Over a pizza lunch on Sunday Michael started asking me why he didn't have any brothers and sisters. And instead of really answering the question, (I was so not prepared for the why you are an only child discussion), I decided to turn it into a teaching moment on how all families are different. It was not the first time we had had this conversation, but I decided since he was so much older, I could make it a little more intense.
"Michael, all families are different. Some families have a Mommy and a Daddy, some families have one Mommy only, some families have one Daddy. Some families are two Mommies or two Daddies. Some families are an Aunt or an Uncle or a Grandma or a Grandpa."
"Or a brother and a sister?"
"Or a brother and a sister. Or one brother or one sister."
"Or a cousin?"
"Or a cousin. Or 12 cousins. But the most important thing Michael is that when you go over to someone's house, even if their family looks different from ours, that we show them respect. Because all families are okay. The most important thing about a family is love. Not what it looks like, but love."
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Can I be done?"
"With this conversation or with lunch?"
"With lunch."
And somehow that meant we were done with both things. I'm thinking though, if I say it often enough, it will sink in. Because nothing is more important to me than respecting all people, no matter who they are or what they look like or what they believe. All people.
(Doug is working from home today, we normally don't see him in the mornings.)
Doug says something sarcastically to me, which Michael doesn't quite understand, "Dad me nice to Mom. Mom, that wasn't nice, right? That was sassy?" (On another note, "Mom?" "Dad?" What is he, 12?)
"Michal, Daddy was just kidding, it's ok."
"No that wasn't nice, when I'm not nice I get in trouble."
"Well, that's true, but Daddy wasn't not being nice. And you can't tell Daddy what to do."
I did something I never do, and I spent some time looking at my archives yesterday. (Does anyone ever read their archives? I tend to think mine are crap and want to delete everything). I was looking for some pictures for Michael's 5 year montage (5, 5 how can this child be 5 soon?) and found myself on the whole line of posts aroundhis accidentlast year.
G-d, I had forgotten how truly gut wrenchingly horrible that was. I had convinced myself that the biggest mistake I ever made was moving out of that school to the new school, where all the badness happened. And after re-reading all those posts I realized, there is no way he could have stayed there.
It's funny, the things our memory does to play tricks on us. How we can blame ourselves for anything? Would Michael not have had the problems if we never moved him? I don't know, maybe, maybe not. Maybe he was reacting poorly to the house move and the school move and everything that happened all at once. Maybe it was some developmental changes and he needed the extra help and therapies we have been giving him.
We will never, ever know. But I know this. It is time to stop blaming myself for all the what ifs and the nevers and honestly, and truly move on. We are where we are. And where we are, is a pretty good place.
I had a conversation with Michael's teacher last week in which she used the word fine no less than 20 times. "He's fine. Everything's fine. His behavior is fine. There is nothing wrong with this child." And to go from where we were 4 months ago to FINE. I cannot even express. FINE.
The changes we have seen in him, they all encompassing and simply, remarkable. And it is everywhere, not just school. Michael has always been simply terrified of swimming. He would scream and make such a spectacle at group lessons that we pulled him out and enrolled him with a private teacher that got HIM. Got the issues. And her answer was "look I grew up on an island. Kids need to learn to swim, it's a safety issue." And I was like, "exactly. He doesn't have to be perfect, he just has to save his own life. My parents have a house at the beach for goodness sake. And my 8 year old nephew, his hero, is a very strong swimmer. If he wants to play with him in the water, he has to learn how to swim."
On Friday, on the way to swim class, he said to me, for the first time, instead of just complaining, he put it into words, the fear. "Mommy, I don't want to swim. I'm afraid." And I said "Michael, it is ok to be scared, but you have to do it anyway. You have to at least try."
And he did. He jumped in. He put his head under the water. He blew bubbles. He floated. He did strokes. He was FINE. And on Sunday, he remembered the pool had open swim, or what he calls "play swim." And he asked to go with Daddy. I got a manicure and pedicure.
He is excelling so much at Occupational Therapy the therapist doesn't think we will be seeing her for much longer. He is writing his name without a second thought. Something that was unthinkable two short months ago. He is starting to read. No one is using words like ADHD/ODD/SPD/LD to me anymore. The words I hear now are "typical 4 year old boy" and "high energy" and FINE.
When I wrote this I literally felt like I was going to drown in the worry. Like it was going to swallow me whole. I wasn't eating. I was barely sleeping. I had no idea where we were and where we were going and what tomorrow was going to look like. Words like fine were not even on the horizon. And I know now, that even in the future, if we have similar problems, things will be ok. Michael will be ok. Because Michael has worked so hard, we have all worked so hard, to get to his point. Not to perfect, not to spectacular, but to FINE. It is a perfectly wonderful word.
My not so new house has like a million different paint colors. And they are all one shade off of beige. And the previous owner left us no paint. So periodically, Doug takes a chip off of a wall, and goes to the hardware store, and brings us a small can of paint and we touch up some paint where we moved pictures or put holes in the wall or something.
And we thought the most recent run to the store this past weekend was it. Because we literally have 10 pints of custom colored beige paint. But last night I realized that our living room and dinning room are not ACTUALLY the same color. Because why would they be? They are only next to each other. And they are both beige. And how did I realize this? I used the dining room paint to touch up the living room wall. And it looked fine at night. Except this morning, in the sunlight, IT IS TOTALLY A DIFFERENT SHADE OF BEIGE.
I don't like the Olympics. I just don't. Okay, actually, I have nothing against the Olympics but the coverage is so g-ddamn annoying. The other night I turned it on and they were showing bears. Bears. Are bears an Olympic sport? It is like 5 minutes of Olympic coverage for 20 minutes of Bob Costas. And bears.
But 2 nights ago there was nothing else on and the Olympics were all a twitter and I got sucked into snowboard cross. First of all, this is a sport? Since when? And an Olympic sport? And then I stayed up until midnight to find out if the Chinese married ice skaters who have been trying for 18 years to win a gold medal won. 18 YEARS. 18 YEARS. I know, because Bob Costas told me, every 5 minutes.
Doug, who also doesn't get into all the Olympic hoopla was like, what the hell are you doing? And I'm like, "SNOWBOARD CROSS AND BEARS AND 18 YEARS. And Canada has never won a Gold at home and they just did and it was a moment and I may have shed a tear. And I'm not Canadian. And I have no idea what the Gold was for. But it was lovely." And he rolled his eyes. But he should shut up because he still cries at the miracle on ice hockey game that he will watch voluntarily on ESPN classic whenever it is on. Or, just the movie can make him cry. (Newsflash, they win.)
So last night I turned the Olympics on, voluntarily, not even under duress, to find out if whatsherface who lost the female snowboard cross last Olympics won this time. (Not that I watched a minute of the last winter Olympics or even for that matter, know where they were.) I think it's time to admit I'M ALL IN. I'M POT COMMITTED. FINE, ALL YOU OLYMPIC PEOPLE, YOU WIN. But I refuse to care about the summer Olympics. That is my line in the sand. Because I still need one. Apparently.
I have a great husband, I really, really do. And I traditionally get flowers for Valentine's day and we normally mark the day somehow. But this year got all screwed up because we had originally planned to head down to my parents beach house for the long weekend but with all the bad weather we decided not to go away. And I was disappointed because I had planned to spend some time at one of my favorite spas there. But luckily, I had managed to find both a babysitter and a dinner reservation for Valentine's night, so we had plans to go out last night.
This weekend I was feeling very stabby as Michael was feeling the ill effects of being couped up for so long and his behavior was starting to reflect that. He spent a lot of time in time out and I spent a lot of time yelling. I was just tense, and stressed out and pissed off. Angry that my spa day got canceled and angry that it never occurred to Doug that he should try to rebook my appointments at a spa here. Like somehow it was up to him to make a phone call because there was some stupid Hallmark holiday.
And in all honesty I don't even like Valentine's Day. My feeling has always been if someone loves me they should love me everyday of the year and not just one. So why was I pouting because Doug couldn't read my mind? I eventually sucked it up and found an appointment at a newish spa by my house. (The one I normally go to was booked.) And it honestly, it was spectacular. One of the best spas I've ever been to. (Not sponsored and I'm not going to link but if you live in the DC area I'm happy to tell you what it was.)
The morale of this story is sometimes you have to take care of you. Why should I have been miserable waiting for him to do something I am perfectly capable of doing myself? And I would have done every other day of the year? And that made us both happier? I got out of the house and got what I wanted, and he got a less tense and stressed out and wife.
And for the record, he has booked me spa days before, plenty of times. Just not THIS TIME.
