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After I posted last week, I instituted a new approach to help Kamden with his anxiety. I completely stole it from someone I follow on Instagram.  She's kind of famous and kind of like someone popular in high school (except that she seems like a very nice person) that I admire from afar. 

Anyway, it appears that they use a reward system to help fight anxiety. It got me to thinking. I was taking the approach that this was out of Kamden's control. What if we turned this around and taught him that he has some control over this?

This was after we made a decision, a hard one, to have him miss his best buddy's birthday party because it involved seeing the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie. He knew it would haunt him at bedtime, the bad guys, the fighting, etc. It wasn't an easy decision but we thought if we could avoid adding to his anxiety, it was the right decision.

So what did he worry about that night instead? That his friend would be upset that he didn't come to the party. *facepalm*

(Exhibit A: found on my phone - goofball)

I may or many not have lost my s--t at that point. My conclusion was that he was going to worry no matter what. I mean, sometimes he is just anxious about being anxious, for goodness sake.  

That's it, we have to take the power away from the anxiety. He had to take control.  So what better way to have a kid take control than by providing a reward? We must use a language that speaks to them. That in itself is a sad state of affairs but that's another post. I may write it too....helicopter parenting is failing us. I work with the adults it creates. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

 

We are now over two weeks into the reward.  It's $5 a night. His anxiety always hits at bedtime complete with dizziness and a look on his face, not unlike the one below, no wait that his deadpan look, not quite the same.

He gets $5 for every night he can fight the anxiety and go to sleep without excessive worry.  The "worry" involves coming into our room after we have all gone to bed upset about the anxiety du jour - examples include but are not limited to:  he has a major health problem (the same night he ran for two hours straight at football practice....um no, you are fine), something will happen to Mom and Dad (we are good dude, no worries), scary noises in his room (house shifting, car doors outside etc), school (pick random worry and insert here) etc.... lather, rinse, repeat.

(we ran a 5 km race a bit back, at least we ran some of it)

It was something new every night. Oh yeah, then there was my epic parenting fail.  EPIC.  It's possible this entire anxiety thing could be blamed on me.

I shouldn't even write about it here. Maybe. Oh what the hell. It's sort of funny. In a I suck as a mom kind of way.

This summer, we lost Jay's dad.  It was sudden and it hit Kamden pretty hard. He hasn't dealt with death yet in his young life except when my cat died and my parents dog which I think we can all agree is not quite the same thing.

One day, he came down while I was working to relay something that happened that he couldn't figure out. He was putting the stuffed animals he sleeps with back into his bed before he made it one morning. He grabbed one, leaving the other at the end of the bed. When he turned back around to grab the last one, it was gone.

He found it in his hamper.

I had no explanation and so without thinking (me? speak without thinking?  So out of character for me) I said oh maybe Granddaddy was messing with you.

I mean, I watch Long Island Medium, it could totally happen, right? And it would so be something in character for Jay's dad. One of his favourite words was buffoonery after all. 

(Exhibit B - buffoonery defined)

So yeah. Not a good thing to tell a 10 year old boy, in case you were wondering. About a month later, he came to in tears me as I was falling asleep saying maybe it's Granddaddy making all the scary noises he hears when he's trying to fall asleep. That was my first clue about the epic parenting fail. Yes, I am slow on the uptake.

After much reassurance and the use of the word buffoonery several times, I convinced him that his granddaddy would NEVER try to scare him. EVER.

Mess with him to make him laugh, absolutely, but the noises are just the house, or possibly his overactive imagination or its paranormal activity that I am too old to hear or something.... Oops. I went too far again, didn't I?  Kidding, I didn't say the part about the paranormal activity.  This time.

The are several morals points  here:

- I didn't cause the anxiety with my fail (it was already gaining its own momentum) but I did exasperate it exponentially
- he does have control or at least some control because we are well over two weeks without a late night of excessive worry. He is always a bit apprehensive at bedtime but we each have to think of at least two good things that make us happy before I hug him goodnight. That gives him something else to focus on. Take that,  "worry".
- he takes some awesome pictures that make me smile daily. See Exhibit A through C:

(Exhibit C)

I might be married to a human giraffe.

Now that's something to worry about.

(I take his anxiety very seriously. I may have made up this system of dealing with it but it seems to be working for now. I am also saving for future therapy costs as Plan B.)

Right Where I am Supposed to Be

I started the post last week when I was having a moment of complete gratitude. Then then the weekend hit and my feeling got unhinged. Monday was, well, exactly as one would expect Monday to go. The complete opposite of the feeling the picture below creates.

 

Summer, you  let old man winter push you around again and only graced us with your glorious presence for a short time. We made the most it. Fantastic smiles from time spent with friends and cousins in the beautiful sunshine accompanied by too many hamburgers, hot dogs and s'mores.  Perfect.

 

The summer included birthdays, Jack is now a teenager though still not overly acting like one (*sign of the cross*) and Kamden is 10.  Time flies.

Kamden is trying his hand at tackle football this fall. He was pretty anxious, as was mom, but it's going really well.  

This picture cracks me up. His face. White pants to practice on a grassy, muddy field...so funny. Oh wait, no, that's a reminder to buy stock in a laundry stain removal company.

 

This boy of mine is a conundrum. So happy and easy going by day, by night, anxious and full of fear. That is the cause of my Monday blahs, this.

 

It's hard to watch him struggle.  In this, we are in new territory.  My arsenal of possible tools is quickly running dry.  We are in the process of seeking help but in what is typical of my style, I think, just one more day and we'll be through the worst.

It involves many peaks and valleys. All I want is my happy go lucky boy back.

Yesterday, if at all possible.

 

I am so very grateful that I am not doing this alone.  Also, what I wouldn't give to be back on that beach in Jamaica right at this moment. Oops, sorry, not being overly grateful, really, am I?

September has arrived with crisp mornings and falling leaves just in time for school. The boys were less than impressed with the arrival of the first day of school but have settled in nicely.

Grade 8 for this young man and grade 5 for his brother. As has become typical in the last couple of years, the first day of school photos have more outtakes than goodtakes but I kind of love it like that.

These two can make me laugh like no one else.

 

 

   

 

And that's what I will hold onto as we weather this minor storm because I am right where I am supposed to be.

To Push or Not To Push

My Jack.

I love my Jack.

He is smart, with an almost photographic memory. He has a quick wit and a keen eye for detail.

He is also stubborn. His own worst critic. Set in his ways (he's 10, I know you think this is not possible however, anyone who knows Jack completely understands what I am talking about).

He is, in so many ways, like me, (except for that memory thing, that comes straight from his grandaddy).

He challenges me daily. I go from feeling like I know him and how to be the best mother to him, to feeling like I am failing him and not giving him what he needs.

He is a good kid. I know this.

His first reaction to being presented with the opportunity to try something new, is no, absolutely not.

I don't get this on any level. I understand this is how he is made, that he can't really change it about himself. However, I cannot relate. Me, who this year, at age 37, has waterskiied, speed skated and snowboarded - all for the first time in my life.

The thing is, when we force him to try new things (except food, a whole other post, trust me) he likes whatever it might be nine times out of ten.

So do we push him every time?

(I literally don't have the energy)

Or do we let him choose?

I don't have the answer. Nor do I expect that anyone else does. I will keep flying by the seat of my pants on a wing and a prayer and hope the therapy bills (his and mine) don't rob us of our retirement savings.

PS. before you judge me for putting this out there on the Internet, I just want to clarify that I have conversations with him all the time about this very issue. None of this is anything I wouldn't say to him. But if you must judge, go for it, turnabout is fair play.

Drive the Line

I have been driving this road for over nine years now. I have been trying to stay in the middle lane, you know the one between "let your children run willy nilly" or "my children are free spirits, I let them be who they are" and the other side "my kids are not allowed to do anything fun as it might harm them, Godforbid".

Those descriptions might be a bit dramatic, even I will admit that.

The thing is, I find myself drifting to the left then over correcting and finding myself somewhere off to the right. I feel like an drunk driver and I don't like it.

Balance. It's what I strive for in most aspects of my life. I said strive, not achieve, just for the record.

One thing I try to limit is screen time. North America has an obesity problem that, in my opinion, is not helped by the fact that most of us sitting comatose in front of some form of electronic screen for too much of the day. I don't believe in not having a TV at all. I think deprivation can lead to rebellion. Rebellion is always a risk, I am not willing to up the ante on that one.

Another thing I try to limit is junk food and processed food. I know I feel like horse dung when I eat too much of it so by default it just can't be good for growing boys. However, again, deprivation is not the answer. So we have our treats and try to fill tup on decent food the rest of the time.

Sometimes there is too much TV time and too much junk food. I wish it went the otherway around but sadly, it rarely does.

Then there are the things that I cannot control. Things that I know people judge me on. Or maybe I just judge myself?

My kids are who they are. They are not outgoing. Have you met me? They are not antisocial either but they can come off as slightly rude because they are shy and uncomfortable around adults they don't know well. Frankly they can be shy around adults they know well. It is who they are. I cannot make them outgoing. I cannot change who they are.

I know this. Other people may not but I refuse to make excuses for my children. They do not have to be excused for who they are.

I got extremely off topic here. What was I saying again? Oh yeah, I am drifting between lanes trying not to crash the car.

Maybe I need a GPS?

Parenting. It's Harder than I Thought

There is a part of parenting that is rarely spoken about. I certainly refrain from writing about it here for the most part. But as time goes by, I realize that I must speak about it. It's just the honest truth and it shouldn't be anything to be ashamed about. It just is. So here I go.

I have two sons.

They are, for the most part, polar opposites and have been since birth. Dare I say even before birth.

One was breech. The other was not.
One is easy going. One is not.
One is ready to try new things. The other is not.
One challenges my parenting skills daily. The other does not.
One is set in his ways, much like a crotchety old man (Hell hath no fury like this son when his routine is upset). The other is not.

Does this make one easier to love than the other?
Absolutely not. I can't help but love each of them for their good qualities. The good qualities that I have spoken about here ad nauseum. But it is all easy peasy lemon squeezy (as these boys of mine like to say)?

That would be HELL to the no.

You see, one of my sons is more like me than I care to admit. The mere suggestion of anything from me brings full on revolt. Anarchy even. We joke to each other that homeschooling would result in me having no hair and him leaving home by age nine.

I think we clash because we are too alike.

(Here's the part where my parents nod their heads vigorously and laugh with vengeance that I now know what they once dealt with. I, personally, think they are crazy.)

It's not just the we clash or disagree. It's that it brings out the worst in both of us. There is back talking and down right debauchery on his part which brings out my temper and how dare you talk to me like that, I got cut open to give you life on mine.

I am not proud to admit it, but I may have uttered the phrase, "I brought you into this world, I can take you out."

On more than one occasion.

This is not abnormal. I know it's not. It just can't be. No, not all kids are like this, obviously because my other son is not. He watches and has figured out it's not really the ideal. He tries a different, equally frustrating approach. We like to call it the whine approach.

Either way, this parenting gig, 'tis hard. And we haven't even, God help us all, hit the teen years. I am already planning how we will survive and I am pretty sure it's going to take copious amounts of vodka.

It's so easy to watch others parent before you have kids and think, I will never be like that. I will be patient and understanding with my kids. HA. The problem is that once you have your own kids, you can see the attitude coming from a mile away and you don't want to wait until it gets here,you want to squash it like a bug before it even sees you coming. This is where patience flies out the proverbial window and ushers in anger and frustration.

Does this work? Hell no. Does it stop me from doing it? That would also be a hell no.

(Side note: the number of times I have used hell so far: 5)

I don't think it's a coincidence that my first grey hair peeked it's way out shortly after birthing (or in my case laying on a table while the doctor cut him out) my first son.

Would I change it for the world?

Hell (#6) no.

But maybe we could do with a little less attitude and back talking? You know, if I was wishing on a star or something.

Oh and one more for good measure: Hell (#7).

PS if you cannot in any way shape or form relate to this, I am going to guess one of two things, 1) you are not yet a parent, or 2) you are extremely lucky and should get on your knees right now and thank the Good Lord up in Heaven above or fate, whatever your beliefs might be.

Just sayin'.

Micro or Macro

I am walking a balance beam and I have fallen off the ruddy thing so many times I am starting to have bruises upon bruises. Just when I feel like I've got my balance something comes flying at me warp 8 and knocks me clear off the beam into a pile of, ahem, you know what.

Today's post will discuss micro vs. macro management of my eight year old's responsibilities.

I know, those of you with toddlers are going, what responsibilities could he possibly have.



He's in grade three and he is also taking a group piano class. That means that daily there is practicing and homework from music and sometimes there is homework from school.

I know, doesn't sound like a big deal, does it?
Um. Well. He's eight. He's at school all day learning and having fun. What do you think the last thing he wants to do when he's at home is?

I'll take piano practicing for $1,000 Alex. Ding, ding, ding!



This week I waffled between micro managing which coincidentally enough is very much like nagging and macro managing which also went along the lines of nagging but with less intensity. Have I mentioned that I am very type A? Not doing what the teacher tells you is like nails on a chalkboard to me.

It won't surprise you that neither approach was very successful.



Next week I will try throwing popcorn at his head until he practices. It just might work, he loathes popcorn.