Monday, October 29, 2012
Keeping me in line
Eli has a friend who has real clear boundaries when it comes to 'cheating'. We will call him Bill. I found this out when I was in charge of several boys for an afternoon and decided to take them to the local community pool.
Now, when we signed up for a family pass, the pool worker said that our family of four was not maxing out the benefits of the pass, and was their anyone else we wanted to add for the summer? We were not prepared for this question and the line was long behind us. It was hot. We wanted to swim. We couldn't come up with a single name. So we ended up with four passes. This background is important. I don't want you to consider me totally amoral.
Because when I had five boys, and two of them did not have passes. I gladly used Theo's (who was not with us) for one boy, and asked Bill's mom if she could send both of her sons' passes so I could get the last boy in for free. She readily agreed. Gave the passes to Bill with her blessing. But then she wasn't there when the passes had to be presented. I asked Bill to give them all to me and I would usher everyone through. He did, but looked a little pale. At this point I had no idea he was in a moral dilema of epic proportions. Just thought he was a little carsick. Turns out he was wondering how 10 year old african american T'dabi was going to get in on his little white 8 year old brother's pass. Here's the thing- the pool workers didn't care! They had already asked us, practically begged us, to list an extra on our family pass. We failed. I interpreted this as an open invitation to use our passes for anyone we brought with us, as long as we had enough passes for the size of our group. Bill disagreed. Loudly. At the front of the line. Right as I was about to hand the passes to the attendant Bill grabbed them from my hand and said, "I can't do this!" Then he looked at the attendant and said, "T'dabi is NOT my brother. But my brother is not here. Can I use his pass for T'Dabi?" I groaned. Couldn't he see this was putting the attendant in an awkward position? I had been willing to be the morally culpable person. But here we were. The attendant smiled awkwardly, hemmed, hawed, then passed us through. Bill beamed. He could now enjoy the pool without a guilty conscience.
We had a lovely time.
Then we got in the car to come home. I turned on the radio. To the Current, a Minnesota Public Radio station that happened to be in the middle of a pledge drive. Bill immediately asked, "Gretchen. Are you MPR members?" Yes Bill, we are. "Well, are you sustaining members?" Yes. "Good." And he sat back with a smile and began humming along. I am sure if I had answered differently he would have reached up and clicked it off. If I didn't snap his fingers in half beforehand. There's only so much moral judging I can take from 11 year olds.
Now, when we signed up for a family pass, the pool worker said that our family of four was not maxing out the benefits of the pass, and was their anyone else we wanted to add for the summer? We were not prepared for this question and the line was long behind us. It was hot. We wanted to swim. We couldn't come up with a single name. So we ended up with four passes. This background is important. I don't want you to consider me totally amoral.
Because when I had five boys, and two of them did not have passes. I gladly used Theo's (who was not with us) for one boy, and asked Bill's mom if she could send both of her sons' passes so I could get the last boy in for free. She readily agreed. Gave the passes to Bill with her blessing. But then she wasn't there when the passes had to be presented. I asked Bill to give them all to me and I would usher everyone through. He did, but looked a little pale. At this point I had no idea he was in a moral dilema of epic proportions. Just thought he was a little carsick. Turns out he was wondering how 10 year old african american T'dabi was going to get in on his little white 8 year old brother's pass. Here's the thing- the pool workers didn't care! They had already asked us, practically begged us, to list an extra on our family pass. We failed. I interpreted this as an open invitation to use our passes for anyone we brought with us, as long as we had enough passes for the size of our group. Bill disagreed. Loudly. At the front of the line. Right as I was about to hand the passes to the attendant Bill grabbed them from my hand and said, "I can't do this!" Then he looked at the attendant and said, "T'dabi is NOT my brother. But my brother is not here. Can I use his pass for T'Dabi?" I groaned. Couldn't he see this was putting the attendant in an awkward position? I had been willing to be the morally culpable person. But here we were. The attendant smiled awkwardly, hemmed, hawed, then passed us through. Bill beamed. He could now enjoy the pool without a guilty conscience.
We had a lovely time.
Then we got in the car to come home. I turned on the radio. To the Current, a Minnesota Public Radio station that happened to be in the middle of a pledge drive. Bill immediately asked, "Gretchen. Are you MPR members?" Yes Bill, we are. "Well, are you sustaining members?" Yes. "Good." And he sat back with a smile and began humming along. I am sure if I had answered differently he would have reached up and clicked it off. If I didn't snap his fingers in half beforehand. There's only so much moral judging I can take from 11 year olds.
Fall Pleasures
I find that there is nothing better to do with a beautiful fall day than to spend it running through a prairie trying to kill or not be killed. For the second year in a row I've taken my boys out to Camp St. Croix for a wonderful game of Predator/Prey. This year there were over 200 people who paid $5 to be assigned to an animal group and then try to survive the afternoon. The game is a bit complicated but takes minimum set up beyond rule sharing. All you need are some woods and hopefully a lovely prairie that is turning golden and red in the autumn sun.
This year the crew I arrived with ranged in age from 7 to 45. We became gnus. We didn't know much about gnus- only that we were on the bottom of the food chain for the day. There was no one for us to prey upon, but plenty of groups who wanted to prey on us. After the game was explained top predator groups were given bandanas to where as headbands, and middle level predators tied bandanas around their arms. This helped us identify who to avoid when we were let loose in the prairie. And then we were let loose in the prairie. Part of our job as gnus was to find one tablet marked food, one shelter, and one water. They were hidden on camp's property. But the bigger, the harder part of our afternoon would be to stick together and to stay alive. We always had to be within 15 feet of each other, meaning we only moved as fast as our slowest member. And anytime predators spotted us, a whistle was blown and we had to run for our lives for 20 seconds. Then another whistle would blow, the predators would 'carry off' their spoils (our friends!) and we would regroup and count our losses. We started with about 15 and to survive as a group needed to end the afternoon with our tablets found and at least 6 gnus still alive.
Even before that first whistle blew the adrenalin was flowing through our whole group. It is stunning how an afternoon changes once you know you are being hunted. We stayed low, kept in the shadows, and tried to slow the beating of our crazy hearts. When that first whistle blew, it wasn't only the youngest members of our group who found tears leaping to their eyes as we tore through the prairie, hoping to outrun the predators for 20 seconds. It was intense. Hearts leapt out of chests, cries were uttered, and we paid no mind to brambles and thorns tearing our skin as we ran for our lives. For over two hours we snuck around, hunting for food, water, and shelter while trying to avoid ambushes. Our numbers dwindled, but with 20 minutes to go before the final bell was to ring we had found everything we needed. We then hustled to the deepest prairie grasses and settled in for a heart-wringing wait. We heard the tigers amble by, within feet of our hiding place. Our eyes were our only way to communicate and they were shouting PANIC! but we kept it calm and made it to the bell. As we were walking back to the debrief I mentioned how intense it had been to be hunted. One of my fellow 8 year old gnus admonished me, saying, "But Gretchen- you only had to do this for 2 hours. Imagine rabbits who live like this 24/7, 365 days a year!" Frankly, I couldn't. I'd be spent by the end of day one for sure. We also ran into one of our gnus who had become part of the lion pack. She was amazed at how different it felt to strut around as a lion after spending time as a lowly gnu.
The whole afternoon was an intense learning experience. Not only was the setting visually stunning, but to be put in the shoes of an animal of prey was an eye-popping adventure. We will sign up again next year!
Friday, October 26, 2012
One person's trash, another person's....trash
Since joining the Camp DuNord board I have been sucked into volunteering at the annual huge garage sale that raises money to send families to DuNord and kids to Widji. Totally believe in the mission of this event- just can't believe the size of it, and the work, and the items some people donate. Definitely some great finds out there in the Merchandise Mart at the State Fair grounds. But you have to dig through a lot of pretty scrubby goods to find them.
This year part of my volunteer stint included dispersing loads of dropped off goods into the appropriate sections of the sale. I had grocery carts labeled Women's clothes, Shoes, Kitchen, Home Decor, ect. People would drive up, unload their goods into a shopping cart and I would then divide them up into the proper categories. Mostly this was easy, but at some point I came across a cart of donations that included several puzzlers. I made some executive decisions, putting the small, odd sized wooden dowels in with 'hardware' and occasionally throwing items that looked too worn for resale.
Then I came to an old, slim box with graphics that looked like they were from the 60's. From the pictures it sure looked like what we had here was....an enema bag. I opened the box, and sure enough, there was the piping and the 'valve', everything pictured on the box, except the bag.
Who finds a used enema kit, an incomplete used enema kit, in the back of a closet and thinks, "I know, I'll bring this to the Y garage sale!" I sorted that one right into the dumpster out back. I realize I might have cheated the Y out of at least 33 cents in profits there, and for that, I apologize.
This year part of my volunteer stint included dispersing loads of dropped off goods into the appropriate sections of the sale. I had grocery carts labeled Women's clothes, Shoes, Kitchen, Home Decor, ect. People would drive up, unload their goods into a shopping cart and I would then divide them up into the proper categories. Mostly this was easy, but at some point I came across a cart of donations that included several puzzlers. I made some executive decisions, putting the small, odd sized wooden dowels in with 'hardware' and occasionally throwing items that looked too worn for resale.
Then I came to an old, slim box with graphics that looked like they were from the 60's. From the pictures it sure looked like what we had here was....an enema bag. I opened the box, and sure enough, there was the piping and the 'valve', everything pictured on the box, except the bag.
Who finds a used enema kit, an incomplete used enema kit, in the back of a closet and thinks, "I know, I'll bring this to the Y garage sale!" I sorted that one right into the dumpster out back. I realize I might have cheated the Y out of at least 33 cents in profits there, and for that, I apologize.
Summer laughs
Toward the end of summer the boys and I were hanging out in the evening when Theo got suddenly desirous of a swim. The Highland pool was within days of closing for the season, and within less than an hour of closing for the evening, but we decided to hightail it down there for one last swim anyway. When we arrived at the pool storm clouds were gathering to the west and it was nearly deserted. But the boys quickly dropped their towels, shoes, and in Eli's case, glasses, and hurried off toward the slide. Before they got there they were stopped by a young male guard. He asked them some question and I saw them nod yes and then change directions. They walked hesitantly toward a different guard tower and then detoured over toward me.
Eli sidled up to me and said, "Mom, that guard told us to go tell some other guard that she looked like a buffoon, but I don't have my glasses on and I can't tell who we were supposed to find." Theo, for his part, was keeping a distance from this business, despite his 20/20 vision. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Just then the original guard came up and pointed the boys towards a tower by the main pool. The boys marched over and I watched a quick exchange. The accosted guard was laughing heartily as my boys darted away.
While the boys were happily sloshing down the slide, I was approached by a lovely young woman life guard who was still chuckling. She was just a peach- adorable and sun tanned and giggling. About 5 years older than Eli. She asked if the boy in the orange swim trunks was mine. Indeed. She said that after Eli told her that another guard had said to tell her she looked like a buffoon she had countered with, "Oh, but you don't think that I look like a buffoon, do you?" To which my suave son replied, "I have NO idea, I don't have my glasses on." And then waddled away in his particularly awkward wet swimsuit walk. Smooth Eli, smooth!
Eli sidled up to me and said, "Mom, that guard told us to go tell some other guard that she looked like a buffoon, but I don't have my glasses on and I can't tell who we were supposed to find." Theo, for his part, was keeping a distance from this business, despite his 20/20 vision. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Just then the original guard came up and pointed the boys towards a tower by the main pool. The boys marched over and I watched a quick exchange. The accosted guard was laughing heartily as my boys darted away.
While the boys were happily sloshing down the slide, I was approached by a lovely young woman life guard who was still chuckling. She was just a peach- adorable and sun tanned and giggling. About 5 years older than Eli. She asked if the boy in the orange swim trunks was mine. Indeed. She said that after Eli told her that another guard had said to tell her she looked like a buffoon she had countered with, "Oh, but you don't think that I look like a buffoon, do you?" To which my suave son replied, "I have NO idea, I don't have my glasses on." And then waddled away in his particularly awkward wet swimsuit walk. Smooth Eli, smooth!
Friday, August 17, 2012
Road Tripping Whale Tales
Here's one story that keeps me chuckling as I think back to our latest family escapade:
We were on a boat, about 1.5 hours off the coast of Boston. The boat was jampacked with other whale watchers and we had not been disappointed. Humpbacks had spouted, shown their mighty tails, and even swam right at our boat before diving underneath it and coming up on the other side. But there were all of these moments when they would disappear from view and you just wouldn't know where they would pop up again. Everyone was peering anxiously all around, I think all of us secretly hoping to be the spotter- to gasp and point before getting the directions from the 'pro' with a microphone up on the top deck.
So at one point the whales we had been following had been underwater for quite a while. Tension was mounting. They were sure to pop up any moment. And then, close, so close, I heard an extrodinarily loud blow hole clearing. Wow! Must be right behind me! I mean right there! I turned quickly, spastically, to look leeward. To see (and hear) the middle-aged guy behind me clear his STOMA for a second time. Seriously sounds akin to a whale's blowhole. But it wasn't.
We were on a boat, about 1.5 hours off the coast of Boston. The boat was jampacked with other whale watchers and we had not been disappointed. Humpbacks had spouted, shown their mighty tails, and even swam right at our boat before diving underneath it and coming up on the other side. But there were all of these moments when they would disappear from view and you just wouldn't know where they would pop up again. Everyone was peering anxiously all around, I think all of us secretly hoping to be the spotter- to gasp and point before getting the directions from the 'pro' with a microphone up on the top deck.
So at one point the whales we had been following had been underwater for quite a while. Tension was mounting. They were sure to pop up any moment. And then, close, so close, I heard an extrodinarily loud blow hole clearing. Wow! Must be right behind me! I mean right there! I turned quickly, spastically, to look leeward. To see (and hear) the middle-aged guy behind me clear his STOMA for a second time. Seriously sounds akin to a whale's blowhole. But it wasn't.
Metamorphosis
It's been a long time since I've put any effort into this blog. Partly due to a bum computer, partly due to a busy summer, but also caused by some general discomfort with my usual subjects. My youngest guy has probably always seemed a bit uncomfortable in his skin. This past winter it all kind of came to a head and we tried to find our way into the mental health system in order to find him some help. Nothing was drastic, but it was hard to watch the little guy go about his business while all kind of tied up both emotionally and in terms of his sensory system. After hitting many brick walls we found our way to a lovely OT who seemed like a great fit right away. And she started putting him through his paces. Hard paces. Which sometimes caused even more 'feedback' than what he had originally been dealing with.
This summer we've had to back off the OT a bit due to lots of excellent opportunities to be out and about. There was a week at camp, then visitors from abroad, family camp, road trips. All good, but the whole time I watched my son closely. He was always so tense. His mouth, the vortex of his disquiet, has been torqued and tight and stressed all summer. Really since birth, but it's been building steadily since this winter. He holds his lips so tight, kind of pulling them over his teeth. Not all the time, but a lot. They are my canary in the mine when it comes to figuring out how close he might be feeling to equilibrium. Tighter the lips, the further he is out toward a deep end.
On our last road trip, he had a great attitude and had lots of fun. But his body was a mess. Shoulders up to his ears, lips drawn back tight, his somewhat limited coordination even more off. He dropped his fork about 14 times per meal. I watched all this and wondered when and where a steam vent might blow. And I hoped it wouldn't be while he was on a trip with my parents. I could see that something was coming. Right before we sent him off with my parents, I took my dad aside and gave him a little info about what might help should my guy 'lose it'. I didn't say too much. And didn't say anything to my mom. Didn't want to up their stress level, as I figured my guy was carrying enough for everyone.
I then left for a meeting out of town the day before my parents were to pick up my son. That made me nervous, and for good cause, as I recieved a panicky phone call about an hour before he was to make his way to my parents. He was freaking out. I talked him off the cliff, which is so much harder to do via phone, and felt pretty good about his reaction. And then he left. He was out of communication for a long weekend as they kayaked, canoed, and hiked up on the south shore of Lake Superior. We talked to them once they made their way to Duluth, 5 days into their week long trip. Theo sounded great. Grounded. Happy. Relaxed. And sure enough, he came home 2 days later and just looked totally different to me. There was a stillness to him I hadn't seen before. Maybe ever. And his face was relaxed- no lip tightness whatsover.
This morning he went back to his OT for the first time in several weeks. I didn't say anything about the changes I had noticed, but within minutes of working with him, she backed up, gave a double take and said, "WHOA! Who are you? You seem like an entirely different kid." I then told her what he had been like about a week ago, and the differences I had noted. She called it a 'Neuro Pop'. And that of course, what precedes such a pop is neuro chaos. Things regress as his body and mind kind of coil up and prepare to leap forward. Makes so much sense. In the car after his appointment we were talking about this and I said that to me, it seemed like he had been in this 'chaotic' state for atleast 3 weeks. He disagreed and thought it had been most of the summer. He noted how hungry he was these days, how hard he was sleeping, and he's right- not only have things changed on some neuro level, but this kid is about to pop in different ways as well.
As I thought about this more, I got this image of a caterpillar going into a chrysalis- something I have once had the honor of witnessing. It was not pretty. Watching this caterpillar writhe and spin and flail as it desperately attempted to transform into something new was intense and actually a bit disturbing. Or not disturbing, but awe inspiring in the sense when awed truly means "inspired by a feeling of fearful wonderment'. There was fear present while I watched that. Anyway- back to my son. I kind of think that what he's been doing for the past few months is flailing, writhing, spinning inside. And to make things harder for him (but easier for us) he his stunningly bound and determined to keep as calm on the outside as possible because he likes to 'save face' at almost any cost. We don't see the behavior outbursts that his OT warned us about. But looking back, I now realize that he's been giving off a terribly intense low frequency energy for months. And the only obvious indicator is his mouth. Those twisted lips. And now the lips are calm. My little bug seems to have hit the next stage. My question is, is he right now resting in the chrysalis? Or has he already emerged onto some 'other' side? Or is that still on the next horizon? I know that changes and struggles and challenges aplenty await. And I know that I am not really in charge of what he will finally emerge as. But I am so relieved to see him get this current rest. I can't take my eyes off his newly relaxed face. Just like I kept staring in awe even after our caterpillar had made it to the chrysalis. It just hung there, completely still, but continued to command my rapt interest, as I knew that more changes were to come. I hope that in the case of our caterpillar, most of the real work happened just getting into that damned chrysalis. From here hopefully he can just relax and ride this wave onto the next horizon.
This summer we've had to back off the OT a bit due to lots of excellent opportunities to be out and about. There was a week at camp, then visitors from abroad, family camp, road trips. All good, but the whole time I watched my son closely. He was always so tense. His mouth, the vortex of his disquiet, has been torqued and tight and stressed all summer. Really since birth, but it's been building steadily since this winter. He holds his lips so tight, kind of pulling them over his teeth. Not all the time, but a lot. They are my canary in the mine when it comes to figuring out how close he might be feeling to equilibrium. Tighter the lips, the further he is out toward a deep end.
On our last road trip, he had a great attitude and had lots of fun. But his body was a mess. Shoulders up to his ears, lips drawn back tight, his somewhat limited coordination even more off. He dropped his fork about 14 times per meal. I watched all this and wondered when and where a steam vent might blow. And I hoped it wouldn't be while he was on a trip with my parents. I could see that something was coming. Right before we sent him off with my parents, I took my dad aside and gave him a little info about what might help should my guy 'lose it'. I didn't say too much. And didn't say anything to my mom. Didn't want to up their stress level, as I figured my guy was carrying enough for everyone.
I then left for a meeting out of town the day before my parents were to pick up my son. That made me nervous, and for good cause, as I recieved a panicky phone call about an hour before he was to make his way to my parents. He was freaking out. I talked him off the cliff, which is so much harder to do via phone, and felt pretty good about his reaction. And then he left. He was out of communication for a long weekend as they kayaked, canoed, and hiked up on the south shore of Lake Superior. We talked to them once they made their way to Duluth, 5 days into their week long trip. Theo sounded great. Grounded. Happy. Relaxed. And sure enough, he came home 2 days later and just looked totally different to me. There was a stillness to him I hadn't seen before. Maybe ever. And his face was relaxed- no lip tightness whatsover.
This morning he went back to his OT for the first time in several weeks. I didn't say anything about the changes I had noticed, but within minutes of working with him, she backed up, gave a double take and said, "WHOA! Who are you? You seem like an entirely different kid." I then told her what he had been like about a week ago, and the differences I had noted. She called it a 'Neuro Pop'. And that of course, what precedes such a pop is neuro chaos. Things regress as his body and mind kind of coil up and prepare to leap forward. Makes so much sense. In the car after his appointment we were talking about this and I said that to me, it seemed like he had been in this 'chaotic' state for atleast 3 weeks. He disagreed and thought it had been most of the summer. He noted how hungry he was these days, how hard he was sleeping, and he's right- not only have things changed on some neuro level, but this kid is about to pop in different ways as well.
As I thought about this more, I got this image of a caterpillar going into a chrysalis- something I have once had the honor of witnessing. It was not pretty. Watching this caterpillar writhe and spin and flail as it desperately attempted to transform into something new was intense and actually a bit disturbing. Or not disturbing, but awe inspiring in the sense when awed truly means "inspired by a feeling of fearful wonderment'. There was fear present while I watched that. Anyway- back to my son. I kind of think that what he's been doing for the past few months is flailing, writhing, spinning inside. And to make things harder for him (but easier for us) he his stunningly bound and determined to keep as calm on the outside as possible because he likes to 'save face' at almost any cost. We don't see the behavior outbursts that his OT warned us about. But looking back, I now realize that he's been giving off a terribly intense low frequency energy for months. And the only obvious indicator is his mouth. Those twisted lips. And now the lips are calm. My little bug seems to have hit the next stage. My question is, is he right now resting in the chrysalis? Or has he already emerged onto some 'other' side? Or is that still on the next horizon? I know that changes and struggles and challenges aplenty await. And I know that I am not really in charge of what he will finally emerge as. But I am so relieved to see him get this current rest. I can't take my eyes off his newly relaxed face. Just like I kept staring in awe even after our caterpillar had made it to the chrysalis. It just hung there, completely still, but continued to command my rapt interest, as I knew that more changes were to come. I hope that in the case of our caterpillar, most of the real work happened just getting into that damned chrysalis. From here hopefully he can just relax and ride this wave onto the next horizon.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)