on the Suzuki instructor's website and my recent fond recollection of what a wonderful program it was when I was writing this post, I signed Lyle up for Saturday morning Music Together classes as well. He's not doing any other classes right now and I wanted him to have something special just for him, especially with his big brother starting all these music classes. This seemed like a great choice and he's loving it (and so am I!).

All of a sudden, it appears that - at least for the next 6 months - my life is going to revolve around music learning all over again. I'm enjoying it immensely.

Teacher Had a Big Ole 'But'

Things have been altogether too quiet on The Teacher front. Oh, you remember her, don't you, from previous scenes such as "Totally Freaking Me Out", "Totally Pissing Me Off", and - a favorite of Wonderwheel readers everywhere - "Totally Forgetting Baxter's Birthday Party"?

Yes, that one.

Well, I've got another good one for you today. Buckle your seat belts...

It's pick-up time. The Teacher asks, "Which way are you guys walking?"

Confused, I point to the east where my car is parked.

"Okay, you boys run ahead," she says to Baxter and his friend, Carpool Buddy, essentially sending them unsupervised into a big crowd that is heading towards a busy parking lot exit.

Then she begins very seriously with, "Most of the other kids..." No, she decides this is not how to start, so we pretend she didn't say that. She starts again. "Baxter is a VERY sweet and good student... " and at this point she grabs my arm - "now, don't think there's going to be a 'but' here, because there isn't! There's no 'but' in this sentence! I promise!"

Now I'm really confused. I was quite positive that I heard a 'but' coming and was very, very interested to hear what it would be this time. Because if there's no 'but', what could possibly come next? "...and so I've nominated him for a very special award that only goes to the sweet and smart kids and I didn't want him to know about it"? That was all I could come up with in the split second before she opened that truly amazing mouth of hers again.

So she goes on. And you won't even believe what she said.

"He is a very sweet and good student...BUT..."

And then she says lightly, as if surprised, "Oh, well, I guess there was a 'but' in that sentence, after all!"

Oh. my. God.

What. a. nut.

(And, I'd just like to add for your continued amazement that the big ole "but" was because today when she asked him not to read during writing time - he was finished with his writing work - he cried, and she didn't know why. And apparently he did this once before, but it was a long time ago. And so she wanted us to work "as a team" to get to the bottom of this. Which was not difficult because he immediately 'fessed up to me that he was really embarrassed that he was called out for doing something he shouldn't be doing and didn't realize it wasn't okay. Personally, I'd reserve that kind of admonishment for, I don't know, breaking classroom crayons when bored, rather than reading a book at one's literacy magnet school. Maybe that's just me.)

Panhandlers and Parking Lots

"Hey, why didn't you guys give that man money just now?" came the accusing voice from the back seat. "He needed money for food!"

My immediate internal reaction was to recoil in shock: What man? Was there a man panhandling who did not even register with me? Did I just look right through someone? This horrified me until I looked behind us as we drove on and realized that the man Baxter saw was alongside Matt's window and I had been looking through mine. Phew.

Nonetheless, this was difficult to explain to a 7-year old. We tried to talk about how - rather than handing out money to all of the individuals we pass - we give money to social service organizations that provide food, shelter, and other assistance to people in that man's position, and also reminded Baxter of the food drives, the mitten trees, and the social justice activities that we participate in through church.

"So...why didn't you give that man that advice? Why didn't you stop and tell him to go to one of those places?" he demanded further.

This was more difficult to answer.

*********

She was standing in the dark parking lot when I left the grocery store last night. I didn't see her until she stepped forward, moving towards me and talking softly but urgently to me.

"Please, miss, can you help me?" her eyes were filled with tears. She was embarrassed. "Don't be afraid of me. Now, my name is Cindy, so if anything happens you know my name. I'm not going to do anything wrong or hurt you. I am a single mother of two children and I need some food for my girls. Last time I tried to steal some in there and they caught me. This time I want to do right. I don't want to steal food, but we need something to eat." She repeated her name to me as if handing me the proof of her legitimacy. And maybe she was.

I looked at her. It was unclear whether she had just moments before been kicked out for shoplifting or if this had happened another night. Or ever. "If you go in there tonight, will they let you buy food?" She nodded. I considered the situation. "Okay."

Extremely protective of my belongings, I carefully extracted the cash I had just gotten at the grocery store and handed it to her without ever removing my wallet or any other contents of my hand bag. She asked if she could give me a hug, and I said "Yes", knowing full well that this would be the moment the bag could be wrenched from my grasp for good and the gig would be up. But it wasn't. We hugged tightly and I watched her walk into the grocery store, wondering what she would buy with the money I'd just given her.

Would it truly be food for herself and two children? Would my cash be turned into something else, some substance that might drown her sorrows for another night? Or perhaps she walked into the store and exited out another door with another set of plans in mind altogether.

I'm not ignorant in my compassion. I do spend a lot of my time and we give as much as we can afford to others, but I try to be careful about how I do it. I know I could have accompanied this crying woman into the store and made sure she bought food with the money, but I trusted her somehow and, frankly, that idea felt like adding insult to injury.

This act tonight was not cautious. It was a reckless act. I may well have been conned. But I rely on my intuition and something told me that Cindy - or whomever she was - deserved whatever I could do for her. I wished I could've done more in that moment, but a small act of compassion and a big hug were the best I had to offer.

I did it for her, for whatever was going so wrong in her life, and I did it for her kids - real or fictitious.

And I did it for mine.

The More People He Meets

My son Baxter has a rather unique personality. He is what his father and I think of as uber-social, and has been since birth. Baxter was the 18-month old who walked into day care with a big grin and greeted each other toddler by name and with a hug (which usually knocked them to the floor, one by one - there were those sensory issues coming into play!). He was the preschooler who didn't just start playing in the sandbox at the park, he first went from unfamiliar child to unfamiliar child, greeting them with a big smile and a hello. My friends used to refer to him as "Mayor of the Playground".

Recently, Matt and I had an odd realization: it occurred to us that we couldn't think of a single person Baxter had ever disliked. No complaint about another child at school, no adult who wasn't his cup of tea. In his book, it seemed, everyone was fantastic. In fact, to this day if you ask him how his day was, he invariably answers, "GREAT!" each time with completely earnest enthusiasm. My father told me last year that he loved this quality in Baxter so much he had started responding that way himself at work just to see how other people reacted. My mother said recently that Baxter's attitude towards life is "refreshing". I agree.

While I was making Christmas cookies with Baxter a few weeks ago, we had a lovely conversation, as we often do when we're together. I brought up this question of whether he'd ever met someone he didn't like. He thought about it, and agreed that we were right - he had not. "In fact," he said, "the more people I meet, the more people I like!" This was followed by, "Hey, that should be my motto!" Delighted, I agreed. He was given the t-shirt shown in the photo above by my highly amused cousin in San Francisco, complete with his new motto printed on the front.

Last week we visited a childhood friend of mine who lives in Santa Cruz. Soon after we adults had settled ourselves at the beach side cafe with our coffee cups and gigantic muffins, Baxter headed into the sand with a Frisbee. About five minutes later, my friend asked, "So, what's Baxter like?" I pointed over beyond the volleyball nets - "Well, did you read his t-shirt?" He said that he had, grinning. "And do you see him over there?" My friend turned and realized that Baxter had singlehandedly organized an impromptu game of Frisbee on the beach with a mixed group of kids and adults, within five minutes. He was happily taking pointers from someone's dad about his throw. A while later the game switched to football and he was tackling unfamiliar children in the sand, children he would've knocked over 6 years ago had they been in day care together.

Thus it came as some surprise tonight at dinner when we were looking at Lyle's map place mat and I idly asked, "Where do you boys think you'll live someday?" (secretly hoping the answer would be "next door"). Baxter's voice shook a bit with emotion as he replied, "Anywhere, as long as Adam P. doesn't live there!"

Whoa.

It all spilled out. Adam P. (one must use last name initials at all times in second grade!) has been calling him names (primarily "Dexter", which is just kind of lame, if you ask me) and generally being a little stinkpot to Baxter. Bax sat on my lap, curled up with long thin limbs that were unsure of where they fit anymore, and told us all about it. I think we handled it well enough, talking a lot about how he felt, why Adam P. might be doing that, and what Baxter does about it. A discussion about the power of ignoring ensued, and after a while he brightened up and it was clear that this load he'd been carrying had been lifted from his sturdy 7-year old shoulders. He even laughed when Lyle then climbed on my lap, saying, "And Mommy? The boys at preschool are saying rude things to me, too!" and then made up all kinds of crazy things that have definitely never happened. All for a little cuddle and attention. So we had a big family love-in on the couch for a while and then went on with our evening.

It had to happen sometime, didn't it? I mean, someone had to get his attention with nasty behavior enough times to bring him to the point of dislike. It sounded like it had been going on for months, so I think he's been quite tolerant about it for a while now.

In the end, I know that even the Mayor of the Playground is going to have a few enemies. But I have a feeling that's not going to slow him down for long. I'm pretty sure of it.

What Goes Around

This morning I clicked over to read Susan Etlinger's latest post on The Family Room blog. Among her other treasures of the day were a couple of new blog recommendations for her readers. Both are excellent. One of these, in fact, was a blog I just discovered myself this week, that of my friend Emily in Texas. Aptly titled A Life Less Ordinary, Emily writes about life with her three fantastic little boys, who are perfectly extraordinary.

Finding Emily's blog was a gift this week. We were friends back in San Francisco, brought together by Baxter and her oldest son, TH, who were absolutely the best of friends in preschool. Our families began to meet up for playdates, and Emily and I always seemed to manage dinners out on each other's wedding anniversaries (without our spouses). I'm still not sure how it worked out that way, but it did. That is, until they moved to Texas and we left for Chicago in the summer of '06. With work and distance and all these boys, Emily and I have only stayed in touch sporadically, so you can imagine my joy when I was able to sit down, read her posts and look at her photos - and TH's incredible artwork!! - on her blog all at once.

Thus, I was thrilled to see that Susan had linked to Emily today. Coincidentally enough, Emily had just posted to her own readers that they should come on over and check out The Wonderwheel, writing awfully sweet and humbling things about this blog and my work. (Aww, shucks.)

I can't let this circle of blog love stop here. All day I was thinking, "I need to bring this full circle and link back to Susan now!" But here's the thing. All I could think of was how many of you are out there, blogging about your very special kids. Yes, I know, all kids are special (yadda, yadda, yadda), and I enjoy reading some blogs that are written by parents of typically-developing kids too, but those of you who are writing so beautifully about the winding path you walk with your extraordinary kids, you all deserve a really huge thank you from me.

So here we go:

You and you and also you and you..and you and of course you, you, and you - and also you, you, and you...and all the rest of you out there whom I haven't yet read or haven't visited recently enough because eventually a girl's gotta sleep...

Thank you for letting me in and not making me feel like an impostor for reading and commenting on your blogs. Thank you for reading and being a part of my life through my own blog. Thank you for helping me to bridge - just a little bit - the wide gap between parents with typically-developing kids and those who are on their own unique path through life. Thank you for your insights into parenting, which not only allow me to be a better parent myself but have dramatically changed the way I work with families.

Thank you, Susan, and thank you, Emily.

Thank you.

All of you.

Blogging with Neighbors

The other day as I was unsuccessfully hurrying out the door for work, I was also trying to tell Matt that many people in our condo building were interested in making a group donation in honor of a neighbor who died last week. (I'm organizing the donation.) Given my frazzled state, I was having a bit of a word retrieval issue.

Me: "Sounds like most of our neighbors are interested in doing a..." (and here I faltered, so a long pause ensued)

Baxter (filling in the blank from the breakfast table): "...blog?"

Not only was this funny because, well, it's just hilarious to hear the word "blog" from a child's mouth (although it was even funnier when my 86-year old grandmother referred to it as my "blob" today on the phone), but because the very idea of our condo neighbors writing a collective blog just killed us.

Think about it: if your closest neighbors were to start a group blog, what would it be like? Do tell.

Murky Waters

My three year old exclaimed joyfully over the gift he received from Santa at my clinic's holiday party today. As he pulled out one Cars character and then another, a father watched with interest from across the table. He happened to be one of the few parents I'd never met, because his child only comes on a day when I'm not working. Turns out, his young son, also intently watching Lyle open "Lizzie" and "Boost", is a big Cars fan. Very few people - even among the fans - know a lesser-known character like "Boost", who shows up in the film for about one minute.

"Oh, we know our Cars!" the dad emphasized, giving me a knowing look. It suddenly occurred to me that I was getting the "our kids share this obsession" look from a parent who most likely thought that I was the parent of a child with special needs, not one of the hosting therapists.

This doesn't bother me, but it is always an interesting exercise for me to see my kids through the eyes of other parents who assume - because of the context, where we are - that one or both of my boys has special needs.

I remember the first time this happened, which was when Baxter was almost three and we were waiting to sign in for the Cure Autism Now: Walk Now event in San Francisco in 2003. There were precious few families around us who had only neurotypical kids. I realized this and looked over at Baxter, curious to know if he was wondering about any of the out-of-the-ordinary behaviors that barely register with me anymore - only to find him toe walking and twirling, and watching as he crashed into his father on purpose to stop himself. I giggled over the irony at the time, but also found it fascinating to realize that, put in the context of kids with sensory processing and communication disorders, my neurotypical child fit right in, by all appearances.

It's true. Baxter toe-walked his way through life until he was about 4 1/2 years old; only when he was excited but, truth be told, he was pretty much excited all the time. He was also under-responsive to touch, needing a lot of proprioceptive input to his body. He could spend hours jumping and crashing non-stop, and to this day (to a much lesser extent) seeks that out. When Baxter was four years old, I suffered through some very long Music Together sessions where he ran in circles around the room (which encouraged other kids to follow him, of course) and eventually crashed so that there was a huge pile of preschoolers on top of him. (Remember that, Stacy?) This while the rest of the class sat tamely banging two red sticks together to "Little Red Wagon". Thankfully - and to Music Together's credit (I love that program!) - the teacher had enough training to know that developmentally that's how some kids process music, and it was fine. (For the record, I'd be very uncomfortable with any music class for young children that insisted they sit to participate. Don't laugh - they're out there.) With my introduction of a modified ALERT program, Baxter learned to calm himself and participate more conventionally. Eventually. (And now I'm a little freaked out because - did you notice? - the Music Together and ALERT program websites look oddly similar!)

At the same time, he was over-responsive around his face (i.e., tactile defensiveness) and literally gagged when we put on sunscreen. He still can't stand any lotion on his face and barely tolerates the application of it all summer.

And while to me all of this raises huge red flags for sensory processing disorder, and I treated each of these symptoms as I would in a client (with input from OT colleagues), he is a typically developing child.

Then there's Lyle. Lyle, who is three now himself, demonstrates none of those same characteristics but, as I've recently discussed, has his own set of challenges.

I'm not sharing this because I think that as a parent I am in the same boat as my clients' parents. I do not believe that my experience is the same. At all.

I am sharing it because I truly understand when the mom of a newly-diagnosed child with autism says, "I guess I thought all kids did those things," or a dad tells me, "We thought he was just quirky." But the most difficult of all is, "How do I know if this issue is a typical part of development, or related to his special needs?"

It is murky. Downright murky, indeed.

Surviving the Holidays with Sensitive Kids

Both of my boys are sensitive guys. I believe that, in the long-term, this is a good quality in the males of our species, I really do. In the short-term it can be a bit tough, however. Among other things, it means that Baxter cries easily and was afraid of segments on Sesame Street until he was about 6 years old. I mean, truly, there is never any doubt about how that boy is feeling and it's been relatively easy to help him learn to manage his emotions.

But Lyle, though probably even more sensitive and finely-tuned than his big brother, has been much harder to read. Rather than crying when he's scared or his feelings have been hurt, he is likely to feel confused and hide behind what I think of as his "wacky" behaviors: moodiness, hitting, sudden shrieking, twirling in circles, and jumping on top of his brother.

I see children through an uncommon lens, because of my training. I'm sure this has pros and cons for my family. In my book, children's behavior is highly meaningful - they are communicating something with their actions, and our job is to watch, listen, and interpret the message in order to respond appropriately.

So when Lyle's "wacky" behaviors began to escalate in the past week, I took it very seriously and watched carefully. In addition to the usuals - which were significantly heightened - he began to bite his shirt collar or jacket a lot - and a couple of times even bit his own hand earlier this week.

Now, listen up: if you are my child and you want me to go into Full Alert Mode, just start biting your hand. I'm all yours.

I watched. I listened. I talked to Matt. I thought about it a lot.

Let's see, what's going on for this shy little guy...Christmas is coming (exciting)...Santa is coming (scary and exciting)...he was invited to his first school friend's birthday party (scary and exciting)...my work party is this Saturday, complete with a live Santa (scary and exciting)...Mommy was a stress case the last two weeks (scary)...there are new decorations all over the house - and everywhere else, for that matter (exciting but different from the norm)...we'll be going to California in less than two weeks (exciting). And on and on. No wonder the child is completely dysregulated. That's a lot for a small boy to handle.

So here's what I've done.

First of all, I quickly gave him a substitute to bite. Because think about it - oral input is the most primitive source of comfort and self-regulation we've got. Consider breast-feeding, sucking on a pacifier or a thumb. Many adults use food or cigarettes to satisfy that need. If we say, "Stop biting" but give the child nothing to substitute with, we are probably causing him more discomfort and then what's going to happen? Probably more biting.

I have a collection of oral motor tools that are safe and durable, and I offered Lyle an assortment. He took to one of them. I encouraged him to get all the oral input he wanted with that - while we read stories, when he watched a video, or when he was starting to experience heightened emotions. It helped. Forty-eight hours later he isn't biting anything else and isn't even using the tool much.

Second, I worked extra hard with him to identify what he was feeling. When he began to bite his shirt or shout, I slowed him down and asked, "What are you feeling right now?", helping him to differentiate between excitement and nervousness so that we could identify other ways to deal with those feelings. This worked very well. Tuesday afternoon I took the boys over to Starbucks for hot cocoa in the afternoon. Lyle was starting to get really wired, and I raised my voice to get his attention before he bumped into someone. He immediately bit his shirt - but then stopped and said to me, "I was surprised because you spoke sharply to me." He then climbed on my lap and allowed me to comfort him and explain why I spoke sharply. This self-awareness led to an immediate decrease in the undesirable behaviors in that environment.

Third, I slowed down his world as much as I could. I started to speak slower and more quietly to him, and kept our schedule as calm as possible. I made an extra effort to sit down and focus on pretend playing with him more often, which always gives us more opportunities to connect emotionally and play out difficult situations.

Fourth, I made life more predictable. I drew a calendar of the next few weeks for the kids. On each day, I drew simple pictures to identify Lyle's school days, days with the nanny, when exactly the parties are, when we go to California, etc. When life is busy and routines change all of a sudden, many kids (and probably adults) need some extra predictability and external organization. Both of the boys are checking their calendar multiple times a day; it's posted on the refrigerator.

This is an exciting time of year. That's as it should be. It's fun to dance in the kitchen to Frosty the Snowman, treat the kids to some holiday fun, and enjoy the season.

But for kids who are not so sure yet about how to express their feelings, 'tis also the season for some extra support.