My anxious boy

Anxiety is defined as fear or nervousness about what might happen.  We all experience it, just on different levels and at different intensities.  I rarely worry or feel anxious about anything.  I have a confidence and belief that things happen for a reason.  I always try everything in my power to be sure I've done everything I can to create the outcome I hope for and that serves us all the best but I know that's not realistically going to always happen.  And that's where the shoulder shrug comes in.  I'm good at that.  The, "*shrug*, Well, I guess that's just how it is."  Many people aren't capable of getting to the shrug state.  My sweet William is one of them.

I can look back now and see that William was always anxious.  He fits the mold of the Anxious Child very well.  He's extremely bright, very self-aware,  as well as very aware of his surroundings and the world around him.  This, coupled with the emotional maturity of a little boy, makes for an anxious kid.  He cried all the time.  Not just randomly, it was fairly predictable, but it was a lot.  It wasn't the spoiled brat kid cry, it was always related to a situation that was out of his control.  He also always needed to know what time it was, what we were doing next, what was I doing in there, where were we going today, what was I going to buy when we got inside, etc.  I chalked it up to him being curious and smart and nosy.  At age 3 he'd say, "Mommy, what time is it?"  and I'd say, "Why?  Got a hot date?".  He'd then repeat the question.  I now see that he needed to KNOW. 

I became aware that this was true anxiety when his crying began to happen in public in the last few months over situations that a "normal" kid would be able to handle just fine.  I'm of the mindset that crying isn't bad for boys.  I've never told him he can't cry.  But let's be honest.  He's 7, he's in 2nd grade, and kids are going to start making fun of him.  When he would stand outside his classroom and cry in the morning, I recently started saying, "You can't cry, your friends will see you.  You're too big to be crying at school in front of your friends unless you are injured or sick.  They will make fun of you."  Well.  That did it.  His anxiety flew off the charts after only a few days of that.  I couldn't figure out what the deal was. When all along I was making it so much worse. 

His crying was his release for his anxiety.  It always has been.  I can see that now.  My words made him then afraid to cry.  Well, if crying was the release and now he feels he can't cry, what is he supposed to do now?  He became scared that he'd feel anxious and all he knew to do in those situations was to cry.  He became scared of all situations.  YOU wouldn't see that in him, but WE did.

The last straw was then soon after all of that he started not wanting to go to my best friend's house, he turned down a birthday party invitation from a friend, and he didn't want to get together with friends after school.  I could see that all of this was a bad road to be on.  I sought out help.

My tools to help him with his anxiety were these:  "Take a deep breath."  "Stop crying."  "It's not worth crying about, Buddy."  Obviously, these are worthless.  My toolbox, for the first time ever, was empty.  EMPTY.  My boy needed help in learning to deal with this anxiety and take-a-deep-breath wasn't working anymore.

We are currently part of a program offered by Kaiser for kids from ages 6-11.  The parents are involved, too.  They fill the kids' toolboxes and ours as well.  William LOVES it and although his case of anxiety is so mild compared to some of the kids in his group, he learns when he doesn't know he's learning.  It's awesome and I am so grateful.

William has taught me patience through his impatience and he has taught me calmness through his anxiousness.  We are a good team.  And we're playing hard at this game.  Together.      \

My Drew

She's named after my Great-Nana, Jane Drew.   We call her DrewP (droopy?) because of her name and last initial.  All her friends and her teacher call her DrewDrew.  She's 8 years old, she's all about asking for forgiveness rather than permission, she's got dance moves to rival her dad's, she's a lover of reading and a hater of math, and she was the first one to call me mom.

Drew is my traveling companion.  She has come to Boston with me for the last 3 years and will be joining me again this year.  She's very even tempered and is unlike her siblings in that her mood is not dependent upon sleep or food so she makes an awesome traveler.  She can be stubborn but she knows right from wrong, most often makes good choices, and is quite mature for her age.  Kind of an old soul.  Like I was.  Or still am.  I was told that forever and I've been told that about Drew, too.

As she gets a little older I see much more of myself in her.  She's strong-willed.  She's loving.  She adores animals and babies.  She vies for position of The Boss in some situations and is just learning that that is not always important. I hope it doesn't take her 37 years to come to that full conclusion. 

I think she's beautiful.  She's got a tiny mole on the tip of her nose that appeared when she was about a year old.  She also has one in between her toes.  Just like I have.  Her skin browns nicely in the summer and her hair becomes nearly translucent.  She's tall and carries herself well.  

I am proud of her and I am proud to see that she is being compared to me as she matures.  It's good for my ego 'cause I think she's pretty awesome. 

Me, 1983.  Drew, 2013. 

30 years apart

  

Are you a good wife?

Are you a good wife? 

What does that even mean in your family or to your husband?

Dinner made when he gets home?  Well-behaved children?  Beds made every morning?  Sex 3 times a week?  All of his family's birthdays are remembered and acknowledged?  You make the most bomb banana bread from scratch for Sunday morning breakfasts?

I know what being a good wife means to Chris and it is something I strive for.  That's not a submissive thing, I think it's honorable.  I want to make him happy.  That doesn't mean that he doesn't have to try and meet my needs and make me happy, I'm talking about me.  I enjoy trying to be a good wife.  The definition and the role changes off and on and I can read that pretty well at this point.  It's a constant work in progress kind of thing.  My desire isn't Bible based and I don't walk around kissing the ground he walks on.  I just want to treat him the way I'd like to be treated and to create a loving home.  Plus I loooooooove him.  It comes naturally. 

I also hope to teach my girls what it means to always keep trying to be a good wife.  I hope they look back when they are married, or even when they are considering marriage, and recognize how I loved their dad endlessly.  It's ok to put him in his place, snatch him back into reality, soothe his ego, make his meals, tell him to put his God damned socks in the laundry basket, and laugh together a lot.  It also means compromise which can sometimes be the hardest to do.  Especially if you are a 5'11" blonde stubborn chick.   

No matter what being a good wife means to you and your husband my guess is that it starts with respect and ends with laughing together.  All the middle stuff is up to you and you can choose to work on it as much as you want. 

Should we discuss what makes a good husband next?  Blogger may not have enough room...

Respect,

 

laugh,

 

 have fun,

 

 

and keep working hard to compromise.

 

 

 

 

The ultimate in LAZY

I love new products that make my life simpler, easier, better.  Who doesn't?  This is kind of the ultimate in lazy, though.  But I'm ok with that. It eliminates the need to have to lean down and get the squirt bottle from underneath the sink.  And it eliminates the task of having to lift open the tab on the wipes and then making sure it's closed properly so that they don't dry out.

It's this.  And it's awesome.

If you haven't bought it yet, you must.  You think you don't need it, but you do.  Trust me on this.

See?  She didn't expend more than 6 calories in that entire clean up process.  You need this.

You're welcome.

What the what?

I'll be 38 this year.  I've had long hair for, oh, 35 years.  I've worn bobby pins off and on for probably 34 years.  And today, TODAY, I discovered that I've been wearing them incorrectly this whole time. 

Did you know you're supposed to wear them with the flat side UP? 

Please tell me I'm not the only one who didn't know that.  Have people been smirking at the back of my hair for 34 years?  How embarrassing.

Flat side UP, bumpy side DOWN. 

This is the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

Take a seat & make a friend

So sweet.  I hope I come upon a ballpit in the middle of a sidewalk some day.  I'd totally get in.

BS

Oooh, snarky.  My mood today has been super snarky.  No apparent reason.  Maybe 'cause I woke up with a little throat/chest thing?  That always puts me into semi-panic mode because as all moms know, getting sick is a nightmare.  I don't know.  Anyway, snarky.

When I feel snarky I feel like I am a bit more preceptive than normal.  This makes me want to call bullshit on a few things and I figured instead of talking Chris's ear off on the phone while he's at the firehouse, I'd do it here.  Plus, you can't just pretend to listen to me here like he would do there.

Bullshit:

• People whose facebook statuses are rainbows and unicorns and cotton candy every single day.  I have a damn good life and shit still goes down.  C'mon, keep it real.
• The salad I love at Chipotle is $9.  Really?  Lettuce, black beans, corn, pico, and avocado?  Really?  But, it's good, it's clean, and my kitchen stays untouched so it's worth it.  Damn them.
• Luggage fees.  Drew, Chris, and I are traveling to Boston this summer and we're bound to have to pay for at least one bag.  For weight?  If an airplane can carry the space shuttle, it can carry my blow dryer and flat iron. 
• Extra leg room on a flight.  I'm just shy of 6 feet.  Chris is 6'5".  We either have to fold in half for 6 hours or pay $45 more for room for our legs.  We help YOU in the grocery store reaching things on the shelves everyday, just give us the seats with more leg room without such a fee.
• When the kids wake up at 6:30am on Saturday and Sunday and then on Monday morning I have to wake the beasts at 7:10am while I hustle and scream at them to get out the door by 7:45am. 
• The biggest washing machine on the market still doesn't fit my machine washable Cal King comforter which I then have to pay $60 to have dry cleaned.

Oh, I could go on and on but I won't.  Tomorrow I'll wake with much less snark, read this post, and see how perceptive I can be.  And by perceptive, I mean bitchy.