He Ain't Heavy...He's My Brother

I've been thinking a lot about sibling issues lately.

There is such a fine line between sibling responsibility and sibling resentment. Between nurturing and nit-picking. Between admiration and aggravation.

I know this push-pull is true of the siblings in any family, but when one sibling has a disability, the issues are magnified, the stakes are raised, and the balance is slightly off-kilter.

How do I make sure my older kids are allowed to just be KIDS? When one person can't speak up or tattle or properly defend himself, the playing field is unlevel. Sometimes the games my older kids play with Max just do not look like games from my perspective. Even if they are all laughing, I find myself wanting to stop them and lecture about the functionality of it, the respectfulness of it, the social appropriateness of it. But they are having fun together! And if they are simply doing what siblings do, is it really necessary for me to step in? I encourage the older ones to include Max...but then admonish them when they aren't "doing it right".

And, of course, when left to their own devices, they also come up with some great stuff -- stuff that again, I would never think to do. They are working out what's fun for all, and it's a continual process, I'm slowly realizing, because they are all continually changing.

I can say without hesitation that every one of my kids is tenderhearted and sensitive. I witness how kind and patient they can be with each other, and feel a tremendous sense of pride when they have each others' backs or go above and beyond the call of duty...yet is it fair for me to expect them to? To demand that they do?

I know that Max's older siblings are learning a lot about justice, and respect, and unconditional love, and looking out for others, and rooting for the underdog, and the basic worth of a person, and yada yada yada ad infinitum as a result of having him for a brother, and I am pleased they will start out in the real world knowing these things from the very beginning. Some of us don't figure these things out until much later in life. (Some people never do Get It.) I truly believe learning these lessons will make them better people.

But what about the more negative or painful lessons they are also learning? Does the squeaky wheel always get the grease? Should negative behavior be rewarded with more attention? I know life is unfair, but is it necessarily THAT unfair? -- Are we unknowingly teaching them to be helpless and hopeless? Do you ALWAYS put the other person first, even at the cost of losing yourself?

Will they look back on their childhoods as happy? Will they remember our home as a warm and safe place to be? Will they grow to resent parts of this life? Will they grow to resent their brother? That is one of the scariest questions I know, but the one that is even scarier is this: What is the role I play in each of these things?

The Peanut Butter Fiasco triggered the latest round of introspection for me. My older son was supposed to be watching Max when it happened, and he wasn't. But I also know first-hand how quickly this stuff happens, how lowering your guard for one minute can have a fairly hefty consequence. I try not to place them in positions of responsibility that could have lasting repercussions. I don't want An Incident that haunts any of us; I don't want to open a Pandora's Box of Guilt.

But at the same time, I expect a lot. Having the big kids away at camp gave me a glimpse of what life looks like without them. The interesting thing was, in some ways it was so much harder...and in other ways it was so much easier. That break and distance was good; I feel like I need to re-evaluate how we do things around here a bit.

Even before Max came along and put a whole new spin on things, I tried to raise my kids to look out for the other guy, to step in when someone is wronged, to speak up when injustice exists.

But what if I am the one causing it?

A family is a family; we take care of each other, every single member, simply because we exist. But at what cost? How much is too much? When is it time to focus on the whole, rather than on the parts...and when is it time to perform some maintenance on those parts?

Microcephaly in the Media: Mr. Robot Man

Here's another one of those pieces of flotsam & jetsam that caught my eye with its microcephalic appearance. His head seems a tad small for such an impressively built body, no?

This futuristic little robot is actually just black and white plastic...but in this picture, I could almost swear that a transparent photo of Max was somehow morphed onto the robot's head behind the white plastic face guard.

Do you see it? Hunh!

Wordless Wednesday: Saying "Cheese!"

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.

Max as The Talking Stain

Max has been vocalizing more lately. In fact, he has suddenly started "talking" while I'm talking, in a sort of bizarre mimicry.

I think it started from the two of us singing together. He loves it when music is playing and I start to sing. He joins in with his little high, throaty "singing" voice and just kind of goes all up and down in pitch, singing his gentle song. Well, our singing duets have morphed into speaking duets.

I have to say, it's pretty cute, but I find it really hard to keep my train of thought. If I'm talking to my husband and Max joins in with me for a little tandem talking, well, I keep right on talking and assume he's just trying to be a part of the conversation. (and hide my grin!) But if I'm speaking directly to Max and telling him something important that he needs to hear while he does his duet...well, obviously he's not listening. But it's a start, right?

Remember the Talking Stain commercial that aired during the Superbowl last year? Where the guy is in a job interview, but the stain on his shirt is so distracting that nobody can focus? Well, it's exactly like that!

I googled that commercial so I could add a link here, and discovered that you can actually put your own face on the stain in a mini movie!

Here you go -- this captures the essence perfectly! (Just imagine taking out the hard syllables and lowering the volume.) I have been giggling about this all day: Max as The Talking Stain!

Greetings From Camp Turdalot

The big kids have been gone all week, away at summer camp. Things sure are different with only one kid! Everything is so much quieter, more flexible. We eat when we feel like it, play whiffleball intermittently throughout the day, take movie breaks as needed. Max and I even slept in a few times!

So things have been pretty mellow and slow-paced and easy, kind of like we're on our own little vacation. UNTIL YESTERDAY.

I don't know why, but Max was just contrary and instigating trouble from the get-go. I emailed my mom last night and updated her on this and that...then summarized by simply typing "Max was a turd today."

Now, I started this blog to record important events and stages in Max's life, and also to speak honestly about life as his mom. I actually find myself counting posts to see if I'm getting too many positive or negative ones in a row -- BOTH are accurate and need to be here. There are periods, however, when one dominates. Yesterday was dominated by negative.

While I hate to say something awful about one of my kids where it will be recorded for all posterity, I also know that sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade. And when I look back on this post some day, I'll be able to say, "Ah, yes. I remember..."

Let the record show that on Thursday, July 3, 2008, Max was a turd.

The end.

Wordless Wednesday: Guess Who Had a Time Out?