Saturday, May 5, 2012
I haven't been writing the blog for a while. My last post was in June of 2011. Gosh, what has happened since then?
On the Parent-Front:
Mike moved in with us, and started going to daycare.
Fran wanted to come home from Molly's foster care, so she moved back in with us.
Mike had to leave daycare.
I rented the one bedroom side of a neighborhood duplex, so Mike would have somewhere to spend days with his caregivers, and not be upset by screaming children and vice-versa.
Fran had a stroke and became more lucid, but lost a chunk of communication skills.
April 16, 2012, Fran died.
On the Kid-Front:
JJ started to take classes at Village Home School.
Grant started kindergarten at our neighborhood public school, but only stayed 2 months.
Grant started to take classes at Village Home school.
Man, that's a lot in a year! Has it only been a year? What else am I forgetting? Probably something important that I have since forgotten about, that I will never be able to live down, like my husband winning the Nobel Peace Prize.
Don't worry, there will be blog posts on everything! And more! This is gonna get interesting.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Easter was and is a popular kid candy holiday. Think about those chocolate bunnies, jelly beans and marshmallow treats. I think that for kids, Easter probably ranks between Halloween and Valentine's Day as a time to score a lot of sweet treats. Traditionally, Easter included the making and dyeing and hunting of hard boiled eggs. This practice has fallen off in recent years, due to several highly publicized cases of food poisoning, but in my youth it was an integral part of Easter. I remember "blowing" eggs in school to color. Imagine your child putting their lips on a raw egg in today's classroom. Now prohibited by law, I think.
My mom, Fran, was well aware of the after-effects of a ton of cheap sugary candy on my little bloodstream. So at the sugar holidays, she would insist on eating something proper before the orgy began. At Easter, it was hard boiled eggs, and we couldn't access our baskets until we ate our hard boiled egg. My sister would breeze through her egg and be happily biting the heads off bunnies while I sat with that chalky, green-coated, bile-yellow ball surrounded by a rubbery cold white casing. That did not look tasty to me, and I didn't want to eat it. But I wanted that candy, and I wanted to get it at the same time my sister did. So I sat, and sat, and refused to eat that hard boiled egg until Fran would allow me to "just eat the white part". After more drama, I could generally get her down to "just try it". Then I would grimly take a bite, reenacting the scene from the movie, The Ten Commandments, where Moses has his minions pour molten metal down the throats of the idol worshippers. Candy basket received.
As part of Fran's Alzheimer's paranoia, she fears men. She sees men as untrustworthy, suspicious and threatening. It is my belief that at some point in her young life, something traumatic happened to her that involved a man or men. I have no idea what this might have been, or when it happened, but it is real for her. It has made caring for her difficult, particularly when she accused various caregivers, friends and family of hitting her, robbing her, or being up to no good in general. This has been painful for those accused, as well as traumatic for Fran. Recent research in memory suggests that if the experience of an item or event is accompanied by fear or pain or trauma, even if that trauma is unrelated to the item or event itself, the brain adds a little extra "push" to the memory of that experience to mark the memory down as particularly pertinent. Apparently for some people, this push and reinforcement can result in phobias, often of unlikely things like cats, clowns or children. Why I have a phobia of Horseshoe crabs, I have no idea.
As rational adults, we can have our phobias and memories desensitized through therapy, and it appears, drugs. Apparently, every time we access a memory and re-store it, we have the ability to alter that memory. It becomes colored by our mood at the time, our feelings and preferences about how we want that memory to look. Indeed, the most accurate memories seem to be those that have not been accessed multiple times, but stored and then forgotten. Unfortunately for Fran, she can no longer do the processing required to suppress or desensitize her phobia to men. Stuck with a phobia that now can no longer be ignored, seeing a man can send her into high levels of fear and anxiety. I have had to take over her phobia management, to find therapies to calm her fears by other means.
Next Blog Phobias Part II
Monday, February 7, 2011
February 7, 2011, Monday morning before 8:00 a.m.
Steven, my husband is getting ready for work. The boys hear his bumping around and start to stir. JJ jumps out of bed, runs into the living room and begins assembling Legos. Grant is slower, rising and tottering out into the living room to check on what JJ is up to. I wake up and take stock of the day, plotting out in my mind the tasks and plans for the day. JJ comes in and asks if he can use the computer, and I ask him to do typing tutor before he starts. He groans about this and says the game bores him, so we cut a deal for 15 minutes of typing tutor, and he turns on the laptop. Boys are searching JJ's favorite Star Wars sites on Youtube (he's the fastest bookmarker I ever saw) and I, clad in my trusty housecoat, amble in to check it out. A video of a Sumo wrestler pops up and I say, "click that one." We watch a few more Sumo wrestling videos, and JJ and Grant start asking questions about Sumo. I help them find the Wikipedia entry on Sumo wrestling and read a bit about it. Grant suggests we have a few Sumo matches of our own on the living room carpet, I use masking tape to mark out the dohyo. Tired, we stop for breakfast and a discussion about the day's events. We decide to split into two groups, with me doing some personal work (bookkeeping and householding and organizing playdates for the boys' social life) and the boys watching Scooby doo and playing Legos until lunch.
Noon: I stop my bookkeeping and we eat lunch and take a walk to the store. We talk about what we have to buy and how much money we have to spend. We have gelato tokens, so afterwards we stop and get a gelato for a treat. Grant has strawberry and raspberry, JJ was caramel swirl and lemon, and we play CandyLand and ConnectFour. We continue our walk home and pass by the new neighborhood center, and JJ suggests going in. We visit the tea room and chat with the folks there and play with the domino set. Then we discover that they have an unused yoga room we can play in, so we pile in and play chase and wrassle and stage show and baby wolves and bobcats until Steven texts us that he is on his way home.
Evening: By now it is 6:00 so we have dinner, books and bed. The boys are in bed by 8:00 and from 8:00 - 10:00 Steven and I do chores, talk, write and decompress.
Every day is different, driven by a combination of boys' interests, mom's requirements and dad's work schedule. We've all learned a lot today. Did you know that centuries-old tradition dictates that Sumo wrestlers gain weight by skipping breakfast, eating a large lunch and having a nap? Always eat breakfast!
Unschooling means that the day is all about the boys. It requires a huge commitment of time and energy from both Steven and me. All day I have been at work as a mom and a teacher, answering questions thoughtfully, taking every opportunity to expand their knowledge, guide their behavior and supply them with the tools and opportunity to learn. Steven works all day, then works as a dad and a teacher evenings and weekends. This is in addition to all the other work we do. There is very little alone time for us until the end of the day. Steven and I have a date night once a week, but that's very little for a married couple to live on. But we both agree that our children are the most important things in our lives. I do this because I want to teach my children that living life is what life is all about. Completing a grade, achieving a benchmark or doing the same thing that everyone else simply because everybody else does it is not a recipe for a passion filled life. My children are very bright and shiny. Everywhere we go people remark on their excitement and enthusiasm. I believe Unschooling will keep their sparkle alive.
Monday, April 19, 2010
As you may recall, Fran has gone to live with the new love of her life, Molly.
In February, Mike was asked to leave Assisted Living. I think the last straw was when Mike came down into the lobby area sans pants. Once again, it was time to move a parent.
When we added on the Frannex, my intention was to only have Fran live in our household. I had concerns about Mike living in the house with the boys.
My father's ideas about raising children are much different than mine. I tend to think of my children as distinct little satellites launched from my planet, acquiring resources, knowledge and skills in close orbit before they slingshot out of my gravity to go explore the universe. I believe Mike felt that his children were a reflection and extension of himself therefore he tried to control his children to ensure a positive reflection of him. We kids needed to be under Mike's control and command at all times, lest we veer from the party line, and knock holes in Mike's stage set of family life. Mike enforced his control in a variety of ways that would be considered "unhealthy" now, and I was worried that he would cause harm to the boys. When Mike was evicted from assisted living, I warily moved him into the Frannex, while we sorted out what to do. My brother and sister-in-law offered to take him on a permanent basis, but I felt that would be an extreme hardship for them since they both work outside the home. Having done the Fran care for a year, I know the amount of time and energy it takes to care for the demented parent. It's not like having a cute toddler that a friend or neighbor will watch while you go to your chiropractor. Mike is a high maintenance person, he needs one on-one-care, all his waking hours. He won't sit by himself and watch t.v., and if he finds himself alone, he will get up and look for his people. So I kept the boys apart from Mike and went out on the Memory Care tour.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
It was rapidly becoming clear to me, that Mike was not ready for Memory Care, and I was not ready to send him there. It was time to revisit a decision I had made when Mike first became incapacitated. Maybe it could work: Should I move Mike permanently into the Frannex?
Monday, January 11, 2010
This morning I woke up, inspired by how much I was going to get done today! I was going to finish my paper work that is due in 2 days, shovel some compost onto the garden beds, drop off the sewing machine at the repair shop, go to the gym, go visit Fran, pick up the grocery order, and complete several other tasks on my to do list. JJ was dressed and getting ready to go to school with Steven. Grant was having a good sleep in. It all looked promising.
Then Grant comes out from his bedroom and says "I'm a baby kitty." I know this is a bad sign. This is Grant's code for "I'm a helpless baby, and I need your total undivided attentiton."
We will spend the rest of the day negotiating. I'll get the groceries picked up and the sewing machine dropped off. Grant will wet his pants three times (once at the library) and pee in the lid of JJ's Cariboo Island game. Grant will continue his project to unscrew every door lock in the house and lose the parts. Out of the blue, Grant will run up and bite me on the breast, hard enough to bruise. I will be strained to my limits several times. I will not beat him. I will try to stay present.
Steven gets home at 6:45. He's had a lot going on at work. He's stressed. I slink off to the bedroom, justifying my craven retreat with the fact that I cooked him dinner. Within 3 minutes both boys have discovered I am missing and seek me out. Grant has crawled under the bed to avoid being evicted from our bedroom.
Steven says to Grant, "I love you Grant" and he yells "no you don't". He's three and a half.