If ever there was time to break back in to post, it’s now.
Here we see the classic toothless grin every kid gets to enjoy once, for a very short time in his life.
Not only is this little face just too cute for words, it’s fun to hear him say things like “Cereal” and “SpongeBob” and “Thoughtful.”
I’d like to put Michael on hold and keep him at just this age for a couple more years.
Step 1: Notice that your mom has brought your clothes downstairs and put them directly in front of you.
Step 2: Draw a smiley face on your Magna-Doodle.
Step 3: fling your stuffed dolphin into the air five or six times. build nest for dolphin.
Step 4: Acknowledge your father’s loud imperative with a grunt, drop nest pillows.
Step 5: Consider removing your pajama shirt.
Step 6: Notice depleted glow-stick lodged between couch cushions, remove and wave about.
Step 7: Take off pajama top.
Step 8: Ask to watch SpongeBob.
Step 9: Complain about the unfairness of not being able to watch SpongeBob until after getting dressed and finishing breakfast.
Step 10: Take off pajama bottom.
Step 11: Attempt to turn pajama bottom right-side out, abandon project after succeeding only in repeatedly turning it out half right, alternating between one leg and then the other.
Step 12: Ask where clothes are.
Step 13: Prance around naked until father redirects you.
Step 14: Notice large orange ruler nearby, insert into strap of dolphin pillow pet.
Step 15: Hunt for underwear.
Step 16: Ask where clothes are again.
Step 17: Notice clothes are underneath pillows and blankets that you’d just strewn around back around steps 3 and 4.
Step 18: Pull on underwear, complain of them being tight. consider father’s words about how the tightness might be due to them being on sideways.
Step 19: Re-orient underwear.
Step 20: Place socks on hands, put on a sock puppet show for parents.
Step 21: Put pants on. backwards.
Step 22: Ask father how much three plus three plus four plus four plus six plus twenty plus a billion plus a billion plus one thousand is.
Step 23: Ignore father’s dictate to finish putting on clothes.
Step 24: Drape shirt over arms and tuck under chin to make it look like it you’re wearing it.
Step 25: Repeat math question.
Step 26: Insist to your father that you’re actually wearing your shirt, therefore you’re done getting dressed.
Step 27: Actually put on shirt.
Step 28: Repeat step 22, tucking chin to chest to make it look like you’re trying to fool your father into believing that you really didn’t put on your shirt.
Step 29: Mutter that your father has no sense of humor.
Step 30: Place socks on feet.
See how simple that is? In a matter of a mere forty-eight minutes, you’ll be fully dressed and ready to go.
Next time I’ll cover the thirty five steps to eating your Wheaties.
Posted in frustration, inscrutable, michael
On Thursday, Michael and I happened to be watching the news while he was finishing up breakfast.
On comes a commercial for an upcoming Oprah show.
It shows a video recording of a little boy storming around a house in a screaming rage, while Oprah’s voice intones ominously: “…seven years old, he tried to kill his OWN MOTHERRRRRRRRR….”
That’s all Michael needed to hear.
I had to spend the next hour or so inventing from whole cloth explanations as to why the little boy was angry, who he was, what happened to his mom, how he got better, what was wrong in his head, when it happened, and whether he’d some day show up on our doorstep screaming and wielding a knife.
Later that day, after school, I had to go through the explanations again. He brought it up to his mom, and I had to explain to her what the commercial was about, and how deeply those fifteen some odd seconds of airplay affected our son.
That night we prayed extra hard for happy thoughts and protection from evil.
Friday morning, Michael came into our room at 4:00 sniffling and weeping about a bad dream he had. He wasn’t tremendously coherent at that point, and we weren’t able to get out of him exactly what he’d dreamt about, but I knew it was likely born of what he’d seen and heard the day before.
He had a pretty good day Friday, but by the evening he was once again concerned about his mommy’s safety and about his own overwhelming emotions in general.
This morning, once again, he came into our room way too early, crying and snuffling about another bad dream, something concerning his mother and his classmates having to go away.
“I should ship Michael off to Oprah so she can soothe away his nightmares,” I said.
Anyone know her address?
Daddy: “Michael, I need you to put your jammies on. It’s almost bedtime.”
Michael: “All right, all right. I’ll listen to your words and do it.”
Daddy: “I’m really glad to hear you say that. That makes me happy to know you’re listening.”
Michael: “…because you’re the boss of me.”
Daddy: “That’s right, I am.”
Michael: “…and Mommy is the boss of you.”
Posted in dad, inscrutable, michael, moments
I mentioned recently that Michael’s taking swimming lessons.
Because the lessons are at 6:30 and are about 20 minutes from home, it throws our evening schedule into a frenzy. Dinner becomes a side thought as finding a towel and swim trunks and getting into the car quickly become the main goal of the evening.
One evening, I was buckling Michael into the car while his mom gathered his things and brought out his dinner: a PB&J sandwich, some tomatoes and a juice pack. Finally in the car and on our way, Michael tucked into his sandwich.
“Mommy, the peanut butter is all hard,” he complained. We use an organic peanut butter that requires refrigeration. So when it comes time to use it, it’s best to microwave it for a few seconds to loosen it up. Unfortunately, that night every second counted so she skipped that part, opting instead to use brute force to spread the peanut butter on the bread. “You didn’t cook the peanut butter!”
“Sorry, Michael. I just didn’t have the time to warm it up.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t cook the peanut butter,” he went on. “I am done with you.”
“You’re done with her?” I asked, teasing. “So, we should just fire her and let her go live somewhere else?”
“Yes!” he said, obviously perturbed at her poor performance.
“Gosh, that’s too bad,” I said. “That means no more mommy snuggles at night, no more mommy picking you up at school, and no more of mommy’s chocolate chip cookies…”
He immediately changed his mind: “No! No! Mommy’s good! She needs to stay. I want her to stay. She’s okay, she’s okay!”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” I said. “I’d hate for her to have to go away.”
We rode on in relative silence for a short time.
And then he said, in a low and ominous tone: “But I’m watching her.”
Posted in family, frustration, michael, moments
Michael’s just started taking swimming lessons at an indoor pool, one he isn’t used to.
The locker room was full of kids getting ready for lessons, and just as full of grown men toweling off and dressing back into street clothes.
I could tell he was a little anxious being around so many strangers. So it made sense that he’d want to stick close to me when I went to use the restroom.
It was his second statement that really made me wonder:
Daddy: “Keep getting yourself changed, while I go use the potty.”
Michael: “I think I’ll come with you.”
Daddy: “Okay, that’s fine.”
Michael: “Don’t worry,” he said as he sidled up to where I stood. “I won’t laugh at you.”
Actually, I wasn’t really concerned about that possibility until he mentioned it.
Posted in inscrutable, michael, moments
We’re watching the playoff today, Green Bay at Chicago.
We want the Bears to win of course, since the Seahawks couldn’t bring it last week.
And if we’re going to cheer on Da Bears, there’s protocol involved:
Thanks to Melisalw for spurring me on to show the proof!
Not long ago, I posted an update on our continuing efforts to help Michael succeed, socially and academically. You can read about that here.
I am very happy to report that after five weeks, we’ve seen a marked improvement in Michael’s behavior at school.
Before, I would get a phone call from the principal at LEAST twice a week. Now, she has no reason to call.
Before, Michael’s school day report would show one or two smiley faces out of a possible six. Now, he gets five or six.
Before, the notes that would come home would talk about how Michael cried all day or refused to do his work. Now, we get notes coming home saying that he did well at writing workshop and did his math work.
What’s really changed is his ability to control himself enough to stop his mischievous impulses and to make better choices.
I have to say, I think the Concerta is helping a lot.
A doctor or pharmacist might describe its effect on neurons and serotonin and stuff, with all clinical terminology. Meanwhile, in my mind I’m thinking:
As I’d said before, the point of medication isn’t to calm him down or turn him into a zombie.
It’s to provide just enough extra boost to his own ability to enable him to control himself. That’s all.
He’s just as random, loud, joyful, energetic, exploratory, relentless, exuberant and expressive as he’s always been.
Only now he can be all that when he wants to, and keep it contained when he needs to.
Today’s entry is brought to you by Sister L, inspired by actual events that took place while daddy was out shopping and Michael was at home, under the watchful eyes of his loving sisters.
Michael decided to make his own lunch today.
He was pretty busy in the kitchen, working hard on fixing his meal.
“Do you need any help in there, Michael?” I asked.
“No. I got it.”
Yes, he’s got it.
Posted in food, inscrutable, michael, moments