Eden Garden House

Come on mom, get tough.

I have very, very few pictures of my children crying. Mainly because 1)I don't really want to dwell on their - or anyone's - moments of sadness, and 2) I know I wouldn't like it if someone was taking pictures of me when I was crying. It just doesn't seem nice to me.

The picture above was captured by accident, not too long ago, when I was testing out the camera. She was over-tired and rapidly vacillating in between moments of frustration, and total glee. About five seconds later, she was laughing:

Today though, she was crying. Imagine the top picture, but with sound.

I had a bad day today. Tegan had a bad day today. Neither of us had as bad a day as Everett though, who is suffering through another - very painful - UTI (something he's been dealing with his entire life) We were all exhausted from a busy weekend and not enough sleep, and I'd thought that today was going to give us some much-needed down time. Instead the three of us were at the doctor's first thing this morning, at the grocery store buying cranberry juice, and at CVS filling Everett's prescription.

Tegan spotted the gum near the register on the way out of CVS. She asked if we could get some, and I had to tell her, "not this time." She asked why as she started to cry, and I could tell from the way that she'd rooted herself to the floor that we were not going to be making a graceful exit. I knelt down so I could talk to her, and I told her the truth.

"Because I only have a little bit of cash right now, and we need it for the field trip tomorrow."

"But I want gum." She cried harder.

That's about the time that I started to feel everyone staring at us. I think most moms know that feeling... that feeling of being watched, and judged, by all the other shoppers. That feeling of frustration, and even embarrassment... not because of your child, but just because everyone is looking at you. Waiting to see what you're going to do. Waiting to see how you'll handle it.

I handled it the only way I knew how, as calmly and quietly as I could. And when I picked her up - still crying - and made my way out to the car, I was followed by an older gentleman who offered,

"Come on mom, you need to get tough with her!"

I did not respond with the first thought that came to mind (for which I am proud) but instead gave him a wordless smile while I got the kids into the car.... one disappointed and unhappy, the other sick and in pain. I just wanted to get home, and get home soon.

Get tough with her? Even now, 7 hours later, I'm still thinking about it and shaking my head. Aside from the obvious irritation of the unsolicited advice, what does it even mean?

Get tough with her. For what? For being human? For being disappointed? For being tired? For acting like any other three year old who's allowed to express her emotions?

I can't say that I always respond to my crying children as patiently as I'd like. I can't say that I'm always as compassionate as I'd like. But I can say, with absolute certainty, that being more "tough" is the LAST thing I am going to do when one of my children is upset, when one of my children is sad, when one of my children is in pain in some way... Whether it's a pack of gum, or a canceled play date. Their feelings are real, just as real as yours and mine. They deserve to be treated kindly and gently all the time, but especially when they are unhappy.

Isn't that just common sense?

So, dear stranger in the CVS parking lot: I sincerely thank you for your nosy intrusion concern today, but I've got this one covered. And the next time my girl cries (which she will one day, because she's human) I will think of your words, and I will do the opposite.

The Zoo

Phoenix Zoo, December 2005

Phoenix Zoo, April 2011

Pictured above are the boys at the zoo for their very first visit, one month after we moved here.... and at the zoo today - along with the girl - for their (??) visit.  It's still just as fun as it was 5 1/2 years ago.

Rainbows & Breakthroughs

Behind my sister's house

Several months ago, the kids and I got caught in a horrific hail storm.  We were at the playground, and even though it was starting to look like rain, we weren't in too much of a hurry.   People were rushing around, gathering up their things, but we kept playing.  I tend to be of the nonchalant, "so if it rains, we'll just get a little wet," ilk, and the kids love playing in the rain anyway.

Suddenly, it was like someone flipped a switch:  the sky turned from grey to black,  and the wind.... I can't even begin to describe the wind, except to say that if I hadn't picked up both Everett and Tegan (6 and 2.5 respectively) I don't think they would have been physically able to even stand in it.  We quickly ran around retrieving shoes and water bottles from where they'd been left under slides and swing sets, and headed - running - to the car.  That's when the hail started hitting us.   Huge, hard, and painful, they beat on our bodies as we flew across the grass.

And that wind!!  I'd never been in wind that bad in my life.

Everett and Tegan were both crying, and Spencer was starting to do a gasping, hyperventilating thing that was frightening me even more than the weather.   I tried to reassure them - and myself - as we ran, but it was so loud I doubt anyone even heard my words.  We finally made it to the car and just sat inside it for awhile.... drenched, cold and breathing heavily... but otherwise no worse for the wear.

By the time we got home, ten minutes later, it was over.  We were greeted with these all over our front yard:

The biggest hail I've ever seen

Ever since that day, Everett has been extremely fearful and anxious about wind.  (Can you blame him?)   He hasn't wanted to go to playgrounds, hasn't wanted to go outside, has declined play dates, and has cried at even the smallest amount of breeze when do have to be out.  On his worst days, he wouldn't even have to be outside to be afraid.  He would hysterically cry at just the sound, just the thought, of the wind outside.  He's been genuinely, and inconsolably, terrified about the possibility of getting caught in another storm.

As a parent, it is both heartbreaking and frustrating to see your child so strongly clutched by a fear, and feel powerless to stop it.  I tried my hardest to respect it, and to honor his feelings.  I held him, I talked to him, I comforted him, I reassured him... oh how I tried to reassure him!... but still the fear remained.    It was a paralyzing fear, one that kept him under the porch's cover as I would push Tegan on the swing, wanting to join us but not able to make himself do it.   I hated seeing what it was doing to him, and as much as I hated it for him, I know he hated it more.   My sweet, happy boy wasn't always happy any more, and I didn't know how to make it better.

I thought it was starting to get better, but a few weeks ago we went off-roading.  It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and we'd stopped for a picnic lunch at a really beautiful spot up in Sedona.   And again I held him as he cried, petrified, when some wind started to pick up. 

I shared my own stories of fears with him.  I shared other people's stories.  I told him I didn't blame him for being scared, but that he was safe.  "I know all of that!" he'd tell me through his tears.  "I tell myself not to be scared, but I just don't know how to stop it."  And I didn't know either.  So I held him, and we waited.

And slowly, slowly it has started to get better. 

Today, we took the two youngest kids out to the library, and to go grocery shopping.  It had been raining in the morning, but it was relatively clear when we left the house.  They chose some books from the library, and we made quick work of our shopping list.  It was windy when we left the first store, but Everett was too busy eating his Clif bar and chatting about his upcoming birthday to pay much attention.  It was very windy by the time we got to the second store, enough that I was watching him - waiting - as we exited the car.  Still he was calm and happy as we went in the store and grabbed our last few things.  When we came back out to the parking lot, the air was thick with the heaviness that comes before the rain.  The storm clouds had all gathered together into one massive sheet of charcoal, and the wind was whistling in our ears.  And Everett grabbed my hand, laughed, and wondered aloud if we'd make it to the car before it started raining. 

He laughed.  I didn't say anything at the time, but the fact that we were hurrying through the wind and darkness once again wasn't lost on me.  But he wasn't crying.  He was happy.  And this time, he was still smiling as he buckled himself into his seat.  It started raining just as we pulled away.

Breakthrough.

When we got home, I gathered him up in a big hug, and asked him if he'd realized that we'd been out in the wind.

"Oh yeah!"  he told me.  "I didn't really think about it until just now.  It was pretty windy, wasn't it?"  He was still hugging me.

"Yes, it was.  And we were fine.  You were fine, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was!"  He sounded happy.  Proud.  And then he ran off to watch T.V.

I don't know what made the difference.  Maybe it was just time.  And I don't know that we won't have to deal with scary wind moments again in the future (in my experience,  a lot of these things tend to take the path of a one step forward, two steps back resolution) But I do know that today was a huge leap forward as far as I - and Everett - are concerned.    I am thankful, and I am relieved.

Just after we got home, when I was still celebrating his victory, my sister sent the above picture of the rainbow.  I couldn't have gotten a more perfect picture at a more perfect time. 

It's a new day, and it's beautiful.

A Question

Tegan was carrying this Teletubby around with all her little Doras today. I have no idea where she found it, but it has been with us for just over twelve years now. The reason I know its age is that it was one of a set of all four of them that adorned Spencer's birthday cake the year he turned two. We lived in Worcester, Massachusetts then.

It has moved to 3 different houses (5 if you count the short time we lived at both my parents and my sister's), and 3 different states. It spent a couple of months living in a camper at a seasonal campground while we paid off some debt to prepare for buying our first house. It moved across the country 5 1/5 years ago, and it has somehow survived many a house-wide toy purge.

Why, with all the odds stacked against it, has this cheap little plastic figure managed to keep itself so present in our lives, when I can't even find the cup of coffee I set down 15 minutes ago?