Twinkle Little Star

Can I Just Have this Made Into a T-Shirt and Call it a Day?

*Standard disclaimer: The "you" in the following is no one single person, it is a figurative "you" based on a lifetime of dealing with "yous". If you are a regular commenter on this blog, it certainly isn't "you." None of "you" have done anything to fit this profile.

Can I just say this once and for all and never have to say it again? Could that ever be possible?

If you are going to call me remarkable, amazing, inspiring, or whatever other adjectives you want to use to put me on a pedestal...it better not be because I am disabled, or because I partner with someone who is disabled. It better be because I have won an Olympic Gold Medal or a Nobel Peace Prize or a Pulitzer or because I have brokered a treaty between waring nations or because I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue or because I have actually DONE something remarkable. And "coping" with disability DOES NOT COUNT. I didn't do anything to be disabled, I was given this gift.

And if you are going to feel sorry for me or feel pity or whatnot, it better be because my dog died or my house burnt down or my family member died. It better not be because I am disabled or because D is disabled. Or because we 'cope' or because we deal with a bunch of health shit. This is WHO WE ARE. We didn't do anything to be disabled, we were given this gift.

The inspire or pity paradigm serves only one purpose, to make us "other" and unequal to you. Either as lower on the totem pole (pity) or as on some unreachable pedestal (inspirational.) Do you know what this is all about? Do you know why you do this? It isn't about us. It has nothing to do with us. It is about you. Your fears of sickness and mortality. Your fears of your own inadequacy. Your fears about losing your own power. Your fears that you can't handle it. It being whatever you are having trouble handling. Do not pity us and think you are being understanding. Do not feel inspired by us and think you are being complimentary. In both cases, you are seeing us as less than human and as unequal to you.

And please, please, please, oh pretty please stop talking cure to us as if it is your merry way to be uplifting and to give us "hope." Guess what? I don't want to be cured. D doesn't want to be cured. I mean, sure ...in many ways it would make life much more convenient. In some instances we seek medical intervention to improve our physical functioning and health. And sometimes it crosses our minds in the same way winning the lottery, or driving in the Indy 500 or climbing Mt. Everest, or being a Victoria's Secret Model or whatever the silly pipe dream is that might cross yours. It is not the be all and end all of our lives. It is not the goal we strive for. Your talk of cure is also more about you than us. You want us to be more like you. Like a person you can be comfortable with. Like a person you don't have to consider when thinking about the rules of fair play. Like a person who had a deficit, a problem and now it is conveniently solved. Your issues around dignity, the kind of dignity that apparently you earn by going to the bathroom in the right way or being able to walk in the right way, of being too "proud" to be "a burden" --those are your definitions--not ours. We have a different idea of what dignity is. It has more to do with honesty, integrity, doing your best, being a loving person, sharing with others, than how we wipe our butts or get through a doorway we can't see.

When I think about what my life would be like if I were not disabled, it is very hard to even grasp the concept. And I'll tell you what it feels like when I do. It feels like loss. It feels like something good and intriguing and rewarding would be gone. If I think of myself as not disabled, not ever having been disabled...would I be like you? The able bodied person calling me pitiful or inspirational to make himself feel better? The person who is all into superficiality and shallowness and is so irritatingly uncreative and unresourceful? Would I not know the true value of life? Would I go blissfully on my way thinking I was immortal and invincible? Would I go through life blatantly denying the fact that I don't have control over everything?

And if we were all cured tomorrow, if there were no disabled people anymore, it feels like a loss to the world. No one would have to think about diversity. Sure there is race and cultural diversity, but they don't require people to necessarily reevaluate everything they know about the value of life and what it means. Who should live and who should die. Or how far we are willing to sacrifice ourselves to offer someone else a chance at a decent life. Where would the innovation be? Where would the resourcefulness go? What would happen in a world with no need for creative solutions or alternative methods or new inventions? Sure it would be there to an extent, but not as deeply rooted as it is now in a world where 5 out of 6 people will experience disability in their lifetime. The world needs us. They are just in denial. I think it would be kind of cool to be cured for a week, just for the novelty of the experience. But, no, I don't want to be cured. I don't know that D does either particularly, although he might grab at being pain-free.

Like everything else in life, disability has two sides to it. The one where it is a hassle, and the one where it is a gift. Even winning the lottery is a hassle if you've lost your ability to know who your friends are because many of them are clamoring for your money. When you are disabled, it is relatively easy to tell who your friends are. Instead of thinking of me or D or other disabled people when you need to feel fortunate and grateful about your life, try thinking about some people who might really need your help. D and I are fine. We are not here to service your self concept about your own lot in life. Instead, you might want to think of people who really could use your help and some of your good fortune. Genocide victims in Darfur. Child-slave labor in the third world. Homeless single mothers and their children in battered women's shelters. Disabled inmates who are trapped in (many times very abusive) residential facilities.

And if you really want to help us, then treat us as humans who are your equals. As people who can give help as well as receive. Get to know us instead of popping around during the "hospitalizations" or the times when we are lugging around medical equipment. Befriend us full-time, not just when it makes you feel better about yourself.

Being disabled sucks sometimes, sure. (Mostly due to external social justice/health care factors rather than the physical impairment itself.) But it is part of who I am. It isn't everything. It isn't the most important thing, most of the time. But it isn't invisible or some burden that I drag around like a ball and chain just praying for an opportunity to chop off. Believe it or not, I don't hate my eyes, or my ears. D doesn't curse his legs. My ears have big silver BTE hearing aids coming out of them. My eyes are asymmetrical and scarred after so many surgeries. My face is puffy from kidney dysfunction. D's legs are atrophied and often swollen and well, one is in fact missing. We do not feel ugly. We do not feel shameful. We do not feel like those parts should be hidden. This is what it means to be human, finding your soul within and beyond your body. Within and beyond these physical parts in all of their stages of wear and tear and disrepair. We have an affection for them and the rich opportunities they've brought us. They are part of us, as weird as it may sound--a part that we love.

Hospitals, Kiddie PT, Hospital, Mars

Before I say this thing I was thinking today and you all think I'm nuts, let me just say that of course, it sucks to be sick. It sucks to have pain. It sucks to have your life stalled by hospitalization and illness.

But D and I and the kids are comfortable around hospitals. We are comfortable around healthcare people. More than that...we are extremely grateful for many of the health care professionals in our lives. Sometimes, we even enjoy them and getting to know them and their company. We have an affection for them and the whole health care system.

Not that there aren't certainly terrible problems with it, and not that we don't on occasion run into an asshole doctor or nurse. I'm not talking on a systemic level that we have an affection for health care, a comfort in it. On a systemic level, it is quite fucked up. But on a personal, day-to-day level, there is comfort there.

I was just thinking about this today, because I'm getting tired of hearing from a group of women about how they would NEVER have their baby in a hospital and hospitals are for sick people, not pregnant women and how it is so unnatural and sterile and awful and how could anyone willingly have their baby there?

Okay, first of all, I have no problem with the decision to give birth at home. If that is where you feel comfortable, great. I assume you have weighed the pros and cons and evaluated risk and made an intelligent decision based on your needs. Women have been treated crappily in the whole OB field. And women should get to make whatever educated decision they want to make about their own pregnancy and birth. As should all people who utilize health care. So I'm not saying there is anything wrong with having your baby at home.

But, I wish some of these home birth advocates could understand that this is an individual decision and a home birth is not right or even plausible for everyone. It is luck and (in our society) a little bit of privilege that allows some women to be able to do this. In a perfect world, it would be nice if everyone could give birth either in their homes or in lovely, tranquil birthing centers with angelic midwives...and also have a Level 1 NICU and trauma team available if need be. In a perfect world, we should not have to choose between the two.

But to say that hospitals are for sick people and not for pregnant women is to not only ignore people like me, who were in the middle of pre-eclampsic, retina-detached, double-breach twin, premature labor--hey, me and my guys could be dead without a medicalized birth. But also it is to ignore the fact that before giving birth in the hospital was common-place--a whole lotta mothers and babies DIED in childbirth. A whole lot more than do now. Get your ultrasounds and you amnio and whatnot, but then say that the medical field will only harm you in birth is a little hypocritical. (Like who knows if amnios are traumatic for the foetus?)

And I understand that some people just aren't comfortable in the hospital setting and will actually do better during labor if they are comfortable at home. And then a home birth is how it should be for them.  But this is not the case for everyone, even if there are no significant high risks for the birth. But for others like myself (even if I was carrying a low risk singleton) the hospital is where I am most comfortable. And my feeling is, if mom is happy, baby will be, too.

D and I depend on health care workers a great deal. We know that the vast majority of them do this work because they care. When my mother was ill, my family kept commenting about how nice the healthcare workers are like it was something above and beyond and unusual. I thought that was a sad statement by them. This is what it is to work in a caring/helping profession. This acceptance of bodily fluids and grossness and dysfunction is part of that caring. Sure their are crabby nurses (and doctors are a different beast, they are often driven more by ego than caring--but still there has to be at some level, a need to help people) but in general these are a good lot of people to be around and trust your life with.

Its not the fact that people decide to home birth that bothers me. Again, I think that's fine. But even then, you know you will have the hospital as back-up (and hopefully you make it on time). But don't use health services for all your prenatal and as your emergency back-up and then bitch and moan because god forbid anyone should dare have their baby in the hospital. The second your baby is wheezing with a 105 fever, you are going to be right there. So, choose whatever kind of birth you want, but quit putting down those of us who choose the hospital and the hospital (that you depend on) itself.

</rant>

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In other news, Aaron and Naim went to their first tumbling class on Monday. It is really more like kiddie PT to me. Aaron was kind of a little pisser during part of it. He flung himself down on the mat and refused to participate in several things. But he got better at the end. Naim was absolutely amazing. He followed directions, he participated in everything. He smiled and laughed and had fun. He proclaimed "IIIII did it!" after every little accomplishment. I think he might be in love with the instructor.

I think the main element that helped Naim was that it was quiet. I mean, quiet besides the teacher and the six kids. The room was huge. Half of it was empty and the other half had balance beams and mats and gym stuff in it. But it was quiet and focused and structured. He found his element. I about saw confidence growing out his ears right before my eyes.

Then, the instructor even made me fall in love with her because she came up and talked to me afterwords and could already distinguish which one was Naim and which was Aaron and treated them as two separate children. This is my pet peeve with others now. They are old enough and different enough and different LOOKING enough that there is no reason to be lumping them together as "the twins" anymore. I mean, its okay if people get their names confused at first or lump them together when it is appropriate to. (i.e. Are you bringing the twins with you?) But the more I thought about the lady from Sporties for Shorties and how she insisted that "they just weren't interested," the more I thought that she must have meant Naim. There is no way you could have said that Aaron wasn't interested. Naim? okay, yeah maybe. Because he is shy and slow to warm up to things. So, that irritated me a bit because she couldn't even distinguish between the two and separate them out as individual kids. So, anyway, that was a plus for this program. She actually got that I have two separate kids, not one "twin" in two bodies.

And I had told this woman nothing about my kids beforehand (I had not signed up yet, I was there on a free pass coupon) and she was not phased by Aaron's behavior (which definitely could have been described as disinterest, although knowing Aaron, I would describe it as Taking a Stand Against Some Strange Thing Mom Forced Me Into Without My Permission So I Refuse to Admit that I Might Like It.) I was a rebel kid. I understand rebel kids. Aaron is a rebel kid. Anyway, the teacher picked up on that and was confident, as was I, that he would be fine in one or two more classes.

She also got that the kids couldn't do some of the things the other kids would do. Mainly anything involving jumping or springy legs.  She was unphased and understood that this was not an effort or interest issue, this was a developmental issue that needs work. This class is really perfect for that. The kids turned out to be between two and a half and three and a half. So in all other ways, my kids are right in there size wise and maturity wise and what not. Its just the gross motor that they are still behind on. But this is exactly what they need for that. These classes are getting a little pricey. I almost wish I could dump Sporties for Shorties and have them do this one twice a week. But I already paid for SFS. But it gets over at the beginning of March, so maybe I'll quit that then and just do this. We'll see how much they end up liking SFS.

As much as I think the kids will be happy with tumbling class, I forgot that I might not be able to live through the moms. Not that they are not nice or anything...just hard for me to relate to. First, I am shut in a small, darkened room with them as we stare at our precious, preciouses through a two way mirror. Very hard for me to communicate in there. Second, I live in a neighborhood where the main employer is a very famous high tech company that pays its empoyees really well. These women are well-dressed housewives with (mostly) daughters in ballet class here and...well, just the level of dance studio gossip that I was able to decipher? It was way more intense than I can handle. Reminds me of skating moms. I could care less about so-and-so and her daughter and what class she got to advance to. I just don't have any idea what to say to these people. They asked me which kids were mine in the class and I said,  (jokingly) "the blond over there who is waving his hands around so the teacher will help him off the tumbling mat and the one over there who has flung himself down on the mat in protest."

"Oh," they said. I couldn't think of anything to say after that.

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Back to the hospital...it looks like D will get out on Friday. He will be coming home with an open wound and a PICC line and IV. So I'm not sure what my responsibilities will be there yet. Probably nothing with the wound as home health will cover that. But probably some kind of stuff with the PICC. I'm hoping they put him on one of those all day infusion pumps so I would just have to go over once a day and change the vanco and flush the line. I'm hoping not for twice a day. And I'm hoping for no wound vac. That the wound will just heal on its own no problem. I loathe the wound vac.

D is a bit grumpy as his spasms are not under very good control. He says it isn't terrible, but he is getting anxious to get out of the hospital so he can control his own medicine. He thinks he can get better control on his own than the way they are doing it. He is going to need to rest and lay down a lot, so I'm losing my main kid break device. I told him to do whatever he needs to do to get better and manage this, just don't be a damned martyr about it. He tends to agree to things I ask and then blame me when he has overdone it. I keep telling him, I'm not the boss of you... you manage yourself, you set the boundaries, you let me know what you can and cannot do, BECAUSE I AM NOT OMNISCIENT. But in fairness, that means that I will be extremely limiting my asking for stuff or to go do stuff or whatever. Hopefully the next several weeks will go fast.

For some reason, we always take pictures at the hospital. I think it is because we run out of things to do and someone always has a camera. (Aaron is anti-camera right now, so there are very few pics of him.) We went up Sunday (pre-haircuts) and then today (post haircuts.) The biggest hit? The ninth story window and the itty bitty cars below. That, and pushing buttons on the 8 elevators we ride to get there.

D and Naim lounging in the hospital bed with the laptop, of course. Aaron standing on a chair looking on.

Aaron enjoying the view.

Naim hanging in the wheelchair.

Naim practicing his breathing with one of those lung exerciser things that I can't think of the name of.

Everyone reading Dora books on the bed.

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Bonus from Aaron:

I've been working with the kids on memorizing their whole name and address and stuff. Here is what Aaron said today:

Me: What is your name?

A: Aaron

Me: What is your whole name?

A: Aaron _________.

Me: What city and state do you live in?

A: [City, State].

Me: Do you remember what street you live on?

A: Mama? I don't want to be from [City, State].

Me: You don't? Then where are you from?

A: I be from Mars. Aaron ______ lives on [Our street, our city], MARS!

(I blame this on D. They are currently space shuttle and mars rover crazy. And they may not jump around like the other kids, but we spent 25 minutes in the apple store waiting for my dad at the genius bar and my kids were little pros on all the computers at the little kid table. Hey? Which skill will get them further in life, Grampa F.?)

Sundry

D and the Troublesome Pump

Remember that super easy, no big deal surgery D had last November? The one that was just routine? To replace his Medtronic Baclofen Infusion Pump? Well, as I have come to know, nothing with D is ever easy.

Around late December, he developed this crazy abdominal infection and the incision around the pump opened a bit and goo drained out. So, there was weeks of antibiotic injections and trips to the doctor to check it out. The doctors told us that in 95% of cases involving pump site infection, they have to remove the pump and start over again...after waiting for two months with no pump before replacing it.  Two months of choosing between crazy spasms or being drugged beyond recognition to prevent crazy spasms were not options we liked, so we were hoping that D would be in the 5% who could clear the infection quickly.

And one Sunday, a couple of weeks ago, I administered the last antibiotic shot. The wound had closed, D felt fine, it looked like we made it. Two weeks of good health followed and I thought we would be on our way for a bit.

Oh, No. That just doesn't happen for D.

Today I got "One of Those Calls." I had actually just put a pork tenderloin in the crock pot with BBQ sauce for pulled pork sandwiches, something that I'm not crazy about eating, the kids don't like, but D has been wanting for a while. I found pork tenderloin on sale so I finally acquiesced.  Right when I'm done with that, he calls me to tell me that he bent over or something and his incision ripped open and his pump pretty much fell out of his body. Like he could see the internal stitches used to secure the pump in place and everything.

Lovely.

So, to the hospital he did go and now he is scheduled for surgery tomorrow to take out the pump. They are going to leave the wound open and pack it, PICC line him with some Vanco, and put him on oral baclofen for the next two months.

Things I say to my SO that I bet you don't say to yours:

"Well, too bad, cuz I'm making BBQ pork sandwiches and now you're not going to get any since you went and let spare parts fall out of your body."

He is in a relatively good mood about it. Me? Not so much. I'm like thinking of how this will impact all of our next two to three months because of course it is going to be a big wonking thing that will mean a ton of things get put on hold or not done.

It will be okay, though. It is one of those things where it is as big of deal as you let yourself make it be. D and I usually try to keep things on the lower end of the Big Deal Spectrum. I doubt I'll get up there tomorrow for the surgery, but I'll probably take the kids up on Sunday. They like to go to the "hopisal." But they always ask me why they can't ride in the ambulance. (Done that. Don't plan on doing it again if we can avoid it, kids.)

Reason to Homeschool #635

Because I've had such trouble sleeping the last few months and have been really sick of the 24 hour kid duty, I have questioned my homeschooling resolve. At times it seemed like Kindergarten couldn't get here fast enough. I would daydream about shoving them out the door and having all those glorious, glorious hours to myself!!! My decision to homeschool has never been set in some kind of principled stone. It has always been what will be best for the kids, and me, and all of us as a family unit. If I were to be this tired and burnt out of kids by the time kindy came around, then it would be to nobodies advantage for me to homeschool them. I thought, maybe I will  put them in PS, and only if there are big problems will I take them out to homeschool them. Like, say, if the teachers start telling me they are ADHD and need to be put on twenty psychotropic drugs, then I will take them out.

And I still have not totally counted PS out. Again, it will be a decision I don't make until that time, and then it will be a decision that is re-evaluated from year-to-year. My district has rezoned AGAIN, and now the kids won't be going to the far away school that is impossible for me to get to, nor the two really close schools that I could easily walk to--but a school that is about two and 1/2 miles away. I can get to it with a small bit of public transportation effort. So, that is where that stands. They still might change it in the next two years.

But something happened the other day that reminded me of one of the many reasons I want to homeschool them. In the grand scheme of things, this is not that big of deal, but I just thought it was funny.

One of the things I don't like about PS and education in general right now is the narrowing of the definition of "normal" or "typical" or whatever you want to call it. It has been done entirely out of necessity. It is entirely a response to school overcrowding and high teacher:student ratios. The more kids in a class with a teacher, the more they need to fit a mold of typical. The teacher doesn't have time to individualize and adjust for differences. Thus, the only way to handle kids who don't fit into a very narrow range of normal is to push them off into special ed with labels like learning disabled, ADHD, behavior disorder, etc.

So kids now have 'sensory integration disorders' and 'auditory processing disorders' and they are 'bipolar' and whatnot. Now, as I've said before, I'm not saying that YOUR kid, the one with the auditory processing disorder or whatever? I'm not saying your kid really doesn't have auditory processing issues. What I am saying is, but is it really a disorder? Or is it one of the myriad of characteristics kids have in the normal spectrum of characteristics kids have? Ah! That word "spectrum." Used with autism and aspergers mostly, kids fall onto the Spectrum and are sometimes called spectrum-y.

OK. We ALL fall somewhere on the spectrum. But some experts have decided where the line is on the spectrum that qualifies you as normal vs. spectrum-y. The range of normal on the spectrum has been getting narrower and narrower. Now again, don't email me and tell me that your kid is on the spectrum and the wonderful special ed services he is getting have changed his life. If something is working for your kid, great. But does it have to be special ed? And does he have to be labeled with a disability to get those services? Or could we just incorporate these services into education for any and all kids who need them.

In my work as a sped teacher, I've always been amazed and amused by these hyper experts who will diagnose any kid with anything just so they can say they diagnosed them with something. Just so they can be an expert. I can't tell you how many times my mouth has dropped when a kid came in to be assessed with maybe a problem reading or whatever. And left with thirteen arbitrary diagnoses. Usually enough to put them on drugs or get them out of the regular classroom (aka overworked teacher's hair) long enough to give said teacher some relief. I mean, I've seen kids who probably need just some reading tutoring after school or a good, consistent behavior plan be diagnosed with so much crap that has been so obviously pulled out of the expert's ass. (Or pulled off some stupid assessment tool. Which is just something pulled out of the assessment tool creators ass. So its just once removed, but the same thing.)

So a strong motivator for me with homeschooling is that I don't want to deal with people with expertitis. (Not that homeschooling completely removes that threat, but it puts you more in control). I don't want my kids to be "disordered" into conforming to the narrow definition of typical. Or disordered out into the silliness that is most special ed programs. Now, I of all people have no problem with the label of 'disabled.' It is something I wear with pride. But disabled to me is about the community, not about the disorder. My kids are already indoctrinated into the community. If a legitimate issue comes along health wise that we have to deal with, then we will deal with it. But I'm not a fan of dumping my kid into the assembly line PS system where you either swim like the other kids or sink into the disorder/disability labeling soup that has been concocted by  the establishment.

Now, with that big build-up, this story is going to seem really silly, that this bothered me so much. But I just found it funny, that on the kids very first day of their very first class they have EVER taken (without me with them, at least), I got called back to the principal's office and got hit with a small dose of expertitis.

My plan in getting Aaron to stop destroying my house is to tire him out with something physical every morning. A plan that works really well when I can pull it off. I have signed the kids up for a couple of classes. One is this class at the gym that I go to called "Sporties for Shorties" where they take 3-5 year-olds to the gymnasium and just do little stuff like play basketball with the short baskets, or kick around a soccer ball or whatever. My father and I have been quite amused watching this class in the past. The kids are pretty funny in it. It is semi-structured. They have a circle time warm up period. They line up and run across the gym and back, they have little practice drills, and have some free time and then a cool down circle period.

The kids have previously taken a class in the gym called "little feet friday" where 2-5 year olds have a free for all in the gym. Aaron is fine, here. But it is too loud and unstructured for Naim. (It is VERY loud.) There also always seems to be very aggressive big kids in it, like 6-8 year olds who sneak in. So it is a rough room. The sporties class is quieter and more structured, and so I though Naim might do better with it. In little feet, he stands in the corner sucking his finger. Any improvement on that and I would be happy. Aaron is fine anywhere.

So, when I signed them up, I told the instructors that a) this would be their very first structured class ever; and b) they are behind on gross motor skills and will not be able to do everything the other kids do. Fine, they say. No problem. I told them that I just want them to have fun, run off some energy, improve their gross motor, and get used to following along in a class. Great, they say.

So they go to the class for the first day, and me, my dad, and my dad's cardiac nurse (he is in a cardiac rehab program at the gym) were all watching from a place where the kids couldn't see us. And it was hilarious. Aaron was happily running around. He did need to be herded a couple of times and he could not do the jumping jacks they did in the circle, but he did stand in the circle and watch with interest. He played with the balls, put them in the basket several times. Ran from line to line like the other kids with a bit of direction. Seemed perfectly happy with himself.

Naim came to the class about ten minutes late (a bathroom issue, I'm told). He came in when the class was in a bit of chaos. But he didn't have a meltdown. He mostly hung around either Aaron or one of the adults, and didn't do much. But I did see him put the ball into a basket once or twice and I did see him happily run around with someone holding his hand. He seemed reserved, cautious, but happy. They did as well as I could hope for and I was pleased all around. My dad thought they did really well. And even the nurse, who just met the kids that day, said they seemed to really enjoy it.

So I was surprised when I came to pick them up that I was called to go talk to one of the instructors. (There are three adults in this class, and about ten kids.) She told me, with the authority of someone with expertitis, that my kids "JUST WEREN'T INTERESTED" in the class. It was the way she said it, like the thing had been a total failure and they had no place there and I would be crazy to have them continue. And then she gave examples about how they didn't participate in circle time. (I had to remind her that they CAN'T DO jumping jacks, nor had they probably ever seen jumping jacks before or knew that terminology. That should not indicate non-interest.Perhaps they could work with them on that?) She went on and on about how they just didn't seem like they liked the class. And she seemed a bit taken aback when I said I (and my sighted reinforcements--always gotta have those to make my opinions count) had watched the whole class and had been pleased and thought they did quite well. I reminded her that they don't have experience in a structured class and can only improve there. I also reminded her that they can't jump, dribble a ball, or run with as much coordination as the other kids, that they JUST turned three and there is a big difference between three and five. And that they need time to get the system down.

I gave her one out. I said, I know they required a little extra help today. Is it a problem for you to have to take so much time with them? At this point, this is the only excuse I would have taken, even if I thought it was lame because the class had almost a 1:3 ratio. One teacher could have easily handled my kids plus one other, and if you are smart, what you do there is split my kids up and group them with a four or five year old. Not hard.

She said, no. Not at all. She seemed to be a bit insulted that I would suggest that they couldn't handle it. There was absolutely no problem at all with that. She just wanted to know what my 'expectations' were. Because she just worried that I might be let down.

WTF? Expectations? Lady, they are three. If they run around smiling and don't have a meltdown, I'm happy. Do I think they are going to learn how to play basketball? Um, no. Do I care? Not at all. I think what it came down to is that my kids are a bit of extra work, and she was too lazy to do it. To which I say, a) hey, I gave you and out there and you didn't take it; and b) if you are going to open the class to three year olds then you have to be willing to deal with three year old skills and three year old behavior.

What it comes down to, if she had been open and nice about her concerns, I probably wouldn't have cared. I probably might have thought that she was nice to be so concerned about them. But she pulled expertitis attitude with me. And I have enough experience as a teacher with expertitis that I'm not really intimidated by that. (It is sad how many times I've seen unsuspecting parents fold to the 'experts' demands.) Bottom line? The kids are still in the class. And hopefully, I was nice enough that she isn't going to go on an expertitis vendetta on them and start looking for failure in them. (A horrible side-effect of expertitis disease.) I think we ended up having a good conversation after a rocky start.

On Monday, they go to a tumbling class. And in this class I have arranged for them to be with the 18mo. to 2 yr. olds. So they will (for once) be the bigger and more advanced kids. If they do well, or if it seems too easy, I can move them up to the three to five class--no problem. I love nice, understanding, flexible teachers. Why is that so hard?

But, too also? The Aaron destruction machine has been on leave since we started the morning classes and activities, so yea! And we are doing Funshine Express "school" in the afternoon again (after I kind of blew it there for a few weeks) and they really enjoy "school time" and ask for it. So, I'm back on the homeschooling bandwagon again.

For now.

Morning People? They are Liars, All of Them.

I won't bore you with the latest updates on my crazy sleep situation except to say this:

All my life I have been told by my family how wonderful and useful and practical it is to be a morning person. My family extols the virtues of the Morning Person (cue angel music) as if by being a Morning Person (angel) you will have a better career, more money, more time in the day. You will be more efficient. You will be more ambitious. You will be smarter and have better sex. Or something. All my life I have watched my sister and dad jump out of bed each morning and make fun of me because I would sleep as long as humanly possible in the morning. And the ENTIRE reason I was not a morning person, according to them, was because I stayed up too late at night. But even when I did go to bed early and wake up early, which I could do if I had to, I still felt tired for a couple of hours in the morning. And this, according to my family, was such a slothy, shameful way to live.

I ended up taking Ambien for only four days. And then something weird happened. I became a morning person. Now, I'm not just saying that I switched my hours so that I went to bed earlier and woke up earlier, I'm saying that I became a true morning person. One who jumps out of bed with tons of energy at six am and who goes to bed within a half hour after the kids went and hit the bed snoring.

This is probably the first time in my life I have felt this morning person phenomenon. And guess what? It sucks. I don't know how people live this way. I don't get ANYTHING DONE.

It is nice to get up well before the kids and eat my breakfast in peace. But that's the only advantage I am seeing. What happens is, my morning time is limited by things out of my control. Once the kids wake up, my time is over. I have to stop whatever it is that I'm doing and deal with them. At night, I can finish up what I need to do and decide for myself when "my time" is over. The other problem is, I have chronic back pain issues, probably from being a blind chick that drags tons of stuff on my person while carrying a cane or dog and walking miles in lieu of throwing all my crap in my car and walking a few feet like normal people. That, and lifting and throwing around disabled people all my life, not to mention the thirty pound kids I've got right now. To go from six am to, say, 2:30 when the kids (sometimes) take a nap is living hell. I am in pain by 9 am. By one, I'm pushing myself to hold back tears and any chance I can, falling to the ground to rest my back. But I have a job right now (actually two jobs) where I am up and on my feet doing physical labor all day long. The rest periods just work better if I sleep late and stay up late.

But the main thing I hate about being a morning person is that, although I have lots of energy in the morning, I burn out by 5 or 6 pm. And I still have three to four hours of work to get through by that point. And it KILLS. I have never experienced burning out in the evening before the day is through. I'm cranky at the kids, I take shortcuts (ah, forget about brushing your teeth, kids. Just go to bed. And baths? Oh, forget it.) I can't get things done that need to be done at the end of the day after the kids go to bed. All I want to do is get myself to bed. And that push to get through things at night is a billion times worse than the push to wake up and get going in the morning.

In the morning, if you are a grumpy, groggy person like me, at least you know it will get better. You know that you can just start slow and work your way up and in an hour or so, you'll be fine. There is something to look forward to. Saving all the tired at night and having to push those last three or four hours? That is a living hell. There is no solution to it but to get the shit done as sloppily as you can and forget the rest. So many little things go by the wayside because I just don't have the night time energy to do them.

I always thought my family was such a bore because they came home from work, ate dinner and then plopped on the couch in front of the TV for 3 hours and did nothing every single night until bed time, promptly at ten o'clock. They were probably just exhausted. One thing I always remember about my mom is how tired she seemed all the time, especially after work. I don't want my kids to remember me as tired and crabby every night.

I'm sure this little morning person phase won't last. But it sure has been an eye-opener to see how the other half must live. The grass is not greener, and I want my quiet, get-things-done, chill-out nights back.

Way to Many Thoughts on Discipline

ETA: I just realized that I wrote this whole post largely using a second-person you this and you that, which is very obnoxious but unintentional. I'm too lazy to change it, so just accept my apologies upfront. It should just all be more of a "this is what I tried and this is what has been working for us yadda yadda" tone to it.

Well, Ambien is helping my sleep. I can tell I have a lot of sleep to catch up on. It is amazing how useless you can get when sleep deprived. I'm still having what I call "the donut" sleep patterns. It is when I fall asleep immediately, wake up 45 minutes later, and then stay up for various lengths of time until I fall asleep again--if at all. For example, I could sleep from 10-11, be up from 11-6 (with several attempts to go back to sleep in-between there) and then sleep from 6-8. Now, it seems like I am sleeping from 10-2, up from 2-4 or 5, and sleep till 8 or so. So that is much better. Last night, I think I did about 7 hours with only about 1 hour in the "donut hole." Part of it is my nutty hyper-arousal, but part of it is the longing to get things done. I lay there and I think, the kids are sleeping, I could get up and get so much done. And I do. God knows what the house would look like if I didn't take at least one night a week to do a housework all-nighter. But I'm trying to see sleep as a priority on my to do list, instead of being optional. I am accomplishing something if I can get a decent amount of sleep. It makes the rest of the time way more productive.

I've been thinking about really defining for myself my approach to discipline with the kids. I have so much experience as a teacher, both with making behavior plans for kids and with teaching positive behavioral supports to other teachers, that I do so much on instinct. Then, when D can't replicate exactly what I want him to do, I get frustrated. And admittedly, when I've been overtired I've been taking shortcuts. Another mom with a three year old that I see frequently does the unconditional parenting/Alfie Kohn approach...and we have been commiserating a bit about discipline. Her son is a good kid, but extremely high energy and he sometimes has a hitting problem. And then I have Aaron with his destructive habits. I don't go as far into unconditional parenting as she does, but she is good for me to be around because I think her approach challenges me to really think about what I do and why I do it.

My sister and I have been getting along well for the past couple of years. But every once in a while she pisses me off. It's not really  a pissy thing as much as she's just stupidly annoying sometimes. She does not have kids, nor does she want them--which is fine. She is okay around other people's kids. But often she gets on the phone and just goes off on what I should do with my kids and how I should do it. Kids that she has met ONE time, for two days. She takes her cues from other friends of hers with kids or (cringe) supernanny. It is so outlandish sometimes it is funny. She is an accountant for a pharmaceutical company, and to be honest, I have very little idea of what she does. It would be like me pulling some piece of advice out of my butt about how she should handle finances based on some crappy financial infomercial I saw on TV or something. Sometimes the things she says don't even illicit a response from me because they are just too irrelevant that it isn't even worth it.

But it isn't just that she is unfamiliar with kid discipline techniques. It is the issue with control. At 39 years old, she still hasn't a really realistic hold on what you can control and what you can't. Not that a lot of people don't have this problem. I think one thing you learn in the disability community is a really realistic appreciation for what you can control and a really practiced skill about what you have to let go. If she would have the opportunity to take the kids for 24 hours a day for a couple of weeks, one of two things would happen (or both): 1) she would have a nervous breakdown by the sheer enormous amount of things you cannot control with young children, or 2) the kids would be irreparably harmed by the amount of authoritarian control she would impose on them. Seriously, the uncontrollable amount of mess itself would kill her. The hours would kill her. The amount of time that is no longer your own would kill her. This is apples and oranges, obviously, but when my mother was ill and needed both physical and cognitive support, she never really got a grasp of the control issue. I'm not going to talk about it here, but it was quite frankly shocking, and very frightening to see how she struggled to handle that. This is why, although I think it is fine for her to have a relationship with the kids and visit them and otherwise be in their lives, we have made other arrangements for guardianship should we die in a fiery plane crash or whatever.

My approach to discipline is that less is more. But that there are definitely limits to what I will put up with and there are definite expectations that I have for their behavior. At three, these are limited, but they will continue to grow. Also, although I don't completely abandon behaviorism at this age, the goal well and truly is to be parenting at the Alfie Kohn level (no rewards/punishment, just love and logic as they say), by the time they are teenagers if not sooner. It is certainly not my desire to be manning computer time and TV privileges when they are 17 years old. By then, hopefully I am just a guide for them as they make their own (hopefully wise) decisions. To get to that point, you can't be doing heavy duty control and behaviorism their whole lives, you've got to let go and let them screw up and let them succeed on their own. They have to have the space to become their own person. Parenting is all about the long, tedius, slow, aggravating surrender of control.

Now, I say all this as if I have a clue as to how to raise teenagers. And although I've had a lot of training on teenager discipline, that doesn't mean I will have a clue as to how to raise MY teenagers in MY situation. So, all this is a day-to-day work in progress. But here is how it works out in my head:

The Rules

In my head there is only one thing, or the main thing, that I need to teach my kids-- Respect. And that is broken down into three areas:

1. Respect yourself
2. Respect others
3. Respect the planet and universe that sustains us.

These rules carry out throughout life, but obviously look different at different stages. At three, they look like this:

1. Respect yourself, i.e. eat your vegetables, brush your teeth, take a nap, go play instead of watching TV.
2. Respect others, i.e. tell someone you are angry instead of hitting them, share and take turns, say please and thank you.
3. Respect the earth, i.e. just use the amount of water/paper/cheerios/whatever you need, take care of your belongings, clean up after yourself, DON'T DESTROY EVERYTHING!!!

As a teenager, these rules might look like this:

1. Respect yourself, i.e. keep your body healthy by not putting toxins in it (cigarettes, drugs, alcohol), Stand up for your beliefs and don't give in to peer pressure, exercise, take responsibility for your sexual health...
2. Respect others, i.e. be honest with others, follow through on commitments, do your share in contributing to the household, try to understand others and tolerate differences...
3. Respect the earth, i.e. recycle, take care of your belongings, utilize money wisely, don't consume what you don't need, tread lightly on the earth...

Or whatever. The Respect rule is mine, and then we decide together what the specifics are underneath each category. We even do that now to some extent. The ways we show respect is largely a social construct, it means something entirely different to D's family than it does to mine. And culturally, some of the differences are more diverse. So, the actions themselves are subject to the context at hand. Your actions are only as respectful as the 'recipient' receives them to be. It is a lifelong lesson to learn what respect is in different contexts. So, these 'sub rules' are constantly subject to discussion and change. The good thing about toddlers is that now they are easy. "Don't Hit" is pretty universal. Trying to understand others is quite complex. So you just have to constantly adapt to where your kid is developmentally.

Also, as a parent, what you can do discipline-wise is very much based on context. My friend, the Alfie Kohn devotee, has just one child (for now, she is expecting another) and she is privileged with a lot of time, freedom and support. She also has a personal style that lends itself to a more flexible approach. She is in a great environment to have the opportunity to do some very "let the child lead" kind of things.

Contrast that with one of my guilty pleasures, the reality TV show "Jon and Kate plus 8." This family has a SAHM with a set of 6 year old twins and a set of 3 year old sextuplets. I love watching that show because that mom is waaaaay more bonkers than I am, so it makes me feel better about myself, I'll be honest. But! I say that knowing full well that if I were in her situation, I would be just as bonkers. (Although when she said that she gets down on hands and knees to clean the floor three times a day, I was pretty sure she was certifiable. She has some of my sister in her. But she has some of me in her, too. She's tough. She will get through this. My sister would have blown her brains out before the kids were a year old.) Anyway, what she can tolerate with eight small children has its limits. Her kids don't enjoy the same freedoms as mine do. She has to be more strict with them just to get through the day. How else would you feed 8 kids three times a day and clean up and have them all play together and keep your sanity? You'd have to keep a tight ship. Just as my kids have more flexibility that hers do, my friend's son has more flexibility than mine do. In order for me to get through the day, I have to maintain a higher level of order than her. There is just one of me with two toddlers and a quadriplegic to deal with. Everyone has to play their part in cooperating. But God I love that show. And that women just kills me. She is hilarious and she really is a very intentional parent. Even though I sometimes cringe at how much her kids get put in time-out. I do admire the way she gets all those kids out of the house to do all the things she does. With two kids, getting them out of the house is no easy task. With six or eight? That's some nail-scratching guts. Oh, and her husband is kinda cute, too.

I entertain myself by the fact that I'm not her. A portrait of the Gosselin Family, mom, dad and 8 kids.

The other variable, of course, is the kids themselves. All kids are different and need different approaches to discipline. What is nice about having multiples is that you get a better idea of how much you actually influence their behavior vs. how much their own personality does. Aaron and Naim need very different approaches to discipline. Naim really wants to please, and he is very sensitive to being 'yelled at.' But as a three year old, he quite often does not know what is expected of him. And needs to be told again and again and again. He does very well with a lot of structure and he likes to know exactly what is expected of him. He will eventually get it, but you have to tell him, very nicely, very patiently, 500 times what he needs to do before he will get it sometimes. There is no reason to put him in time out. He is rarely what I would call defiant, but he does require a lot of patience and a lot of encouragement. I don't know if he has ever even been in time out.

Aaron needs a bit of a stern hand sometimes, but at the same token, he needs a lot of freedom. He needs to decide for himself what to do. He needs to find his own way. He wants to try out all the options and pick which one is best. He doesn't like to be ordered around and told what to do. So, I try to let him go his own way as much as possible. But when it is not possible, sometimes I just have to use my Mean Mom Voice with him. And then, he requires absolute follow-through on 'threats' or he will manipulate to get you to cave. When he finally does do what you ask, it is usually done along side a crying fit of protest. One thing I have learned with Aaron is that, while I'm insisting that he does the thing he doesn't want to do, if I have some empathy for his plight--the tantrums go away quickly. It is instinct (or exhaustion) to want to get mad at the kid when he is tantrumming. But with Aaron, while I'm making him do whatever, if I say, "I understand you are mad that you have to go to bed. I know it is hard to go to bed when you want to stay up and play. I'm sorry that you need to go to bed now, but you need your rest  so you are ready to play tomorrow." Blah, blah, blah. Its hard to be told what to do. I don't like it either. So a little empathy goes a long way with him. He also, NEEDS time out sometimes. And will often put himself in it. Sometimes his behavior just needs to be nipped in the bud and there is no other way to do it but pull him out of the situation. But I do time out with him a bit differently than Supernanny. Sometimes it is the toy that gets time out, not him. If I do physically pull him out of a situation, I usually stay with him, instead of isolating him off on his own. (Unless I am so pissed off that I need a time out myself, which has been known to happen.) I also rarely use a time limit for him. He usually gets to decide when he is ready to play nicely (or whatever) on his own. I would say he gets a time out about once a month or so. It is not that often.

Aaron's moods depend largely on the environment. So if the schedule is set up right, many of his problems disappear. Right now, the new goal for getting him to quit destroying things is to wear him out. I'm trying to set things up so that we go somewhere and do something physically active every single morning, even if it is just a walk. Then lunch. Then "school" in the afternoon. Which usually has a craft/artsy thing to it and then I'm going to add a music or some kind of get moving aspect to it every day. Then nap. At least for an hour. Even if he doesn't sleep. Then up and dinner and play time and baths and bed. The idea is to structure his day so that he has plenty of opportunities to expend his pent up energy doing things other than destroying things. Then he will be so tired at nap/bedtime that he will actually sleep rather than destroy things. It works when I can work it. Meaning, it is much harder for me to keep that schedule than him. But I'm hoping that when my sleep gets turned around and without the constant messes to clean up, it will get easier.

I have to have a good reason to discipline them. Or at least I try to be intentional and not arbitrary about it. (Although we all have our moments when we just want them to Shut the F*ck UP!) So, I kind of have a running list of questions I ask myself to see if it is worth me harping on them about:

1. Is it dangerous to them or others?
2. Is it detrimental to their health? (i.e. eating a huge bag of candy might not be immediately dangerous, but may make them sick later on...or just fat.)
3. Is it going to cause permanent damage to property?
4. Is it something that should never be done, no matter what age? (i.e. Naim often likes to loads the dishwasher all wrong. I let him do this because eventually he will figure out how and it is appropriate for people to load the dishwasher at any age. However, sometimes he likes to crawl in the dishwasher. This I don't let him do because it is not appropriate at any age to do this. Same with hitting. Sometimes they are rude to adults because they don't know the polite ways to say things. But telling people what you want is appropriate and they will get more tactful. However, hitting is never appropriate so that is not allowed.)
5. Is it something that has very negative consequences that they aren't able to see yet for themselves? (i.e. taking a nap will make the rest of the day go so much better. But they don't see this link yet, so I have to 'artificially' impose the consequence on them.)
6. Is it something that is causing negative consequences for the whole family unit (or friends or whoever we are with at the time)? (Aaron's destroying things is a good example of this. A whole canister of oatmeal around the room is really not a long term big deal. But the fact that cleaning up all the time makes me insane and exhausted and takes time away from me doing (fun) stuff with them and their father means that it is detrimental for the family unit.)

I think that is my basic criteria to be The Enforcer. I think a lot of times parents struggle with inconsistency because they wait until something is actually happening to decide whether to intervene, or they are on top of it one time and exhausted and let it go the next time. (I do both of these, btw.) But I think having an established system up front helps to know whether to jump in and intervene or just let it go and let them have some freedom to be kids and make their own mistakes. And it changes over time. I used to have to harp and intervene all the time about sharing and fighting over toys. Now they often handle it themselves if I just stay out of it. They know how to share and take turns and make trades and deals, so after the skill is learned, it is up to them to apply it. Now, I only intervene if they ask me too or if it occasionally gets so out of hand that I can't stand it anymore. (loud screaming.)

So those are my thoughts, all written out now, about my approach to discipline. I'm sure it will change by next week. But in general, I feel confidant in my abilities and my approaches seem to be working for the most part. My kids are generally well-behaved and pleasant to be around. Exceptions usually occur when I've screwed up. Which usually happens because of exhaustion. Which means that I better go to bed now.

Another visit from my friend, the Crazy

I have been diagnosed with a lot of nutty things over the years, so before I go on about this, I will tell you that I am generally a medical mystery and take any diagnosis I get with a grain of salt. But years and years and years ago I was diagnosed with PTSD, and once I was diagnosed with depression...and then I was also diagnoses with post-partum depression in which I was on paxil for almost a year. (Post partum depression is the very definition of a neurochemical imbalance. You can almost hear the neurons misfiring in your head with that specific brand of crazy.) Since then, all has been well.

However, along with my physical health, my mental health has never been something that has just been self-evident, it has been something that I have had to consistently work on and manage. It is a little, um unpleasant to talk about, but I think more people need to talk about it. Or risk something like coping like my mother, who denied that she ever had any sort of problem ever with anything. And then vacillated between depression, cold-hearted numbness, and occasionally irrational hysterics. So, in general, I will talk about it, but I don't like to make it into a big, dramatic thingamahoo. Again, all this is with a grain of salt.

Both D and I have done the cognitive therapy counseling. And both of us have had difficulty with the fact that most counselors seem to want to jump out of a nine-story window after hearing about our lives. We have trouble finding someone who doesn't blame it all on disability, or who requires so much instruction about disability 101 that really, we should be charging them rather than vice versa. We've gotten cynical about therapy. Besides, who has the time? We are way more into drugs, these days. (Don't email me about this, I kid, okay? I kid.)

The last time I saw a counselor it was with D. A hospital counselor when he was going through the foot thing. So, thankfully, disability wasn't a overriding issue. But both of us had the "he's going to jump out the window" feeling about this guy. Yes, D is a quadriplegic whose been in the hospital for months on end because of a life threatening foot injury. Yes, we have twin babies. No, D is not the biological father. No, his family is generally not supportive of our lifestyle. My family barely tolerates mine. Oh, and my mother died a horrible death, ten months diagnosis to death of brain cancer. Oh, and I am losing my vision and hearing. Oh, and I have kidney disease. Oh, and we live in different residences. Yes, we have constant health insurance, health care woes. No, I don't own my house and could get kicked out at any time. No, I don't have a break from the kids and the care-giving. Yes, we both try to work as much as we can. It went on like that. The act of talking to him and dealing with his little tsk, tsk, tsk expressions as he jotted things down was more depressing than when we just went on our happy, merry way with our lives. I think he invoked mental illness by his mere presence.

He diagnosed--both of us--with PTSD. A chronic version that actually changes the neurochemistry of the brain and the actual size of the hippocampus. This guy was so overwhelmed by our lives that I was skeptical of anything he said. Sometimes, I think people are intimidated by how much and how well we handle things (although not perfectly, of course, we are not depressed from day to day. We aren't planning on jumping out the window any time soon.) I think diagnosing us with something helps them not feel so intimidated. We saw him because obviously there was a breakdown in the level of D's health care management and we had to make good by the hospitals rules and do everything they said, i.e. see a counselor. A breakdown which I put squarely on the shoulders of D as being 100% responsible for. That being said, I think the mistake on D's part was just that, a mistake. Probably made because he was not paying close enough attention in light of the new babies and such. A mistake that manifests itself in able-bodied people as in things like forgetting to pay the electric bill or chronically misplacing one's keys. In D, it manifested itself rather quickly into a life-threatening health issue. We have very little margin for error with some things. In any case, we didn't feel like there was some underlying cause like killing ourselves softly with depression or PTSD, we mostly felt like we just needed to get a better day-planner. So, that whole diagnosis of 'severe, chronic PTSD' was kind of shrugged off.

Interestingly, though, in most of my routine pee tests I do to monitor my kidney disease, I show extremely low levels of cortisol. Which this guy says is a tell-tale sign of PTSD and its neurochemical permanent damage. Having discussed this with Dr. Google, I find that this cortisol issue is controversial. It seems like although most people with long-term PTSD have low levels of cortisol, they can't decide of the PTSD causes the cortisol issue or if the cortisol predisposes one to the PTSD. In any case, D and I went on with our lives. (As far as I know, D does not have (or has never been tested for) abnormal cortisol levels.)

Of course, I am the one who peed on an ovulation test stick that indicated that I ovulate every single day of the year, so I always question the accuracy of anything my pee has to say about me. My pee has been known to lie. This is why it took me two weeks to find out I was pregnant. But speaking of pregnancy, one unhappy bit of research states that you can actually pass on a predisposition to PTSD to your offspring through the womb due to cortisol levels. The children of Holocaust survivors, for example, have a tendency to have low cortisol levels and PTSD at higher rates than the general population. My mother was significantly abused as a child, and so it would not surprise me if she did suffer PTSD and passed some kind of predisposition to mental illness on to us. (Oh noes! Does this explain Naim's irrational fear of toilets?!) But again, too much thought into it will make you crazy. It is all speculation.

All this is to lead up to this conclusion I've slowly been coming to. I don't feel depressed, I don't feel all that anxiety ridden. Except for the usual trials and tribulations of double toddler motherhood, I don't feel like my life is out of control. I had an incident this summer that involved a childhood friend getting in touch with me with a problem that was a bit traumatic and flashback-y, (sorry, not something I can talk about since it is more her story than mine), but that is over now and I feel like it has been appropriately handled and dealt with. I feel like I'm doing more or less what I am supposed to be doing for my overall health, eating wise, exercising, etc. Or at least I have been most of the year. The kids and the big boy beds and the tornado that is Aaron has been challenging, but really, that just can't be that big of deal. So, despite all this...

Something is wrong.

Something neurochemistry-ish. Something not related to what is going on in my life or my adaptation skills. Something not related to some kind of acute or even chronic depression. Because I don't feel depressed, honestly. But, I don't sleep. Ever. Well, I do, for 45 minute cracks at a time. And then I wake up for some unknown reason and I'm wide awake. For hours. For days. For weeks. Sure, every so often I crash for about 14 hours straight, or go over to D's and sink into the couch and crash for a few hours. I'm tired all the time. I can be exhausted and sit there wide awake. For hours on end. After a while it makes me not think straight. It makes me ramble on about nothing. It makes me lose things and have serious mom brain. It makes me a boring mom who can't get simple things done.

So, I hate medication. But I've tried everything else. (Except doing that CPAP thing, which might be an option to try, but my MD doesn't think I have sleep apnea) But I've now gone to the doctor, this time my GP, and guess what? Chronic PTSD. She thinks. Extremely low cortisol levels. Just to clarify, I'm not going around having flashbacks or nightmares, but I am constantly in a state of sorta hyper-vigilance. I'm hyper-alert all the time, even when I'm so tired it doesn't matter because I would be ineffectual anyway.

So, I'm trying Ambien for two weeks. And if that doesn't work, I guess I am going to try some type of beta blocker like propranolol, or possibly a SSRI type of drug. Also, this is putting off my goal of finding menstruation-ending birth control, but I'll get there at some point here. I just need to work with one drug at a time. I hate psychological meds. It isn't because of the stigma, I know they help a ton of people and I'm fine with that. I just don't like putting eeeevil pharmaceuticals in my system. I don't like the fact that this all feels so neurochemical, like a disease that is totally out of my control. I'd rather have to just cut out caffeine or something easy like that. But it feels like exactly that. When I wake up all night long, it feels like I'm jacked up on some kind of hyper-vigilant high. And I'm not ON anything. I actually have cut out my caffeine. Didn't do a damned bit of good.

Anyway, this is probably boring to read, but I just want to sort of document where I'm at so I can see where I end up. I have a feeling this is going to be a bit of trial and error. So, I'd like to keep track of my variables. Also, I'm interested in researching naturo/homeopathic solutions to this, so if anyone knows anything like that, I'd be interested in hearing about it. I'd rather not be supporting the eeeevil pharm companies for the rest of my life.

But, Crazy? Buddy? Welcome! Enjoy your stay here all up at Camp Lisa's Hippus-thalmus. But don't get to comfy, cuz you'll be having to leave, soon, now y'hear?  Oh, and be sure to tell your cousin, Batshit Insane, that he has quite overstayed his welcome at the Brain of Britney and he needs to move right along now and get back home where he belongs...Huckabee is missing him.