As the child grows…

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…

Why a small children’s party is as good, if not better than a large party

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 24, 2009 . 4:21PM

Today, I was reading Jen’s blog (which, if you haven’t read it, you should) on her child’s birthday party and the quandary she is in due to the creativity of her son and his having invited most of the school and the neighboring 3 counties (my author liberty) to his birthday party.

When I finished reading I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. Better her than me, I thought to myself. Jen will likely defriend me at this point, and rightfully so, as I should be commiserating with her, but in the age of Chuck-e-Cheese, I’m just thankful I didn’t get roped into this particular dilemna.

AJ has never had a large party. When I go to adult parties, other parents are very quick to judge me when I state this fact. The response is usually a tightening of the lips, a shake of the head and a “but, don’t you think he’s missing out?” or some equally insane statement. If you just relaxed your lips, stopped shaking your head and closed your mouth, then we need to talk in a very serious way.

As a toddler, a big party would have been more for the adults. Consider the statement “Aw, look at all the cute little ones in their cute little pointy hats and their faces all smooshed with cake. Isn’t it precious?” That cute, precious, pointy party would have cost about $200 and he would have ended up with a bunch of presents that would have put people out of grocery money. For the $200, we could buy him presents and those people could buy their groceries. So, we chose to have small parties, spend less than $25 (usually) on a party for him, us, family and close friends and spend a bit on presents (not $200, for the record).

As he gets older, now 8, we still don’t do big parties. This year, we asked what he would like to do on his birthday. He chose to see a movie. That gets expensive with many people, so the compromise was that he could choose ONE friend to take to the movie and then we’d do the bells and whistles for them: ANYTHING they wanted from the snack bar and they got to pick any G rated movie they wanted to see. You would think they died and went to high fructose corn syrup heaven. Before the movie, they went to the McDonald’s and ate dinner and played in the playland for two hours. AJ said it was “the best birthday ever!” and so did his friend.

By keeping his party expectations low, we don’t have to worry about upsets. Sure, he like attending birthday parties, but he also is an introvert who likes a small get together, too. He’d rather have presents and get to do whatever he wants on his day than a 2 hour party.

Another family we know did something similar. They did the big Chuck-e-Cheese party, but they invited family and they allowed their child to choose one kid to come as a guest (AJ) and so they saved money on tokens and all the extras and the child still got the special feeling that a kid gets from doing all the birthday stuff at Chuck-e-Cheese.

To Jen, what about doing a lollipop lottery? Get some dum dums and whoever gets the dum dums with a mark on them gets to come to your 3-4 person party? To everyone else, I’m just glad I’m still worrying about this kind of thing instead of beer parties.

Parental sportsmanship under strong duress

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 8, 2009 . 9:30AM

Ok, ok, ok.

I admit it.

I like watching my son play Little League ball.

I more than like it.

I may be addicted.

For the last week, it’s been raining cats, dogs, iguanas and banana popsicles where I live. What that means is that my poor little boy has not been able to play his baseball and his poor parents have been missing their socialization time. It’s not something the league advertises; It’s simply a perk of being the parent of a talented little player. You become part of the screaming, yelling, slowly losing their sportsmanlike behavior exhibiting pack of hyenas known as Ball parents.

We’re the ones that make the poor high school Umps wish they’d taken that job at the Baskin Robbins. We love our kids and it’s almost impossible to tone down those Mama Bear instincts. I’m not saying we don’t try, but what you have to remember is that, if our kid is in a sport, chances are that one or both of his or her parents were in a sport. It’s hard to turn off that team spirit aka the “argue button.”

I first realized this was a problem for me when AJ played basketball. Out of nowhere, the words would come flying out of my mouth. “C’mon Ref! How come you didn’t call that?” The refs at the local Y didn’t appreciate that as it’s supposed to be a place motivated by the love of Christ. I was motivated by…look, he was BLIND! Couldn’t he see it was a foul?! You get the picture.

Baseball is much better for me. I played basketball for only a year, but softball for 8. To say I love everything about the sport is an understatement and having AJ play baseball is awesome for both of us because Leon played baseball as well. We don’t care about him winning, we just want him to do his best.

I just lied. To you.

I want him to skunk the soup out of those other little boys. I want them to run after his hits and overthrow his bases. I want him to raise his hands and jump on the bases and I’ll even let him twirl on third like he did last week (please don’t ask). I am FAR too competitive and I’m aware of my fault.

Baseball has been gone for a week. Little league is better than the majors, in my opinion. I miss it so much that I was tempted to pick a fight in the grocery store tonight just so I could ask someone if they were blind. With my luck, I’d pick on the one blind person in the store.

Come back, little league. I need other parents that understand and an outlet for my aggression.

Overachievers anonymous: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 4, 2009 . 10:50PM

On Friday, I was lucky enough to get to pick AJ up from school and he was lucky enough to be a “car rider” that day. With my going to school and working, this happens, at most, once a week or every two weeks. It was raining heavily and the pick-up line was long. I’d forgotten my phone and was trying to be content with making the other moms and dads laugh by singing Bryan Adams “Heaven” at the top of my lungs, complete with hand movement and shoulder shaking.

As I waited for AJ, I watched as the teachers pulled out their umbrellas and personally escorted the little ones to their waiting cars. It occurred to me how NICE a gesture this was, especially considering how all of us selfish parents were just sitting in the cars being content to let the children we love get a little rained on in order to stay comfortable ourselves. What? Rain makes the flowers grow. Surely it won’t hurt a child. The teachers, however, were so considerate and I remembered how much this school means to me and AJ, yet again.

For the first two years of his education, we struggled. He had difficulty focusing in class and learning to read was just about the end of everyone’s sanity. When we moved into our home, however, he switched schools (same district, though) and we found magic. A new teacher with infinite patience and the capability to help him learn in ways that no one was able to before now. Immediately, the same child who, until now, had struggled with putting 3 words together in a book, was reading 90 page books in an evening. He was doing his homework and was one of the top spellers in his class. I recently got his progress report and he’s grown by leaps and bounds this year. All because one teacher cared enough to figure out how he learns. If you get a good teacher, encourage that teacher. We need more of them.

I’m off topic, though. When AJ got into the car, he asked if I had a pencil. I knew what he was up to and told him that I didn’t and his homework would have to wait until we got home. AJ comes from a line of overachievers. His grandmother just got her Bachelors degree and has always worked hard at every job she’s ever had. I don’t ever feel like what I’m doing at any job or school is ever enough and, thus, I get my work done early and do a little extra. AJ is the third in the line of high expectations. When we pulled into our driveway, he’d conjured a pencil and I saw him with his homework, held up to the window as a flat surface, finishing up.

We need a support group. The apple didn’t fall from the tree.

We’re friends: Mother and son friendship

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 29, 2009 . 9:29PM

When AJ was little, and by little I mean 2 or 3 years old, I was into makeup. And by into makeup, you could clearly say it was an addiction. I had a tacklebox the size of a 4 shoeboxes stacked together. It was a green and creme Plano box whose loss I mourn daily. I still enjoy my cosmetics, but not to the extent I did then.

At whatever time of day I would have to get ready to go, I would lug out my Plano box and choose the daily colors. If I didn’t have to go out, I would sit in front of the tv with a mirror and play dress up with my girlie-metics. AJ loved to watch me put on my face and would often sit behind me and view me in my mirror.

He would come up behind me, hug me with his chubby little arms and grin at me in the mirror and tell me I was “bootiful.” One day, however, he was looking at me with a particularly tender smile and he said, “Aw, mama, we’re friends.” From that day on, when I did my makeup, he would come behind me, hug me, look at us in the mirror and say “we’re friends.”

As he’s grown, there are times he continues to reaffirm not only his love for me as a mother, but his genuine feeling that I listen to him and take care of him as a friend. This does not mean that I am not in charge or that I’m a permissive parent. I’m an authoritative parent with equal parts strict and loving. What I hear from him, however, is that my boundaries provide security and love and that my being his parent doesn’t effect how he feels about our friendship. This flies in the face of all of those parents that feel like they have to be permissive for their children to love them more.

Yes, AJ. We’re friends. I hope you will remember that when you become a teenager and hate me for all the times I reinforce your security and safety. I hope you remember it when I keep you away from the people I know aren’t good for you. I hope you remember it when you want to go on trips that lack structure and put holes in your body and dye your hair (hey, feel free if you want to pay for it). When you are an adult, freedom is yours and I’ll still be your mom and, yes, AJ, we’ll still be friends. Hopefully.