To 80% of Drivers in My Area

Dear Driver,
I typically use this blog space to write about my children and document their formative years. However, that's not how this blog started. Its original purpose was to have a space to yell at the world, to vent my feelings and frustrations with wedding planning, to comment quite bluntly on society as I saw it, and to clear my head during a time of change in my life. I'm feeling the need to return to that original purpose - for at least a good few minutes on my soapbox before I step back into posting about recipes, my children's development, and the joys and tribulations of being the wife of a Congressional candidate. I promise I don't harbor anger or walk around as a judgmental narcissist, but I need to let off some steam aimed directly at about 80% of drivers in my neighborhood and surrounding areas. Okay... deep breath.... here goes nothing.

YOU ARE A HORRIBLE DRIVER! Yes, it's true I grew up as a passenger in my father's car about 30% of my childhood. I was subject to his irate road rage as he called fellow drivers decorative names like "idiot," "moron," "crazy woman driver," or "pig."  He weaved in and out of drivers who were in his way, and he laid on the horn or gave "the finger" far too many times. I will say, though, he was always safe, and he typically had good reason to be flying down the road, as he was usually on his way to the hospital to help a laboring patient deliver her baby. So, there's that disclaimer - that I'm coming to you in a state of learned rage and arrogance. But, you are. You really are a horrible driver. Let's review some of your most frustrating infractions:

-You are the first car at the intersection. You sit idly at a red light in the right turn lane, wanting to turn right, with no oncoming traffic, holding up the line. Unless otherwise posted, you should know, YOU CAN TURN RIGHT ON RED IN TEXAS. Go, buddy. Make that turn, and let us all move on.

-You are the first car at the intersection. You sit idly at a red light in the right turn lane, NOT wanting to turn right. This is rude. Get out of my lane. I want to turn right, and you are preventing me from doing so - and everyone else behind me, too. I'm trying to get to work, and your lack of consideration for taking up my front row space in a lane I could be turning in is unnerving.

-This one is a doozy, so hang in there with me as I try to describe this frustrating misdeed. You're pulling up to a four-way stop. Although yes, this is a lane meant for one car, it is an extremely wide lane in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, quite capable of fitting two cars side by side. There is plenty of space and even a natural separation - a straight line of tar perfectly positioned, to divide this lane in half. You take up the middle of the lane. Worse than that, you drive in the middle of the lane, when there are clearly cars behind you (and in front of you) that have intelligently, cooperatively, and creatively made the typical one lane into two so that cars turning right can move on and not make school drop-off take unnecessarily ridiculous amounts of time. You're doing it again at the intersection where I want to turn right, and you want to turn left, and you don't leave enough room for me to turn while you wait for oncoming traffic on the right to dissipate. I've created a graphic to help you get this one. It's just so obvious to me, so I want to make it obvious to you. The RED curved rectangle represents YOUR car. (If you're colorblind like my husband, it's the bottom-most car on this graphic.) Notice anything just a bit off from what everyone else is doing to help keep traffic going?

(Also notice that two cars are entering the intersection at the same time. When they won't interfere with each other's pathway, that is perfectly safe to do. You should try it, too. The bottom right green car could also be moving along, as well, since there is no oncoming traffic. And, one of the other cars going straight could proceed as well. See? Teamwork. Safety. Cooperation. Progress. Movement. Satisfaction.)

-You idle in the left turn lane while the green light tells you you can make a turn when it's safe. But you don't turn. You can't see around the left-turners across the street, who can't see around you either. You could move up, edge out just a little so you can pivot your car a teensy-weensy bit and get out of their way - heck, so you can get out of MY way. Then, the light turns to a red arrow. We are stuck here. For whatever reason, the next signal isn't a green arrow. No, that would be too easy. A green light comes back in front of us, again, telling you to yield and be wary of oncoming traffic, but it's also okay to turn when it's safe. Yet again, you don't edge up to see more clearly around the cars across the street in their own left turn lane. We are still sitting here. If you would move the __ up, you could move on, see that there are no cars coming, you are perfectly safe to go - and so could I - and the car behind me, and the car behind him!

-When I put my blinker on to move over to your lane, that doesn't mean you should speed up and prevent me from doing so. That means I'd like to get over when I can. Perhaps you can wave me over, slow just a tad or even continue at your present speed. With your help, we can both keep moving where we'd like. I promise... my desire to get in your lane is not to forever impede your ability to get to your destination.

-You don't wave when I'm courteous. But, I'm okay with that disrespect when you don't deserve the courtesy. I'm a big girl and can handle that. What I'm not okay with is that you don't wave when you cut me off or take advantage of my courtesy to the driver in front of you who you tailgated just so you could inch into my lane as I'm driving in the prison of cars at rush hour trying to get my kids to swim lessons on time. You don't say sorry, say thank you, or make any kind of eye contact. You can't face me, because you know what you did was wrong. But, own it!

-You see that I'm trying to turn onto the street you are currently driving along - maybe from a shopping center, maybe from my street into the carpool lane. You are perfectly still, waiting in the traffic. You avoid eye contact, even though I'm trying to get your attention to ask permission to ease into your lane while we wait for traffic to move again. You have no desire to let me in. You start inching forward, and when traffic begins to move again, you just drive ahead with no regard for sharing the road.

-You block the intersection I'm trying to get across. You see the car in the lane next to you has politely stayed back quite a distance from the car in front of him, but you don't take the hint. You are either oblivious to those around you, or you could care less for the people who are trying to move on with their day.

-You pull into the two-lane intersection trying to cut across to the lane where you can turn left. However, the left turn traffic is backed up and not moving. So, now you are just blocking the right turn lane and everyone who wants to utilize it - even when the light is red, because although you can't go, I COULD. We can turn right on red in Texas, remember? But not today. No, sir. Your car is just hanging out in my way. You don't wave and say you're sorry or --- better idea --- back the  __ up back from whence you came when you realize your infraction.

-It's morning rush hour. The left turn lane is slow going, and you are about 6 cars from the front. I'm right behind you. I see you putting on your make-up. I see you looking at yourself in the mirror with your eyelash curler. I see you look at your phone a couple times. But, now the line has moved, and this green arrow won't last forever. I'd REALLY like it if you could pay some ___ing attention and close that ever-growing gap between you and the car long ahead of you so we could both make the light, and perhaps all the people behind us could have a chance at doing so, too. Because what REALLY ticks me off is when you make the light and I don't - because you were selfish and put your make-up routine ahead of my time.

-You give in to that itching curiosity and significantly lower your speed to observe an accident. What's worse? The accident is on the other side of the highway. Our direction of traffic should not be impacted at all by this accident, but here you are, slowing miles of road behind us because you saw some flashing lights ahead. Of course - we care about the well-being of the motorists involved. We want to know what took so long and how bad the accident is. But, really?! Do we really need to come to a near-stop and take notes? Please give those unfortunate victims their privacy and DRIVE!!

-There is a school bus driving in the opposite direction we are. The school bus stops, and the arm holding a stop sign is extended, and the bus's alternating red lights begin to flash. The cars behind the bus stop, as they should, for the children to exit the bus. Because there is a raised median separating us from that bus and those children, you don't have to stop. But, alas, you do not know school bus safety laws, so you think we have to sit there watching until the bus moves on. We don't. At least not in our state. In fact, just to prove I'm right, I am going to show you the Texas Department of Public Safety's website statement: "...if the lanes are separated by an intervening space or physical barrier, only motorists going in the same direction as the bus are required to stop." Just sayin. Keep moving.

Now, I know you don't care that I'm in a hurry to pick up my child from school on time or that I've got a child screaming because he dropped his water cup and all hell is breaking loose in the backseat or that I've got a drifting toddler just minutes before nap time who I need to get to his crib before he falls asleep - therefore completely ruining his afternoon (and more importantly, MINE!) or that I stayed too long at home helping my son when he had diarrhea before school and now I'm late for work and am already going to be late for a meeting. None of these things are your problem. I get it. But, can't you just "help a mother out?" Why must you drive like you are on a damn Sunday afternoon stroll down the lane when you are on a highway with people trying to get to where they are needed?

I also realize that none of these offenses are really "illegal," but they certainly aren't very courteous. Let's just apply some typical manners, rules of ettiequte, and common decency to our driving. You need to share the road. You need to take turns. You need to thank people when they allow you into their space. You need to pay attention to what everyone else is doing. You need to watch where you're going. You need to realize you aren't the only one here, and there are innovative and fantastic ways we could all help each other out.

In his book, Choosing Civility: The Twenty-Five Rules of Considerate Conduct, P.M. Forni outlines basic rules for connecting happily with others. Rule number is PAY ATTENTION. If you pay attention, you can choose to see the situation others may be in. This is imperative when on the road and cooperating as civilized drivers. I can't help but think of this rule when I experience so many of these thoughtless actions I encounter nearly every day in my car. I use your misconduct as a way of teaching my own children how to interact with others. They see me get angry on the road, sure. I don't shout at you like my father probably would. I don't (usually) give you "the finger." But, I do use your lack of consideration as a teaching tool for my babies who are watching me handle you, and for trying to teach them about how you should pay better attention to those of us around you who are stuck behind you and cannot proceed with getting to our destination in a more timely manner.

I will add that I know I've committed these actions on occasion. I know I'm not perfect, and well, now I've proven you aren't either. But, I'd just like you to consider that maybe you aren't the only one on the road. I'd like you to notice that I moved out of the right lane when no one was behind me because I was going straight, and perhaps another person will come up to the red light soon and will now be able to turn without me being in his/her way. Why did you switch lanes INTO the right lane? You're not turning right! You're going straight, too. Did you just not want to be second in the lane behind my car? Now my act of common courtesy to the potential right-turn driver is undone, and you are the horrible driver for whom this letter is intended.

In these times of people being so rude to each other, not caring about others' feelings, not accepting differences or being willing to hear an opposing view, being a more courteous driver sure could go a long way. We have to be more willing to share, to let others in, to help each other out, to not be first, to think of the other person - even when her existence is still only a potential. Use your car as a way of being respectful and kind. This country sure could use a good dose of that right about now.

Sincerely,
The 20% of people who are doing everything we can to tolerate you

P.S. I do feel better now. Thank you for letting me vent. I will now step off my soapbox and return to blogging about my precious children and the chaos of life in general. If this letter found its way to you and you've actually read through to this postscript, all I ask is that you question your driving behavior and consider what you can do to be a more courteous driver.
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Our Road to ADHD Help

By day 3 of Banner's life, I knew I had a strong boy. I knew he was smart, and I knew he got frustrated when things weren't easy (breastfeeding in particular). By the time he was a year old, I knew I had a curious boy who liked to test himself - and me - by getting into things he shouldn't (trashcans, for example). By the time he was 2, I knew he was too curious for his own good, often running away from us in dangerous places (the parking lot or even out the front door if left unlocked).  Our pediatrician even said, "I don't believe in leashes for children, but I believe in one for Banner." He advised us to get a leash and to threaten Banner we'd put it on him if he didn't listen to us when we told him to stay close. I knew he would have a challenge sitting still in pre-school circle time. He was the boy who would walk up to the library story time felt board and take the items off the board, much to the librarian's frustration as she was trying to lead the story with these visuals. He would run off at the Arboretum, when all our other friends' kids would stay close by. I knew I had a bright boy, a gifted boy, but I also knew something MIGHT be going on more than that.

Banner has kept me on my toes. He's kept me challenged and worried for most of his life. When he was in PreK, his teachers praised his skills and abilities to learn quickly and remember so many details of the stories and things they talked about in class. The only two weaknesses they focused on were completing work and accepting disappointments and no for an answer. When we asked these teachers if they thought Banner demonstrated ADHD-like characteristics, they adamantly said no. My mind was put at ease that he was seemingly doing well at school, and we could work on the struggles he was having while at home - which we agreed needed our attention and consistency. I also felt that since he could focus on things he enjoyed - almost to a fault - then surely there was nothing "wrong." He could focus on building with Legos or K'nex for hours at a time; he could be on the iPad for hours and tune everything else out. I've come to know, though, especially after sitting in meeting after meeting with my own students and the LSSPs in our school district, that hyper-focusing is a part of ADHD. It's as if there are doors that open and close based on what a child needs to attend to, and his doors don't close or open as they should, so when I'm calling his name again and again, he doesn't attend; he's too zoned in to his game or his video or his construction. He cannot close the iPad door and open the Mommy door. 

Then came Kindergarten, and Banner was doing great. He was a reader in PreK, so he was able to come in to "big school" with letters, sounds, sight words, and knowing how to decode well under his belt. He knew his numbers, knew how to count and put numbers together and take them apart. He made friends easily, and he seemed to really like his teacher. He was admitted to the GT program, and he loved his newest teacher who would challenge him and give him that extra attention he liked. He did not enjoy the homework, but then again, neither did I. It was much too simple, extremely monotonous, and tedious - math workbook pages and getting in nightly math and reading minutes. It was such a pain to make him do when I didn't really believe it was accelerating him at all. His teacher didn't give us much insight into what Banner was like at school as a student, but he sure was getting "practice academy" (walking laps at recess) quite often without any communication home about the reasons why. With every doctor's appointment Knox or Quinn had, I would touch base with our pediatrician about Banner's inability to follow basic routines and directions at home. He insisted that if Banner only struggled at home and not at school, we simply needed to put some more strategies in place to help him at home, and certainly this wasn't really ADHD - at least it was too early to tell. 

I was getting frustrated with the lack of communication from school and at our doctor's insistence that this was just behavioral issues at home. The way I saw it, Banner's lack of attention, inability to focus, inability to remember simple requests or tasks, quick temper, inability to get to sleep easily or stay asleep all night, constant up and downs at the dinner table, impulsivity at lashing out at his brothers or at us and his grandparents was so problematic that it was hard to believe there wasn't something bigger going on. Without examples of his struggles at school and reasons why he was having those damn "practice academies" despite my numerous requests to his teacher - and later even the principal, I was at a loss of how to proceed. 

At the very end of his Kindergarten year, Banner started saying some pretty eye-opening, concerning remarks near bedtime. Of those comments, the most notable ones were: "Mommy, something is wrong with my brain," "God made me wrong," "Nobody likes me; you don't love me," and "You have to ask me to do things over and over again, but you only have to ask Quinn once." Even scarier was, "I'm listening to the ghost that tells me not to listen to you and daddy." When I'd ask Banner to tell me more, we finally realized he was talking about his conscience, that he was struggling with doing what he wanted vs. doing what was asked of him. We talked about the "devil" and the "angel" on his shoulder, and to try to follow what he knows will keep him out of trouble. He was just so insightful, verbal, and articulate. I was proud of him for being able to tell me that something was going on inside him. I told him we would talk to Dr. B about it in a couple weeks at his well-check. When that time seemed to take too long to Banner, he would get frustrated: "You keep saying that, but we never go to him!" I told him I promised there was already an appointment set; we just had to wait. He grew impatient and really wanted to know if Dr. B could give him medicine to help him. 

Finally, his well-check came, and when it was time for Banner to open up to Dr. B, he seemed to get shy about the topic. Dr. B was great and said, "Whatever it is, Banner, you can tell me. You can tell me anything." Banner opened up about the "ghost" and how he felt inside. Dr. B agreed he was hearing an inner struggle to do the right thing and stop listening to the pull to not obey when he'd rather not. He suggested we let Banner have the summer to just mature and grow, get through the beginning of first grade, and then reconvene to see how he's doing. 

Well, I had a hard time waiting for that when my son was asking for more. So, we made an appointment to have him evaluated at the end of July. By mid-August, we had our meeting with the psychologist who assessed him, along with he director of the behavior center. Our suspicions were right on; Banner was diagnosed with ADHD-combined type. The report was so insightful. Bottom line: Banner's cognitive testing confirmed what a smarty-pants the kid is. His IQ is in the superior range, but his processing speed was significantly lower, which is why he may be feeling like something is off. While it's in the average range, that processing speed doesn't seem to keep up with the other abilities he has. Our ratings AND his Kindergarten teacher's ratings (after all my probing and trying to get information about what she was seeing in class!) both showed inattention and impulsivity issues. The psychologist also mentioned that Banner was fidgety and moved around in his chair quite a bit during the evaluation. He said Banner was easily distracted by items in the room - even the very blank walls and boring decor: "Hey, what's in those cabinets?" while he was supposed to be naming as many animals as he could in one minute. This didn't surprise me in the least!

With the evaluation in hand, we went to an appointment with a psychiatrist to discuss medication options. I don't necessarily feel that we HAVE to medicate, but with Banner's requests to get help with medication coupled with my feeling that if ADHD is a true medical diagnosis, why wouldn't we medicate? If you have a child with diabetes, you give her insulin when she needs it. If you have a child who has asthma, you give him his inhaler when he needs it. If my son has ADHD, I'm going to give him the medicine he needs to help him be his best him and not feel badly about himself because he truly cannot focus or listen or attend or sit still. ADHD is one of those invisible disorders, and it's been hard to know if my child truly wasn't capable or if he was choosing not to. That's another big reason we went forward with the testing to begin with... how do proceed when we don't know? Was he being a jerk or could he truly not attend/focus/listen/remember/think before acting? Should we punish his transgressions or should we give even more accommodations than we were already giving? Even before a diagnosis, we were already doing what we knew to help: make eye contact, get on his level (or lower), use positive rewards/incentives through a behavior plan, make him repeat our requests, touch him on the shoulder to ensure attention, say his name, take away distractions... and we still weren't seeing consistent improvement. So, a visit to the psychiatrist it was. 

Banner really enjoyed talking with the psychiatrist. Dr. A said Banner was such a great kid and quiet gifted given how articulate he was about his feelings and insights into himself. He agreed to medicate Banner if we so chose, but he would want us to be seen by a neurologist before putting him on any stimulants mostly because Banner has had a facial tic since April, and while we hope it is transient and will resolve itself, we don't want to put him on a medication that could exacerbate the tic. In addition, we have concerns about his sleep issues. (As an aside: while at Quinn's appointment, I asked the ENT about sleep apnea if a child does NOT snore/gasp for air, and the ENT looked at Banner's tonsils and said they look smaller than Quinn's, but with bedwetting being a nightly occurrence for Banner still at age 6, he believed seeing the neurologist was a great idea. Furthermore, we spoke to Banner's allergist, and sleep apnea can actually be the cause of unresolved allergy issues even with daily care for them, which Banner has through taking Zyrtec and Nasocort each day. I should also mention we saw the eye doctor to make sure the "tics" weren't related to dry eye or vision issues, and while she saw a little bit of dry eye, she believed tics were the most likely reason for the wide eye-opening movements he was making. We have been trying lubricating drops to see if that helps, but I haven't seen much improvement.)

So, after consulting with the pediatrician, the psychologist, the psychiatrist, the ophthalmologist, the allergist, and the ENT, we headed to the neurologist! Whew. At that appointment, we learned that our responses to a detailed questionnaire once again supported an ADHD profile. However, we talked about other issues that could be at hand, namely sleep problems. The neurologist recommended we partake in a sleep study to see what feedback we can gain from his sleep patterns: how often is he moving in his sleep, is he having abnormal sleep patterns, is he breathing properly while sleeping, etc. The neurologist suggested that more than likely Banner does not have sleep problems, as he is missing the most common symptoms of it: snoring, turning blue in sleep, gasping for air. Yet, he also said that studies have shown that not all children demonstrate these characteristics and they STILL have sleep issues. So, it's worth looking into before we start medication, especially medication that could worsen his motor tics. This doctor also told us that if teachers are not complaining about Banner's inattention AND he's making scholastic progress, we should not medicate and instead do some therapy to help him and us. My rebuttal to this suggestion was my concern with Banner's self-report. Dr. M applauded our taking Banner's comments seriously and not ignoring them; he also commented that most kids don't say such insightful things and speculated that Banner must have a high EQ (emotional quotient) and sensitivity to his own feelings. He went on, however, to say that they only person who doesn't have a say in a  diagnosis is the patients themselves. Parents, teachers, and psychologists/physicians are involved in the data collection, but never the patient. The reason for that, according to Dr. M, is that children are unreliable resources. He says in studies where treatment is given, kids don't consistently acknowledge improvement or change when everyone else in their lives might. So, while he agrees we should keep an eye on this, he doesn't believe it should be the reason we medicate.

As you can see, the many people who help make these diagnoses might just have made my head spin circles on knowing the right thing to do. Banner has requested medication; he's telling us he's struggling. We could get therapy, of course. I'm a school counselor, and while I'm utilizing all my knowledge and skills to aid him at home and teach him strategies to cope, talking to another professional - someone who isn't his mom - would be ideal. I'm just not convinced that medicine isn't our best option. If ADHD is truly a disability, a disorder, a medical diagnosis that picks up on deficits in the brain, why wouldn't I offer medication? A child who has seizures is not told to just go to therapy and see if that helps; medication is offered in addition to learning how to avoid triggers. If there were a medicine for treating aphasia, we would offer patients that, not just rely on speech-language therapy to help with recovery. And I know from my professional background that if we don't do SOMETHING to help this boy, he will try to find his own way of dealing - and it might not be pretty. I'm already terrified about what risk-taking behaviors we will see in his teenage years. The last thing this precocious boy needs is an excuse to self-medicate.

I am not excited about this road we are about to continue on, but I sure am glad we can start trying to figure out what will work to help Banner. It's not easy to watch your baby feel so low or so bad about himself. It's unnerving to hear him say awful, hurtful things to the ones he loves most and how care so deeply for him simply because he is too impulsive to screen his reactions to frustration. My expectations of Banner have always been high; my mother would probably say too high. But, the way I see Banner is that he is well capable of doing what is asked of him. He is a sweet, tender, sensitive boy who has a big heart and a brilliant mind. Like most parents, I want to see that part of him unveiled to its highest potential and not masked by inattention, impulsivity, impatience, irritability, or any feelings of inferiority frustration. I see Banner. I see that newborn, that toddler, that preschooler who is curious and inquisitive and in his own little world of wonder. I see he wants to be the best he can be. I see him struggling to be that sometimes. I know my boy will do amazing things. I just have to keep him on the right path; and this road to ADHD help will hopefully point us in the right direction.

20-Month Newsletter: Knox

Dear Knox,

Twenty months today, and I’m in a major state of denial. You’ve become quite mature this month, becoming the little boy you are and should be becoming, while everyone around you falsely believes you are still a baby. I’m one of those people. I have to keep reminding myself that you are nearing two years old, and you are well capable of understanding us and of being treated like a big boy… but as always, I’m holding on to the baby I want you to stay for a little longer. While this month has seen great strides in your maturity, not much has changed otherwise:

-You’re calling me “Mommy,” instead of “Mama.” This upsets me, even though it’s the cutest “Mommy,” and it just might help us differentiate between when you want me and when you want Grandma since both of us have been “Mama” for a while.

-You’re speaking in some sentences: “I want that ball,” “I want that," "No, I don't want that."

-You're liking My Gym classes still, too - and I always look forward to spending that time with you. You're finally becoming a little less serious there - and you're starting to actually smile there! Although, the separation time there is rough on you and you do NOT like to be away from me.

-Speaking of, school has been a little easier for you, thank goodness! Daddy reports that you've started walking in to school with a SMILE! Yahoo! Your teachers have reported several "good" days where you don't cry at all! I think/hope you're starting to realize that being at school is more fun than being either bored at home or schlepped around to run errands. 

-Another fun thing we do together on Fridays is the Rhyme Time at the library. I will say, though, you are getting a little too comfortable in those classes. You kinda act like you own the place, and perhaps because you are one of the oldest babies in there now, we might try out the Toddler Time instead. 

-Perhaps my new favorite is that you say “Thank you!” (although it sounds more like “tank too”). Other new words: "read," "water," "knock knock," "dancing," "shoes," and "Banner" which sounds like "B'nuh."

-Oh, the knock-knock jokes... those are in full swing around here, and you like to do your own joke. It goes a little something like this: "Na-Nok!" as you tap your palm with the other hand. (We say, "Who's there?") "Boo!" ("Boo who?") "Boooooooo," you sing as you do a little dance. You think it's quite cute and smile at yourself while doing your little boogie (get it? "boo"gie!).

-You haven’t been sleeping well at all lately. We’re going to have to let you cry-it-out for a bit in the next few nights and hope for the best. Daddy and I have given in to the crying too much, laying on your floor and even holding your hand to get you to lay back down and go to sleep. It works, and we all get sleep, but it’s happening numerous times a night now. I’m not sure if you are getting teeth or your allergies are bugging you or what… but it kinda needs to stop, and I’d like for you to work on that! Please.

-You cannot get enough of TV watching. Your favorite thing to watch is the movie Sing!, but you call it “yah, yah,” because your favorite part is when Johnny sings “I’m Still Standing,” and the lyrics following that line are: “yeah, yeah, yeah.” And, then, you love to tap your foot like the porcupine character does when she sings her song at the end of the movie. 

-You want to be more and more independent. You want to feed yourself with a spoon, even though you still make a huge mess when doing so. You do not want to sit in the high chair; you want to sit like your brothers do in the regular seats. You say, “Mine!”

Knox Morgan, even though we still don't understand a great deal of your words, you let us know what you want and what you're trying to say. We are a pretty amazing team at figuring out what you want or are trying to show us. You pull on our hands when you want us to come with you; you point to what you want; you get upset when we don't listen or tell you it's not time for snack or that game or to watch a show. You've been quite the demanding little guy lately -wanting our attention and your needs met PRONTO. You are very into snacking/grazing throughout the day. You are NOT so in to meals. Yes, I realize those play into each other, but this is seemingly how you want it to be - lots of little meals throughout the day and not so much a big one three times. You can't get enough TV time and always want to "watch, watch" something, but it takes me a great bit of time to figure out what it is you want. It's so hard to sit idly by while you throw your little frustrated tantrum, and I SO get it that you are angry that you can't have what you want all the time. I'm pretty good at ignoring it, which only pisses you off more, but it's kind of a rite of passage, little buddy. I'm sorry. 

No, really. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't just sit and cuddle with you as much as I want to. I'm sorry your brothers demand so much of my time and attention. I'm sorry I can't hold you while I cook dinner the whole time or let you drink Danimal after Danimal. I'm sorry I can't let you walk on the couch or stand on the piano or climb out of your high chair. I'm sorry I can't let you open the back door for the umpteenth time while Daddy builds the sukkah. I'm sorry you can't run down the street chasing Grandma's car or keep saying goodbye to BeeBee with the door wide open after she's driven off minutes ago. I'm sorry I don't let you run around with Magic Markers or let you draw all over the kitchen table. I'm sorry you don't get to drink the water from Banner's water bottle as he's leaving for school in the morning and that I don't let you poor milk from your sippy cup all over your tray. I'm sorry you can't ride your big brothers' bicycles yet or that I don't let you run after the basketball you rolled down the alley. I'm sorry that I have to buckle you in your carseat. I'm sorry that I'd like to wash your hands after you finish eating spaghetti, that Daddy's boots aren't fitting you like you want, and that you can't sit in your carseat with a backpack on. It's hard being the little one, I'm sure. But, you do it so well, and those big brothers of yours love you fiercely, and you love them too.

One of my new favorite things I've seen you do is want to hug everyone and give kisses so nicely. You've done this for a while, but it seems to be something you enjoy now, too - so you do it more often. When I got home from the Women's Retreat this past weekend, it was the longest we'd been away from each other - and you came through the front door from a birthday party to find me home already, and you just lit up and gave me the biggest hug after hug after hug. Oh, that was so nice and heartwarming to come home to. Oh, Baby Love, I just love loving you, and I love how perfectly you fit into this family.

I love you so much, Knoxy!

Happy 20-Months!!

Love,

Mommy

Back to Camp

The crackling fire. The crunch of twigs under my shoes. The crickets chirping. The wind gently handling the leaves fluttering on the pavement. The stillness of the black starry sky. The hills at sunset across the lake that look too picturesque to be real. The smell of fresh, clean, pure air untouched by the city. The guitar strings being plucked and humming into the speaker that quietly echoes into the hills behind me. The serenity of a prayer being sung with voices that have memorized its many harmonies for years.  The hush of the cabin at night as tired eyes close and dream of tomorrow.

These are the sights and sounds and smells of my youth. For six of my formative childhood years, I would go to camp and experience what can only be described as “the Shabbat of the year,” the time I most looked forward to when old friends would come back together to experience peace, togetherness, fun, learning, songs, and laughter. This weekend, I’ve been given the chance to come back “home” and, in a sense, go back in time. It’s Saturday, and I’m sitting in the Pagoda, the gazeebo in the middle of the “short cut” to the cabins. The birds chirp, the butterflies flutter, and the breeze wisps my hair around my cheeks. The smell of Off fills my nose again as I spray those mosquitoes away so I can concentrate on writing here in nature. So many memories here, so many happy times.

This Women’s Retreat is the first annual event of its kind. I wasn’t planning to come, even though I wanted to when I first got news of it. But, how could I leave my family for a weekend when our schedules are packed with soccer, birthday parties, campaign events, commitments with friends for football watching, and Sunday school? How could I ask Sam to “man” the boys with so much going on so that I could participate in an event I didn’t know would be worth it or not? But, it kept gnawing at me, it kept creeping back to me, inviting me, enticing me, pulling me in. So, I decided that I didn’t care who went or how many people I knew going, I was going to be a part of it. Once I registered, I was giddy about the idea of not just getting away and vacating my responsibilities for a couple days, but also of stepping back in time a bit: bunking in the cabin with the girls, being in nature and away from the rush of the real world, shirking tasks that have become everyday life, and making time for ME.

Even as I packed, I reflected on the expertise I’ve gained in all the years of going to camp. What I would need or not, what I’d want or not, how to best consolidate my belongings. I wasn’t thinking about other people, about little boys and what they would require on a weekend away. It was just me, my things. It’s so very rare to think of myself and only myself, and packing would be the start of this amazing weekend focused on sisterhood, relaxation, and taking time for just being me.

Once in the car, I purposefully played music from my most awkward years, and to be honest, I STILL love those songs. The bluegrass music I was into during that time in my life… when I had crushes on boys from camp and couldn’t wait to see them again – only to see them again and think, “What was I thinking!?”… when school came easy but I couldn’t stand the people I saw everyday… when posters of Antonio Sabato Jr and Mike Modano draped my walls as I’d belt out the latest Alison Krause, Boyz II Men, or Jackopierce album. It was a fun drive. It went fast, and no one needed anything, interrupted, or whined. I stopped for a Slurpee and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and it was delightful. 😀

Once I arrived, I schlepped my duffle to the cabin Robyn had saved me a bed in. The cabin smell hit me as I walked in the bunk, and it was an all-too-familiar smell. The girls were already settled and making their way back to the bunk to meet me once I let them know I was there. Robyn walked in and hugged me, and her eyes filled with tears. It had been a long time since we’d seen each other, and we don’t really talk anymore. Life changes, and we move on, and move away. Life gets in the way… but not here. Not in this place. Time doesn’t change anything, nor does living hundreds of miles away and never really communicating other than a quick text to ask for advice about the best dry shampoo product or how much I should spend on a Keratin treatment.  (Yes, it’s always about the hair.)

From that point on, it has just been hanging out and reliving old times. We’ve aged, we’ve grown up, and all the insecurities I harbored in my past are just gone. While I miss being a kid, man, being here as a grown up is way better! Our conversations are more inclusive, our stories are more meaningful, our reflections are deep and helpful. We’ve spend the past 24 hours talking about our kids, our husbands, our daily struggles with laundry or cooking or disciplining. Our jobs, our frustrations with our kids’ schools, our worries, our bodies. It’s just like when we were younger, just with “old lady” topics! 😆

I am feeling so grateful for this time, and yet again, for this space. I’m grateful that Sam has the kids, and that I don’t – just for this one weekend. I’m missing them, and I miss my cozy bed, but I needed this. We all needed this. Women need this time away from those labels and from those hats that seem to take the place of who we really are. We have talked about that in our Shabbat services, and it’s refreshing to see women listening to each other, being there to hear what another friend is saying, truly having the time and desire to reach out to others. We’ve laughed about how it’s nice to enjoy a meal with other grown-ups, without the dirty hands of a toddler touching your shoulder for your attention, without someone needing their spilled milk cleaned up, without someone asking for a dozen more things while they eat their hot meal and yours is getting cold, without the interjections of “I don’t want THIS for dinner!” We’re in that time in our lives when we are put on the back burner, and it’s nice to know we aren’t alone. The older women at the retreat have even looked to us, the younger women here, saying, “All of you went to camp together? You all grew up together? And now you’re all married with young kids, huh? And some of your kids go to camp here now? That is so special.” And, yes, it really is.

We spent the weekend reminiscing, and old memories have felt so real, so vivid I could almost touch them. Seeing us on the ropes course with harnesses and helmets and belays; remembering the feel of my friend tying my hair into dreadlocks while sitting on the floor of the screen-windowed cabin; recalling the mix tapes and CDs my dad would make me every summer and how it felt to get those amazing care packages my mom would send with birthday banners signed by my family and friends back home  - and finding my mom’s signatures all over the banner equal to the number of years I was that year; recalling my first kiss – if you can call it that – and the absurdity of this guy trying to kiss me in the dark with looming clouds and an impending storm and how scared I was that he came towards me with his tongue out (we all got a good laugh out of that recollection). The shaving parties we’d have on the cabin floor, the family pictures that were taped up around my bunk bed, the summers of horseback riding and learning to take care of the horses in the thousand-degree heat. The rain dances we did in the hopes our campout might not happen and we could stay indoors. The frustration of starting a lanyard but the satisfaction of finishing it. The day trips we would take into the city, the July 4^th celebrations away from home, and the year a bunk mate got lice and we all had to clean every single strand of hair and every little thing in the cabin got vacuumed and washed many times over. The naughty songs we wrote about our counselors who we thought were being unfair. Hearing the news my uncle had died and the worrying about missing his funeral. The summer after my cousin died and how hard being away from family was but the comfort I found from her best friend and from mine. The enjoyment of the little things like having green mashed potatoes when I was on the green team for Maccabiah, the inside jokes that make you laugh 20 years later, seeing the Torah unrolled completely as the entire camp held it up with a couple of fingers each, receiving a Soap Opera Digest from Mom so I could keep up with my soaps, sending and receiving snail mail from so many people back home – long before email was a thing, being asked to imagine what God looks like and to draw a picture of God, sitting in the Kibbutz freezer eating cookie dough with 5 or 6 other teenagers, learning how to squeegee a floor – and what the hell a squeegee was, and celebrating my first double digit birthday away from home. These are the memories of my summers – the years I turned 10, 11, 13, 14, 15, and 16. They are the memories of retreats and reunions, and I’m comforted knowing I get to keep making them. (Case in point: playing Cards Against Humanity Saturday night and laughing til we cried and felt hoarse the rest of the night.)

I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to come to camp as a camper. Camp, sleep-away camp in particular, teaches kids skills they could never learn at home or in school - from how to cope when you don't like what's being served for dinner to how to comfort a homesick friend. I could write a whole blog post about the lessons I learned at camp that were never directly taught but gained through my own realization or reliance on myself. I’m hopeful and looking forward to when my own kids decide to be campers; Banner has already mentioned wanting to come in the next year or two. I am grateful that my parents supported my desires to go to camp and Israel so long ago, when I was little and it meant being away from me for 4-6 weeks at a time. They put their trust in the camp leaders and counselors, and as a parent now, I know what a big decision that was. But, what a great one it was, as this place, these people, this camp has helped create who I am today. I will definitely be coming to next year’s Women’s Retreat, and I hope more of our old camp buddies will join. This walk back in time has been priceless, and the time for ME has been well worth the trip. Sam, thank you for wanting me to participate, and thank you for holding down the fort (and maybe even building some with the boys!) this weekend.

On Saturday night, we ended the camp fire with a classic camp song that happens to be one of my favorites, one that sums up my feelings about camp and the nostalgia felt this weekend. These words used to pass my lips without much thought, but as an adult recalling all the summers past, it had a new meaning that reinforced my sentiments:

Stars in the sky bring the summer right back to me.

Tell me you’ll try to think about me whenever you see those

Stars in the sky.

It’s just a letter from a friend of mine,

Another picture from another time.

A word or two about a friend we miss.

A fond reminder of a promised kiss.

A fond reminder of a vow we made long ago.

We went away when we were very young

To find the person who we would become

To find the person that was hidden somewhere inside.

What we discovered there it still holds true.

The friends you make become a part of you.

The friends you make will each return to you like the tide.

And if by chance you should be going there,

Please take this message that I hope you’ll share.

Please take this message to the ones too young to have learned.

The time is short and there’s so much to do.

Don’t waste a moment of what’s given to you.

Don’t waste a moment ‘cause you’ll never see it return.

Stars in the sky bring the summer right back to me.

Tell me you’ll try – to think about me whenever you see those

Stars in the sky.