Staring at the Grief in the Mirror

The Trips are all mourning Trip'n Daddy's loss in different ways.  As well they should, they are (as Savta so aptly put it while they were still in utero) "three individual babies."

C and I have been having an especially hard time with each other since this whole ordeal began and it has been particularly frustrating to me.

He is the kind of kid that all the mothers love, the one the teacher praises for his middot, and the one all the boys love to play with.  He has always had a smile that could melt anyone's heart and truly a Gutte Neshama (a good soul.) None of that has really changed.  The big change is in his behavior at home.

He is angry. All the time.
He is bitter.
He is combatant.
He is fresh, obnoxious, and rude.
He wines, he cries, he fights.
He tries to get out of going to school EVERYDAY.

My heart breaks everyday that I see this change in my little boy.  Honestly, I wish I could say that it makes me want to hold him, reassure him, comfort him.  Mostly, it makes me furious. It makes me scream, punish, and threaten.

Today, at a session with my Grief Counselor, I had a breakthrough.

I am having the hardest time with C's grief because it is an exact mirror to my own manifestations of grief. Watching him suffer is looking in a mirror constantly.

And I don't like it.

But now I "get" it.

We talk a lot about Fight or Flight response.

My "Flight" response has been to have "Bad Days" when I have a hard time getting out of bed to face the world.  I have no mean mommy to force me to go to school.  C also wants to "Fly" from the real world, from the pain of everyday life as the kid who has no Daddy.  But I am there to say, "No, you must go. You must face it,"  and he does. I think I need to learn from him and be my own mean motivator.

He has also been the direct recipient of my "Fight" response.  I admit that I am more short tempered with him than with anyone else.  It makes me crazy when he acts out.  I want him to realize how hard it is for me. How much I miss Daddy too. I want him to JUST BEHAVE.

And I get angry.
And I get bitter.
And I get combatant.
I speak to him with disdain, am obnoxious, sarcastic, and mean.
I cry and fight.

But today I looked in the mirror and saw the pained, tear-stained face of my little boy staring back at me.

Then I turned a corner and I came home and hugged him.

I have no grand expectations that this will make everything completely different from this point forward.  After all, our grief is not going to disappear, and I am far from perfect.

But now I know to look in the mirror more. To recognize our shared pain. To try to treat him the way I want him to treat me.

What Hump?

C came down with Scarlet Fever (which is just strep with a rash) over last Shabbat. I found the whole thing sort of disconcerting, because Friday and Shabbat he had a fever but no other real symptoms. I kept asking him what hurt and he couldn't specify. He had no appetite though. Shabbat afternoon he started complaining about the back of his neck hurting. By Sunday, he was covered in a sandpapery rash and we were off to the doctor. Scarlet Fever was the diagnosis and he started taking amoxicillin right away.

Monday, he was at Saba and Savta's while I was at work. In the middle of the day, I get a call that his neck is stiff, he is holding his head at an angle and can't move it. I called the doctor who said "Motrin and warm compresses, and check in with me later." When I got home later, I saw why Saba and Savta were slightly alarmed. C's ear was almost touching his shoulder and he was moving his whole torso to look from side to side. Tuesday morning was not much better, so we went back to the doctor.

I tried to convince C that he had a very serious condition called NintenNeck which was caused by too much time on the Wii and DSI (not to mention the Leapster and Club Penguin on Mommy and Daddy's laptop), but he didn't buy it. Even the doctor got in on it, telling him no video games of any kind for a month. C is waaay to smart for that, and didn't fall for it.

Luckily, it really just seems to be an irritated muscle from the swollen lymph nodes. Since all the other symptoms responded to the antibiotics, we are sticking with the warm compresses and Motrin. The doctor also suggested some range of motion exercises. He is slowly improving.

Meanwhile, we are getting a kick out of own little Quasimodo...or Igor. I told him that if anyone should offer to help him with that hump, he should reply "What hump?"

So in honor of C and his hump, and one of Trip'n Daddy's favorite movies:

Tuition money well spent!

First, I want to say that I met C's Rebbi and he is wonderful man who clearly loves his talmidim and teaching the important building blocks of learning to the boys.

Anyway...

C comes home from school today and turns on the stereo, blasting Shabechi by the Yeshiva Boy Choir.

(Press Next for Sample)

He calls out to me, "Hey Mom, look! I am playing the guitar!"

It was true. He was playing a mean air guitar.

Stunned that my 5 year old (who has never, according to my knowledge, played Guitar Hero) knew how to do this, I asked, "Where did you learn that?"

"Rebbi."

Out of the Running, Again

Every once and a while, I have a (usually very public) moment with the Trips when I realize that my nomination for Mommy of the Year is going to be pulled. Sometimes it is letting them eat the wrong thing for breakfast, other times it is letting them listen to ABBA Gold over and over and over.

I have already written about the wonderful S family here. They have shared so much with our kids, not the least of which is their very special way of speaking. The Ss have a vocabulary all their own. I have to admit hearing my 2 year olds saying "nasty" was hysterical. Since the Trips spend so much time with them, some of their language has found its way into the Trip'n lexicon.

This week, C's bunk made a little book they called the Yellow Pages. In it, they had pages with titles like Favorite Color, Birthday, Favorite Camp Activity, Favorite Sport, Favorite Camp Lunch. Then they listed each boy in the bunk and his answer. So we learned (or confirmed) that C's favorite color is red, he loves swimming and hockey, and will always eat the camp's hot dogs and french fries.

I know you are dying to know what this has to do with MOY nomination and the Ss.

Trip'n Daddy gets to the last page of the book and says "OMG." (Well, he said the words, not the initials). I just knew this was not going to be good.

C's Favorite Food: Krapple.

Crapple (or Krapple, if you are C's Morah) = Cranberry Apple Kugel.

Great.

Yeah, no MOY award for me this year.

Sour Grapes

C's camp has a canteen. They get a morning snack, lunch, and an afternoon snack, but this is not enough for most boys. They also need to have access to myriads of junk to eat throughout the day.

As parents, we are expected to send in $5-$20 so that our sons can have a canteen "account." Last year, I ignored it. I ignored the phone call from the Morah "reminding" me about the canteen. After camp was over, I found out the canteen is a scheduled activity at camp. Not regularly for the pre-school boys, but they did go periodically over the summer. Apparently, C's Morah had rachmanut on him and bought him a snack or two when she took the bunk.

This year, I was determined to ignore them again. But the Morah called me today (not about the missing shorts!) to tell me that C was the only boy without a canteen account. Could she lay out $5 and I would pay her back? She wants to take the boys, but only once everyone had an account. I caved. Told her to go ahead, and I would pay her back.

C comes home today to tell me that he went to canteen and got a whole package (1 oz or 3 oz? No idea.) of sour sticks. When I asked if he shared with his friends, he replied "No, they all got their own ones." Oh, and "And we got a SODA too!"

Grr. No 5 year old needs that much sugar.

Why should they have discretionary spending when they have no discretion??

P.S. C came to me a little later to say his mouth hurt. From the sour sticks. Grr.

Lost and Found x 2

C has been in camp for 4 days. On Day 2 he came off the bus and I immediately noticed that his Tzitzit were missing. He wears them pretty long, so the sight of his legs without the strings hanging down to his knees was pretty jarring.

"Where are your tzitzit?"

"I don't know. We looked all over the classroom, but Morah couldn't find them."

I was extremely frustrated, because I was pretty sure they were a brand new, still white pair. Later that night, we got a message from a mother of another boy in the bunk. "Hi. This is Mrs. W, Boychik's mom. My son came home wearing your son's tzitzit." I spoke to her later and she said she would put them in a bag with our name on it. We got the tzitzit back the next day as promised.

Today (Day 4), C got off the bus in his rainy-day sweat pants. His poor little face was bright red and he was completely shvitzed.

"Where are your shorts?!"

"I don't know."

This time, I gave him the third degree. "Did you see the shorts in your bag?" "When did you lose them, before 1st swim or after 2nd swim?" "Did Morah help you look?" "Who gave you the pants?" I got nowhere (I later learned that this was due to a sugar induced coma, see here.)

Now, I was pissed. I understand how hard it is to keep track of the various camp parephenalia of 16 5 year old boys. Every day they each bring a towel, 2 swimsuits, a shirt, tzitzit, underwear, shorts, socks, a hat/kippah etc. Tzitzit and kippahs I can understand, especially since they are on and off all day for swim. But SHORTS? C'mon, people.

I actually abused my position as a former "employee" and texted the Camp's Office Coordinator while she was in a meeting. Usually, I am a pretty low key, non-complaining mom. This just seemed like something that needed to be brought to their attention. Soon, before they lose MY KID.

So tonight the phone rings, and Trip'n Daddy (previously known as H) looks at the caller ID and says, "Do we know these people?"

"It's C's shorts."

And behold, it was.

One of the greatest tips I ever got was to label the Trips' clothing with our phone number. I have a stamp from erubberstamps.com for underwear, socks, etc. and this year I ordered the adorable Tag Mates from Mabel's Labels. They both have our last name and phone number.

And they work!!

(BTW- since I was on a roll, I also called the girls' camp today. They have been in camp for 3 days and have gotten off the bus an HOUR after camp was finished each day. It is a big bus, and even though the camp is about 7 minutes away, I understand that it might take some time to get the run done. That was not my issue.

They are not allowed to drink on the bus. Not the frozen juice box or the bottled water I sent. Totally unacceptable. 5 year olds, on a hot bus, for an hour, after a day in the sun, with no water. No wonder they are so cranky when they get home.)

Melting the coldest hearts

Planning how to get the kids to school this year was a challenge.  Since district based busing doesn't kick in until Pre-1A (child must be 5 year old by Dec. 31 that year), most people with kids in Kindergarten (called 4 year old Nursery in many places) have to carpool.  At the start of the school year, I was working full-time.  Having 3 kids in 2 different schools, we knew this was going to be a difficult situation. 

Luckily, there are other people in a similar situation, and a group of parents got together to arrange for a private bus for the boys' school.  So since September, C have been going to school on a private bus. 

I am pretty happy with the busing situation. The guy organizing it is great. The monitor, who is a teacher in the school, is responsible and nice.  The bus driver is...prompt.  However, she is not friendly. At all. We have yet to get a smile or a "Good Morning" out of her. This is a known problem, and was explained to us in an email the first week of school: 

 I will also mention concerning the bus driver, she is a nice lady, I do apologize that she does not smile, or greet you in the morning, I have made mention of this to the bus company. The reason she is the driver for this route is because she knows the neighborhood, and is an extremely safe driver, so she will get our kids to and from school in a safe and timely fashion. So please bear that in mind.

Okay, so I try not to let it bother me.  But I do wonder, how she  can not laugh when C's sisters follow him to the door shouting things at him like little mothers? "Slow down!" "Have a good day!" "We will miss you!" "Bye, C"

Or, when they open the door and scream "He'll be out in a minute, he's in the baaaaathrooom!!" I am, of course, in said bathroom with him, supervising wiping. 

Not a grin, giggle, or gasp.

Today was the girls' school's Purim Carnival and they had to go to school in costume. Since the new Purim costumes have still not arrived from Hong Kong, I dressed them in their fairy costumes from last Purim.  

I guess the site of 2 little girls in tutus, wings, and these on their heads really moved her, because when A waved at her...

She waved back!!!