Today the glass was most certainly half full. This isn't the case on many days: I'm too often a battler of pessimism. But when it comes to Oliver I definately lean towards the positive interpretation of things. He makes it easy. I look at him with his bright smile that goes all the way to his eyes and his easy-going nature and all I see is potential. There is not a half-empty glass in sight when it comes to him.
So, on to the glass of water, the one that is half-full. Nap time in our little green house is the hardest time of day for me because it also happens to be the pooping hour. Really. Oliver schedules his poops around Sammy's nap. I could (and often do) sit him on the potty every fifteen minutes for two hours leading up to nap time and he will wait until I go off to put Sam in bed and then immediately poop his pants. He and I both know it is going to happen and it doesn't matter how many threats or wild promises I make. It's like he thinks those are the rules of the game or something. I always know when it is happening, too, because the house becomes unusually quiet. It's like I have this sixth, pooping sense or something. So when I think Oliver might be pooping I have to decide to a) either stop mid-spell with Sam and go check or b) wait until he is fully asleep and risk having a big mess to clean up. Because here is the other thing: once Oliver has soiled his pants, the mess usually doesn't stay in his pants. It used to be much worse, especially when Sam was younger because if I chose option A then I had an over-tired infant wailing as I cleaned up poopy boy and poopy room. And if I chose option B, which happened a couple of times, then I had more than a passing thought of just moving out and getting a new home. "Oh," I imagined saying to Nik when he would come home to find our bags packed and on the porch, "Let's get a new house. This one's been pooped."
Most of that is over now. But those days, the poop days, were dark. I couldn't write about it. I couldn't talk about it. All I could do was get though it, stock up on carpet cleaner, and trade grim, poop jokes with Nik. So anyway -- and yes, I am getting to the glass of water -- at nap time today I ushered Oliver into his room and asked him to lay down with a book while I put Sam in bed. Then I went to my bedroom with Sam keeping one ear perked towards the hall. Then it got quiet and I looked down at Sam, whose eyelashes were fluttering softly near sleep. Another five minutes, even just three minutes, was all I needed. But a lot can happen in three minutes. And then I heard a new sound: water rushing in the bathroom. What was this new twist? I gathered Sam up higher in my arms and walked towards the bathroom. And there was Oliver filling a glass full of water at the sink, which surprised me because 1) I didn't even know he knew how to turn on the water, 2) he's never even attempted that before and 3) normally he has the endearing habit of just sitting wherever he is and yelling "Water!" at the top of his lungs to indicate his thirst. So there I stood, with a huge, stupid grin on my face watching Oliver drink down a big glass of water, totally not careing that Sam was now wide awake. And when he was done, Oliver walked over to me, handed me the glass of water and happily exclaimed: "I did it!" Before going back in his bedroom and climbing back in bed with a self-satisfied look on his face.
"Yes, Oliver. You did it!"
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
Eyes and Noses and Everything Else
I have a very clear memory of a time when Oliver was around 18 months. He was standing in front of me in his bedroom in the early afternoon and I was quizzing him about his body parts: "What's this?" I asked him, first in English and then in German. He could name every part in both languages -- even unusual parts like lips, cheek, tongue, elbow, neck. ... Now the only two body parts I know he can say are 'nose' and 'eye' and neither one would he say in response to a question. The word 'nose' is used only as part of a script from Bob the Builder and the word 'eye' only to say: "I have something in my eye."
At one time Oliver could also tell me the names of all the shapes and a few colors. He could tell me what sounds the animals make. He could also name about a dozen differnt kinds of vehicles: mail truck, milk truck, tow truck, bulldozer, tanker, tractor, bicycle, motorcycle. ... now he can say truck, car and occassionally bicycle.
So where did all of that stuff go? Is it still in there where he can access it? What happened that made it so hard to say those words when it seemed effortless before?
I'm not really asking for answers because I don't believe anyone knows.
It just sucks sometimes.
At one time Oliver could also tell me the names of all the shapes and a few colors. He could tell me what sounds the animals make. He could also name about a dozen differnt kinds of vehicles: mail truck, milk truck, tow truck, bulldozer, tanker, tractor, bicycle, motorcycle. ... now he can say truck, car and occassionally bicycle.
So where did all of that stuff go? Is it still in there where he can access it? What happened that made it so hard to say those words when it seemed effortless before?
I'm not really asking for answers because I don't believe anyone knows.
It just sucks sometimes.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
On Down the Road
I heard the rather heavy patter of Oliver's feet coming down the hallway before I saw him rounding the corner into my bedroom at 6:15 this morning. Sam was sleeping cozily beside me and Nik was, thankfully, already awake and making coffee. I gently shifted Sammy from the middle to the side of the bed and made room for Oliver. He quietly climbed up, adjusted the pillow just so, and pulled the covers up to his chin. I was still groggy from sleep but Oliver was wide awake and ready to start the day with all sorts of growls and chirps. Anxious that he not wake Sammy -- for then my day would really begin -- I put my finger to his lips a couple of times: Shhhhh. To which he responded by imitating me Oliver fashion, placing his whole hand on the tip of his nose and: Shhhh. Then more giggles, growls and chirps. A few minutes later Sam was awake, I had a steaming cup of coffee in my hands and watched with my head still on the pillow as my boys started to explore the new day.
It took us a long time to get Oliver to sleep in his own bed, in his own room and an even longer time to get him to sleep through the night. Then, about the time when Sam was born, one year ago this week, whatever we had been trying to do to help Oliver through the night suddenly took hold and he began to sleep. Of course having a new baby in the house meant that we weren't getting any extra sleep, but with one less kid to worry about in the night I certainly felt a little more rested.
About the same time that Oliver started sleeping through the night, at two and a half years of age, he also took to staying in his bed upon waking in the morning. Peeking in on him in the morning, I was often pleasantly surprised to find him awake and in bed with a book or a toy or just laying there watching the sunlight creep in. It took me awhile to realize how much I missed hearing the solid, sure, thump of his feet running down the hall to my room in the morning (or what might pass for morning to him). So, while 6:15 is a bit on the early side, the soft curl of his hair as his head finds a place just under my chin on the pillow next to me more than makes up for a few minutes of lost sleep.
Mid-morning we loaded the kids into the car and drove to an auditorium where a local children's musician had scheduled an appearance. We found a couple of seats on the end of a row towards the exit, not sure how Oliver would do once the performance began. Unable to sit while the seats around us were filling up, Nik took him into the adjacent hallway were he could run around and work out any nervous energy he might have. And when the singer/songwriter finally took up the guitar they made their way back in. Midway through the second song, however, it became obvious that it wasn't going to work out. But rather than leaving we went back into the hallway and sat down on the floor directly outside the propped open doors to the auditorium where we could still listen to the music and see the stage. When Oliver needed to he ran a few laps up and down the hallway then settled back into my lap for another song. To help Oliver relax and enjoy the music -- which he clearly liked -- I held him tightly and alternated between massaging his hands, applying pressure to his jaw and swaying with him in my lap while cupping my hands firmly over his ears. It occured to me at one point that, while keeping Oliver where he could enjoy the show was a lot of work for both of us, we probably looked like any other mother and son to the uninitiated. In fact, three or four people just inside the doors offered us their seats, to which I simply stated that it was better for us to be where we were. And later we were joined by at least a half dozen other kids and parents.
A short time after we went to sit in the hallway I happened to see one of Oliver's classmates and his father exiting the auditorium from another door. The child, who also has autism, was visibly upset. The father slowly and gently helped his son into his coat but wore a sad, familiar look on his face and the two of them walked out to the parking lot. As they left I turned my attention back to the darkened auditorium. There were probably 150 kids in there and 2 of them had autism. Now one had left and we were sitting in the hall. Were there others, I wondered? Maybe. But given our own experiences in the past, and what I had just witnessed, I know that it is sometimes easier to just stay home. And therein lies the rub: our kids need to be out and about and experiencing all that the world has to offer, but out and about can so often overwhelm their senses. How many times have we geared up and gone someplace only to either leave five minutes into an activity or wish that we had? And how many times have we stayed home althogether?
Too often I get caught up in thinking about Oliver's "deficits". The list of skills that he has to learn -- things that other kids easily absorb -- is long and depressing. But this is a journey that we are on together and today, sitting cross-legged with Oliver on my lap, my hands cupped tightly over his ears and the both of us swaying to the music, I realized that it is a learning adventure for both of us. Sometimes we stumble and end up with bloody knees, but then there are the times when I can close my eyes and hear the solid, sure, thump of our feet taking us a bit further in the right direction.
It took us a long time to get Oliver to sleep in his own bed, in his own room and an even longer time to get him to sleep through the night. Then, about the time when Sam was born, one year ago this week, whatever we had been trying to do to help Oliver through the night suddenly took hold and he began to sleep. Of course having a new baby in the house meant that we weren't getting any extra sleep, but with one less kid to worry about in the night I certainly felt a little more rested.
About the same time that Oliver started sleeping through the night, at two and a half years of age, he also took to staying in his bed upon waking in the morning. Peeking in on him in the morning, I was often pleasantly surprised to find him awake and in bed with a book or a toy or just laying there watching the sunlight creep in. It took me awhile to realize how much I missed hearing the solid, sure, thump of his feet running down the hall to my room in the morning (or what might pass for morning to him). So, while 6:15 is a bit on the early side, the soft curl of his hair as his head finds a place just under my chin on the pillow next to me more than makes up for a few minutes of lost sleep.
Mid-morning we loaded the kids into the car and drove to an auditorium where a local children's musician had scheduled an appearance. We found a couple of seats on the end of a row towards the exit, not sure how Oliver would do once the performance began. Unable to sit while the seats around us were filling up, Nik took him into the adjacent hallway were he could run around and work out any nervous energy he might have. And when the singer/songwriter finally took up the guitar they made their way back in. Midway through the second song, however, it became obvious that it wasn't going to work out. But rather than leaving we went back into the hallway and sat down on the floor directly outside the propped open doors to the auditorium where we could still listen to the music and see the stage. When Oliver needed to he ran a few laps up and down the hallway then settled back into my lap for another song. To help Oliver relax and enjoy the music -- which he clearly liked -- I held him tightly and alternated between massaging his hands, applying pressure to his jaw and swaying with him in my lap while cupping my hands firmly over his ears. It occured to me at one point that, while keeping Oliver where he could enjoy the show was a lot of work for both of us, we probably looked like any other mother and son to the uninitiated. In fact, three or four people just inside the doors offered us their seats, to which I simply stated that it was better for us to be where we were. And later we were joined by at least a half dozen other kids and parents.
A short time after we went to sit in the hallway I happened to see one of Oliver's classmates and his father exiting the auditorium from another door. The child, who also has autism, was visibly upset. The father slowly and gently helped his son into his coat but wore a sad, familiar look on his face and the two of them walked out to the parking lot. As they left I turned my attention back to the darkened auditorium. There were probably 150 kids in there and 2 of them had autism. Now one had left and we were sitting in the hall. Were there others, I wondered? Maybe. But given our own experiences in the past, and what I had just witnessed, I know that it is sometimes easier to just stay home. And therein lies the rub: our kids need to be out and about and experiencing all that the world has to offer, but out and about can so often overwhelm their senses. How many times have we geared up and gone someplace only to either leave five minutes into an activity or wish that we had? And how many times have we stayed home althogether?
Too often I get caught up in thinking about Oliver's "deficits". The list of skills that he has to learn -- things that other kids easily absorb -- is long and depressing. But this is a journey that we are on together and today, sitting cross-legged with Oliver on my lap, my hands cupped tightly over his ears and the both of us swaying to the music, I realized that it is a learning adventure for both of us. Sometimes we stumble and end up with bloody knees, but then there are the times when I can close my eyes and hear the solid, sure, thump of our feet taking us a bit further in the right direction.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
On My Toes
Upon waking this morning, Oliver decided to mix things up a bit. Of late we have had trouble getting him to change his shirt. It takes a lot of coercing, cajolling and distracting but we always press on because, after all, one can't go around wearing the same shirt day after day. But this morning it was the pants that he refused to change. He had me going for a moment; I thought we were going to slide easily into the day. Since Oliver has mastered the task of dressing and undressing himself (except for the socks, which I'm not pushing because he is only 3!) I have started getting him to take it one step further and take the clothes that he will wear from the closet. First one article from the pile of shirts, then one from the stack of pants. I was pretty happy that he seemed to get the concept after the first time and now notice that he will even demonstrate a preference for one shirt or pair of pants over another, pulling one from the middle of the pile or putting one back and choosing another. Of course his sense of color coordination has occassionally left me wincing but I figure he gets that from his father's side of things.
I don't know why he gets stuck on changing an article of clothing. And why now? It isn't a problem if the shirt is dirty or if it is time for a bath, but otherwise, lately, it has been a struggle. And sometimes if we do manage to change the shirt with a minimum of tears then even one glimpse of it -- even ten minutes later -- will cause another fit of tears. After experiencing this the hard way a couple of days in a row I now immediately hide the shirt when it comes off. With Oliver, though, I notice that he maintains these sort of behaviors for a few weeks and then suddenly discards them and just as suddenly something new will take his interest for good or bad. So usually just when I have figured out how to handle one situation we are on to the next. My boy certainly knows how to keep me on my toes!
This morning, though I didn't even bother dealing with the pajama pants. A teacher in-service day meant no school and so Nik and I were splitting the day at work. I left the house at 7am and returned by 11:30 so that Nik could work all afternoon. But when I returned home I found Oliver laying lethargically in front of the TV. Since Sunday when Oliver first developed a fever he hasn't been back to normal. Although his fever left him Monday morning he has not yet recovered. Watching TV has always been a sport for Oliver. He isn't one to simply watch a video -- he engages with it. Our television screen is fully of nose prints, finger prints, hand prints -- and lately, for some reason, knee prints! Oliver imitates the characters of his favorite videos, he narrates along, he presses his nose to the noses of the children and other characters, and in general is just very, very animated. There is no sitting to watch TV. And certainly no laying down with his head on a pillow, which is why I observed him so fretfully this afternoon. I almost would have felt better if he had a fever because then there would be a clear explanation for his lethergy. Having your child not be able to tell you what hurts is hard.
As I have written before, the main focus of Oliver's ABA program is PECs and I have, at different times questioned this strategy. The whole idea of teaching him to communicate using pictures when what I really just want him to do is speak seems counter-intuitive. My instinct is to encourage and reward speech and so if Oliver can say "apple" or "water" I haven't always felt confident that reinforcing the use of an icon rather than the word itself was, in fact, beneficial. But communication is about so much more than being able to demand objects that are visible, as Mary, our lead therapist always reminds me. And PECS is more about teaching communication than vocabulary. This hit home to me as I tried to get Oliver to eat a few slices of banana at lunch time and wished that he could tell me: "My tummy hurts and I'm not hungry." The leap between what he can say: "I want banana." and what he can't: "I don't want banana." is much more vast than one word would indicate.
Oliver spent twenty minutes eating a muffin, crumb by crumb, and then I laid down with him in his little toddler bear bed and soon he was fast asleep. An hour later I woke him and he returned to the couch and laid there looking at the box to his favorite video. I relented and let him watch it. While he was laying there looking so miserable I stole the opportunity to run to the neighbors house and borrow a video rewinding machine. Our VCR has simply stopped going backwards and by the end of each day our choices have grown more limited and by this afternoon we had only two left. When I returned about three minutes later Oliver hadn't moved an inch but was wearing a scared look on his face. Even before I looked I knew what happened: the smell was a little offending. And all I can say is: Thank God for my new handy, dandy Bissell carpet and upholstery cleaner!!
Two pairs of clothes and two baths later Oliver seemed to recover a bit. He playfully bounced on my bed and ran back and forth to the window as we kept watch on the street below for Poppi's red car to turn the corner and park at the curb in front of the house. When Nik did finally arrive with RT in tow the usual chaos of early evening ensued: fussy children just this side of bedtime, broken bits of conversation, me cooking dinner -- all punctuated by the frequent ring of the telephone and a decidedly female voice on the other end asking for an almost-13 RT.
Oliver went right to bed at 7pm and was asleep within moments. He has already stirred once declaring loudly: "I want in the bathtub!" -- a mantra of his that has nothing to do with getting in the tub -- and I soothed him back to sleep with only one refrain of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, a kiss on the forehead and a wish for sweet dreams and sweeter tomorrows.
I don't know why he gets stuck on changing an article of clothing. And why now? It isn't a problem if the shirt is dirty or if it is time for a bath, but otherwise, lately, it has been a struggle. And sometimes if we do manage to change the shirt with a minimum of tears then even one glimpse of it -- even ten minutes later -- will cause another fit of tears. After experiencing this the hard way a couple of days in a row I now immediately hide the shirt when it comes off. With Oliver, though, I notice that he maintains these sort of behaviors for a few weeks and then suddenly discards them and just as suddenly something new will take his interest for good or bad. So usually just when I have figured out how to handle one situation we are on to the next. My boy certainly knows how to keep me on my toes!
This morning, though I didn't even bother dealing with the pajama pants. A teacher in-service day meant no school and so Nik and I were splitting the day at work. I left the house at 7am and returned by 11:30 so that Nik could work all afternoon. But when I returned home I found Oliver laying lethargically in front of the TV. Since Sunday when Oliver first developed a fever he hasn't been back to normal. Although his fever left him Monday morning he has not yet recovered. Watching TV has always been a sport for Oliver. He isn't one to simply watch a video -- he engages with it. Our television screen is fully of nose prints, finger prints, hand prints -- and lately, for some reason, knee prints! Oliver imitates the characters of his favorite videos, he narrates along, he presses his nose to the noses of the children and other characters, and in general is just very, very animated. There is no sitting to watch TV. And certainly no laying down with his head on a pillow, which is why I observed him so fretfully this afternoon. I almost would have felt better if he had a fever because then there would be a clear explanation for his lethergy. Having your child not be able to tell you what hurts is hard.
As I have written before, the main focus of Oliver's ABA program is PECs and I have, at different times questioned this strategy. The whole idea of teaching him to communicate using pictures when what I really just want him to do is speak seems counter-intuitive. My instinct is to encourage and reward speech and so if Oliver can say "apple" or "water" I haven't always felt confident that reinforcing the use of an icon rather than the word itself was, in fact, beneficial. But communication is about so much more than being able to demand objects that are visible, as Mary, our lead therapist always reminds me. And PECS is more about teaching communication than vocabulary. This hit home to me as I tried to get Oliver to eat a few slices of banana at lunch time and wished that he could tell me: "My tummy hurts and I'm not hungry." The leap between what he can say: "I want banana." and what he can't: "I don't want banana." is much more vast than one word would indicate.
Oliver spent twenty minutes eating a muffin, crumb by crumb, and then I laid down with him in his little toddler bear bed and soon he was fast asleep. An hour later I woke him and he returned to the couch and laid there looking at the box to his favorite video. I relented and let him watch it. While he was laying there looking so miserable I stole the opportunity to run to the neighbors house and borrow a video rewinding machine. Our VCR has simply stopped going backwards and by the end of each day our choices have grown more limited and by this afternoon we had only two left. When I returned about three minutes later Oliver hadn't moved an inch but was wearing a scared look on his face. Even before I looked I knew what happened: the smell was a little offending. And all I can say is: Thank God for my new handy, dandy Bissell carpet and upholstery cleaner!!
Two pairs of clothes and two baths later Oliver seemed to recover a bit. He playfully bounced on my bed and ran back and forth to the window as we kept watch on the street below for Poppi's red car to turn the corner and park at the curb in front of the house. When Nik did finally arrive with RT in tow the usual chaos of early evening ensued: fussy children just this side of bedtime, broken bits of conversation, me cooking dinner -- all punctuated by the frequent ring of the telephone and a decidedly female voice on the other end asking for an almost-13 RT.
Oliver went right to bed at 7pm and was asleep within moments. He has already stirred once declaring loudly: "I want in the bathtub!" -- a mantra of his that has nothing to do with getting in the tub -- and I soothed him back to sleep with only one refrain of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, a kiss on the forehead and a wish for sweet dreams and sweeter tomorrows.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Under the Weather
Oliver is under the weather. I noticed it first when he climbed into bed next to me in the early morning. He wouldn't tolerate the thermometer for long but the digital readout already displayed 99.7 when I could no longer hold it in place. After some tylenol and a leisurely breakfast we chanced a short excursion to the arboretum for our Sunday walk and then returned when Oliver said "take a nap." I can't remember the last time Oliver voluntarily took a nap and so when he woke two hours later we lounged together on the couch watching Elmo. He was in fine spirits but unusually sedate.
After my last entry in which I confessed to feeling pretty lousy over the past week I find myself today feeling pretty good. Yes, it was 70 beautiful degrees today and yes, Nik did come home finally from his trip to California but I was startled to realize that there is another reason for the shift: Today, I was needed. Oliver, of course, needs me everyday -- but today was different. I was the classic mom in action, today. I soothed and stroked him. I murmered softly. I kissed warm forehead, nose, and hands. I gave "magic pills" for fever and let him sip my tea. I made sure he drank plenty of water, drew him a warm bath and watched over him while he slept.
All this is in sharp contrast to how I was feeling a day ago, a week ago, when I started to notice old behaviors resurfacing. I believe that many of these behaviors are Oliver's way of reacting to stress, frustration, anxiety, anger and even boredom. But too often I am slow at making the connection. And sometimes I never make it at all and am left to draw from my big bad of mom tricks feeling entirely inadequate. If only a little fever were the only test.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking that if only Oliver could tell me if he were hungry, tired, cold, hurt, bored, etc. then my job would be a lot easier. But I know that's not really true -- he is communicating with me if I really pay attention. Language isn't all it's cracked up to be: after all, how many times do I expect others to know what I am thinking by how I am acting or the look on my face. Oliver didn't tell me what he needed today in so many words but by curling up in my lap and pulling the blanket up to his chin he let me know loud and clear. So maybe the trick isn't so much knowing how to mother, but knowing how to listen.
After my last entry in which I confessed to feeling pretty lousy over the past week I find myself today feeling pretty good. Yes, it was 70 beautiful degrees today and yes, Nik did come home finally from his trip to California but I was startled to realize that there is another reason for the shift: Today, I was needed. Oliver, of course, needs me everyday -- but today was different. I was the classic mom in action, today. I soothed and stroked him. I murmered softly. I kissed warm forehead, nose, and hands. I gave "magic pills" for fever and let him sip my tea. I made sure he drank plenty of water, drew him a warm bath and watched over him while he slept.
All this is in sharp contrast to how I was feeling a day ago, a week ago, when I started to notice old behaviors resurfacing. I believe that many of these behaviors are Oliver's way of reacting to stress, frustration, anxiety, anger and even boredom. But too often I am slow at making the connection. And sometimes I never make it at all and am left to draw from my big bad of mom tricks feeling entirely inadequate. If only a little fever were the only test.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking that if only Oliver could tell me if he were hungry, tired, cold, hurt, bored, etc. then my job would be a lot easier. But I know that's not really true -- he is communicating with me if I really pay attention. Language isn't all it's cracked up to be: after all, how many times do I expect others to know what I am thinking by how I am acting or the look on my face. Oliver didn't tell me what he needed today in so many words but by curling up in my lap and pulling the blanket up to his chin he let me know loud and clear. So maybe the trick isn't so much knowing how to mother, but knowing how to listen.
Friday, March 10, 2006
The Long Work of Winter
I'm having trouble framing things. I'm having trouble keeping my perspective. Just when I thought I had a handle on things I'm back to crying just about everyday. I'm back to feeling that
it all seems too terribly hard and I'm sure I'm just not up to it. There are so many times when I think to myself that Oliver deserves a better mother and I can't even begin to listen to my own exhortations to then just BE a better mother. Normally, you see, I can talk myself out of these things. Or write myself out of it. But these days, to use Oliver-speak, I seem to be stuck.
Oliver is his usual wonderful self but has been a bundle of behaviors lately. Is it the changing of the seasons? The fact that his Poppi has been out of town on a business trip? Is he responding to his mother's out-of-whack emotions? Or is it something else that I haven't yet identified? (Will there ever be a time when I feel like I know what I'm doing??) At any rate, some of Oliver's more difficult to deal with behaviors had all but disappeared over the last several months and now seem to be reappearing. It feels like two steps forward and one step back.
I guess I am in strong need of spring. I need to see things blossom and grow. I need to feel that the long hard work of winter is over and to be reminded that life is full of cycles that must be completed in order for there to be change and growth.
So, c'mon Mother Nature! Bring on the sunshine that will feed these tender green shoots of mine.
it all seems too terribly hard and I'm sure I'm just not up to it. There are so many times when I think to myself that Oliver deserves a better mother and I can't even begin to listen to my own exhortations to then just BE a better mother. Normally, you see, I can talk myself out of these things. Or write myself out of it. But these days, to use Oliver-speak, I seem to be stuck.
Oliver is his usual wonderful self but has been a bundle of behaviors lately. Is it the changing of the seasons? The fact that his Poppi has been out of town on a business trip? Is he responding to his mother's out-of-whack emotions? Or is it something else that I haven't yet identified? (Will there ever be a time when I feel like I know what I'm doing??) At any rate, some of Oliver's more difficult to deal with behaviors had all but disappeared over the last several months and now seem to be reappearing. It feels like two steps forward and one step back.
I guess I am in strong need of spring. I need to see things blossom and grow. I need to feel that the long hard work of winter is over and to be reminded that life is full of cycles that must be completed in order for there to be change and growth.
So, c'mon Mother Nature! Bring on the sunshine that will feed these tender green shoots of mine.
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