stormy weather

I love a good storm.  Thunder and lightening and pelting rain.  Hail.  An inch of water running down city streets like a little river.  Never going above the curb, of course. Never leaking into our foundations.

Provided it's night.  And I'm inside.  And east of the Alleghenys.  And north of the Mason Dixon.  And south of the Hudson Bay.

We are pretty sheltered here in these parts.  A rogue hurricane once in awhile.  Winds don't go much above 40 but so often.  Hail smaller than the diamond on your finger.  Storms are in and out in a half hour, usually less.

***

Growing up in Erie, we had tornado drills.  I'm guessing they closely resembled the air raid drills from a generation before.  Tuck under the desk.  Tuck behind the coats.  Tuck under the lunch tables.

Tuck.
Always tuck.
One must tuck to keep safe.

I've never been in a real tornado, but I've watched plenty skies turn green.  Plenty waterspouts form over the lake to the north, pick up to travel over the city and touch as a twister out down south in the county where there is some open space.

North
Always north.
One must look north to keep safe.

In grade school, the brother of a pair of sisters- one a grade up from and one a grade lower than me- died in a tornado.  The girls said they were tucked in the basement, eyes to the (north) window, when it happened.  A wind whipped around and took a hubcap off the wall.  It sliced through the little boys neck, practically taking his head clean off.

I have two deep seated fears.
Tornadoes.
Severed heads.

I never realized where they came from until ten days ago.

***

Ten days ago, I was supposed to be in North Carolina at a good friend's wedding.  We were going to drop Jacob at my dad's in Raleigh and drive out to the Outer Banks for a few days.  A nice trip for everyone.  Much needed after the way the first third of the year has gone.  But we couldn't go.  Couldn't do it.  Too exhausted.

A tornado hit Raleigh-Durham that weekend, and cleared just about everything a few miles down a piece from dad's.  You probably heard the story about the Lowes being leveled.  That's the one. That's the tornado that would have passed by my son.

They are fine.  The house is fine.  Jake would have been fine, assuming they would have been home.  But I would have been a mess.  The thought of Jake being that close to a tornado, without me, without power, without telephone lines, without his dad, without his stuff, without without without (his head) has me dry heaving.
Just
the
thought
of
it. 

***

I was upset we didn't go down for the wedding.  Upset we were so put out by life that a 400 mile drive felt like it would break us.  Upset. Upset. Upset.

But I'm glad we didn't go.

Glad I've discovered the root of my anxiety over heads and tornadoes.  Because before I just couldn't figure out why.  All these years. 
Now I know that tornadoes+heads are the reason I discovered that children could die.  I could die.  My little friends could die.
Those phobias came back in full force after becoming a mother.  I didn't know why.  Now I do.  Children die. My son could die. 
That's a step.  Knowing is half the battle. Moving on.

***

There's a lot of shit weather happening in our country now.  Lots of people being displaced.  Being hurt.  Being dead.

I ran across a poem yesterday in a book I'm reading for class.  The book is called Ghosts from the Nursery.  The poem is this:

Do Lawd, come down here and walk amongst yo people
And tek 'em by the hand and telt 'em
That yo ain't hex wid 'em
And do Lawd come yoself,
Don't send yo son
'Cause dis ain't no place fo chillen

It's an old slave poem, written following the 1866 earthquake in Charleston, but it's just as good today as it was then.

Love and prayers and thoughts and energy and positive whodoo to all in the wake of a storm.
Whatever your storm may be.

Be good.

 the bunnies are watching

policing

Two weeks ago I instilled a new house rule:
No eating in the living room.

All food must be eaten in the dining room, kitchen, or yard.

Two weeks ago I instilled a new rule in the house for two reasons:
Food messes in the living room
Mindless television eating.

In two weeks I've had to vacuum lots less, the snacks have lasted lots longer, and I'm down 5 pounds.

Yikes.

I think I found my bad eating habit.

if you give a kid a camera-phone...

and free reign over the Broad Street median just north of the stadiums

 Also of note, I found out I'm horribly allergic to dandelions. 

melting. pot.

Class started this week.  My "Deepening Trauma Awareness" class.  Because if there is anything I need in life, it's to be more deeply aware of trauma.

There's lots and lots of reading.  HEAVY reading.  But good reading.  All about what trauma is and what it does to your brain and body and behavior.   And family and community and world.

Something struck me in one of the readings, something about how American family life has changed over the last 200 years, and we are living in opposition to our evolutionary and biological wiring.  How we went from surrounding ourselves with our families, how we were typically ten or twenty relatives deep in a town or on a farm or in a clearing in the woods and as we married and had children, it got bigger and bigger and bigger and we always had someone to help out with whatever it was we needed help with.  Then people started branching out and moving away and today the average American household is less than four people and 26% of us live alone.  Cats notwithstanding. 

♪♫Cue Carole King.♫♪

My grandparents' families were immigrant families.  Only my dad's dad lived and died in the town where he grew up.  The town he grew up in isn't the one he was born in, but it was where I was born.  And subsequently moved from a week or so after my 18th birthday.

So what about that?
What about the fact that we aren't so cohesive anymore, we've all been moved around and shuffled about?  That we continue to move around and shuffle about?
That we don't feel a need to be close to our families?
Air travel and telephones and internet service and social networks let us feel so connected that we are free to go.

But this movement and shufflement is older than technology.

Most of us, as Americans- by virtue of being American- come from uprooted and broken families.  Uprooted and broken ancestries.  No matter if our families got here by choice or by chance or by desperation or by force- by immigration or by exile or by slavery- they got here uprooted and broken and confused and probably more than a bit apprehensive.  Afraid.

Our parents or grandparents (or great grandparents, or great great, or great great great, depending on how long your people have been here) left their moms and dads.
And maybe their siblings.
And maybe some of their children.
And their friends
and their stuff
and their fellowship
and their community.
And their foods
and their houses
and their customs
and their land
and their clothes
and their animals
and everything heavy
and unnecessary
and bolted down.
Everyone sick
and everyone weak
and everyone resistant.
Everything and everyone anyone ever knew.

Leave.
Left behind.
Break away.
Broken.

Imagine the feelings they must have had.  The frustration.  The grief.  The anticipation and excitement.  The newness of it all.  The strangeness.  This foreign place.  Imagine the effect all those feelings had on the way they lived out their lives here.  Depending on where and when they landed, weather was a challenge.  Germs.  Employment.  Language.  Education.  Wildlife.  Savages.
How did it effect their physical health?  Their mental health?  Emotional health?  Marriage?  Family ties?  Parenting practices?  Social life?  Levels of faith and love and trust and hope?

Imagine the desperation to uphold traditions.  All that dumb stuff grandma made you do because 'that's just what people do, that's just what we do'.
Imagine grasping for shreds of comfort.  Shreds of familiarity.  A sense of home.  Whatever that means, whatever that meant.  No amount of property or success or wealth could save anyone from feeling homesick.  Lost.  New.

Old people are so crazy.
And their children are crazy and their children's children are crazy.
We are all so crazy.
Lots and lots of newness and getting-used-to-stuffness and craziness getting passed down as we all try to heal ourselves from our family breaks, from our own breaks.  As we try to make up for the sacrifices made for us.  To be good enough.  To make it worth it.  To keep our family identities.  To create our own.  To make way for ourselves, our children.  Catching up with the past while the future spirals before us.  Ever changing, never slowing.

It's a damned big job and it's taking hundreds of years, without an end in sight.

resolved

The head physician, who is also Jacob's regular doctor, called me yesterday and thanked me one thousand times for calling and told me they are going to be much more strict regarding adherence to procedure and going to re-instill best practices in everyone's brain.

I can't imagine that checking children's genitals is ever comfortable for anyone, but it needs to be done.  Kids get STD's and infections and abnormalities and other nasties down there, and sometimes the only way to be sure that your kid doesn't have a case of ick is to have the doctor check it out.

Children need shots, but they don't need to be told they are getting shots fifteen minutes before they get shots.  That makes sense to anyone.  Or should.

The developmental stuff supposedly was supposed to happen, but it didn't.  For one reason or another.

So that's over.

I debated whether to tell Jake I spoke to the doc, I was afraid of:
1) bringing it up and reminding him of it, and having to go through the emotions again.
2) making a bigger deal out of it than I should with a 5 year old.  Parents' reactions to events can be more likely to traumatize a child than actual events.  It's something to be aware of when helping your kid through stuff.
3) beating a dead horse.  We've been over it, Jake seems over it.

In the end I chose to tell him.  I told him that I talked to the doctor and no one will ever get their pants pulled down without being asked first and no one will ever be left in a room waiting for a long time waiting to get shots.
He said, "thanks for doing that for me, Mom.  For me and all the other kids who go there.  I don't ever want to feel like that again, and I don't want any other kids to feel that way.  Especially babies who might not be able to handle it very well".

And, that's my Jacob.
Jacob, who with every passing day is becoming less mine and more his own.

doctory

A few weeks ago I took Jake in for a pediatric appointment.  He's healthy.  43 inches and 40 pounds.  Vision 20/30 (which is okay because eyes aren't fully developed until age 8), perfect hearing, exemplary blood pressure.

I like the office and the people that work there.  I really do.  We've been going there since Jake was born.  The office is really easy to get to by bus, subway, car, and if we are feeling well enough to do so, foot from the house.  It's around the corner from my office if I need to run in to schedule something or cancel something or drop off something or pick up something.  School-aged children who play sports need lots of somethings dropped off or picked up.

The clientele is the sort that you'd want waiting in the waiting room.  We're like the poorest kids there, but that's okay. 

The office is closely connected with one of the best children's hospitals in the world.  That's always comforting.

The standard procedures for a 5 year old's Well Child visit?  Let's just say that I hope we didn't get the standard procedure.  The nurse stuff went swimmingly.  The height weight bp vision stuff.  Even the shots were quick.  It was the check up that went sour. 

The best of the worst was that there was no developmental assessment.  No name recognition, hopping on one foot, asking about bedtime routines or how mornings were.  No asking what he did during the day, no asking if he can ride a bike or what the best and worst things about school or home or in the neighborhood are.  Nothing. 

The worst of the worst was pulling his underwear down to check his penis and testicles while saying "it's okay if I pull your pants down, I'm a doctor. I need to check your area down here to see if it works".  Jake was terrified, and went stiff as a board as tears filled his eyes.  He asked me if it was okay, and I asked him if it was okay with him and he said yes, as long as I hold his hand.

And "to see if it works"? Seriously?  To a five year old child, the genitals "work" if they can pee.  What the hell is he supposed to do to prove whether they "work"?

After the check up Jake was told to put his pants and undershirt on, and "(she) hates being the bearer of bad news, but he had to get a few shots".  Then she left and we waited for 15 minutes until the nurse came in to give him his shots.

Well. 

You can imagine how those 15 minutes went. 

I took a few days to calm down before calling the office to set up an appointment with the office manager.  I needed a few days to calm down before calling the office to set up an appointment with the office manager.  It's one thing to be a Mama Bear, it's another thing to be a spastic asshole.

The woman who heads up the practice was genuinely appalled and contacted the lead physicians and the lead nurse and the lead lady with the alligator purse.
And she had Jake's school physical form, which usually takes 10 dollars and 10 days filled out in 10 minutes for free, so bonus points for that.

And then we sat and talked for a half hour.  I don't generally talk about my job in conversation, but I did tell her that as someone who does what I do, I am probably 100 times more sensitive to certain issues than someone who has a different job, so while most parents wouldn't be upset if the doctor didn't ask their child to write his or her name, or draw a person, or ask him to skip from the exam room to the scale, I'm the sort who wonders why they don't.  It's so simple, and it can save so much heartache and so many headaches for everyone in the future. 
I shared that I think it's very important for the doctors and nurses at this practice to remember that they may be the primary point of entry into early childhood services for most of the children seen there.  The parents who bring their kids to that office aren't the same parents who have social workers or nurses in the house.  They aren't the ones who attend community centers or Early Head Start programs or day cares who are federally or locally mandated to hire someone to be on the look out for developmental delays.  They need the doctor to be that person for them.  That gate keeper.  That whatever.

It's fun to do developmental assessments on kids.  It takes a little practice, but it's worth it.  It's fun for them because they get to show off what they know and it's fun for grown ups because you get to play a little while you work.  It's easy enough to hit the major stuff that just about anyone can do it while they do other stuff.  Even doctors. Even doctors checking ear holes and nose holes and knee jerks and stuff.

And the pulling down of the pants thing? 
Holy
Crap.
Any mother or father should freak.  And child should freak.  If your child doesn't freak, you need to sit down with your child and have a very poignant discussion with your child about his penis or her vagina and who is or is not allowed to touch it.  A five year old boy should be the only one touching his penis, unless there is a medical reason for a parent/caregiver or doctor to touch it and the parent/caregiver or doctor must have that child's permission first. 

And the thing with the shots?  How about telling Jacob that the nurse will be in to finish up in a few minutes, and if you must tell someone about shots tell me that Jake needs a couple vaccinations or immunizations.  Don't ever use the word "shot".  Ever.  Shots fall right under Closet Monsters on the "What Scares Small Children Most" scale.  We could have spent those 15 minutes playing with the cars I had jammed in my pockets.  Or drawing on the table paper with the crayons in my bag. 

Or processing through the underpants incident.

Instead it was spent screaming and crying and trying to hide and running in circles and spinning on the floor and snotting all over the place.  Not fun.

Take home message: be sure that the people who are supposed to be taking care of your child's medical needs are taking care of his developmental and emotional needs too.  And his or her need to feel safe.  And his or her need to feel respected.  And anything else that may come up, like your developmental and emotional needs.  And your need to feel safe and respected.

what? you can't see him? he's sitting right here...

A few days/weeks/months/(who can keep track?) ago I read something and followed up with the smart people on my job about pre-school aged children making up imaginary friends or siblings as a way to fantasize about things they have sudden or natural urges to do, but know is wrong. 

Not as a scapegoat for the wrong things they do based upon their natural urges- that's totally different.

But as a way to process the ideas, actions, and consequences of stuff that seems really fun, stuff that they see on television, watch other kids do, think about sometimes, or hear about prefaced with things like "so help me God" and "don't even think about it".

Man alive, do I wish I would have read that before Jake started talking about his twin brother who goes by various names such as but not limited to: Spitty Brother, Cutty Brother, Turn on the Stove Brother, Stabby Brother, Hitty Brother, Touch Poop Brother, Pee on the Wall Brother, Play with Matches Brother, Taste Pee Brother, Finger in the Butt Brother, Eat Snot Brother, Break Glass Brother, Pencil in the Nose Brother, Microwave Cat Brother, Clothes Dryer the Cat Brother, and Write on the Walls Brother.

It's perfectly normal and healthy and sane and doesn't mean your kid is seriously contemplating any of this or has a trio of sixes under that crazy mop of hair or that you are failing miserably as a parent/role model/television screener.  It doesn't mean that the kids at school and the cousins and the neighbors are devilspawn influencing your child.  It's just a part of normal, healthy early childhood development.  Part of sorting out good from bad and right from wrong and left from right and up from down.

So you can breathe now.

Or panic.

Whichever you chose.

seat belts and car seats

I volunteered my time and voice to do a presentation on the current car safety seat and seatbelt recommendations last night at Jake's school.

Note I said recommendations, and not regulations.  And not laws.  Because laws and regulations?  Wow.  They vary from state to state and they are becoming less strict as time goes by.  Probably because of people fighting to make their own choices for their children, infringement of rights kind of stuff.  My baby belongs to me and I'll do what I want with it kind of stuff.

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that you keep your infants and toddlers facing backwards until they are 2, provided they do not outgrow the height and weight limitations of the seat.  Convertible car seats are better for accommodating this recommendation than are those infant carrier seats.  Your kid might look crunched up, but his joints are still pliable enough that getting crunched doesn't make him stiff or uncomfortable. 

All toddlers and preschoolers should use a forward- facing car seat in the back seat with the five-point harness provided with the seat for as long as possible, usually up to age 5 if your kid is of normal size.

A child has outgrown his or her forward facing seat when:

He or she reaches the top weight or height allowed for his seat

His or her shoulders are above the top harness slots

His or her ears have reached the top of the seat

All school age children should use a booster in the backseat with the shoulder belt over the mid-point of their shoulders and across their lap until they are 4' 9" (57") tall.  A child usually reaches 57 inches tall somewhere between the ages of 8 and 14 years.  If  you look at those CDC growth charts, you'll see that the 8 year olds in the 95th percentile are 57" tall while 14 year olds in the 5th percentile are 57". 

My mother-in-law is only 59 inches tall.  She is 19 apples big.  

I am almost 23 apples big.  

You could make a half way decent sized pie with the number of apples between us.

Jacob measured 14 1/3 apples, or 43 inches at  his last doctor's appointment.

I was as many apples as my grandma in 4th grade.

Children younger than 13 years or smaller than 57 inches should always sit in the back seat.  Airbags may inflate in any crash and can cause serious injury or death.  The serious injury is usually brain damage.  The death often is caused by decapitation.  Most parents would not want to hold their child's detached head in their lap.  That last sentence is an opinion, not fact, but I can probably find something to back that up.

Car seats expire!  Check the date on the back or throw them away after a car accident or 5 years after purchase.  You may want to write your purchase date on the back of the seat.

Never use a cracked car seat, a seat with missing parts, or a recalled car seat (you can check by calling the manufacturer or by calling the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration Vehicle Safety Hotline at 888.327.4269

Speak with your obstetrician, pediatrician, school guidance counselors and social workers, local fire departments, local police departments, community centers, places of worship, and the United Way regarding free or low-cost car seats.  Buying a car seat should be a priority in your budget.  Children who need one should get a new car seat before they get the new toys, sneakers, or outfits.  REPEAT:  Children who need one should get a new car seat before they get the new toys, sneakers, or outfits

A police officer can pull you over if he or she sees that your children are sitting in the front seat or sitting in the back without a car seat or with ill-fitting seat belts.  You can be ticketed and fined.  In some cases, you may be charged with child endangerment and you AND your children can be taken into custody.  Sometimes it's hard to get your kids back once they've been taken.

***Seatbelts and car seats save lives***

This is basically the information that I shared with the parents.  I gave them a hand out.  I shared with them that in my profession, I have worked with several parents who are now parenting a special-needs child because the child was not buckled in or they weren't in their seats correctly. I offered information for special harnesses that help hold kids who are famous for unbuckling themselves.  I said that it isn't like when we were kids, our parents aren't driving metal tanks and other kids don't make fun of each other if they wear belts or have booster seats (or helmets for bike-riding).   I said that caregivers should know all about car seat and seat belt use and installation.  I let them know that when I am in the prisons, I have met with parents who are there because their kid died in a car crash because the child was not buckled in or they weren't in their seats correctly.  They lost their child and their freedom.  They are now a criminal.  I shared that these are not generally cracked out parents, or crazy people.  They are normal parents, just like us who didn't have their kids buckled in the way they should have been buckled in.

I had to stop for a second to keep from crying.  Because you don't know what it's like to see a brain damaged child who used to be perfect unless you've seen one.  Because you don't know what it's like to see a mother dressed in orange because she killed her child in her haste to get the kid to school on time unless you've seen one.  Because you don't know what it's like to watch a father cry because his baby is dead because he didn't know the buckle on the five point harness needed to be pulled up rather than pushed down near the waist unless you've watched him.

I hope you never see it.  My job has a lot of perks.  Stuff like that isn't one of them.

   

Upon leaving the Parent-Teacher Meeting last night, a mother who was in attendance got into her car with her preschool aged child and they drove off together.  He was sitting in her lap.