A child's most important job? Play.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
the unforced rhythms of grace in parenting
In my signature neurotic, conscientious way, I worry about how much sleep each child is getting. I have the pediatric sleep chart memorized for each age range. Yeah, I know. That's really neurotic.
I know the folly of letting a child get over-tired and wired. I know the value of predictable bedtime routines, which ease a child into sleep.
When each child awakes in the morning, I note the time on the clock and count backwards to the time they fell asleep the night before. Did they get their required hours?
Despite my Herculean efforts, bedtime doesn't always go smoothly around here. Sometimes, in fact, it goes so horrendously, I wonder why the heck these silly rules are even written!
When I first started parenting, I bought the line that if you just show 'em who's boss, everything will go smoothly. They'll fall in line like faithful soldiers.
Now, I see their little hearts. I look into their eyes and want to know them. Sometimes they feel good and want to please me. Other times, they don't know why, but they just can't fall in line. They're off somehow.
How often does that happen to adults, in regards to Heavenly Father's wishes? How often do we fail to fall in line?
Mary was off at bedtime tonight. She whined, fought, felt sorry, then hugged me. Then she struggled again, with some disrespect spilling from her angst-ridden face. She cried, grabbed my neck, hugged me wild.
Was she over-tired? Getting sick?
Instead of discipline, GRACE. Not always, and God will lead the way in this......if we seek His face.
Things often don't go as formulas--like sleep charts--would have us believe.
Because we're raising up souls, not soldiers.
I want to be a haven of rest for them. The face of Christ, above all.
Matthew 11:28-30 The Message (Peterson, 1993)
"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."
Matthew 11:28-30 King James Version
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
I know the folly of letting a child get over-tired and wired. I know the value of predictable bedtime routines, which ease a child into sleep.
When each child awakes in the morning, I note the time on the clock and count backwards to the time they fell asleep the night before. Did they get their required hours?
Despite my Herculean efforts, bedtime doesn't always go smoothly around here. Sometimes, in fact, it goes so horrendously, I wonder why the heck these silly rules are even written!
When I first started parenting, I bought the line that if you just show 'em who's boss, everything will go smoothly. They'll fall in line like faithful soldiers.
Now, I see their little hearts. I look into their eyes and want to know them. Sometimes they feel good and want to please me. Other times, they don't know why, but they just can't fall in line. They're off somehow.
How often does that happen to adults, in regards to Heavenly Father's wishes? How often do we fail to fall in line?
Mary was off at bedtime tonight. She whined, fought, felt sorry, then hugged me. Then she struggled again, with some disrespect spilling from her angst-ridden face. She cried, grabbed my neck, hugged me wild.
Was she over-tired? Getting sick?
Instead of discipline, GRACE. Not always, and God will lead the way in this......if we seek His face.
Things often don't go as formulas--like sleep charts--would have us believe.
Because we're raising up souls, not soldiers.
I want to be a haven of rest for them. The face of Christ, above all.
Matthew 11:28-30 The Message (Peterson, 1993)
"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."
Matthew 11:28-30 King James Version
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
neurology and the Beatitudes
Peter's neurologist today confirmed what the pediatrician and I have suspected over the last two years--Peter has OCD, Tourette's Syndrome, Hyperactive/Impulsive type AD/HD, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (all related in terms of brain chemistry). He suggests keeping Peter on 10mg Strattera for the hyperactivity/impulsivity. He wants to order an MRI and stress test to rule out ominous reasons for the onset of migraine headaches in Peter.
Several research articles I read tonight indicated that MRI is called for in children who have chronic progressive migraines--migraines that are increasing in frequency and severity, and in children with migraines who also have an abnormal neurological exam--possibly indicating brain tumor or increased inter-cranial pressure (i.e. hydrocephalus).
Peter's physical exam results were normal and his headaches are not increasing in severity or frequency. We both feel the MRI and stress test are unreasonable in Peter's case--probably ordered to protect the doctor in case Peter later dies from an undiagnosed brain tumor. Without a doubt, Peter would probably refuse to get into an MRI machine. We are going to hold off on this test and the stress test until Peter's headaches increase in severity or frequency, or he begins to display other possibly-ominous neurological symptoms
I have daily migraines that I wake up with or get by 10:00 a.m. Excedrin taken at the first sign of pain takes care of the headache before it becomes debilitating, 90% of the time. I believe the frequency of mine are due to overuse of acetaminophen over the years, which causes rebound headaches. If you use acetaminophen (Tylenol) for pain several times a week, you are likely to get chronic rebound pain as a result. Multiple pregnancies and subsequent nursing periods have prevented me from using other migraine medications. When Beth stops nursing, I will start using a preventative migraine medication instead of over-the-counter Excedrin (my Excedrin is a combo of acetaminophen and caffeine). This preventative strategy should over time eliminate my rebound headaches. No one has ever ordered an MRI on me! There is a strong family history of migraine and even though mine didn't start until age 26, I do have cousins who started migraines in grade school/middle school. Migraine is less common in boys, which is why we won't rule out the MRI indefinitely.
The Strattera (a non-stimulant AD/HD medicine) can aggravate Peter's anxiety at times, but without it he isn't productive. He won't sit and read a book long enough to enjoy it, or build a train track or anything else for more than a few minutes. When the hyperactivity goes untreated, Peter can't fully live his life or pursue his interests or do his best in school.
He is too young for psychiatric drugs, so treating the OCD isn't desirable at this time. Only in debilitating cases would drug therapy be used in children. I believe that as an adult, if Peter controls stress in his life, his OCD and Generalized Anxiety will be manageable without meds.
Tonight I read the Beatitudes in The Message (Peterson, 1993). The text reads as follows:
"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule."
"You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you."
"You're blessed when you're content with just who you are--no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought."
"You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat."
"You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full', you find yourselves cared for."
"You're blessed when you get your inside world--your mind and heart--put right. Then you can see God in the outside world."
"You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete and fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family."
"You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom."
"Not only that--count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens--give a cheer, even!--for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble."
When I read this and think of the life Peter will lead because of his special-needs status, I am far less panicked. I am encouraged. He is already very close to God, for his age. I believe because of his struggles he will remain close--after God's own heart, even.
Also, as the mother of a special-needs child, I know coping effectively means that I must remain close to God--our entire family must, for that matter.
Taken this way, disability is not a curse, but a blessing. It's a life of grace--received and given, renewed every day.
Several research articles I read tonight indicated that MRI is called for in children who have chronic progressive migraines--migraines that are increasing in frequency and severity, and in children with migraines who also have an abnormal neurological exam--possibly indicating brain tumor or increased inter-cranial pressure (i.e. hydrocephalus).
Peter's physical exam results were normal and his headaches are not increasing in severity or frequency. We both feel the MRI and stress test are unreasonable in Peter's case--probably ordered to protect the doctor in case Peter later dies from an undiagnosed brain tumor. Without a doubt, Peter would probably refuse to get into an MRI machine. We are going to hold off on this test and the stress test until Peter's headaches increase in severity or frequency, or he begins to display other possibly-ominous neurological symptoms
I have daily migraines that I wake up with or get by 10:00 a.m. Excedrin taken at the first sign of pain takes care of the headache before it becomes debilitating, 90% of the time. I believe the frequency of mine are due to overuse of acetaminophen over the years, which causes rebound headaches. If you use acetaminophen (Tylenol) for pain several times a week, you are likely to get chronic rebound pain as a result. Multiple pregnancies and subsequent nursing periods have prevented me from using other migraine medications. When Beth stops nursing, I will start using a preventative migraine medication instead of over-the-counter Excedrin (my Excedrin is a combo of acetaminophen and caffeine). This preventative strategy should over time eliminate my rebound headaches. No one has ever ordered an MRI on me! There is a strong family history of migraine and even though mine didn't start until age 26, I do have cousins who started migraines in grade school/middle school. Migraine is less common in boys, which is why we won't rule out the MRI indefinitely.
The Strattera (a non-stimulant AD/HD medicine) can aggravate Peter's anxiety at times, but without it he isn't productive. He won't sit and read a book long enough to enjoy it, or build a train track or anything else for more than a few minutes. When the hyperactivity goes untreated, Peter can't fully live his life or pursue his interests or do his best in school.
He is too young for psychiatric drugs, so treating the OCD isn't desirable at this time. Only in debilitating cases would drug therapy be used in children. I believe that as an adult, if Peter controls stress in his life, his OCD and Generalized Anxiety will be manageable without meds.
Tonight I read the Beatitudes in The Message (Peterson, 1993). The text reads as follows:
"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule."
"You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you."
"You're blessed when you're content with just who you are--no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought."
"You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat."
"You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full', you find yourselves cared for."
"You're blessed when you get your inside world--your mind and heart--put right. Then you can see God in the outside world."
"You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete and fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family."
"You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom."
"Not only that--count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens--give a cheer, even!--for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble."
When I read this and think of the life Peter will lead because of his special-needs status, I am far less panicked. I am encouraged. He is already very close to God, for his age. I believe because of his struggles he will remain close--after God's own heart, even.
Also, as the mother of a special-needs child, I know coping effectively means that I must remain close to God--our entire family must, for that matter.
Taken this way, disability is not a curse, but a blessing. It's a life of grace--received and given, renewed every day.
Monday, January 3, 2011
thankful
I am thankful for.....
...new mercies every morning in my marriage. Whatever was wrong yesterday is okay today.
...a day of full sun.
...a day of no turmoil of any kind.
...after school husband was able to come home for four hours, due to one of his part-time jobs being off for the day. He took all four kids to the library and to the park so that I could catch up on folding and putting away laundry. I love that man! And God's grace!
...having a good attitude about the six hours it took me to catch up on laundry!
...filling out seven pages of medical history on Peter in preparation for tomorrow's neurology appointment, without one error. I usually, due to impatience, get ahead of the questions and fill out my address on the wrong line, or my first name before my last name, etc. Tomorrow, I won't look like an idiot!
...everyone around the table for dinner tonight.
...Jack Black, the hamster, who is still winning hearts around here. What a nice little guy! He never comes close to nipping and he's a good sport about going through all the mazes and other inventions the boys concoct for him.
...my husband's hair.
...my little girls' curls.
...my online friends. You are such an encouragement!
...taco bake.
...cradling a nursing baby in my arms and staring at her beautiful skin and hair, as she drifts off to sleep
...the time spent cuddling--and praying for each child's future spouse--as I do the tuck-in rounds at night.
...new mercies every morning with my children. They love me unconditionally, which I don't deserve, because I nag incessantly about their jackets not hung up, clothes not put away, pee not deposited properly in the toilet (boys), wiping their mouths on their shirts (what's up with that? We have napkins!), not putting away their crayons, games, trains, coloring books, school books, library books, towels, shoes, hats, mittens. Phew! Long nag list.
...the way my two year old gets excited about spitting time after tooth brushing. She's a proud spitter, though no toothpaste is used yet!
...new mercies every morning in my marriage. Whatever was wrong yesterday is okay today.
...a day of full sun.
...a day of no turmoil of any kind.
...after school husband was able to come home for four hours, due to one of his part-time jobs being off for the day. He took all four kids to the library and to the park so that I could catch up on folding and putting away laundry. I love that man! And God's grace!
...having a good attitude about the six hours it took me to catch up on laundry!
...filling out seven pages of medical history on Peter in preparation for tomorrow's neurology appointment, without one error. I usually, due to impatience, get ahead of the questions and fill out my address on the wrong line, or my first name before my last name, etc. Tomorrow, I won't look like an idiot!
...everyone around the table for dinner tonight.
...Jack Black, the hamster, who is still winning hearts around here. What a nice little guy! He never comes close to nipping and he's a good sport about going through all the mazes and other inventions the boys concoct for him.
...my husband's hair.
...my little girls' curls.
...my online friends. You are such an encouragement!
...taco bake.
...cradling a nursing baby in my arms and staring at her beautiful skin and hair, as she drifts off to sleep
...the time spent cuddling--and praying for each child's future spouse--as I do the tuck-in rounds at night.
...new mercies every morning with my children. They love me unconditionally, which I don't deserve, because I nag incessantly about their jackets not hung up, clothes not put away, pee not deposited properly in the toilet (boys), wiping their mouths on their shirts (what's up with that? We have napkins!), not putting away their crayons, games, trains, coloring books, school books, library books, towels, shoes, hats, mittens. Phew! Long nag list.
...the way my two year old gets excited about spitting time after tooth brushing. She's a proud spitter, though no toothpaste is used yet!
Super Mom I'm Not
A warming trend came through recently, melting all our snow. While temps are back down, we've had no new snow. This is my least favorite part of winter. I'd rather have snow non-stop for five months, than a marshy, muddy, good-for-nothing yard.
In what was not my finest parenting moment, I said yes to their requests to play outside, despite the thirty-degree temperature mixed with slight wind, and the presence of mud puddles mixed with ice. I did warn them about the less-than-desirable conditions, but remembering the fifty-degree feel of their last romp, they didn't believe me.
Still, fifteen minutes of peace ensued as they played outside.
Ending the most relaxing fifteen minutes of my day, one brother decided to push the other into the mud. Mary decided to join in the "fun", muddying her jacket and pants. Little Beth decided to remove her mittens and get her hands wet.
I opened the back door to hear Paul vent about his cold, wet, muddiness. Mary, too, was covered in mud, but she didn't mind in the least, save for the cold.
Worst still, Beth was screaming her head off, holding her hands and arms stiff, as though they were broken.
I have to tell you, screaming, injured kids always send me into a panic. When blood is visible, it gets pretty bad for this Momma.
While Beth does talk well enough to tell me her hands hurt, she couldn't do anything but scream, in this case. I wasn't sure whether she was just cold, or had injured her hands or arm somehow.
On my way to slowly warm her hands, I urgently questioned the others to find out what had happened. By urgently, I mean I yelled, "What in the world happened to her? Why is she screaming like this?!" I had checked on her four minutes before and found her on a bike, just sitting and enjoying her siblings' antics.
No one came forth with useful information, and as Beth continued to scream, I continued to panic. I had no car to take her anywhere if she'd broken something, and I had muddy kids waiting for help peeling off their filth, plus two loads of muddy clothes to wash and a muddy, wet floor--mopped several hours earlier.
She continued to scream as I gradually warmed her hands by slowly increasing the water temperature. The color in one of her hands was bluish, which fed my panic. How, I wondered, does one get a frostbite injury in less than fifteen minutes? And why has every toddler I've raised refused to keep mittens on?
I yelled from the bathroom for Peter or Paul to look up treatments and symptoms of frostbite. Really, I had no idea how to properly warm her hands, and I hoped water wasn't taboo.
I couldn't contain my panic, while dwelling on the fact that I had no car and no husband home to help with any of this. I know what you're thinking. Millions of moms face these circumstances alone everyday, and do just fine.
Well, the warm water helped enormously. The screaming gave way to sobs. Nothing was broken.
All crying stopped, I sat at the computer with her in my lap, reading the bottom line on cold-weather injuries.
She didn't have any dangerous signs, other than the bluish color, which had given way to a healthy pink.
Oh, and true frostbite takes time to develop--longer than fifteen minutes.
The others finished their showers and a calm descended over the house, but the affects of the fight-or-flight response still lingered in my body. I felt spent, exhausted.
And disappointed in myself.
Why must I panic so easily? I would be a much better parent if I weren't like this. I'm sure Peter's condition would be better handled by a calmer mother. I'm sure these kids are going to hate many things about me and wish they had a different mother. One who laughs all the time. One who doesn't always seem over-burdened.
All this went through my mind as I scurried to make an early dinner and dress all five of us for evening church.
Trying to calm my spirit, I remembered God's grace. If these kids succeed in life, if they grow up to be sons and daughters after God's own heart, it won't be because of me.
It will be because of God's grace.
Do you know who gets the most out of God's grace?
The humble.
James 4:6 But he giveth more grace. Wherefore he saith, God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.
That line "blessed are the poor in spirit" refers to those who understand their need for God. They've sufficiently humbled themselves--gotten to the end of themselves. They know they are nothing without Christ. They're in a state of spiritual poverty--total reliance on God.
The spiritually impoverished benefit most from God's grace.
To feel it, live it, give it out to others, we have to humble ourselves. In a world that pushes us to exalt ourselves, we have to continue to diminish.
It is our personality flaws, our disorders, our imperfections, that send us running to Christ.
I thank God for the lousy parenting job I'm doing.
My kids don't need super mom.
They need me.....on my knees, humbled.
In what was not my finest parenting moment, I said yes to their requests to play outside, despite the thirty-degree temperature mixed with slight wind, and the presence of mud puddles mixed with ice. I did warn them about the less-than-desirable conditions, but remembering the fifty-degree feel of their last romp, they didn't believe me.
Still, fifteen minutes of peace ensued as they played outside.
Ending the most relaxing fifteen minutes of my day, one brother decided to push the other into the mud. Mary decided to join in the "fun", muddying her jacket and pants. Little Beth decided to remove her mittens and get her hands wet.
I opened the back door to hear Paul vent about his cold, wet, muddiness. Mary, too, was covered in mud, but she didn't mind in the least, save for the cold.
Worst still, Beth was screaming her head off, holding her hands and arms stiff, as though they were broken.
I have to tell you, screaming, injured kids always send me into a panic. When blood is visible, it gets pretty bad for this Momma.
While Beth does talk well enough to tell me her hands hurt, she couldn't do anything but scream, in this case. I wasn't sure whether she was just cold, or had injured her hands or arm somehow.
On my way to slowly warm her hands, I urgently questioned the others to find out what had happened. By urgently, I mean I yelled, "What in the world happened to her? Why is she screaming like this?!" I had checked on her four minutes before and found her on a bike, just sitting and enjoying her siblings' antics.
No one came forth with useful information, and as Beth continued to scream, I continued to panic. I had no car to take her anywhere if she'd broken something, and I had muddy kids waiting for help peeling off their filth, plus two loads of muddy clothes to wash and a muddy, wet floor--mopped several hours earlier.
She continued to scream as I gradually warmed her hands by slowly increasing the water temperature. The color in one of her hands was bluish, which fed my panic. How, I wondered, does one get a frostbite injury in less than fifteen minutes? And why has every toddler I've raised refused to keep mittens on?
I yelled from the bathroom for Peter or Paul to look up treatments and symptoms of frostbite. Really, I had no idea how to properly warm her hands, and I hoped water wasn't taboo.
I couldn't contain my panic, while dwelling on the fact that I had no car and no husband home to help with any of this. I know what you're thinking. Millions of moms face these circumstances alone everyday, and do just fine.
Well, the warm water helped enormously. The screaming gave way to sobs. Nothing was broken.
All crying stopped, I sat at the computer with her in my lap, reading the bottom line on cold-weather injuries.
She didn't have any dangerous signs, other than the bluish color, which had given way to a healthy pink.
Oh, and true frostbite takes time to develop--longer than fifteen minutes.
The others finished their showers and a calm descended over the house, but the affects of the fight-or-flight response still lingered in my body. I felt spent, exhausted.
And disappointed in myself.
Why must I panic so easily? I would be a much better parent if I weren't like this. I'm sure Peter's condition would be better handled by a calmer mother. I'm sure these kids are going to hate many things about me and wish they had a different mother. One who laughs all the time. One who doesn't always seem over-burdened.
All this went through my mind as I scurried to make an early dinner and dress all five of us for evening church.
Trying to calm my spirit, I remembered God's grace. If these kids succeed in life, if they grow up to be sons and daughters after God's own heart, it won't be because of me.
It will be because of God's grace.
Do you know who gets the most out of God's grace?
The humble.
James 4:6 But he giveth more grace. Wherefore he saith, God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.
That line "blessed are the poor in spirit" refers to those who understand their need for God. They've sufficiently humbled themselves--gotten to the end of themselves. They know they are nothing without Christ. They're in a state of spiritual poverty--total reliance on God.
The spiritually impoverished benefit most from God's grace.
To feel it, live it, give it out to others, we have to humble ourselves. In a world that pushes us to exalt ourselves, we have to continue to diminish.
It is our personality flaws, our disorders, our imperfections, that send us running to Christ.
I thank God for the lousy parenting job I'm doing.
My kids don't need super mom.
They need me.....on my knees, humbled.
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