Getting Through the Day

Depression is a funny thing.  It comes and goes, the ebb and flow is mercurial and senseless.

Today it was related to being busy, busy, busy and also a kitten and also a non-standard day.  But the odd thing was that I was surrounded by lovely people, one of my best friends stopped in to visit, and the kitten was rescued.  Still that feeling of darkness, hopelessness, wanting to cry and nap, lingers.

It's related to PPD/A - post-partum depression and anxiety.  I struggle after pregnancy for a long, long time.   But it will get better.  I know this.  So I just get through the day, one day at a time, one step at a time, one task at a time.

We have a bad, terrible, awful mama cat.  She was a stray dropped off on the side of the road as a kitten.  She has had several liters and many of the kittens don't make it.  Mama Gray Cat is a terrible mama.  She has hidden liters under tractor lawn mower decks.  Just sayin.

Two days ago she gave birth to three kittens.  She managed to hide one in a very bad place - under the garage attic floor.  No one knew where she had taken the kitten though there had been numerous sightings of her carrying the kitten into the building.  But we couldn't find it.  It wasn't making any sound.

Today the kitten started mewing.

We brought the bad mama cat into the building so she could get her kitten.  It seemed normal that she would want to retrieve it.

No interest.

She's such a bad mom.

I sawed through the floor.  Yes I did.  Got a jig saw and sawed the floor.  Then my awesome oldest son who is also amazing and cool, reached far into the insulation and bug filled under-the-floor-area and rescued the kitten.

This took an hour or so.  The kitten had been in there for two days.  She was active and loud...  and I was...am...still... SO STRESSED.

I blame some of the depression on Mama Gray Cat.  She is getting fixed,  No more of these kitten capers.  I don't have time for  this.

Summer Sticker Strategy

Summer break was looking grim.  The kids were sick of school, melting down, arguing and complaining.  My biggest problem was the complaining.  I thought if I could just get that under control we could see brighter days.

So I hatched a plan.

Summer Sticker Chart!!!

Oh, yes.  It's been done before.  Many times.  We've tried a lot of variations on this theme.  Sticker charts are nothing new.  We've tried money clipped to chore cards, chore lists that have reward points written into them, sticker charts, etc.  

We've also tried nothing at all because we are Montessori parents (and school founders) and Montessori teaches parents that properly raised children don't need external rewards.  I've read the book, Punished By Rewards.  I know that stuff too.

But the simple fact is that my kids are motivated by rewards.  We all are.  And I don't think that makes us dysfunctional.  (More on that in another post).

So this is the plan for Summer Sticker 2.0:

Ingredients:  A piece of paper.  A marker.  Stickers.  Prizes.

The children get a sticker every time you ask them to do something and they don't complain.  (Complaining is verbal and non-verbal.  If they do the eye roll, no sticker.)  They don't get stickers for doing good deeds or picking you flowers.  They get grace for that.  

They get a sticker when they obey without complaining.  No matter what it is.  If you ask your daughter to get your purse and she says, "Yes mom," and brings it to you.  STICKER.  If she practices piano without complaining.  STICKER.

When they earn 30 stickers, they can choose a small prize.

Inexpensive treats: Candy, fake dog poop, tickets to see a local baseball team, pop-its, tattoos, chalk, Big League Chew

Or they can continue earning stickers and get a bigger prize when they reach 80 stickers.  Everything is from 5 Below or the Dollar Store.

Slightly more expensive treats: t-shirts, books, scented markers, bigger bags of candy

When stickers are used to buy a prize, I draw a line through them.  Stickers may not be reused or combined with another child.  

We also have bonus prizes.  When a child reaches 150 and 300 TOTAL stickers (used or unused).  He can choose a bonus prize.  Right now we only have one bonus prize for reaching 150.

Oh the hours spent drooling over this prize.  Even I want this one.

If they reach 300 they can choose a gift card for Sweet Frog (their favorite place in the world) or a giant jar of Jelly Bellies.  

Prizes are refreshed from time to time.  New ones are added in.  Old ones may be eaten or used by mom or dad. 

The reason this is working is two fold.  

1. It's very simple.  It doesn't require I have cash.  It doesn't even require me to put the stickers on.  My kids do it.  And they keep each other honest.  

2. The prizes are purchased a head of time and put on display.  It's like the Chuck E Cheese prize counter.  They can pour over the prizes any time they want.  They plan what they're going for, make contingency plans if their prize gets snapped up by someone else, check to see if anything new has been added or taken away.

The prizes are a tangible goal for them.  They KNOW I won't have to run to the bank, make change, find a time to go to the store.  When they reach 30/80/150/300, they know something will be there in the prize vault waiting for them.

We've been doing this for two weeks and I have found this system to be the most fun, the easiest to follow through with, and the most motivating.  

We plan for this to be a temporary system, just for the summer.  It's meant to encourage good habits not a life-long dependency on prizes.  So far, so good.

Our new baby girl

So the end of the pregnancy story is a good one.

We had a baby girl.  My older daughter was ELATED.  I mean, this baby sister was the answer to her seven years of non-stop prayer.  

The baby was born one day before her due date.  She came the way all the rest came.  My water broke.  Labor started.  It moves very, very quickly after that.

Baby girl is happy and healthy and so, so sweet.

We are thrilled.  I am tired.  She is a miracle.

A Meditation on Sibling Rivalry

My two oldest boys are acting just like brothers from the Bible.  Bless them.

They are like Cain and Abel  Cain.  You know Cain; he killed his brother, Abel out of jealousy.  But not just any old jealousy.  God asked Cain to sacrifice his best.  God wanted Cain to sincerely show his love.  Cain didn't feel like it so he burned some crap on a rock in sacrifice to God.  Not literal crap, but figurative.  Cain gave less than his best.  He wasn't sincere.  If the sacrifice were words, Cain didn't mean them.  And he was so jealous of Abel, who did mean it, that Cain killed him.

"I'm sorry" is thrown around here like "I love you" is thrown around on prom night.  Oh, yes, I did just go there.  It's tired and insincere and manipulative and is said only to serve a single, selfish purpose.  Saying, "I'm sorry" when you're not is a lie.  The error is compounded.  The anger is compounded.  Nothing good can come of it.  Nothing.

Pretend sorry is not allowed.  Pretend sacrifices are not allowed.  No one is allowed to burn crap on a rock in my house and get away with it.  I don't want any pretend sacrifices or shows of "love" that are just for show.  

So there's that.

Then we have Jacob and Esau.  Brothers, twins no less, who disliked each other only slightly less than Cain hated Abel.  I believe they emerged from the womb locked in mortal combat.  Thankfully, neither committed murder.  But Jacob cheated and lied and schemed his way into taking his brother's inheritance.  Esau wasn't blameless - oh no - Esau sold his inheritance for a bowl of soup.  Things that make you go hmmm.

My boys, they cheat each other.  They trick each other.   They fought over a Lunchable this morning and I have no doubt that one of them would have sold their birthright for it had that offer been on the table.  Two days ago one of them changed the pop tarts in the boxes so that the other boy, who truly hates all pop tart flavors except for Brown Sugar Cinnamon, got a surprise Strawberry.  (Some one at Pop Tart - PLEASE - for the love of all that is good and holy - LABEL the individually wrapped foil packages so this insanity stops!)   This caused things to be thrown across the kitchen, including the offensive Pop Tart.  And the boys were ultimately sold to a band of nomads who just happened to be passing through town.  

I didn't actually do that.  I'm using it as a segue to the next band of Biblical brothers.  Let's call them The Twelve Tribes.

If you're not familiar with the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors, perhaps you've heard of Donny Osmond and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat?  It's the same story.  Joseph had horrible brothers who wanted to kill him.  They hated him but they had good reason to, right?  (My boys are nodding in agreement.)  Wrong.  It's never okay to hate someone no matter how unfair life is.  

What's the story, you ask.  In modern parlance, the dad in the story always bought Joseph his favorite Lunchable but made his other sons, The Twelve Tribes, eat goat meat sandwiches.  It was so UNFAIR they just wanted to kill him.  So that's what they decided to do.

Neither of my boys is rewarded the starring role of the virtuous Joseph.  (Who, IRL, is much more sympathetic than Donny Osmond would lead us to believe.)  No, and on some days, they're not even worthy of comparison to Ruben, the brother who didn't want to kill Joseph.  He just wanted to get rid of him... or maybe teach him a lesson.  

Most days my boys are the brothers who happily, gleefully tossed their rival into a dry well to be eaten by wild goats.  (See previous post about goats gone wild.)  And then sold him to a band of nomads so they could purchase an Xbox.

In conclusion, they're both grounded for eternity.

* As a responsible blogger who has some journalistic integrity, I feel it is important to add that once in a while they get along like James and John, the Sons of Thunder, and they work together to bring down someone else who has wronged them. 

  

Life at 21 Weeks.

Life is busy, always, but in the last week I've been trying to slow down.  Thank you crazy weird contractions.  I got them with the twins early too but I thought that the contractions would come later with this singleton.

Nope.  

What's the trigger - who knows.  For the first two weeks I had all kinds of theories.  Now I think they're completely random.

I had contractions on and off Wednesday night and all day Thursday.  When I say contractions, I need to clarify.  Some were run of the mill Braxton Hicks - short, not painful, etc.  But some were not.  Some were Olympic contractions that contracted and STAYED that way for two hours.  I want to be perfectly clear that this was not a case of multiple contractions happening for two hours.  This was one single, solitary, contraction that lasted for two hours.  And the next day I had a few more lasting for between 30 minutes and 1 hour.  What the what?

Gatorade to the rescue.  (Thanks Dr. McButler!)  I'm trying to keep a stock of Gatorade in the house but it's really hard with a sugar addicted DH and a 13 year old son.  Normally I don't buy it.  It's high in sugar and most of it is loaded with artificial color - which I try to avoid especially during pregnancy.  I've been getting the "frost" kinds - the ones that don't have artificial color added.  It helps.  It really does.  Besides, water tastes so gross to me right now.  

So I'm 21+ weeks.  Besides weird, super long contractions, nothing else remarkable is going on.  I'm not showing a great deal.  I still fit into non-maternity jeans - one size larger than my normal size.  I think I'm obviously pregnant but no one else seems to.  I get a lot of:

Are you always this small?

Is the baby healthy?

Even though I'm carrying small, I've gained 12 pounds so far, which is completely normal and healthy.  Everything measures normal.  

John has felt the baby kicking.  The kids haven't had much luck yet.  It's hard for them to be patient.  They say they've felt the baby but I think they just feel me breathing or coughing.  Maybe in a few more weeks....

A Different Kind of Pregnancy

This pregnancy has been so different than my other two.  It's been quieter.  There have been fewer obsessive Internet searches and baby name lists.  DH pointed out that it's likely because every child we've ever brought into our home up until this point was a first born of some sort.  Son #1 was our literal first.  Son #2 was my first pregnancy.  The twins... well, they were our first twins.  This baby, baby number five, is what normal people experience at pregnancy number two or three.

That's his theory.  I think it's decent.

Am I happy?  Yes.  So happy.  But also busy and distracted.  The upside, one that I never experienced with any of my other pregnancies, is that I'm just not that into it.  What I mean is that, I had assumed that I would really savor this pregnancy.  I would dwell on it, drink it in, remember every detail.
But I just don't have the time or the interest to savor, drink or dwell.  Parenting four kids doesn't leave a lot of time for mom extracurriculars.

I also don't have to plan for or decide on much.  I may or may not go "natural."  I've done it both ways and - meh - whatever.  The babies turn out awesome either way.

I've worked through a lot of stuff thanks to kids 1-4.  I'm not worried about Listeria, cloth diapers, what to do about vaccines or breast feeding.  I'm not worried we'll leave the hospital with an unnamed baby.  I'm not even worried that we gave away or sold all of our baby stuff except baby clothes.

We don't have a crib or a car seat or a high chair.  Worst case, DH has to buy a car seat while I'm at the hospital.  Boom.  Done.  In my mind's eye I saw DH alone at Babies R Us buying a car seat and I didn't even furrow my brow.  It's like I'm not even me anymore!  

Had that thought crossed my mind during my last pregnancy I would have cried and then ordered three car seats from Albee Baby right away.

The sum total of my worries are - is the baby going to be born today?  Any contractions?  Nope.  Great.  Then I'm not worried.

I know that it's going to be okay "stuff wise."  I know that our baby will, eventually, be named.

I guess this is what veteran moms experience.  It's pretty cool.  I like being in chill mom mode.

Peace out, yo.

Gold Star Mom Day

I took my kids to noon mass and Confession.  Gold star mom day.  Only there was a little more to it than that.   I know this is going to read like an exaggeration but I promise that it's not.  All the events described herein really did happen to the degree in which they are described.  

This is how it went down. 

Rolled into noon mass a little late.  No biggie.  Jesus totally understood because I was busy trying to get my short story ready to submit and I lost track of time.  Fine.  We can take care of it in Confession.

Mass was normal.  Kids were good.  

After mass, heading toward the front to get in line for Confession, #2 boy child grabbed the front of his pants and started dancing.  Change in plans.  Bathroom break.   #1 boy got in line for Confession.  Boy #2 and #3 went with me ISO a bathroom.  My DD stayed in the church "to pray."  Rookie move.

Sons were warned not to leave the lobby area after finishing in the bathroom.  Of course, one of them did.  After an extensive search of the church bathroom, he was found wandering and whispering loudly praying with his twin in the church. 

I got into line, which was a sitting line or we never would have made it.  There were at least sixteen people in front of us and only one priest.  TWO HOURS later, it was my turn.  

During this time I had to hiss at one of my kids to remove his hand from his pants, break up several arguments, threaten to take away all screens for the rest of eternity and give a number of soul-chilling glares.  The twins nearly burned the church down - twice, were kindly reprimanded by an older woman (for nearly burning the church down), understood "proper church movement" to mean running in flip flops, repeatedly head-butted my stomach tried to fall asleep on me, "read" the Latin passages on the wall in loud whispers, killed my phone battery, and got into a fight with the newly sin-free #2 son while I was in the confessional.  I almost made #2 get back in line and was sorely tempted to do something that would require me to get back in line as well.  

Thankfully my grace held.  It held by a thread.

By this time I was so hungry that I was ready to eat a hymnal.  My #2 son was clutching his stomach and prophesying his own death from starvation.  My #3 boy was eyeing the candles with devious intent.  And my girl was draining the last bit of battery from my phone.  

I said my penance quickly because I knew God didn't want #2 son to die of hunger, grabbed my purse and turned to leave.  

But wait a minute.  I was missing one.

My growling, broody #1 son, the 13 year old, was still in the front pew.  His head was bowed in prayer?  I looked around.  My other three were literally running for the doors like a pack of rabid wolverines.  

But look.  I wanted to shout and point.  One of my kids was being good.  There was grace.  He's praying.  Did anyone else see that?  One of my kids was good!

He finished praying, stood, genuflected and turned.  Was that happiness radiating from his face?  

"Thanks, Mom."  

That's what he said to me as we caught up to each other.  I realized through my haze of frazzled nerves, nausea and hunger that he hadn't uttered a word of complaint during the entire ordeal.   Not only that, he was thanking me.  During the last two hours #2 brother had poked him, made quiet farting noises and whispered that he smelled stinky butt, kicked him, and did numerous inappropriate things that bored little boys do to engage older brothers.   

Plus my oldest was just as hungry as the rest of us, maybe even more so because he's been growing roughly one inch every three hours.

In spite of all this, my #1 was smiling and thanking me.

One of my kids is good.  Hooray!