Boxing Day: Not Just for Canadians

There's no reason why anyone should stay in an abusive relationship. If you're in an abusive relationship, you don't "have" to stay.

Unless the abuser is your kid.

Then you stay. It's the law.

Round 1

Yesterday, Rain beat me up. I'm not proud I got smacked down by a toddler, but there it is. I was holding her on my hip as I took away some contraband she had in her hand. I seriously can't remember if it was a rock, pencil, or stolen iPod because in a moment, as you'll see, she knocked me senseless. Anyway, when I pulled the object away--whatever it was--she started flapping about. She jerked her body backwards (the typical toddler arched back) in disapproval. This wouldn't have been a problem, except when she came back towards me, she knocked her head into my cheek and eye. Her skull got me right on my cheek bone and eye.

It hurt. Real bad like. I had to kneel to avoid dropping Rain on the floor. Her forehead was red, but was she crying? Nope.

First of all, Rain's head is ROCK solid. (FYI: regardless of what our parents claimed, there's almost no way kids will ever "crack their heads open." Trust me, Rain's tried).

Second, Rain was too busy staring at me. She was fascinated by my pain/anger.

There I was trying to keep her safe, and she had hit me! Ok, sure, it was probably an accident, but if she hadn't thrown a fit, she wouldn't have slammed her head into my eye. My eye!

I was holding the side of my face, and giving her a "See what you did??" look. She knew I was hurtin', and that she had done something very wrong. She walked away at first like, "Don't care 'cause I'm mad at you." Still sitting on the floor, I turned my back to her. I wanted her to know she'd caused me pain. When I peeked, I saw Rain had grabbed hold of a foot ladder I had been using to paint a shelf. I guess she figured, "You're going to turn your back on me? Well, then, I'll climb this ladder you're always taking away!"

I kept my back turned as I rubbed my face. Finally, Rain came toddling over. For a few moments, she sat next to me. She was kind of sympathizing and seemed a tad remorseful. After five seconds of humanity, she realized she was a toddler with short-term memory loss, and was all, "Hey, is that your laptop open over there?" The glowing screen was too much for her. She was up and out in a second, assumably to beat my laptop.

Round 2

I've been told by my sister that when Rain gets mad at her older cousin Syrene (who is almost 5)--you know, when they fight over toys and the like--that Rain takes it out on Syrene's little sister Madi. This has happened about 3 or 4 times, but I've never seen it myself.

Until today.

Today Rain and Syrene were playing together (my sister was out on an errand). Most of the time, they have a lot of fun together. Eventually and inescapably, they'll decide that there's only one cool toy in the room, and they must both play with it at the same time. At this point, I usually check my pockets for what kind of parental phrases I might have handy.

"Why don't we take turns?" Check.
"Toys are meant to be shared." Check.
"If you don't learn to share, no one will want to play with you." Check.

I was bouncing Madi on my leg when Syrene decided to hit Rain to get a toy. Before I could intervene, Rain hit Syrene back. I was a bit surprised (mind you, Tim & I never hit each other & Rain isn't allowed to watch TV, so I was a bit, "Where did you learn that from?"), but still, I was determined to end the madness.

Well, now arms were flying, and somehow Rain seemed to get that she was in no way going to whip up on an almost-five-year-old. So, she turned around and SMACKED Madison on the head. I'm thinking:

1. How does Rain know that hurting Madison is like hurting Syrene? Isn't that a little too clever? In a sinister sort of way?

2. Stop!

At this point, I switched right into intinct mode. Forget the parenting books. War manuals do you no good when you're in the trenches. I was so instinctively mad at Rain for hitting an infant that I took her hand, and said, "NO!" with Death in my voice.

Rain quickly raised her hand again and hit Madison. I grabbed Rain's hand, and with all the sadness building up in me, I smacked her hand and said, "I SAID 'NO'."

We stared at each other for a moment. Rain was shocked (I've never hit her before), and I was mad. More than that, I was so, so, so very sad that I had to put the smack down on Rain. But I promised myself a long time before Rain was born, that no matter what, if I have to chose between being her therapist-friend or parent, I was going to have to suck it up and be a mom.

I should've just stayed mad.

The minute Rain saw that change in my eyes--from anger to sadness--my advantage was over. She got all huffy, walked off, flung herself on the carpet, and gave me a sassy look.

"Don't hit Madison," I told her again, trying to sound firm.

If you've ever seen a Wallace & Gromit flick--the clay animation stuff--then you know how expressive eyes can be. Gromit doesn't talk; it's all in the eyes. Anyway, if you've seen Gromit in action, then you know what it's like to deal with a toddler. They search your eyes for all kinds of information and offer the same in return.

Well, I could tell from Rain's eyes that she knew I was defending Madi. She huffed for half a minute longer, then begged to be carried.

Neither of us raised a white flag, to be sure, but we did opt for a truce.

Monkey & (Wo)Man

Monkey

Sometimes I wonder how a child ever grows up to be an adult. A creature whose life policy is to identify items by eating them first would seem to have little chance of surviving. In the last week, Rain has:

1. Eaten petroleum jelly

2. Chewed 6 cents in change, a screw, and plastic wiring (she did, however, turn down vanilla yogurt)

3. Climbed a large roll of bubble wrap, a free-standing utility shelf, and a stack of bricks

I have a rock collection on the kitchen counter from all the contraband I've confiscated from Rain's cheeks and hands. Thank goodness she doesn't have pockets.

(Wo)Man

Just when I think, "Wow, my kid has absolutely no life skills," Rain will work some magic. In the last two weeks, she has:

1. Done some Moonwalking. She smiled at me, and on her first try, walked smoothly backwards halfway across the room like, "Who knew this thing went in reverse??"

2. Tried to sing. The other night we were at church, and loud enough for everyone to hear, she started to kinda sing. She held out some notes throughout an entire verse of a song and was so proud of herself. While I'm on the subject of music, let me just say this: Rain will have so much more rhythm than her parents. When I turn on the radio, she doesn't dance or bob her head until the right song comes on. And when she does bob her head, it's not toddler-like (awkward jerking or whatnot). She does it too cool like, "Yeah, man, keep that beat going. Why don't you lay that track over some Veggie Tales and make me a remix?" The first time I saw her jam like that I laughed and laughed because she looked like a teenager. Then I remembered that some day she'd actually be a teenager. Party over.

3. Shown a little love. I've been painting/cleaning our new house all week. Sometimes I want to pass out on the floor from the work (and the fumes). I was taping down a door the other day, when Rain walked up to me. After observing a minute, she picked up a piece of tape and stuck it gently on the window. She looked at me to verify that this was a good place and, well, it was a little sweet. When I cleaned the windows later, guess who had a paper towel to help Mommy? If only Tim was so enthusiastic ...

4. Fine-tuned her lunch etiquette. I handed Rain her lunch yesterday, and I got a precious, "Tank Yoo." Today she tried to poor her own drink. It was a disaster but a decent try.

I guess what I'm saying is, in the battle of Baby vs. Beast, Baby is in the lead overall.

For now.

Belly Button

Today, Rain found her belly button. She stared at the little hole, poked at it, stared at it some more, and probably realizing it was permanent, looked up sadly at me and said,

"Oh no."

Don't worry, little Rainbow, there are far more cosmetically frightening things in the world:
http://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-Mommy-Michael-Alexander-Salzhauer/dp/1601310323/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1218577348&sr=8-1

Tank Yooo

Thanks to those of you who've taken the time to visit racetoraeleigh.com; I'll post updates as we go along. Thanks again!

In other news ...

Since birth, Rain has communicated largely by grunting approval/disapproval and crying. My niece, who is about 8 months old, has made all kinds of babbles since she was born. Rain was never like that. Her baby book had a place every month to update "New Words I Learned," and I felt like writing, "See previous month." How many variations of "Ahhhh" could there be?

Then came the slow interest in verbiage. Rain started with "Da-ee" ("Daddy") and "Ma!" A few weeks ago she added things like "Oh!" and "Oh, wow!" To hear her make words was surprising and weird. Then about two weeks ago, Rain didn't seem satisfied with the basics anymore. She looked as if she was concentrating on the sounds coming out of my mouth. She would point to a light, and I would say, "Light." Even though she would answer, "Ga," every time she saw a light she would say, "Ga." I was happy that at the very least she was consistent.

Then 3 days ago, it happened. This is exactly the way it went down:

Rain fell asleep in her crib at 9:00. At 4 A.M., she started crying in her bedroom. Tim brought her to me, and I fell asleep holding her. At 7:00 (her usual wake-up time), Rain sat up in bed. We opened our eyes and stared at her. She pointed to the bed and said very clearly, "What is it?"

Tim and I stared at each other. Very slowly, Tim said, "Um, a blanket?"

Rain considered this for a second and said, "Oh."

Is this the way it happens?? She goes to sleep at 9:00, and somehow 10 hours later she speaks English? This was no fluke, either. Since then, Rain has pointed to things over and over to ask, "What is it?" or "What's that?" She's clearly delighted that we're communicating on some level.

The same day, "What is it?" appeared, Rain and I were playing with blocks in her room. As usual, I handed her blocks as I said, "Thank you" and "You're welcome." After a minute, she handed me a block, and as sweetly as possible, said, "Tank yooo."

My kid just used a polite phrase? Tissue, please.

Life in Italy

On Saturday, my mom was kind enough to watch Rain for me while I finished painting Rain's bedroom window. Several hours later, I returned to pick my kiddo up. I stepped into my mom's hallway and Rain stood there with her back towards me. She was babbling to my mom, and then she turned around and saw me. She smiled and ran towards me with her arms open.

In the past year, there were times when I thought I was the worst mom ever. I wasn't cut out for parenting, and why, oh why, did Rain have to scream about everything? But, there she was, running with her arms open, and I thought, "Wow, we're not perfect, but we still love each other!" I mean, how many times in my life is someone going to be so happy to see me that (s)he comes running at me with arms open? The only person who has ever run at me with so much enthusiasm before is my ma's shih tzu. Go figure.

We love each other, and with all the insanity that plagues our house daily, we keep afloat. But there are new parents out there, just like me, who are dealing with a lot more than just tantrums and diapers. As the writer in my previous blog entry so eloquently described, these parents are learning to love Holland when they had planned on a trip to Italy.

Before Rain was born, I pondered the terrible what if. What if she was sick or had a disability? What if I couldn't help her with it? Will I have what it takes to be her mom? I tried not to think on these things too long, because the answers were very, very frightening. God knows I don't have the spiritual and emotional maturity to hang on like many special parents do.

And then Rain was born. She was strong and beautiful. I, for the time being, had nothing to worry about. But, I did often wonder about those parents out there. The ones who were all dressed for Italy ...

Not too long ago, a fellow writer friend of mine (children's author Diane Roberts), showed me a photo of her granddaughter. Raeleigh ("Ray-lee") is about 5 months older than Rain, and in the photo, she had the same fair skin & wispy hair I had become familiar with.

Raeleigh, though, has what are called hemangiomas. Many of you have probably seen hemangiomas (they're common birthmarks) or had them yourselves. They often disappear after a kid turns two and are only a vague childhood memory. But Raeleigh's are a different, more aggressive kind. Hers have overtaken her chin and sides of her face so much so that she requires chemo and steroids to treat them.

Weeks afterwards, I thought about Raeleigh. Here her parents were constantly monitoring their baby's trachea tube, and all I had to deal with was Rain's passing hysterics. They were financing expensive medical treatments, and I was handing over a $15 co-pay for Rain's "wellness" visits. They celebrated every delayed developmental milestone, because hey, the milestone was met. We got to check of Rain's milestones as if the baby books were written especially with her in mind.

The point is, whether I acknowledge it every day or not, I have been enjoying a fabulous time in Italy. In the meantime, Raeleigh has been learning the ropes of Holland. Babies, whether because of sicknesses, disabilities, or impairments of any kind, are making it work in Holland. Italy and Holland are both beautiful, but the people of Holland deserve a hat-tippin', a kudos, a salute--something.

So.

Here we are.

Can you sense a favor comin', because I'm about ready to ask it?

Please, please, when you have a moment later today, or tonight after the kids are in bed, or tomorrow morning when you're sipping your coffee, check out something my sister & I built for Raeleigh:

http://www.racetoraeleigh.com/

It's nothin' flashy & we're still workin' out the kinks, but I truly have this flicker, this bit of hope, that everyone is going to help this one baby out. I know, I know: there are so many people that need help, so why this girl?

Because she's one you can help. She's not a nameless face. She just an innocent kid who got dealt a harsh hand. This is the first time I've ever used my God-given fingers to draw/write without benefiting myself financially in any sense because I believe people want to do right by this kid, if I can show them how. And, come on--who doesn't love turtles?

Holland, and Other Great Places

A few months back, I mentioned that I'm working on a very special project. Before I explain what it is, I'd like to share this piece written years ago:

Welcome to Holland
By Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning for a fabulous vacation trip to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Colosseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go.

Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland!!!" you say. "What do you mean Holland!!! I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they've haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would have never met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you can catch your breath, you look around...and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things... about Holland.

The End of an Error--er--Era

Tim has been sick for two days. He hasn't been sick in a while, and this time he went down bad. He has chills, fever, soreness and the like. He's been asleep most of the time, but today, unfortunately, he had to watch Rain so we could get our apartment keys turned in on time (today at 5:00). He was bad off and mumbled several times, "I'm sorry I'm sick. I wish I could be more help to you."

St. Tim continued to do his best, though several times he ended up face down on the floor. No, really: he found a blanket, placed it in the middle of our old bedroom, and slept on it as necessary. I told him several times not to do so much, but to tell you the truth, it was hard as all get out to clean & watch Rain at the same time. Because all of the child safety devices in our apartment had been removed, she kept trying to plug in the vacuum cleaner, stick a screwdriver in another socket, and pull any remaining cords. She hunted down scraps of paper and metal to eat and screamed to the heavens whenever we took them from her. The entire time, Tim was half-dead, and I was wondering how all three of us ever lived together in such a small apartment.

The apartment is what's really on my mind, though. I mean, Tim & I moved into this apartment complex when we got married. Rain's entire first year of life played out in our tiny 1-bedroom apartment. The neighborhood was nice (in fact, if we could've afforded to buy a home there, we probably would've), and the maintenance guy was awesome. But the same little woods/creek that gave the complex some charm was also the reason it was cursed with spiders and the like. Don't even get me started on the mosquitoes ... Looking back, we should've totally moved out a long time ago, but hey, it was home. Anyway, I was a little nostalgic when we left today. I told Tim I would lock up. I said goodbye to the kitchen, shot some video of the place, locked the front door, and headed to the car--where Tim, with bags under his eyes and haggard expression, was sitting in the front seat with a crying Rain on his lap.

Nostalgia over.