Our Ordinary Days

Playing ball

Zippy is playing basketball and loving it!  He's good at it, too.  His team is the Longhorns, and they are the burnt orange and white just like the Texas Longhorns.  It is a bit difficult as big ol Baylor fans to cheer for the Longhorns!

Zippy scored two baskets in his game last week.  He hustles, he listens to the coach, and he encourages his teammates.  We are quite proud.

(I will try to get some photos of our other favorite basketball player this weekend.)

Test

Zachary has an anxiety disorder.  He worries a lot.  He is in a constant state of stress.

One of his anxieties is school.  Namely, failing school.  Last year he was always afraid of failing 2nd grade.  This year he is terrified of failing 3rd grade.

While all of his grades are currently passing, there is a big test that looms over the heads of all students in Texas' public schools.  The TAKS test.  3rd graders are required to pass TAKS, or they are retained in 3rd grade.  And Zach is scared of it.

The TAKS test doesn't take place until March or April, but today the students are taking a practice test.  As should be the case, this practice test is taken quite seriously.  It gives teachers, students, parents, and administration a good idea of where the students are in learning the required content.

I know that a speech from the teacher to reiterate the importance of the tests is sometimes in order for a class filled with clowns or goof-offs.  I know that since the test is of utmost importance to the teacher, the school, and the district, they feel the need to remind the students that their lives depend on their passing TAKS.

But I also know that a child like Zachary-- who is already miserably dreading TAKS, who is already convinced that he is going to fail, who already takes the test very seriously as if his life did literally depend on it--  does not need a reminder of its importance.  And in fact, a reminder of its importance may have quite a negative effect on the results of his test taking.

Zachary came home from school yesterday and announced, "Tomorrow is the day I find out if I failed 3rd grade."

Wow!  How's that for pressure??

How frustrating to be trying so hard at home to get Zach's anxieties under control only to be thrown this huge wrench of anxiety from school.  Ugh!

Remembering that today's test is actually just a practice test, I tried to convince him that this wasn't THE test.  But he wouldn't be convinced.  But thankfully he didn't mention the test much more before bed.

But then at 1:00AM, he came running to my room, crying.  "I'm going to fail 3rd grade!  I don't want to fail 3rd grade!"

I, of course, told him he wasn't going to fail . . . that we don't have to worry about that because he's going to do his best . . . that he is not going to fail 3rd grade.

He quieted down and got into bed with me.  We snuggled up close and tight just like he likes.  His little body fidgeted, writhed, and jerked as it so often does when he tries to go to sleep -- his anxious little body fighting him while he tries to relax.  Every few moments his sleepy, sad voice would say that he was going to fail.  I realized that his anxieties were speaking loud and clear in his little mind, convincing him that he would, indeed, fail.

It was then that I got the idea of whispering to him a different phrase, hoping it would drown out the whispers that were haunting him.  I wasn't sure how he would respond to my whispering.  I thought maybe he would tell me to stop and get frustrated.  But as I watched his little body jerk nervously and listened to his whimpers, I decided to take the chance.

While we cuddled, I placed my hand on his face -- a tactic which has had a calming effect on him since he was an infant -- and got my lips up close to his ear.

"You are smart and you will pass," I whispered so gently.  "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass," I repeated.

He did not tell me to stop.  And after a minute or so, his writhing slowed and his body relaxed just a bit.  My words were working.

"You are smart and you will pass," I repeated with each breath.  And I prayed as I spoke that my words would penetrate his mind and heart until he believed it.

For 10 minutes or more, I whispered the sentence in his ear.  When he got a little fidgety, I thought maybe he had heard enough so I stopped speaking.

But he immediately whispered sleepily, "Do more of that."

So I continued for quite a while, even after his body had relaxed into sleep.  While he snored, I whispered, "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass."

He woke again later in the night and whimpered a little bit.  Then he snuggled up close and requested, "Do more of that."  So I whispered again, "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass."

This morning he didn't want to go to school.  "I'm going to fail 3rd grade today," he said.

But big brother came to the rescue!  Elliot was able to convince him that today's test was not the real thing so Zach went off to school feeling okay.

I pray like crazy that he passes today's test!

And I pray that as he sat in the quiet classroom taking his test today, that Zachary heard my whispered words in his ear:  "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass."

Warm Coats

Warm coats!!  A little too late? . . . or right on time?

I did not post yesterday because my entire day was zapped with taking Elliot to the doctor -- we were there for over 2 hours!!! -- and shopping desperately for coats for my boys.  I hear that later today, we are getting an Arctic Blast -- AN ARCTIC BLAST!!!!!  It will get down to 14 degrees tonight and the next couple of nights -- 14 degrees!!!  The high for the rest of the week is in the 20's -- The HIGH for the rest of the week is in the 20's!!!!

Okay,  I will try to stop repeating myself.

I admitted here this week that my boys didn't have winter coats.  But when I heard of the ARCTIC BLAST coming to attack us, I decided to run out and get coats.  Well, guess what?  The first week of January is NOT a good time to buy coats for children . . .  because all the coats are gone!!

So after running all over town yesterday for hours, I think I bought the last 4 coats in the Fort Worth area for my 2 boys!  Yes, 4 coats.  I originally bought Zach a really pretty yellow coat.  Yellow is his favorite color, and I couldn't wait to show it to him.  But it went back to the store because it "looks like a girl."  And the first coat I bought for Elliot had a small rip in the sleeve.  But I was feeling desperate!  It was a really puffy coat and the only one in the city so I grabbed it.  But later I found him another coat that wasn't quite as puffy and had no rip.  (I, for one, can't stand a puffy coat, and I can't imagine my boys playing outside and being able to ride a bike or play basketball in a really puffy coat . . . .  but that's just me!)

I would like to end this post with something brave and daring like, "So come on, you nasty Arctic Blast!  We are so ready for you, you bad boy!"

But the truth is, I'm frightened of the Arctic Blast.  It. Will be. So. Cold.

New Year's Hope

New Year's Eve, Paul had to work so Zippy slept in Paul's spot in the bed beside me -- a privilege the boys often fight over.  (And Mom loves it, knowing that in a few short years they won't want to sleep with me anymore.)  Zippy and I did not stay up to welcome the new year.  Instead, we went to bed around 10 and cuddled up close so we could sharemy new electric blanket.

Just about the time I thought he'd be asleep, he spoke in a sleepy little voice, "I can't believe tomorrow is 2010."

"Me either," I whispered back.

"I can't wait," he said in his groggy, slurred voice.

"Me either," I whispered back, smiling.

And then his next words came in the same groggy slur but were delivered with such authority and truth that I almost sat right up in bed.  "It's gonna be a really good year, Mama."

I seriously missed a breath or two while those words repeated in my mind.  It was weird and surprising how it struck me.  I felt like it was a message -- a promise, even -- from God.  I silently thanked God for it.  And as I listened to Zippy's little snore beside me, I claimed that statement for my family for this year.

"It's gonna be a really good year!"

Beauty Sleep -- Not!

I think probably the "beauty factor" doesn't kick in if your sleep is broken up into 20-minute intervals!  Ugh!

I used to have nights like last night all the time -- literally 4 or 5 nights a week!  So when they happen now and then, I'm reminded that I should be very thankful for how far we've come.

Here's the play-by-play from last night:

First of all, you should know that I have been taking Trazodone for the last year or so to help me sleep at night.  My doctor prescribed it, explaining that "sometimes Mommies can't make their minds stop running enough to sleep at night."  Yep, that pretty much explains it.  The Trazodone is good stuff for the most part.  But when I take it and then am awakened with something that I need to take care of in the night, I often run into walls and stagger around in my grogginess.  Really!  But other than that, the stuff is good.  It helps me go to sleep and stay asleep.  Cutting the Trazodone to the right size for my dosage has been A PAIN!!  (Another story for another day!)  Anyway, when I picked up my prescription a couple of days before Christmas, my parents both tried to help me cut them (again, another story. . .), and my medicine got lost in all the Christmas stuff, and I haven't taken it in a few days.  Thus, I lay awake ALL NIGHT!

So last night, I went to bed at 10:30.  I think I finally dozed sometime after 11.

Paul came in shortly before midnight -- I woke up and was awake for a long time.

Paul turned off his reading light at around 1:00 -- I woke up again and was awake for a long time.

2:00 --  Zippy came in saying he had a dream.  He got in bed with us.  I was awake for a long time.

3:00 -- Zippy started coughing.  I got up, found his rescue inhaler, and used it two or three times.

Coughing continued.  Finally gave 2 nebulizer treatments at 3:45 which finally stopped his attack.

Laid back down a little after 4:00 and was awake for a long time.

Elliot came in at 4:30 saying he had a bad dream.  He wanted to sleep with us, but I talked him into going to the couch since I already had little feet sticking in my back.  I helped Elliot get some blankets for the couch and went back to bed and was awake for a long time.

I was awake for a long time at this point.

About the time I started dozing, Zippy woke up, asking if he could get up and go play the wii.  I told him no, bribed him asked him to stay still and quiet so that Elliot could stay sleeping.  I had hoped that maybe I could go back to sleep, too, but he needed me to rub his back and rub his face and rub his belly and hold him and answer questions etc.

Anyway, by this time the sun was coming up.  Elliot came in a little bit later, and I sent both boys away to go play the wii quietly together.

And that was my night.  My nearly sleepless night.  I'm glad those nights don't happen much anymore.

Is it nap time yet??

The Weed

Here is a little story from several years ago.  It is a sweet story with an amazingly sweet message that has encouraged me from time to time over the years:

Elliot ran in from playing outside and presented me with flowers.  Tiny little delicate flowers on one rather thick and hairy-looking stem with a large root system attached.

"Ahhh!  They're beautiful.  Thank you!" I said while I found the perfect bud vase to display my gift proudly on the kitchen counter.

"They're weeds from the yard," he explained as he turned to run back outside.

The pronouncement of "weeds" deflated my happiness a bit, but I still smiled, admiring the beauty of my gift.

Later when Paul saw the flowers he laughed.  "Did Elliot tell you about those flowers?"

"No.  He just said, 'Here's some pretty flowers I picked for you.'" I retold, choosing not to call them weeds.

Then Paul told me the story of what happened in the front yard.  The boys were playing in the front yard while Paul trimmed a bush in the flower bed.  Elliot spotted some beautiful flowers in the yard, dropped to his knees to inspect them more closely, and called out, "Daddy, come look at these pretty flowers in our yard!"

Paul glanced over, saw the weed that had invaded his yard, and announced that it was a weed.  "And this is what we do to yucky weeds," Paul said as he triumphantly yanked it -flowers, stem, and roots from the ground.  Proudly, he held the defeated weed out to Elliot.

But Paul quickly noticed Elliot's gaping mouth, unbelieving eyes, and sad heart.  Paul, Weed Hunter Destroyer, at once melted into Daddy, Counselor Comforter, who knew he had unknowingly, unintentionally smashed his six-year-old son's joy and excitement.

Changing his tone, Paul acknowledged the pretty flowers and suggested presenting the bouquet to Mommy.

Later, looking at the flowers and remembering their story, I thought about how often similar things happen to us in our relationship with God.  We have something that we are proud of to present to Him, and someone -- friend, foe, or the Enemy -- steps in, calls it ugly, calls it a weed, labels it insufficient, and calls us unworthy.  Or maybe someone else presents something bigger or prettier or more delicate.  Then we receive those names and labels and are ashamed of our gift we have presented.  Ashamed of our offering and of our effort.  There's no joy or happiness or fun in giving an ugly weed as a gift.

But God sees the beauty.  He sees the flowers, the delicate flowers.  And it seems He doesn't even notice the big hairy stem or the ugly roots.  He's thrilled with what I've given.  He sees the effort and is pleased.  He puts it proudly on display and periodically leans over to smell the delicate flowers.

Out of the Mouths of . . . Preteens

A 12-year-old neighbor girl who lives with her dad and grandparents celebrated Christmas with them this past weekend.  Today when I asked her what she got for Christmas, she excitedly replied that she had gotten a TV/DVD player for her room.

As she passed the football back to Elliot, she casually commented, "I used to always eat at the table.  But now I just take all my food to my room to eat.  Now there's no reason for me to stay out there."

"Now there's no reason for me to stay out there."

I collapsed into a heap in the front yard as I heard those words come from her mouth.  If I hadn't been so paralyzed at the truth and tragedy of her comment, I would have dashed across the street and begged her grandparents to move that new TV into the living room!

This sweet, sweet girl who has already had quite a trying 12 years -- her parents divorced when she was little bitty, her dad and step-mom divorced this past year, her father was away in Iraq for a couple of years -- is now bound to spend her teen years in her bedroom by herself, isolated, instead of out at the table with her family.

Am I the only one who feels the need to scream, "NO!!!!!!" at the top of my lungs?

Is it possible that the simple act of letting a child have a TV in their room contributes to the deterioration of her relationship and her openness with her parents?  Are parents just handing over the nurturing and bonding opportunity with their children by sending them to their room with their own TV?  I think it is possible.  And I'm guessing most parents are doing it without even realizing the impact it has on their children.

I am a little sick to my stomach.

I hope I remember this moment when my boys ask for a TV in their room in the next couple of years.

Christmas Photo

Here's a photo to make you laugh.  It is from 2 years ago.  Santa, again, looks pathetic!  He needs some glue or something to put his mustache in the right place.  Ugh.  But my kids are cute!

(I've been out of town while these last few days' entries have posted!  I scheduled them before I left.  Cool, eh?  I'm on my way home now. . .)

Winter Wonderland

Chloe's Christmas program was darling.  She did <em>such</em> a good job!!  She had a chair to sit in right beside the risers.  She participated and did the motions to all the songs.  Yea, Chloe!  Too cute! Notice when the children get messed up on "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" -- the kids get ahead of the music.  Chloe knows they are messing up, and she freaks out a bit, putting her hands up over her head and arching her back.  The boy directly behind Chloe thinks she is doing some song motions so he throws his hand over his head for a minute!!  Funny!!  Didn't know Chloe was such a leader, did you??

Preparations

Today:  Grocery shopping and baking, baking, baking!

I made the gingerbread men for Zippy.  He begs for them year-round.  I have some icing and sprinkles to decorate them with.  But when he saw them he was less than thrilled.  I wanted to tackle him or punch him in the gut!  (NOT REALLY!!  But how dare he not go nuts for the little guys!  I would've preferred a different kind. . .  .