by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 11, 2009 . 10:49AM
When AJ was little, he had mad empathy. When other babies would cry, he would wail like crazy. This has never left him and I’m inclined to believe it’s part of his temperament. He’s always been the caretaker in this house, and I think it’s because he sees that when one of us is sick, we all take care of that person. It is how we handle sickness or sadness or stress. Since he was very tiny, he would play the nursemaid when Leon or I was sick. I still remember him fetching me lukewarm water in the bathroom cup when I was nursing a migraine because he’d seen Leon bring me water for my aspirin. I believe he was as young as 3 when he started.
When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.
There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.
This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.
I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.
Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…
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by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 8, 2009 . 1:27PM
As A.J. grows up there are a lot of things from his childhood that are lost to us forever that we love in the minute. One of those things is the speech of our child. Our life will be much more empty when AJ starts saying words correctly.
For example:
Calvin & Hobbes instead of Calvin and “Hobbies”
I expect instead of I “suspect”
Spaghetti instead of “pahsghetti”
Pretzel instead of “prenzhel”
And the one we’ve already lost: Water instead of “Moder”
Yes…life is full of loss. The little smiles we share as they grow.
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . September 26, 2009 . 8:00PM
Tonight, we were walking out of Target after a 3 day bender. For me, a 3 day bender means a 3 day migraine. I’d gone to the walk-in clinic last night and a magic Dr. gave me magic shots that make me sleep and make the bad migraine take a break. Or, not necessarily go away, but I feel them less, which is what happened in this case. I’d slept most of today and the edge was off of my migraine.
It was time to get out of the house and try to regain sanity after being sick most all of the week.
A.J. had scrounged up some pocket change. I have no idea where he found it, but my guess is that he raided couches and bathrooms and tables. He had almost $5. In little boy world, this is a fortune and can be spent on things that will drive your parents absolutely nuts.
He’d scored some Halloween window clings from the $1 bin and some matchbox cars. Of course, they had to be done in separate trips to a very patient cashier who counted out his change with him. She deserves an award.
As we walked out to the car, in the pouring rain, without umbrellas or coats (we laugh in the face of pneumonia), I heard him softly singing next to me: “I ammmm a happy boy, a happy boooooy, a happy BOY! I ammmm a happy boy, a happy booooy, a hap-eeee-BOY!”
I guess we’re doing something right.
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . August 19, 2009 . 1:59PM
It’s time for fall baseball! My loyal readers, bless your hearts, know that I’ve been in something of a withdrawal since spring baseball was finished in mid-June. There have been no funny stories about parents going at each other, no heroic stories about kids doing brave deeds in the name of the game and no friendship stories that center around the team spirit that comes from the love that can only happen in a dugout (during gametime, not after game fumbling between two teenagers).
A.J. has a new team and he doesn’t know a single player. He’s not the only tall boy because he’s moved up to the 9/10 age range and these kids mean business. The fall season is predominantly about learning. No score is kept and coaches focus on teaching the mechanics of each position and being a good sportsman. At least, in theory, that is the goal.
In order to keep A.J. in something of prime shape, we’d tried to pair him with a coach during his down time to help him focus on some problem areas that we thought fixing might help make him feel more comfortable with his game-play. He adored his downtime coach, even though his time with the coach was cut short due to what A.J. refers to as “the Kentucky Incident.”
I don’t know that I’ve blogged this, but after a short time of telling everyone, including the clients at my job site and the people I work with, about the Kentucky Incident, he has now decided that he is refusing to ever discuss this tragedy ever again.
So, A.J. had met a coach he liked and this week we found out that A.J. is on this coach’s team for the fall season. A.J. is happier than a pig in slop. He had his first practice with his new team today and I had some observations.
One, kids will remember the last thing you said. And that’s it. Coach said, “I need half of you to line up behind shortstop and half of you to line up behind second base.” All 11 children lined up behind second base.
Two, there are some children who aren’t cut out for the sport. I viewed this instance in what seemed like slow-motion. One child looked at a pop-up with a quizzical expression, stuck his tongue out thoughtfully, clasped his hand and glove together, shook his head and let the ball fall next to him. And then nodded to himself as if to say, “Yep. And there it went.” I nodded with him.
Three, even if they are lining up for something unpleasant, if you tell kids to line up, they will run like their pants are on fire to be first in line. In this particular case, they were lining up to simply run the bases. I would rather eat my arm off my body.
Four, and this is going to sound cheesy, but children are like flowers. If you give them strict boundaries, discipline and compliments every time they do things exactly right, it’s like water, air and sunshine to flowers. They will flourish, work hard and try even harder to do their absolute best.
They GROW. I’ve never seen my son run so hard.
With the exception of the time he ran from the upstairs to the street for the ice cream truck.
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . July 17, 2009 . 12:28PM
When I was a little girl, I used to think, in the egocentric way of children, that the moon and I had a special relationship. I don’t remember having imaginary friends, though my family has reassured me that I did and that they had 80’s-riffic names like Tiffany and Brittany and Claire. The relationship I remember was mine with the night sky.
Before all those silly things called rules (and if you can’t tell, I’m being facetious here) and safety belt laws and booster seats, etc., people like my mom allowed their kids to lay in the back seat and sleep on short car rides from town to town. Sometimes, I slept. I do love a good nap beyond most anything in life.
However, there was something mystical about looking out the back window, while laying in the seat and watching the stars and the moon. I could make out the face in the moon and I imagined a whole world where the moon was my friend and we frolicked at night. There was so much wonder in this world and what I never could figure out was how the moon FOLLOWED me from town to town. It just further confirmed that what we had was special and that the moon was MINE.
As an adult, I can analyze this and see the ecogentricism of where I was and even how the moon “followed” me. But don’t you pretend for one second that you don’t understand the magic, because even as adults we crave that connection to the sky.
Why do you think cars have sunroofs and car makers have convertibles?
I’ll never be without a sunroof again.
When is the last time you took a minute to look up at the clear night sky? What’s stopping you from connecting with the child who looked at the moon and wondered if there was really a man up there?
Things that made us happy then can make us happy again.
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Life is like a game. We all have challenges, thoughts, opinions and beliefs. Often, it feels like something out there, life, karma, catty people, or blue shells (for the Kart lovers), seeks to bring us down. Luckily, we always get up. This is where I wear my heart on my sleeve and my foot in my mouth.
