Saturday, April 23, 2011

A Recipe for a Pissed Off Mom

Take weeks of trying to get Noah off one med and onto another one so he's not really controlled on anything yet and is riding a thin line of mania mixed with mean and nasty.

And then add in a good dose of Mommy and her fucking hormones because apparently my normal level of craziness isn't enough, so we had to add in perimenopause.

Then throw in a pinch of Noah deciding to take two packs of gum from the store yesterday via his pocket, and then lie to us about it when Rich found it.

Mix in a good dose of two boys waking up three times between them during the night.

And let it slow simmer on a rainy Saturday when Rich is at work and all the boys do is fight, wrestle, and say NO to me.

And there you have it! A big pot of Bitch Ass Mommy is not Taking Any Shit.


You might say I'm struggling with the whole therapeutic parenting bit the last few days.

Monday, April 18, 2011

A poem by Noah


Fast and powerful
Black spotted body
Hunting with sharp teeth.

Quietly stepping on the ground
Searching for my feast
Hungry for a meal.


Sunday, April 17, 2011

Maybe there is a place for Noah?

We looked at a new day camp today for Noah. It's a part special needs, part typical kid  camp. The special needs part is mostly MR and autism, but they offer a program for other special needs kids that is a small group with more support that interacts with the regular camp.

The director assured me that Noah would be with kids that are cognitively OK but have more problems with anxiety and other behavioral issues.

We wouldn't have to worry about fighting the insurance company for a TSS for him. He'd also be with staff that are trained to deal with behavioral problems, so I wouldn't be worried every time my cell phone rings that the director is calling to tell me about a problem.

It's very different from the camp he was at the last two years. The physical space is much smaller. Noah noticed that right away. I'm sure once he starts the program he'll notice they don't have all of the same activities either.

Another family came in to visit while we were there and one of their kids had Down Syndrome. Rich told me when Noah saw him his mouth fell open, but he didn't say anything.

I think that of all our options this is the best one for us, at least for this summer. Of course the cost is more, but if I take on a couple extra work projects that will help. Any thought of a summer vacation is out, but I'm not sure I'm brave enough to try one of those anyway.

Still, I have this deep sadness in me over it. Instead of Noah moving towards a more typical, independent program he seems to be requiring even more support.

I know this is only for one summer. If he doesn't like it we can always go back to the typical camp with a TSS route next year.

Just a couple days ago I found out about a sleep-away camp in NJ that has a program for kids with ADHD and PDD. I've been fantasizing for the last three days about sending Noah there for the summer. It's been very tempting considering his behavior this last week as we try and work through another medication change.


Saturday, April 16, 2011

Almost speechless

I'm trying to look at the positive here. I mean it does show an awesome amount of control and balance to hover like that. And he did get it all in.

And it is pretty funny in a wrong sort of way. And probably way funnier if it isn't your own kid.

So yeah, anyway...

Noah pooped in the litter box today.

I'm so proud! confused amazed proud bewildered not ready to put this in our Christmas letter.


Monday, April 11, 2011

Noah wrote this. It made me cry. In a good way.


Good day. My name is One-Who-Helped-Another. If you listen, you can hear the sound of my breathing on the day I got a new name. Whew! Whew! I was almost out of breath. I had been running in the woods.

Whew! Whew! I was breathing so hard I couldn't bear to stand anymore. I was speeding through the large forest. I couldn't stop thinking about my sick mother waiting for me to return with the herbs to make my Mom better.

My tribe picked me because I'm as fast as a mountain cat. Many trees block my way, but I keep moving. It is very cold living in the Northwest in the fall. Brrrrrrrrr!!! I can feel the cold air wind on my face. "Crack! Crack!" went the branches under my feet. I can smell the smell of sticky sap from the pine trees.
At last I saw the mountain up ahead. "I found it! I found it!" I exclaimed. But then I remembered that I had to climb it.

I am so tired from running so far for so long, but I remember my Mom and how sick she is. That gives me the power to climb to the top of the mountain. WHEW!

Whoosh! Whoosh! The wind blew forcefully. With all my hard work and strength at last I reached the mountain top. I gathered the medicinal herbs and stored them in my pouch. I climbed down carefully. It was hard, but I still did it for my Mom.

When I got to the bottom I ran as fast as a mountain cat back to my village. I was there! I was excited! I gave my Mom the medicinal herbs. The very next day my Mom felt better. All of the people cheered for me. But then my chief said, "You have been very brave. From now on you should be called, "One-Who-Helped-Another."

I felt strong. I thought to myself that was the best thing I had ever done.

  -  Noah's "Mask Story," March 2011

Mommy's note: Writing this was a big accomplishment for Noah! Four months ago he was not able to attend to, or stay on track with, something this involved. Not to mention the story made me cry!


Wednesday, April 06, 2011

All that over a cookie?

Yesterday while on our way to Noah's vision therapy appointment I had to pull off to the side of the road.

Because of a cookie. A cookie I wouldn't give Noah, even though he was starving! and needed! that cookie.*

So Noah had a temper tantrum. Like a two year-old, but in an eight year-old body. A screaming, trash talking, spitting and throwing, kicking my seat temper tantrum. While I was driving.

And I thought "fuck this shit" and I pulled over and sat there with my hazard lights on, while Noah continued to freak the fuck out. And I sat there checking my email on my phone and half hoping/half fearing that the police were going to pull up behind me.

Eventually he calmed down and we drove home. No police. I have no idea if it made an impact on him or not. I do know he will be cleaning up the spit in the back seat after school tomorrow.

When we got home Noah went to spend some time in his room. I ate the cookie. It was a good cookie!

*There was a cookie, and I did refuse to give it to him because between picking him up from school and him seeing there was a cookie, I realized he had lied to me about cleaning something out of the car the night before.


Tuesday, April 05, 2011

I love food - and other confessions of MNT

Two things you might want to know about me:

1. I love food. All it takes is one look at me to know that I love food. And as the old joke goes "food loves me, too."

I love going out to eat. Fancy restaurants. Not so fancy restaurants. Mom and Pop places. As long as the food is good. And especially if the chef is inspired.

Unfortunately, our opportunities to go out to eat have been severely limited since having children, by both time and money.

2. I learned to cook and bake as a child. I've always preferred baking. Probably because I also like to lick the bowl. I've made fancy gingerbread houses and villages. I taught my self to decorate cakes. And I'm still in search of the perfect peanut butter cookie recipe. 

When I married into a Jewish family I embraced their holidays and the importance of food attached to them. I learned to make chicken soup with matzoh balls, the ultimate brisket, and latkes, to name a few.

So knowing those two things you might assume that I love to feed my family.

Well, I have a secret to tell you. 

Shhh...don't tell anyone. 

Come a little closer.


OMG, but I hate cooking for my children. They are the biggest pains in the ass to cook for. So much so that I have stopped cooking for them almost entirely. I have lost all inspiration. We eat chicken nuggets, mac 'n cheese, hot dogs, PB&J and cereal 90% of the time.

And even when I have the time and actually put enough thought into an actual meal so that I've been to the market and have what I need to make it, I still hate cooking it. Because I know they probably won't eat it. Actually, there is a 98% chance Kiel won't even try it, and a 75% chance Noah will say he doesn't like it (even if he did two weeks ago). And if Noah won't eat it there is a 30% chance the result is going to be a meltdown with launching of food.
See why I hate cooking for my kids? 
Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes 
Tell me again why they need to eat every day?

This "uninspired" post was inspired by this month's From Left to Write book club selection, Lunch in Paris. I was provided with a free copy of the book to participate in the book club, but I was not otherwise compensated for this post.