Friday, April 3, 2015

Walk Your Own Path

I sometimes worry about my posts making it look like I'm a horribly permissive parent. Ok, I don't lose any sleep over the thought, but just to be clear, I'm not.  We have rules and structure and punishments and rewards, just like any millions of other homes, with good parents, who are doing the best they can.   Some days look like a Pinteresty wet dream.  Other days go so badly, that I say f**k it, and let them watch the entire season 2 of Bubble Guppies, on repeat, in an attempt to keep my patience and sanity.

What complicates the issue is that 2 of my kids have sensory processing disorder and all 3 have speech issues. My world is full of homeschooling, running to speech and occupational therapy appointments, bringing them to ballet class and horseback riding lessons -which deal with their low core tone, and tactile and balance issues, balancing their sensory diet to make sure their sensory needs are met and trying to avoid meltdowns.

I stressed endlessly after their diagnoses.  Scoured the internet for hours upon hours intoxicated by my need for information. Read every book on the subject I could find.  Educated myself on sensory diets and pinned endless numbers of sensory activities and bins. Made myself sick with worry over it.

But sometime in this process, I took a chill pill, and a long and hard look at myself and The Firefighter. It dawned on me, that many of these quirks, that are labeled in our kids, we exhibit ourselves. They just got a double whammy of them through genetics. I thought back to my childhood and realized I could remember feeling many of the same impulses that our kids do.  If the sensory label had been around when we were kids, we probably would have been labeled too.

But we learned to deal with the feelings and we grew up to become normal (relatively), functioning, and productive members of society.  Aren't we all a little crazy on the inside?? So I threw the labels out the window and we are simply just the Horn Family. This is just how we roll.

With that shift in focus, the impulses( that were ruling the roost) became my muse, the source of all my funny stories, and my joy in life! No limits.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

How to put your kids to bed in 15 easy steps.

1. Starting at 6:00, watch the clock and swear it moves slower than molasses. 

2. At 6:05, check 3 other clocks to ensure that the one on the stove is indeed working.  

3. When the whines reach 100 decibels, discuss the rules of the bathtub. Talk about appropriate behavior. Warn of consequences. Look at the permablue spot on the ceiling and mutter menacingly to yourself while removing all soap, razors, shaving cream or shampoo from reach. Put kids in the tub. 

4. Record yourself saying, "water stays in the bathtub." Play it on repeat. 

5. Go grab extra towels. Put them on the floor where about 2/3 of the water has landed in the 30 seconds you were gone. Hey, at least you don't need to mop now. Pull the naked 2 year old off the window.  Tell the 6 year old to quit swinging on the curtain rod. Remind the 3 year old cannon balls aren't allowed.  Pick up the now empty shaving cream bottle and throw it away.  Sigh.  You can shave with soap.

6.  Drain the tub because it isn't a feather plucking wave pool. Check the clock. It's 6:15. Shit. Oh well. Early bedtime it is then.  

7. Give the kids their jammies and tell them to go brush their teeth. 

7. Go get another pair of jammies because those are "too scratchy".  

7. Get another pair of jammies because the last pair had "itchy feet". 

8. Cut the feet off of the jammies because you lost all f*cks 3 meltdowns ago.  

9. Watch them run around like maniacs.  Wish you could bottle that energy. Man, you'd be filthy rich. Tell them to brush their teeth. Again. Repeat, at least 10 more times, increasing in volume, until they do it. 

10.  Find toothpaste all over the mirror, yet not on toothbrushes.  Find hand soap on the toothbrushes. Find 2 year old wiping bubbles off her tongue. Assess whether or not you need to call poison control, which you have on speed dial.  Mentally drop the f-bomb while washing the soap off and sanitizing the toothbrushes. Tell them you will brush after they brush. Try not to get your finger bit. 

11. Chase the wild animals, you call your children, with detangler and attempt to brush their hair.  Hope the neighbors think the screaming is the coyotes that have been plaguing your area. 

12. Hug and kiss and tuck them into their beds.  Tell them you love them, they are good girls, they are smart and beautiful and how proud you are of them.  Don't forget to turn on dream machines, sprinkle fairy dust and give the exact same number of blowy kisses.  

13.  You gave one kiss too many. Shit. Shit. Shit. You're in for it tonight. Start all over because you broke the routine.  Visualize the enormous glass of wine you're going to drink. 

14.  Put kid who escaped back in bed.  Repeat every 30 seconds for the next 30 minutes.  

13.  Post up in the hallway between their rooms and alternate threatening and bribing them, for the love of chocolate cake, to stay in their &*&^^* $^^%&%^  beds for the next hour and a half.

14. Hallelujah!!  They are asleep.  It only took 2 hours tonight.  Drink the wine directly from the bottle.  

15.  Think about doing all the things you need to do, but don't do a single damn one for fear of waking the wee little beasties.  Attempt to watch a show you DVRed, but fall asleep before the first commercial break.  

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

The Talk

I never imagined it would be so hard to keep up on this blog, but damn, it's been a minute.  Sorry, y'all.

Miss Chatterbox's new found passion in life is horseback riding.  Being the supportive mom that I am, I was all, "Hell nah, child, we can't afford that. Just looking at the price makes my butt pucker." She was all, "Well fine, I'll go ask PopPop then." And I was all, "Good luck with that, Boo."

Guess who has riding lessons now?  Yup.  Grandpa's a sucker.  Thanks, Dad.

Miss Chatterbox has turned out to be quite the natural.  She's riding a horse named Sonny, who is old and slow, and apparently well endowed.  I have to admit, I envisioned a totally different scenario when it came time for The Talk.  I imagined her and I sitting on the sofa, chatting congenitally over coffee and bonding.  Thanks, Sonny for ruining that dream.  Or hallucination. Whatever.

After the riding portion of her lesson, yesterday, Miss Chatterbox and her trainer were taking all the tack off the horse and giving him a brush down.  Sonny chose this moment to get a pretty impressive

"Momma, what's that?"
"That's Sonny's boy parts.  It's called a penis."
"Penis?  That's a fun word to say. Look it goes in and out. What would happen if I squeeze it?"
"Please don't touch Sonny's penis. Really, don't touch any boys' penises. Ever."
"Really, why? They won't like it?"
"Oh no, its not that, they will probably like it too much.  We just don't walk up to boys and pull on their parts.  It's rude."

Sigh.  This kid.  I'm going to regret this exchange, I just know it.  Just like I regretted the caffeine drunk bee discussion.

I broke off this conversation to be continued at a later date.  Which if I had my way would be 30 years from now and include a chastity belt, but CPS frowns upon locking up your kids' vaginas.

So, I'm gonna do what I always do when I'm in doubt.  Buy a book about it and hope it never comes up again.  

Happy Hump Day!