Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts

Saturday, January 17, 2009

The Sun is Shining

Frib and Al basking in the rare Seattle winter sunshine

Given how the first 17 days of 2009 have gone the fact that the sun is shining is one of the brightest spots thus far...

I will keep this post brief and consider this my journal entry for the past couple of weeks. I look forward to closing this chapter and for sunny days ahead.

Just sent an email to a girlfriend and thought I could use part of that note to best sum up the recent days.

Been a helluva a week, girl—close friend got the diagnosis of a lifetime. cancer. (mom of a 5 yr. old, engaged to be married in mere weeks, successful biz owner, life was blooming brilliantly). She will "kick it" I know (I think that will be the title of her blog we're working on--stay tuned) and I will be there each step of the way so long as she does not tire of me!

My brother lost his job to the economy (and is going in for nearly 7 hr. ear surgery next week in Boston with a 6 wk. recovery said to be filled with nauseau and dizziness—has a family of 4 back in Maryland).

One of my clients closed their restaurant after nearly 20 yrs (dozens displaced), a girlfriend suffered a miscarriage yesterday and has been simply overjoyed with the prospect of her babe for weeks now, my mom-in-law got in a car axe and can’t meet us in Disney the end of the month afterall- the airline won’t give us our $ back (thank God she will be OK once we get her back feeling better).

I will spare the k PR newspaper quotes this week, the insulting letter from a lawyer based on a client that won't pay, and the vomit fest hosted by my beautiful Audrey that kicked off in our bed at 8 this morning.

I may steal Liv and do some retail therapy for a bit as E plays Mr. Mom with Audrey and watches basketball. That is, IF she stops vomiting. Otherwise, she needs me more than the mall. ;)

So if that's the case I will pull up a slice of the floor and rest in the sun with the dogs.
Got this quote from a friend yesterday--

Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass...it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.

My umbrella is by the door...

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Hope for Bliss

Having an issue identified and being able to start down a path of how to deal with it is one of the most fulfilling emotions I've experienced. In the same way, not having direction can make me feel I'm not being heard. And fills me with dread. And hopelessness.

Eric and I are desperately trying to help our Olivia Bliss be heard. And find hope. She has a very volatile personality when things don't go as she's planned or as she sees fit. Examples are: things being moved in her room, being asked to do something she doesn't want to do, she does not like the way her clothes look, or how her posters are hung, etc. The outbursts are overwhelming. For her. And for the rest of us in the family. She reacts so strongly and so crazed that it has boggled our minds and caused an insurmountable amount of stress in our family. The remorse and despair she feels afterward is equally overwhelming. And I know she feels helpless. I have never felt more like a failure in my life than I do as a mom to Olivia because I can't stop the chaos. I desperately want her to feel in control and I see how out of control this beautiful little girl of mine is.
We've talked to drs., counselors, teachers, friends, family and read numerous books. "You need to be consistent, she needs to know she is not the boss, you need to find her 'currency' and what will make her behave appropriately." We have heard from dozens about how I should not hold her and talk with her after these outbursts since she'll think she won-- "She should go to bed and lay in the dark and really think about what she did." How I should not always discuss feelings with her --"She's just spitting back at you what she thinks you want to hear". We've been told (and we have believed) that we just need to be stricter, stronger, tougher. We've tried. And it hasn't worked. And I am not convinced that any one has been right in their well intentioned advice. Although we are grateful. But it's not working. And I believe conventional wisdom is not what we need. It has been eating away at us lately ---as she has an outburst in the car and then walks into class with the weight of the world on her little back. Or as she lays in the dark sobbing--eventually succumbing to sleep. If this is all manipulation then I WILL get stronger and stricter but Lord knows I've tried and something in my gut is telling me loud and clear that it's so much more. In an email to my dad recently I expressed these deep concerns. His response was simple and yet said so much, "Mothers know best about these issues so go with your gut and keep praying." Eric and I were beginning to feel heard. Two days ago Eric spoke to a psychiatrist on the phone and gave examples of some of Olivia's outbursts --one at age 2 and one at age 7. The dr. recommended we read, "The Explosive Child"--it's written about children who do not progress to the degree that we would hope in the areas of flexibility and frustration tolerance. The dr. who wrote the book is a professor in the Dept. of Psychiatry at Harvard and runs the Collaborative Problem Solving Institute at Massachsetts General Hospital in Boston where my brother had several surgeries. His credentials alone sold me. So I got the book and read it--voraciously. For starters, the quotes from so many of the parents resonated with me. "People who don't have a child like this don't have a clue about what it's like to live with a child like this. Believe me, this is not what I envisioned when I dreamed of having children." "I hate what I've become. I used to think of myself as a kind, patient, sympathetic person. But she has taught me to act in ways I never thought capable. I am emotionally spent." Here was one of the first paragraphs in the book as the dr. uses an example of an 11 year old girl, "Over the years her parents have sought help from countless mental health professionals, most of whom advised them to set firmer limits and be more consistent in managing her behavior and instructed them on how to implement formal reward & punishment strategies, usually in the form of sticker charts and time-outs. After eight years of disparate advice, firmer limits, medicine and motivational programs she has changed very little since her parents noticed there was something 'different' about her when she was a toddler." Bottom line--when parents punish children who do not have the skills to handle how to deal with frustrations the children do not change. This leads to reason that the behavior is not calculated so popular strategies aimed at "teaching the child who's boss" do not make sense since she is not intentionally being "stubborn/manipulative/attention-seeking/ etc". Based on that perspective he asks parents to shelf the conventional thought and assume the child is motivated to do the right thing and already knows who's boss but has a developmental delay in the skills of frustration tolerance. No one has ever told me about this and I am so relieved. To me & for now --it makes perfect sense. We shall see.

The book states, "due to these children's poor tolerance for frustration their wonderful qualities and tremendous potential are often obscured." The children about whom this book is written do not choose to be explosive (any more than a child would choose to have a reading disability). He went on, "Parents of explosive children often discover that strategies that are usually effective for shaping the behavior of other children-such as explaining, reasoning, reassuring, nurturing, redirecting, insisting, ignoring, rewarding, and punishing-don't achieve the same success with these types of children." He states the knee-jerk explanation tends to be "their parents are poor disciplinarians" And then he says, "Of course this explanation doesn't help us understand why many of the siblings of explosive children are actually very well behaved." Amen. That's when the tears came. And that's when I felt like we were now able to help Olivia. And that's when I felt like Olivia's voice was starting to be heard. And that maybe my gut was right afterall. The premise of the book is, "Children do well if they can." And now I know that Olivia needs help finding the tools to do well. The dr. writes that "there is no other group of children who are so misunderstood." This makes my heart break. Eric and I parked at the beach yesterday morning while the kids were in school and I read him pages and pages of highlighted notes. I told him that I believe her outbursts are not planned. How she is not calculated. How getting punished or not receiving an anticipated reward makes these kinds of kids more frustrated, not less. We talked about the steps we are told to take, "empathize/reassure, define the problem together, and invite the child to help solve it." And then I read this to him and I vowed to change the way I view Olivia and respond to her, "Many people believe that if the consequences a child has received for his explosions haven't caused him to stop exploding it must be that the punishments didn't cause enough pain. So they add more pain. The majority of explosive kids have had more pain than most people experience in a lifetime." I am so sorry, Olivia. We love you. We finally hear you. We know the road ahead may be a long one but we finally have a map to help us. And most of all--we have hope.

Monday, March 10, 2008

What are we going to do, Mama?

Helpless little Olivia asked me this question tonite. I had no answer. I was as broken, distraught, and lost as she. She was lying in her dark bedroom and I was sitting alongside her as we spent another night speaking amidst the shadows and trying to figure out how to make the chaos stop. Olivia had just melted down again after she noticed I'd moved something off her floor and placed it on her bed. Out broke another world war. Just this morning Eric laid out the three main rules here at Wilkinson Manor and wrote them on the kitchen blackboard, "Listen First Time, Don't Talk Back, Show Respect." And he then outlined what our agreed upon consequences were if the girls broke the rules. First-time out for as many minutes as your age, second- lose computer time, third- lose dessert. Tonite Liv suffered all three consequences and then I had to start the cycle again with a second time out for another 7 minutes. Finally she stopped ranting and was sent off to bed. With a very heavy heart. So there I sat at her bedside with an equally heavy heart.

The evening had been so lovely. Eric worked tonite and the girls and I ate dinner in bed and watched Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. I was excited for a peaceful bedtime and had wanted to write a short, light "blog/journal entry" about what we've been up to before heading off to bed. I was going to write about the darling American Girl's Fashion Show we went to benefiting Children's Hospital. About the "camp out" the kids had in the family room on Saturday night. About the "paint with the Easter bunny event" at my client's pottery studio benefiting bereavement camps for kids. About the "dance party" and sleepover the girls had over the weekend. About a fun Saturday lunch shared with friends.
About another client's yummy chocolate dinner (coconut, white chocolate, hazlenut truffle!!)
About Audrey's initiation into cheer club--earlier tonite Olivia was making up a club and Audrey wanted to join. Liv told her it was a cheer club & that Audrey needed to know a cheer to join. Moments later Audrey made one up, One step forward, one step back, give yourself a little clap. "Am I in?" she asked.


But, the night spun out of control. again.


"I do not know why I can't listen, mom. I want to. My head tells me to and then a small voice tells me to do whatever I want. I don't know how to make it stop. I want to. I don't like making you mad and I do not like getting in trouble. I want to cry so much. I want to make it go away. I want to tell you over & over again how sorry I am that I do this all the time. I do this every day. I know it's not you. I start it and then you get mad. Then I feel bad and then you feel bad. I don't know how to fix it. What are we going to do, mama?" Her plea was pathetic. It was so sincere. So desperate. And I felt as helpless as she.

"Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10. That was what came to me--calm down and trust God. I shared this with Olivia. I told her that it will be OK. I told her that I promise to help her and that I will never break a promise that big. ever. I told her that God instructs us to be calm, sit quietly, and trust Him. To know that He is bigger than us and He put things in motion and can make things work for good. I told her that God chose us to be mother and daughter and that I commit to her that all will work out with us. She thanked me. She told me how much she loved me. And I kissed her tear stained cheeks and she fell fast asleep. And I wept. Right there in the darkened bedroom. And finally I was still.