Laurel opens her big present

On my 8th birthday, I figured out that having an early January birthday kinda sucks. That was the year my parents couldn’t pull it off. Couldn’t make the magic happen. I had always measured my birthdays as compared to my sister’s, who always had summer birthdays filled with swimming, friends, sunshine, and happiness. I got the bleary winter sniffle-nosed birthday, with the cheap presents and snow. And on my 8th birthday, for whatever reason, I couldn’t have a party. I don’t even remember why. I just remember the heartache.

It was the date that was the problem. The date of my birthday sucked for a couple of reasons. First, my family was the Lehman Brothers of Christmas spending. My usually frugal parents turned into Mr. and Mrs. Jones on Christmas, and no one could keep up with us. So let’s just say that after Christmas my parents found innovative ways to cook with government cheese. Secondly, there is a certain ennui that hits families with school-aged children after the winter holiday break. My birthday usually fell on the day we would return to school from winter break. Oh, joy. Let me tell you– the holiday hangover does not lift by January 5. People are holiday-ed out. Happy freakin’ birthday.

My parents made up for it many times, I’m sure. Especially my mother. She always tried her best. And I’m grateful. I don’t leave bags of flaming poo on my mother’s doorstep to assuage my sense of loss. I’m a big girl now, and I have my birthday expectations set rather low now so that I don’t get disappointed. Any resentment I may feel toward my mother is so much dust, swept under the rugs, the memories of lame birthdayness buried under decades of psychosis and guilt. Well, except for that year I’m still trying to forget–1984?–when I got sweatbands for my birthday. Yes. Picture that, friends. Are you reading this, Mom? THANKS for the sweat bands. Really. Unforgettable. *grin*

Laurel and her new American Girl doll. I get the impression we have just eaten fruit of the forbidden tree....

And because I suck at planning, I became pregnant with my second child in the spring. Ensuring that I, too, would have a child with an early January birthday. My mother was delighted, as you can imagine.

So it is an understatement that I’m rather invested in making sure that my middle child has a good birthday, with cool presents and good friends. And Allen and I try very hard every year to make this happen. We’ve been quite successful thus far.

Except…this year. This very important year, when my little girl is turning seven so ferociously that she wanted to make herself a crown with 7 on every tip, covered in glitter and sequins, so that the whole school–nay the entire ‘verse–would know that she had gained this most noble of ages. This year when 95 percent of the pajama party invitees were already RSVP’ed in the YES column. This is the year that she will definitely remember. Because she just got the equivalent of sweat bands. But with phlegm and vomit. Yes. The flu. For her birthday. Doesn’t that suck?

Anyone who can be THIS excited by plastic shoes has her expectations set pretty low to begin with!

And my sweet mother, who is probably reading this from her laptop in her rehab room in Salem Hospital following open-heart surgery, is STILL trying to make it OK, to make it up to me, but this time to the next generation. She wants me to use her credit card to go buy Laurel her first big-girl bike. Because Mom wants to cancel out influenza with purple tassels on the handlebars. And I love her for it.

I don’t blame her. I want to buy Laurel her own rocket ship. I get it.

I guess this is my legacy. This guilt. Maybe we won’t be able to keep the bar raised every January 8th. Maybe Laurel, too, will grow up with low birthday expectations, embittered by continual disappointment, starting with this 2011 birthday of suck, when she had influenza.

Or maybe Allen and I will just step back, reschedule, and plan for an awesome party when she is done with the flu. Maybe we, as a family, will hit it out of the park, just to spit in influenza’s eye. And maybe now we will go to the store and get the bike on Mom’s credit card, and take lots of photos of Laurel exploding with glee when she sees it. Maybe that will finally let Mom off the hook. After all, she’s still trying to make up for the sweat bands.

My first and third graders!

I’m supposed to be feeling lighter. Better. After all, 2/3rds of my children are in school after a long summer. But instead, I am a stress monkey.

I’ve crafted this life out of the scraps of good plans, thrown together with the very best of intentions, but nevertheless, messily. Laden with mistakes. If my life were an art project submitted for a grade, I would be kicked out of class. Allen and I have lived a transient life since having children. In our defense, we’ve been trying to find our town, our house, the place we want to be FROM. That may not make sense to those of you who figured it out sooner than we did.

But you don’t always get it right the first time **. Or the second. Or even the third *wince*. Of those who don’t get it right at first, many people just make do, just go along and make a life where they are, make the best of it. And then there is Allen and I. Fickle, pie-in-the-sky, idealistic people who want the BEST they can get, and are willing to sacrifice to get there.

What we hope is forgivable is that we have asked our children to go along with our plans. And they have been able to do so. Children are flexible, right?

Ready to go this morning, a little nervous.

We hope so. In the 8 years since having children, we have lived in 4 states. Kelsey, who just started third grade a few hours ago, has had her first day of a new elementary school 4 times already. Laurel just started first grade in a different school than she started kindergarten.

We didn’t do this on purpose. We thought moving to North Carolina in 2006, buying a lovely house in a very kid-friendly area would be THE PLACE WE RAISE OUR CHILDREN. We were naive. No, actually, we were just plain wrong. Living away from our friends, from any family whatsoever, was foolish, even though we met really awesome new friends and had the house of our dreams. It was a hard lesson to learn. And it took a lot of courage to give up that ideal, that house, that plan, and move back to New England to try to re-forge a life. You can’t start over. You can only begin again, wiser.

So here we are, in Arlington, Massachusetts. East Arlington, to be precise. We live in an awesome house we hope to rent for as long as they’ll let us. We are across the street from a truly exceptional school, and also a mere 7 minutes’ walking distance to Alewife, where Allen catches the subway to get to work in Cambridge. We are surrounded by friends and not far from my family of origin (although still far from Allen’s, which totally sucks). Regardless, THIS–what we have now–this is the fulfillment of a lot of years of trying to figure out where we want to be. And so I should be happy! And I mostly am. Every other day we have lived here, I have been happy about where I am waking up in the morning. Every day but today.

Because when I saw Kelsey from across the gymnasium as I stood next to Laurel in the 1st grade line, I saw a scared little girl, all alone. The anxious look on her face as she stood in the 3rd grade line, as children around her paired off, stood in groups, called out each other’s names, as she stood there alone and afraid BROKE MY HEART. When I could leave Laurel, I walked over to rescue her, but all I could do was stand nearby and smile at her, whisper encouragement, offer a hug. Placid smiling, confident-appearing Mommy was there, but on the inside, my brain was yelling at me. If only we had remained in the old apartment, she would be meeting up with her friends from 1st and 2nd grade, and they would be starting their third year together. If only you could be satisfied with what you have instead of always yearning for something MORE. What’s wrong with you? How could you do this to your kids?

That voice is the reason for this headache now raging through my cranium, untouched by a very considerate chiropractor who tried to de-stress me this morning during our weekly appointment. “It’ll all work out fine, Terry” he said, and I THINK he’s right.

I still have so much to be thankful for. After all, we found our home. And I’m optimistic that things will work out–if not right away, then long term at least. For all I know, both of my girls are having the best first day of school ever. I won’t know for a few hours yet. Until then, I am plagued by guilt, angry at my decisions.

Let me just get through this last transition, Universe. Please. I’m getting better at life. I swear. I’ve realigned my priorities. My head is on straight. I have the most awesome husband ever, and my marriage continues to be an astoundingly profound wellspring of understanding, comfort and love. We have three amazing children we couldn’t love more. The journey to where we are right now has been full of challenges and learning experiences, and I am grateful for the life I have. I just need my kids to be OK at the least, until we can grow deeper into this groove of our new life and make it AWESOME.

** “it” being that confluence of events where you are living in a good location where you have optimal happiness for all your family members.

Art by Laurel

What does the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth?

Laurel, age 6: (speaking in a lisp, as she just lost a front tooth this morning) I think that the Tooth Fairy umm, when we lose our tooth, she takes our tooth and gives us a tip for the tooth. And she takes the tooth home and puts it on her pile of teeth so she can make a teeth castle. So she will have a castle, and she gives us tips, of course. Today, I lost a tooth. I don’t know where it is. I was going to write a note to her saying that I lost my tooth, and I am very happy that I lost my tooth. The End.

Oh, wait. What I wanted to say was that the Tooth Fairy collects all those teeth, and she gets money for them, and with the money she BUYS a castle. Yeah. That’s what I meant to say.

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Kelsey, age 8: I think that the Tooth Fairy uses human teeth for making new human teeth, since in the morning sometimes the mouths of human babies have more teeth because the Tooth Fairy saves all the teeth in a humongous jar and at just the right time she comes at night and gives teeth to babies!

P.S. I think there are a bunch of Tooth Fairies. A group of fairies, and they all work together to get all the teeth up to the giant jar, because for one tooth fairy, it’s really hard to lift even one tooth, because tooth fairies are tiny, like pixies.

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PLEASE go check out the comments on this post to read the imaginative tales spun by my friends–Carolyn, Tom, and Sarah–about the Tooth Fairy. I can’t wait to read these stories to my kids!

Thanks for reading!

I hope the Tooth Fairy will understand!

Laurel’s front left tooth had been dangling loosely for a few weeks. She literally lost it last night while she slept, and we have no idea where it is. We’ll write a letter this evening for the Tooth Fairy, who will have to be very quiet tonight when she sneaks into our house on her mysterious recon mission, as there will be 4 children in the girls’ room for a sleepover.

Sometimes I wonder what the Tooth Fairy does with all those teeth. Isn’t that a little creepy, to collect small-human teeth? What’s your story? Tell me in the comments or email me at terry@mothermirth.com and tell us what you think the Tooth Fairy does with all the human teeth she collects! **

I’ll ask the girls what THEY think the Tooth Fairy does with the teeth. I’ll let you know what they say.

**please play nicely. My kids will read this.

I was FINE preparing to say goodbye to my little girl, standing patiently in line awaiting the bell on her first day of all-day Kindergarten today. And I would have remained fine, pregnancy hormones and all, had it not been for her very sweet and well-meaning but somewhat sadistic teacher. I was handed a little memento of this first momentous day. –>

As Laurel walked confidently away from me in her shiny new black shoes, a bouncing, smiling girl in all pink, her red hair glistening in the sun, the tears started sliding down my face. I took some photos, and she looked back once to give me the thumbs up. I waved and faked a smile. And then turned to Allen, who was there just in time after seeing Kelsey off, to bury my sobbing, sniffling face into his awaiting shoulder.

I had prepared to do the happy dance of the liberated mommy. I was bragging that I should have a party. That after being stay-at-home mommy for 7.5 years, THIS would be my shining moment. I would be free. For 6 hours per day. I was going to spend my first day doing errands that are so hard to do with kids around. Followed by a nap.

It turns out I’m a little bit of an emotional wreck. And instead of partying, I’ve done a little shopping, cleaned the house, organized the DVDs and re-alphabetized them, and am thinking of making cookies for my darling kids before zooming up to the school to get there early. I look forward to holding my little girl in my arms again.

It doesn’t matter that I’m not ready to let her go. She’s ready.

Damn hormones.

There goes my baby!! *snf*

We got our library cards today!

Also today, we…

• Checked out Kelsey’s 2nd grade classroom, and I got to meet her teacher.
• Toured Laurel’s Kindergarten classroom.
• Turned in our summer reading worksheets at the library, where both kids were supposed to read (or be read to) a minimum of 10 hours.

And here I brag a bit. Sorry. Hey, this is my job, so think of this as my jawing on and on about that big promotion I just got.

Kelsey read probably at least twice that much so far this summer, including The Tale of Desperaux and James and the Giant Peach, and about 10 of the Magic Treehouse series. I had her report to me after each book, and she is retaining characters and plot details (unlike earlier in the year, when she would “speed read” and forget everything by the end of the book).  Kelsey’s reading list, if you’re interested, is HERE. As for Laurel, half of the books on her reading list were books she read by herself, at Level C-F (A being easiest), with little-to-no help.

• Painted our toenails

• AND… I managed to sneakily finish off the last of the frosting left over from the cupcakes I made for my mother’s birthday. Go me!

So I took the easy way out and asked if she’d like to go on a special date with me to go get ice cream.  Her dismal little head nodded, bangs flapping up and down, fingers in her mouth. The tears, at least, stopped. On the way to Brigham’s in Arlington right down the street from our house, I noticed that the hardware store had its summer wares out for display. I quickly detoured into the parking lot and led one very sad girl over to take a look at the pools. I did a quick glance at the prices and said, “Pick one out!” She did, and we paid the $14.23 and headed out.

Evil has a hose!

Minutes later, Laurel and I are walking down the trail that runs from the hardware store to right in back of our house, as the new plastic pool wouldn’t fit into our van. Her smile was so bright that she lit up an otherwise rather cloudy day. She danced and jumped the entire way home, her eyes lighting up as she talked about all the things she planned to do this summer in her pool.

When we got home, she wiggled into her bathing suit and begged me to fill her new pool. Even though the rain was coming down by then, she didn’t care.  She sat in that pool, under an umbrella and enjoyed herself, despite the deluge. After a few minutes, the sun peeked out.

It can keep on raining every day next week, as it has for the last two weeks. As the weather channel has predicted.

I’ll still find a way to bring some sunshine into my backyard.

A few weeks ago, I sat down with my five-year-old on my lap and asked her to read a page out of a book for me. I didn’t expect her to actually read it. She read the entire book, almost without any help. It’s like she learned to read, literally, overnight. Sure, we’ve been going over the easy-reader “Bob” books with her, and having her try to sound out small words on the magna doodle. But, truly, I think all those times we found her up late, sitting in her bed well past bedtime, trying to read books she knew by heart, she was actually working out this whole “reading” thing for herself. Stubborn little thing.

Now she is writing letters. Not “letters” as in the alphabet. She is writing cards and letters to friends and family, sounding out the words by herself and writing them down. Last week, she wrote a letter to her friend, KT. It said “Dear KT, do you know that I love you.” She’s been waiting for a reply all week in the mail. Every day, she asks if a letter has arrived from KT yet.

Today, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Here is the letter she wrote to her friend:

Translation (it’s hard to read, as her g’s are backwards, and she splits her words from one line to the next)

From Laurel to KT
Have you noticed you are not giving
me a letter
because you are supposed to
give a letter back

Short and sweet and to the point. Perhaps KT’s parents, who read this blog, would please prod their child to write a return letter? Or I think more letters will be forthcoming, not all of them this polite?

For those new readers who haven’t been reading my blog for years, I am a self-taught expert on dealing with pediatric constipation and stool withholding. After weaning my now five-year-old daughter at age two, constipation has been a challenge in our family. We’ve consulted a number of physicians and GI specialists. We cut lactose completely from her diet. We tried any number of solutions, none of which worked for more than a few weeks. We learned that some children just suffer from functional constipation — which is, constipation that doesn’t have a medical cause.

It barely needs mentioning here that if your infant or young child suffers from constipation, a number of conditions need to be ruled out medically by a GI specialist. Getting a diagnosis of functional constipation is important as a first step to moving toward a methodology for treating it that works for you and your child.

Friends with good intentions have suggested a number of solutions over the years. I’ve, of course, tried them all, before they even suggested them. Still, I would listen patiently to the advice to add prunes and prune juice, to try mineral water, etc. Others tried to suggest that it’s a behavioral issue. She’s a stubborn child. She’s lazy. She’s misbehaving. She wants to still be “the baby.” The one that hurt the most was when they blamed me for not giving her enough attention.

My little girl suffers from encopresis, a fancy word for stool withholding. Encopresis occurs as a result of constipation. It’s the psychological conclusion to a biological problem. As a matter of fact, according to this article on KidsHealth.org, MOST cases of stool withholding (about 90%) are due to constipation.

Why does a child withhold stool? Fear of pain. It’s that easy. Eventually, as your child gets older, more complex issues arise, such as depression, lack of self confidence, fear of repercussions. It’s a vicious cycle. A child withholds stool out of a fear that trying to pass it will hurt. So the cycle continues and worsens. Adults who don’t understand the condition actually make it worse by punishing, threatening, and belittling. Any caregiver of your child needs to know the facts. That means informing grandparents, daycare workers, babysitters, and other adults in your child’s everyday life so that they know what their responsibility is toward helping the child overcome the condition.

What’s it like to live with this challenge? Here’s a snapshot:

About six weeks ago, Laurel sneakily ate two bananas, in a row. Bananas are very binding, so we usually don’t even keep them around. But I was having a craving, so I had a bunch sitting around for me to snack on.

Anyway,  we were, prior to this, DONE with the encopresis, finished with accidents, totally over the constipation. For months. After the bananas, there was, apparently, a painful attempt on the toilet. And voila, we are back at step one in the cycle of encopresis.

We know the routine. Increase the Miralax, up her hydration, cut the juices with water, moderate dairy, increase the ruffage, add more raw veggies, make sure she gets more exercise, and hope it works itself out in a few days. Sometimes we give a small dose of ex-lax to stimulate her colon. One of the side effects of encopresis can be decreased muscular reflex in the colon. She may not feel the urge to poop. A stimulant can help, as long as it’s given with the advice of a doctor and in moderation. In most cases, we experience one or two steps back at this stage, and then fast forward to where we were before the binding event. Done.

Not this time. And I think compounding the problem (so to speak…) was another significantly upsetting change in her world: A newly pregnant and very distracted  mom who was all of a sudden having trouble staying awake, never mind keeping track of her child’s eating and defecating cycles. Because having a child with this challenge takes vigilance. I have to be aware of what she’s eating, and tracking when she’s going. At some point, she will outgrow this condition. Until then, it’s my responsibility to help her succeed and remain positive and motivated.

Four weeks pass without any stool. Followed by a week of leakage in her panties as some of the softer stool makes its way past the obstruction in her colon. We’re now in that stage where talking about dietary changes is a waste of time. The psychological component is all that matters. I clear my calendar for the week, take a few days off from playdates, outings, appointments, socializing. It’s important to help her preserve her self esteem and work on her confidence so that she can succeed in battling the fear. I offer positive reinforcement and lots of affection. We read a lot of stories on the toilet, take warm baths, and go for walks.

It’s hard work for the parent/caregiver. I’m not perfect. I get impatient. I lean on my awesome husband and good friends to help keep my spirits up. Cleaning panties all day long, bleaching out the sink a few times a day — these things wear a parent down. Having a good support system in place, especially if you are home with your child all day long, is essential. You are your child’s cheerleader. And when you get worn down, impatience, frustration, disappointment and even parental depression are the results. Of all the literature I’ve read thus far on this condition, I’ve never read an article that talks about the parents’ emotional needs. So I’m mentioning it here, and it may warrant a separate article. Get some support. Make sure your needs are met, that you get breaks and time away to refuel.

Anyway, eventually, my little girl gets to the point where she wants to negotiate with me for positive reinforcement. She’ll do an art project — a poop chart, and she’ll come up with some ideas for rewards. She’ll start getting into the idea that there is at least ONE positive aspect to her succeeding on the toilet. Sometimes it’s a trip to the museum, or a toy she’s been wanting. We talk about what she needs to do to accomplish her goal. And then, with the external motivation in place, she’ll make an effort. After a few attempts, she’ll succeed, and she’ll realize the OTHER motivation to making the effort. Relief. And then we’re on the road to returning to normalcy. I follow through on the external motivation. But the more important one is the internal one. I now have a child who is proud of herself, again, for making the effort to take care of her body’s needs.

If your child suffers from encropresis, too, there are some excellent resources for you. Honestly, just plug in “encropresis” on a google search. Pick the top 10, and you’ll read something useful. You can even read about other mommy bloggers who have children who suffer from constipation. One of these is the awesome and completely hilarious Heather Armstrong at Dooce.

Childhood constipation is a relatively common condition. The myth is that adding prunes or prune juice to your child’s diet will work magic. But it’s a lot more complicated than this. First of all, you can’t force feed a child, or you have even more complex problems down the road. Prunes and prune juice do not work if you can’t get your child to consume them. And when constipation leads to stool withholding, it’s not the food that is the root of the problem. It’s the fear. There will always be times when Laurel eats something binding, doesn’t drink enough water, etc. You have to have a system in place for taking care of the biological component, and giving your child the psychological tools she needs to help her succeed.