Wordless Wednesday: Crazy Hair Day for School

Sleep Is for the Weak?

There's a great-looking book floating around the blogosphere these days called "Sleep Is for the Weak." It's a collection of essays written by an assortment of well-known mommybloggers (and daddybloggers?) about parenting. It's been on my book list for a while now, but I haven't gotten around to reading it yet.

I see links for this book daily, but it would probably stick in my head anyway, because the title is just so catchy. It is half joke, half reality -- a battle cry that unites us all as we venture forth into the frontlines of babydom.

But I wonder...is there a point in time where the joke falls flat? Where that phrase brings tears of exhaustion to one's burning, bloodshot eyes? Where that book is shuffled to the very end of the reading queue, based on the title alone?

Because, let me tell you, I think that time might well be creeping up on me. If I were to see that book on the shelf of a local store, I would be equally likely to snatch it up in delight...or knock it to the floor and roll my car right over it, with nary a glance, depending on the day. (Which, translated, means, "depending on how much sleep I got the night before.")

Which brings me to my point: sleep issues. Nothing's working. Frustrated. Tired. Annoyed. Need solution. Yada yada yada, Round Number Seventy-Jillionty-Five.

Now if you find yourself in a similar situation, you already know what I'm talking about. Your specifics might be a little different, but that's relatively unimportant. You speak my language. You feel my frustration. You live my exhaustion.

You might be sleeping in a chair with your metal-braced or casted child. (hi, Rach) Or nursing during the night for the 7th year in a row. (hey, Gwen) Or simply up at 3 a.m. because your child is. (Penny, Lisa - greetings. *yawn*) Or coaxing your child to sleep each night, only to find yourself repeating it all over again several hours later. For nights upon months upon years on e...

Oh, sorry -- I nodded off for a sec. Now where was I?

Right. Seriously, what happens when the sleepless baby months stretch into years? Decades?? (Oh, goodness, I feel faint -- is it possible to last that long?! If any of you decades-weary parents are out there, I'm not sure I'm prepared to hear about that just yet, mmkay? Thanks. Let me stagger along in my steady belief that this will end. Somehow. Some day.)

What makes that book title clever is that the people saying it are, in fact, strong people who happen to be bravely and proudly doing without for a bit. But when the deprivation becomes chronic, those previously strong people might just find themselves quite literally shrivelling up into weaklings.

At least, that's what I find happening to myself these days.

Words -- nay, entire concepts! -- escape the tongue. Deadlines go unmet. Important papers are forgotten. Emails are unanswered. Partnerships disintegrate into scorekeeping. Patience is, itself, trying. Kindness masquerades as Optional. Sanity crumbles.

Blogs are hopelessly neglected. (*cough, cough*)

But back to the title -- "Sleep Is for the Weak." Hearing that phrase as one of the weakened, it begins to morph into a brilliantly simple solution. A soothing balm. A delicious promise. A lullaby, whispered gently in my ear. A Psalm.

Sleep, and you will be strengthened. Dream, and your visions will be restored. Snore, and the door shall be opened unto you...

I would like to propose a companion book, titled "Sleep Is for the Strong." I envision essays contributed by mommybloggers (and daddybloggers) who write about parenting children with disabilities. About living fully when the inevitable return of peaceful slumber hangs in doubt.

The irony is still there, of course. Because the people saying it are, in fact, weakened people who happen to be bravely and proudly -- strongly -- doing without for a bit.

It takes strength to sleep through the alarms or bleeps of life-assuring machines signalling problems. It takes strength to sleep in interrupted segments until the next scheduled feeding or necessary repositioning of an immobile child. It takes strength to sleep through the fear of what the next minutes or hours or days might bring. It takes strength to sleep when your child is not.

Again, the specifics are relatively unimportant; the common bond is still there. It takes strength to remain chronically sleep-deprived yet continue to seize the day.

Am I breaking down? Am I in the midst of a crisis? No, don't worry. It's simply Monday.

But I'm just sayin' --that hypothetical book? Sleep Is for the Strong? Well, that is a book that I would certainly snatch up in delight and shuffle to the TOP of my book list, regardless of the day.

Is anybody out there awake enough to write it? I'd like to pre-order, please.

Aaarrr, Me Mateys!

Recently, Max got off the school bus with some new accessories...an eye patch, a fake earring, and a plastic sword. His bus driver was wearing a pirate hat, and she Aaaarrghed a farewell to him before setting sail.

Max's class celebrated International Talk Like a Pirate Day in school. (Isn't that a hoot?!)

They hunted for treasure & colored pirate-themed pictures, the Physical Therapist came into the classroom to help the kids walk the plank and crawl through tunnels, and, of course, they engaged in lots of crazy pirate talk. I love that his teacher finds such fun ways to work on goals while keeping the daily routine exciting.

Here's a glimpse of Max in full pirate mode:

He continued "Aaarrr-ing" all week. The sword was broken long ago, the earring is lost, I think the eye patch is around here somewhere...but the Pirate Talk lives on!


**Edited to add: Later, in the grocery store's dairy aisle, Max spied a pack of yogurt drinks decorated with the Backyardigans in pirate hats. He was really excited and grabbed a pack to carry through the store, insisting that we take them home.

-Avast! Do ye yellow-bellied sapsuckers a'fear the likes of the Dread Pirate Max?

-Uhm... Ahoy, there...let's just say I was fully supportive of that particular purchase.

So, anyhoo. Now snacktime is a rather noisy affair, as it inspires me to call out, "Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Ru--nny Yogurt! Aaaargh!!" And Max responds with his own gleeful "Aaaarrr!"

We're getting a LOT of mileage out of this one...

Wordless Wednesday: Mesmerized.

Obeying Thy Mother

Max was following me around while I made supper the other night, when suddenly he sat down and took off his shoes -- right there, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen. I told him that the shoes needed to be out of the way, and I asked him to go put them by the front door.

He readily agreed, grinned and said, "Oh!", gathered up his shoes...and took off.

This is what I found:

They really are "by the front door" -- aren't they?!

I know his class has been working on prepositions at school. They've been using the signs, AND pictures, AND words for exercises where they locate objects in the room or in a picture.

I got quite a kick out of his overly literal interpretation of my request, but also found myself wondering if that quirky response was actually due to a new level of comprehension. After all, "by" often means "beside", and "beside" often means "right next to" or even "sides touching" --right?

I think he could be on to something...

Slowly But Surely: The Second Version

The other thing that's occurring slowly but surely around here is my internet service. (Actually, now that I think about it, "surely" really isn't even the right word...)

My connection here is painfully s...l...o...w and somewhat RanDoM, and it makes web-browsing and blog-posting a test of endurance.

I'm looking into other options, but posting will remain light until the situation improves.

Slowly But Surely

We have been in our new home for a little over a week now. There are still boxes sitting here and there, and many more changes that need to be made, but it's definitely feeling like home.

Max was pretty confused the last day at the old house. Most of the moving took place while the kids were at school, so when Max got off the bus that day, things had changed dramatically. He kept walking around the empty rooms and some random blank spot would catch his eye. He froze in the kitchen, staring at the empty spaces under the bar where the stools used to be, exclaimed, "Oh!" and then lifted those enormous, soulful eyes at me and signed "Where?"

We repeated this throughout the house, and he was just genuinely puzzled to realize the beds were gone and the computer was gone and the TV was gone! I suppose bits and pieces has been disappearing for a while by then...but once the rooms were completely empty, nothing made sense. Our lives really didn't seem to belong there anymore.

I kept trying to explain that we would be in a NEW house with our beds and stools and TVs...and he was listening intently, standing very close and still, staring right into my eyes with a serious expression. After I repeated several variations on the "new house" theme, Grandma arrived to take Max to her place for a few hours while we finished up the cleaning and turned over the keys.

Only later, after the keys to the house were handed over, did it occur to me that I missed the most obvious key for Max's understanding: blowing kisses and waving goodbye to each room. I was so busy using my words, and my words, AND MY WORDS...but actions speak louder than words, right? How could I forget this, when the King of No Words is standing at my feet, asking for help?!

I completely missed it -- the simple, direct route to goodbye. It's so obvious in restrospect (this is a boy who often blows the TV a kiss and waves goodbye to it when he leaves for school!), and I have no doubt it would have helped him process the move, but I just wasn't thinking on his wavelength that day.

Thank goodness he's a go-with-the-flow kind of kid (for the moment-to-moment stuff). He joined us at the new house and ran around grinning and excited, pointing out familiar items and enjoying the adventure.

When bedtime came, he was compliant and calm. He helped us put on his pajamas and brush his teeth, took his Benadryl, kissed everyone good night,...and then had no idea how to proceed.

His usual routine (laying on the sofa, watching the Cubs with his dad) wasn't possible. The sofa was there, and he found his favorite pillow and blanket in their usual spot on it, but there was no tv. They sat in the darkness for a long time, but he just could not get to sleep.

So then I took him into bed with me, which also usually works. He snuggled close and held very still, but he kept lifting his head off the pillow and staring at the bedroom window. I don't know if it was the slice of light coming through the curtains, or simply the fact that the window existed, but he was incredibly bothered by it.

(If it's the decor...well, then I totally get his opposition to this thing.)

He kept a close watch on that window for about an hour, then finally started signing "All done!" repeatedly, frantically. He cried and yelled and pointed and kept signing that he was done. Just when I started to think it would never end, he fell asleep.

It was a very short and emotional night.

The window thing seems to have worked itself out as mysteriously as it started, and we finally managed to get a TV hooked up, so the bedtime routine is going more smoothly than that first fretful night. In fact, Max slept unusually well most of last week...but now this week it's a real struggle again. (Sigh.)

I don't know exactly what the problem is -- we usually don't, quite frankly -- though I suspect it is indirectly tied to the new house; it's not literal, like the window protest was, but probably due to the fact that he just isn't "in a good place" yet. (and no, I'm not referring to the pink & green bathroom this time...but I can understand your confusion.)

The weekend was pleasant at the time...but he didn't eat or drink well, and was probably overstimulated; we are feeling the effects now.

In the same way, but on a larger scale, Max made the new house transition smoothly on the surface...but he's clearly still a bit "off" internally.

So that's the scoop here, at the House of Mystery. We're just not quite back to the usual scene (none of us, really, not just Max) -- though I can see it hovering just around the corner.

We're finally aimed in the right direction, and I know we'll get there, each of us, slowly but surely.