Independence

Independence seems to be the theme this year. Max has made so much progress lately. He has settled. Matured. He's suddenly doing some really exciting things all by himself!

And the flip side of that is that I am becoming more independent, too. We are tied together in so many ways, for so many pieces of daily life. There is a sense of freedom when I am no longer required for something. And I know that's a feeling that goes both ways.

Sometimes his new independence creates more work or mess or worry for me. That's a truth for any child, but perhaps more literally so with Max.

For example, the other day he entered the kitchen where my husband was making dinner and asked for "Help, please." He's been doing this thing with his videos where he wants help to change them or start them or rewind them or adjust the volume -- all things he knows how to do on his own, barring some complication -- because he simply wants the interaction. And every now and then there IS a complication, in which case he really does need help. But it's usually not clear until we go with him and assess the situation. After the bazillionth time, it is something we are reluctant to do. So, when he entered the kitchen with a request for help, my husband assumed it was yet another false video alarm. He refused to go, and sent him off with the encouraging words, "You know how to do it! You can do it yourself!" Max paused, but agreed, and took off down the hall. We found him in his room, gamely attempting to change his own messy pull-up. Ugh.

But mostly the changes have been good.

We finally had a spell of warm weather recently, and the snow melted off the pavement, making our street and sidewalk visible for the first time in months. I desperately needed to get outside and feel the sunshine on my face, and decided to do just that. Without Max. He's been sick, didn't want to go, was happily watching a movie just inside the front windows. He is clearly visible from outside. Our loop is a scant 1/3 mile, with a good portion of it in view of our house & yard. There is no traffic. Our neighbor was outside in his front yard. Max's brother was riding his bike in laps around the loop. I decided it could work. And by all my explaining here, it's probably clear that a) I don't want you to feel the need to call CPS or criticize me, and b) even though there are many reasons it sounded like a workable idea, it wasn't.

I noticed on the 2nd lap that I couldn't see him in the window, and there was no response to my maniacal waving. So I went inside the house to check on him. When he heard me enter the house, he came skittering down the hall from the bathroom, with a guilty look on his face. He was shaking his head no, and hiding his hand behind his back. I assumed the worst in a toilet-y sort of way, but the bathroom seemed fine. Then I noticed the fingernail clippers on the counter. And that is NEVER a good sign.

Sure enough, I asked him what he had been doing and made him show me his hand...

...and THIS! This is what he had been doing -- trying to trim his own nails!

Independence is a tricky thing. It's long overdue, yet way too soon. It's two steps forward, one step back. It's trial and error. It's mess and discomfort.

But I'm trying to remind myself that it's positive. And beautiful. And necessary. For BOTH of us.
Just as long as it doesn't involve clippers.

The Only String We Have to Fear...

Strings, yarn, dangling ties, long fringe -- they're all banned in our house. The reason is simple; they make Max puke. It's not enough just to keep the offending strings out of his face or away from his fingers, either. He gags on sight alone.

Today I wore a new sweater. (You already see where this is going, right?) I put it on after Max left for school this morning, so didn't give much thought to the draw strings dangling so flamboyantly and offensively down the front. The sweater is a basic gray, zip-up, hoodie type --the kind of thing I often wear -- so I promptly proceeded to forget about it, actually. I wore it all day without a second thought....until Max got home.

I was standing in the driveway to greet the bus, like normal. And he started down the stairs, like normal, but then something changed. He gave me a weird look and then he stopped in his tracks, refusing to budge. I didn't catch on to what was happening, so I moved in even closer to grab his hand and coax him on down the stairs, tugging at him while I rolled my eyes and chatted cluelessly with the driver. Then Max stepped down onto the driveway, turned dramatically away from me, leaned over, and puked. Repeatedly.

Oops.

In that split second, I suddenly realized what the problem was and grabbed my strings, tucked them out of sight, then wrapped my arms around myself to keep everything firmly in place and securely hidden. Max followed me -- warily, at a distance -- into the house while I assured him we were going straight to the scissors to cut those strings off.

Max hovered near the sink (just in case) while witnessing the operation, and then continued to give those strings the ol' stink eye while I quickly photographed them lying on the counter. (What? It only took a second!)

Order has been restored. All is well. Nevertheless, we have officially upgraded our household security alert to Code Orange. We urge you to go about your regular business, but PLEASE, remain on the lookout for any suspicious strings in the area and report them to your nearest authorities! Thank you.

Wordless Wednesday: Someone's in the Kitchen with Dinah. UNSUPERVISED.

That Time When He Broke the Glass Door & Nearly Got a Trip to Vegas

This past weekend was a rough one for Max, physically speaking.

He actually had a pretty good weekend, emotionally speaking. It's important for me to note that, because it really was a pretty mellow couple of days. Max wasn't trying to stir up trouble. Things just...happened.

We spent most of Friday outside, soaking up the sun and working in the yard. Part of the yard work involved moving a pile of bricks that was stacked right in the corner of the patio, just outside the back door. Max was in and out of the house all day long, and managed to avoid the bricks each time but one. He tripped over a single brick, barefoot, and got a cut right on the tip of his toe.

Ooof! Ouch!!

I did lots of scrubbing (and a quick pedicure!) on those dirty little summer feet, but there was just no good way to clean and wrap that wound! Have you ever tried to bandage a child's pinky toe? It doesn't really work.

After several failed attempts, I finally had a small turban of bandaids carefully fixed in place, and had Max sit and watched a movie to keep him quietly still.

After a bit, he came to me and pointed at his toe, saying, "Ouch!" The bandaids were off, and the entire flap of skin was gone. It made me wince to realize he had pulled it right off! I know it probably felt better that way, but I certainly didn't have the stomach to do that myself! (That's another of Max's quirks: his pain tolerance is quite high, but his tolerance for things like hangnails, jagged nails, and flaps of skin is quite low.)

So the next day was a little tricky because he was clearly more comfortable barefoot, but that left his feet quite vulnerable (and led to a few red polka-dotted trails around the house).

I tell you about the toe because we had been exclaiming over his injury all weekend ("What a way to start the summer!")...and also because his barefooted vulnerability became both extra-important and completely irrelevant on Sunday morning.

Sunday morning, Max was having a hard time starting his day. He wanted something, but couldn't tell us what, and wouldn't point or lead us to it or provide hints of any kind. He got increasingly frustrated, and so did my husband & I. We finally told the other kids to just take him outside and play, thinking the distraction, or change of scenery, or jumping on the trampoline would help center him.

He ran out the door after them, and in one last burst of anger, he BANGED the glass pane on the screen door really hard as he went out...and it shattered.

His hand went clear through the glass, and he kept right on going, flying barefoot down the step and right through the falling shards.

Was there silence? Was there screaming? I actually don't recall. I only remember the tinkling sound of all that shattering glass.

My husband got to him first, and whipped off Max's shirt (long-sleeved, thank goodness!) to survey the damage. His hand and forearm were already bleeding and there was one small piece of glass in the bottom of his foot, which he pulled out immediately. We couldn't tell right away how serious the cuts were, but there was a lot of blood and it certainly looked terrible.

My husband held Max's foot up in the air to slow the bleeding, and I held the shirt tightly around his arm. We yelled at the big kids with instructions to run around the house and unlock the front door, get paper towels, and CALL GRAMMY! (My mom is a retired nurse and lives minutes away; she is our own personal 911.)*

She arrived in record time and helped us assess the damage...which actually turned out to be surprisingly superficial! I thought for sure we would be heading to the E.R. for stitches, but there was no need.

My mom brought over an arsenal of medical supplies, and we washed and cleaned and medicated and bandaged his injuries. Max was a bit resistant, but once we told him the large pads and wraps were Grandpa's (left from his surgery incision care), then Max was into it. He kept saying "Pah-Ah" and "BIIIIIIG!" and pointing to his own back and nodding. He knew what they were for, and he loves to do anything just like grandpa!

Once Max was all cleaned up, we dressed him in long sleeves, long jeans, long socks, and soft shoes -- anything to add a little extra layer of protection for the rest of the day! He didn't want to wear shoes very long, but everything else stayed in place until bedtime despite the warm weather (which tells me he was hurting).

We were all a bit shaken by the event, and I still can't believe how incredibly lucky he was to avoid more serious injury. No deep cuts, no stitches needed, no arteries involved (Gah!!) -- nothing!

We aren't particularly lucky people. (In fact, my husband always says about me, "If it weren't for bad luck, you'd have no luck at all.")

Max, on the other hand, is gold. He has had so many close calls and unlikely saves in a variety of precarious situations.

Since starting this blog one year ago, I can point to incidents where he broke one window with a bat and another one with his hand, and only has a single small scar on his thumb as a result. (There was also the time when he very nearly ate a piece of glass in a situation where I did the breaking!) And in the 6 years prior to blogging, there were many other lucky breaks.

It's a wonder.

Once Max was safe, my husband & I were standing there, examining the mess and shaking our heads in amazement. After surveying the damage, he turned to me and said, "I think we should buy that kid a ticket to Vegas. All he needs is one quarter..."

Instead of buying that plane ticket, we opted to put a sizable chunk of money towards a brand new screen door. It's one with a permanent sturdy support bar across the middle, and tempered-glass SHATTERPROOF window panes. I think that's probably an even better way to play the odds. (Don't you?) After all, it's only the first week of summer.

*****

*Mom -- THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!

Meanwhile, Upstairs at the Ranch...

It's time for another episode of The Story Behind the Story. This one is called What Max Did While We Were Painting in the Basement.

Getting projects done around here often involve a few extra steps. Outside yard work goes pretty well with Max around, but inside jobs -- especially messy ones like painting -- just aren't always compatible.

We scheduled a full day of activities for him with his grandparents (both sets) during the really long marathon day of painting. But during the shorter afternoon of touch-ups and finishing, my husband and I both painted in the basement while Max was upstairs with his older brother. We set him up with a video and left his brother in charge with two basic rules: Keep him upstairs & Keep him safe.

Max actually stayed upstairs the whole time. I was pretty impressed and asked what he did to stay busy....and then looked around and realized the evidence sort of spoke for itself.

Here's a little peek. Can you figure out what Max did while we were painting?

The Great Peanut Butter Fiasco

I'm not having a good day. Pull up a chair, though I do promise to keep it short.

I made pancakes for breakfast. I fixed a plate for each of the two boys and went upstairs to take a shower, thinking Max's older brother could keep an eye on him while they ate together. I don't normally do this, because it's just asking for trouble...or mess...or choking...or SOMEthing. But the big kids had dentist appointments and we needed to get moving.

I was just stepping in the shower when I heard, "MO-O-O-O-O-O-M!!! Hurry -- COME HERE!!" I could hear the urgency in my son's voice, so turned off the shower and ran downstairs.

This is what I found.

I had been gone for 5 minutes.

Why was Max so messy? Well, you see, we eat peanut butter on our pancakes. The jar was still sitting out. So was the syrup. My older son finished eating his breakfast quickly and went in the other room to watch t.v.

Max kept eating...by himself.

I have never seen so much misplaced peanut butter in my life. Globs on the floor, blobs on the stools, smears up and down the front of his p.j.s; it was EVERYWHERE. I couldn't believe that much peanut butter could actually fit in one jar! Scroll back up to that first picture -- that jar, my friends, was BRAND NEW this morning. I broke the seal myself.

Now, to his credit (I guess), Max did try to clean things up. He was washing his hands when I found him. And apparently he had already tried wiping them off on the kitchen hand towel.

I took him into the little bathroom off the kitchen to clean up away from the rest of the peanut butter mess...and he had already done some washing up in there, too!!

In addition to the big plops and blobs, the floor was absolutely covered with little crumbles of peanut butter.
I can't even figure out how it got all the places it did. I mean, he left a very obvious trail, and you don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to piece together where he had gone...but seriously, just exactly how do you get peanut butter on the mini-blinds?!?

It was on the baseboards...

...and also on the oven door.
It was on the window, the window sill, the brick wall...
...and even UNDER the stove??

He must have been flicking his fingers and flapping his hands to get the sticky peanut butter off, flinging the goo hither and yon.

There wasn't even time for me to throw a fit, or yell, or lecture. We had an appointment to get to. I cleaned up the largest plops as quickly as I could, threw Max in the shower right along with me and wiped and soaped and scrubbed (possibly a bit harder than necessary).

I walked right out of the house with the rest of the mess just...there.

With the exception of the pictures Max is actually in, the photos were taken after we returned home. (Yes, that's right -- AFTER the largest blobs were already gone!)

Let me recreate the mess for you in this way: the following is a photo of my kitchen; this is basically what The Great Peanut Butter Fiasco looked like.

We made it to the dentist appointments (albeit a few minutes late).

My daughter has a cavity.

It's POURING outside.

The mess is now cleaned up, and it's way too early for a glass of red wine.

I'm soothing my shattered nerves with an extra mug of strong coffee, chock full of real cream and extra sugar. I am going to go make some sandwiches (TURKEY, thankyouverymuch), and then we are going to go see the Wall-E matinee while eating the biggest bucket of popcorn they sell.

I'm clocking out.

Wordless Wednesday: Guess Who Had a Time Out?

Rediscovering the Forest (Despite All Those Trees!)

So. I had quite a day recently. It actually started off well; I had some energy and felt like doing a little yardwork, the kids were happy and mellow and busy.

I did a little weeding around the back yard, then spent a long time sweeping all the maple seeds off our deck and patio. (They dropped by the treefull in just a matter of days.) Everyone was still happy, so I decided to hose down the deck & patio, too. It looked great, but then I noticed some of the plants looked dry. So I watered those, too. The VERY LAST PLANT that needed water was a potted fern hanging from a tree, and the hose just wouldn't q-u-i-t-e reach. So I gave ONE QUICK TUG on the hose....

...and knocked over the little side table. The very lightweight tippy one that is topped with a piece of shatterproof glass. The same one that has been knocked over half a dozen times before, with no ill effects except my annoyance. But this time? This time it SHATTERED. Into a million zillion trillion little hunks and chunks. (Thank goodness it wasn't into shards and slivers...but STILL!) There were pieces in an arc covering a good 8 feet of patio.

You should have seen the look on my face.

I was this close to completing a very satisfying task. And now I would have another hour of time cleaning up the very same area all over again. And I couldn't even be mad at anyone else -- it was purely my own fault. My stupid fault because I was just so close to finishing that I didn't want to take two seconds to untangle the hose.

And then? Then all three kids come outside and say they are hungry, so am I almost done? And is it time for lunch? Big. Heavy. Sigh.

The most positive thing I can think of to come out of this situation is that it's great material for a blog post! So I run inside and grab my camera, because a picture is worth a thousand words.

I was still in awe over the chunky shapes the glass broke into, and bent down to pick a little piece up to examine it...and suddenly, before I even know how it happened, Max is right there beside me, and he PICKS UP A PIECE OF GLASS AND STICKS IT IN HIS MOUTH!

I shrieked so sharply that it startled him, and he jumped and yelled and threw the glass back down. I let into that kid, I tell you. I was angry and scared and just in such disbelief.

"What on earth are you thinking?!? That is GLASS! DANGER! OUCHIE! NO, NO, NO!! No touching!! BACK OFF! (he freezes) SCOOT!! BACK!! (he shuffles back) SOMEONE-COME-GET-YOUR-BROTHER-NOW!" I yelled. (Plus maybe a few choice words...)

And Max looked at me with the hugest eyes ever and shakily signed "Ice."

Oh. Yeah. Huh. I just blinked. Because it really did look an awful lot like ice cubes. I was staring at them myself, slightly hypnotized by the strange little shapes just a second ago, after all! Count to three, deep breath.

I sent Max inside, FAR AWAY from the glass, and I started sweeping. Those chunks on that bumpy, grid-like, crevice-filled surface were next to impossible to sweep up. I had to pick much of it up by hand. Then I hosed everything down again. Finally, FINALLY, I was done with the area.

And you know what happened then? Well, Max came outside to check on my progress...and to seek some assistance. He must have been pretty hungry while waiting inside, and so he foraged around in the kitchen until he found a really good snack...

And here's the strange thing. I was so worn out by all that mess, and just so deeply, deeply thankful that Max hadn't ingested or been injured by the glass in his mouth, that I didn't even yell this time. The blind rage, utter disgust, or numb annoyance (reflex reactions not uncommon from me lately, I have to admit with shame) were just nowhere to be found. I had literally been startled into the present; narrowly escaping that very close call opened my eyes to see beyond the mess of the moment.

"Oh, guy. What a mess. You are really, really hungry, aren't you? And that was a very long time to wait. Let's go clean you up." I murmured to him.

And then I walked in the kitchen and saw the rest of his snacking debris.

And I sighed again, and, together, we cleaned everything up. And then we all ate lunch and lived happily ever after for the rest of the day.

But first, of course, I took another picture or two...

And I'm glad I did (even though I had learned an important lesson today about when NOT to take a picture), because just look at that expression.

The thousand words said in this picture are ones that remind me to see the other side in the situation, to maintain my patience, to not lose sight of the forest for the trees.