The Day We Lost Our Minds

The events I’m about to share with you are real.

Parental discretion is advised.

            It seemed like a normal day, everything was going according to our standard routine…Mike and I carpooled that day and left the office to go fetch the ch’ren from preschool. We picked up Foster and Alice Wren without incident…gathering the jackets, Easter baskets and other items we were required to take that day. On the way home, traffic was more tolerable than usual and Alice Wren was very vocal, sometimes on the cusp of irritability but we’ve come to love and appreciate that about her. As I embarked across the Isabel Holmes bridge, that’s when everything turned to shit. Traffic came to a stop, Alice Wren started screaming and it suddenly occurred to us that we didn’t have Bunny.

            Bunny is Alice Wren’s lovey; her soul mate, her other half, her third arm. It took a relatively short distance from school to the bridge for her to communicate to us that she did not have it. And communicate, she did. “Wah!! Wah!! Wah!!” For those of you who are parents, you know how important the lovey is. Whatever it may be, the special blanket, the Paci, whatever it is that your child attaches themselves to during infancy is absolutely vital. And if you’re not a parent, let me tell you…the moment you forget the lovey is the moment you will lose your mind. There is nothing worse than being at a dead stop on top of a bridge with a grief-stricken two-year old screaming bloody murder in the back seat. When we realized that the traffic situation was due to a wreck at the base of the bridge, we quickly ran through our options and there were only 3 we could come up with: 1) Make an illegal U-turn on the bridge with law enforcement in plain view and go back to school to rescue Bunny; 2) Stay the course in the line of traffic to go all the way home without Bunny and suffer through the night; or 3) Take a right off the bridge in the complete opposite direction from where Bunny is and turn around to go back through the wreck traffic in the direction that we came.

            I mentally checked out somewhere between my husband demanding that I quickly make the illegal U-turn and my five-year old exclaiming, “I can’t take it anymore!” and before I knew it, I had taken a right onto 421 headed for the bypass completely abandoning traffic and Bunny. Meanwhile, Mike calls the school, which closes in 13 minutes, advising that we had forsaken Bunny – that we’re on our way to pick it up and for them to leave it outside in case we don’t get there by 6:00. We weren’t going to get there by 6:00, because I was driving the wrong way from where the school was and we still had to go back through the nightmare traffic situation we had just left. “Wah!! Wah!! Wah!!” There is no point in trying to reason with her. A quick u-turn got us in the right direction and after two light rotations, we were back on track. To make things even more interesting, somewhere along the way my gas light came on.

            At this point, Foster had immersed himself into the world of video games on my phone and tuned out the screaming, Mike was still trying to reason with the Devil in the back seat and I was giving my “I’m so sorry you just wrecked your car” look to the lady in the bent up van we had just passed moments earlier….and before we knew it, what little amount of gas I still had carried us through and we arrived back at school.

            It was after 6:00 but thank the good Lord a few teachers were still there and I ran inside to get the Bunny. I checked Alice’s cubby, no Bunny. I checked her bag, no Bunny. I checked the box of stuffed animals on the chance that someone had made an egregious error and misplaced Bunny…no Bunny. I involved the staff. I put out an APB, Amber Alert and Code Red. WHERE IS THE F’ING BUNNY!!!!

            The staff checked the laundry, class rooms, bags…I went outside to make sure Mike had not abandoned the crying child and to let them know that Bunny was missing. Mike had checked the car; I had asked the teacher to call the other two teachers in Alice’s class to inquire about Bunny…my darling toddler was forlorn in her car seat, red-faced and soaked wet with tears. I took her out of her seat and told her very calmly, “We are looking for Bunny. Everything is going to be ok.”

            Finally, the teacher came out. She had been on the phone with Alice’s day teacher and that’s when she told us, “Bunny never came to school today.”

            WHAT?!

            Bunny was at home. We had just spent the last hour of our lives looking for something that was never lost. What we had lost, was our minds.

Chiropractics: All It’s Cracked Up to Be

You are not here to be liked by your children. Those were the words my chiropractor said to me after observing my children’s behavior during a consultation last fall. Both Foster and Alice Wren were diagnosed with ear infections last November, common ailments for them every cold and flu season. Foster has had four sets of ear tubes and Alice Wren was following the same path with chronic infections and fluid retention. At 19 months, she was still not speaking, not even the word “Mama.”

Determined not to get another set of ear tubes and desperate to seek an alternative approach to solve this chronic problem, I finally heeded the advice of several friends and took the children to see a chiropractor. I have been receiving the benefits of chiropractic care off and on for over twenty years; regardless, I was very nervous about taking the kids. I’m not sure why but for some reason, I was placing more stock in what my medical doctors were advising rather than taking advice from alternative practitioners. Despite my son’s four corrective surgeries, it never occurred to me that something could be contributing to the problem. I thought it was a baby’s lot in life to experience chronic ear infections until their little Eustachian tubes developed. After all, that’s what we’re told by ear, nose and throat doctors, right?

Well, actually, there are a lot of things that can contribute to ear infections. It’s not because God designed Eustachian tubes that aren’t mature enough to work properly. One of the things I learned when we visited our chiropractor is that what I had been feeding my children, as well as myself, was crap! For my son, I thought the terrible threes had turned into terrible fours and now the terrible fives. I came to realize that these weren’t just phases my son would eventually outgrow; he was cracked out on sugar! Unable to focus – unable to listen to instructions – so when Dr. Reese said, “You are not here to be liked by your children,” it got my attention and I appreciated the candor. He was right and it has never been my parenting approach to be liked by or even friends with my children. They will have plenty of friends throughout their lives, but only one mom, and my role is to protect them and give them the best shot at life. And that starts with what I feed them.

Starting last fall, we made big changes in our house. We were already eating what I thought was a well-balanced diet. The children are great about eating their fruits and veggies and we already subscribed to a low-fat diet due to my husband’s heart disease. Yet, there was so much more we needed to do. We cut the sugar, plain and simple. Yes, we made Foster choose five of his favorite candies from the Halloween bowl and then we got rid of it. You are not here to be liked by your children. No more treats after each meal if he ate all of the food on his plate. Yes, we were doing that, every meal. You are not here to be liked by your children. No more Poptarts, junk cereal, breakfast bars, crap crap crap. No more boxed macaroni and cheese. You are not here to be liked by your children. I now make homemade oatmeal using small amounts of pure maple syrup or local honey and we make our own mac & cheese! And finally, no more cow’s milk. Your children are not baby cows. My children were drinking cow’s milk at every meal and all the while, it was contributing to the chronic ear issues. I could go on and on with what I’ve learned about cow’s milk but will reserve that for another blog. The ch’ren now drink water all the time. They love it, are fine, and they still like me!

I found myself suddenly overwhelmed by all of the new information, the blogs, the articles, the research, the labels…so much is out there about processed foods and things that we thought were good for us are really not. It’s mind blowing. When you look at the labels on some of your staple foods, you will be mortified at the laundry list of ingredients. I mean, what is all that stuff? And you’ll find that almost everything has sugar! The kids received their first spinal adjustment the day after our consultation. They did great. The following morning, all of the pus that was in one of Foster’s ears drained. And after just a few adjustments, Alice Wren started saying “Mama, thank you, I love you” with consistency. By changing a few diet habits and after getting a few spinal adjustments, my kids were different kids. Fast forward four months and my kids have not had another ear infection since last November. They are happy, healthy and eating delicious foods that they love and thrive on.

What I learned from this experience is to always do your own research when presented with an issue by your pediatrician. It’s unfortunate but you simply cannot take what they tell you at face value. At no point did either my pediatrician or ENT doctor suggest diet changes or chiropractic care as a solution to the chronic ear infections we were experiencing. Not once. They were fine with performing one surgery after another on my child. It’s their bread and butter and often times, completely needless. Perhaps making those changes doesn’t help some people. However, I think it’s worth a try rather than putting your child under general anesthesia over and over again. Chiropractic care has also been a lot cheaper for us compared to what we paid for four surgeries.

I have so much still to learn and we do splurge from time to time on baked goodies or special treats but the entire experience has been life changing for our family. I only wish I had done it sooner.

 

Snack time!

 

 

 

Alice Wren Johnson (aka, “The Sugabug”)

Last spring, my daughter celebrated her first major milestone; she turned 1 year old on April 30, 2013. It was an exciting time. The first year was a whirlwind of ups and downs. Trying to adjust to our growing family and mastering the art of transitioning from a toddler to a toddler and a newborn, was very difficult. Much harder than I thought! Take the normal challenge and tack on a baby possessed by the devil and it will throw you into full blown postpartum depression. After two months of Alice Wren’s life, the devil left her body and she became the sweetest angel you’d ever laid eyes on and has been ever since.

I remember the day I learned I was pregnant. It was the summer of 2011 and I was at the beach when all of a sudden, I had an enormous urge to pee. I ran as hard as I could to the ocean and barely made it. The following Monday, I went to the clinic to test for a UTI and left with a positive pregnancy test. I could hardly wait to tell Mike. He was as stunned as I was. Sure, we had recently started trying but, like Foster, we had no idea it would work so quickly! I knew in that moment that I wanted a little girl but didn’t know just how much until we saw the ultrasound and they finally said, “you’re having a girl!” I instantly burst into tears. Having a little girl would complete our family and I immediately envisioned shopping sprees and pedicures.

Alice Wren and my son, Foster, could not be more different. Alice has pale skin and beautiful blue eyes, with a calm personality. She’s very cautious and observant, preferring to sit back and watch her brother make all of the mistakes. Her first birthday was very bittersweet for me. Mike and I both had to work and barely saw her before she succumbed to exhaustion and went to bed. I cried a lot that day. My precious Sugabug is the last baby we’ll have and her birthday was the last first birthday we’ll ever celebrate. We had a party for her the following weekend with family and were so excited about her tearing into her birthday cake. We remembered how much Foster loved his birthday cake and had the camera ready to capture the same sweet mess. Unlike her brother, Alice Wren did not like her cake, either of them. I had a healthy cake made by a local baker that she hated, and I had a yummy cake on standby for the adults, which she equally hated. So, she sat in her seat wearing her darling birthday hat and ate a teething biscuit. The year went by too quickly, and now she’s walking. Before we know it, she’ll be heading off to kindergarten like her brother!

Over the last couple of months, I’ve noticed that she doesn’t like me rocking her as much anymore. Our nighttime routine of mommy/daughter time is dwindling from what used to be 15-20 minutes to 5 minutes, if I’m lucky. She’s a busy girl, wanting to climb and explore her surroundings. I suppose it’s time to accept that my little Sugabug is now a toddler, eating all food groups and drinking from an open faced cup. The milestones she reaches through her life will always be bittersweet for me. Each one will be a reminder that life is moving, my baby is changing, she’s finding her place in the world…and despite all of her changes and discoveries along the way, one thing is for certain – she’ll always be my baby girl.

 

Sugabug eating her birthday biscuit

Pillow Talk with Foster

Bed time is an event in our household that’s looked forward to. Perhaps not so much for my nearly five year old but it certainly is for me and my husband … and not for the reasons you might think. We’ve gotten into a bedtime rhythm with Foster and it’s cherished. After we do the mundane brushing of the teeth, last minute pee and story time, he says his prayers and then…my favorite part…we do pillow talk.

I recall a discussion a few months ago that caught me completely off guard. We were lying in his bed talking about benign things like – what the best part of the day was…what we are going to do the coming weekend – and before I knew it, Foster said, “And Mom, you know what? One day I’m going to move to another house and I won’t live with you and daddy anymore.” Sniff sniff

I looked over and Foster was quietly wiping tears from his eyes at the thought that one day, he would live in a different house than his mom and dad. This delighted me and broke my heart all at the same time. I asked him, “Where did you hear that?” to which he replied, “Miss Maddie!” And now he’s into a full blown sob. Maddie is one of Foster’s school teachers. I figure she probably innocently discussed college one day in class and perhaps the subject arose of how once you get older, you will move away from home and start life on your own. It was amazing to me how much this topic weighed on his little mind since the discussion in school.

I tried to reassure him that it was not something he needed to worry about for many many years and that by then, he will want nothing more than to move away from home; however, his concerns were unassuaged. He said there will never be a time when he’ll want to live in a different house than Mom and Dad. I snuggled with my boy and hugged him tightly, “Foster, this will always be your home. There will always be a place for you at Mom and Dad’s.” As the topics moved on to other things, I couldn’t help but silently ponder the day when tears will fall from my eyes and he’ll be comforting me.

The Start of Letting Go

It’s early June and you know what that means? Lives are changing all over the world. The end of the school year is here and Facebook is blowing up with pictures of children, donned in their caps and gowns posing proudly as they complete a milestone in their lives. This year, our house was no different. Foster’s spring program was a couple of days ago and we’d been practicing his poem “what I want to be when I grow up.”

As we sat on the lawn of my children’s preschool, I sat anxiously waiting to see my son walk out; dressed like a cop, hoping he wouldn’t clam up in front of the crowd. We watched veterinarians; ballerinas and even a popcorn man recite the poems they’d worked so hard on every day for the last several weeks. When my son’s teacher said, “Foster Johnson,” I sat proudly holding the video camera, making sure I captured every moment. He said it perfectly, his sweet voice telling all of us why he wanted to be a cop, a profession he had just recently settled on because pop star was already taken. When I cheered, I could sense the first twinge of emotion start to creep its way up. As the graduating class left to change into their caps and gowns, we watched the other classes perform and I sat there and reflected on how it could be possible that these kids were going off to kindergarten. The same kids that Foster has been with since the infant classroom, the same kids who are now going off into the surrounding areas to their slated schools. I sat there and pondered whether or not Foster really understood what was happening…and then I saw him. This skinny blond curly headed boy standing in his blue cap and gown, in line waiting for his turn again. I grabbed my camera to snap some pictures and before I knew it, I heard the familiar sound of Pomp and Circumstance.

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. No one said anything about Pomp and Circumstance. I felt the faint flutter of a butterfly in my gut. I looked at my husband, he felt it too. We watched as the names were called and I was immediately transported to high school and then college. I reflected on the times I marched to that song, the sense of accomplishment I felt, the emotion it ensues. What is it about that song that tugs at the heart strings so much? When I heard Foster’s name again, I came to the realization that it’s not the achievement or pride that brings on such emotion…the song is a reminder. A reminder that life is moving and it’s moving fast. And there is nothing we can do about it. This is the first of many milestones that will pass for Foster. He will graduate and move on to many other stages in his life and, before I know it, he will not be my baby anymore. I sat there and smiled with tear-filled eyes, determined to not let any fall. I tried thinking of naked grandmas, dancing monkeys, anything to distract me from what was happening and then I remembered….

Foster isn’t graduating this year. He’s an October baby and missed the cut off, which means he has another year in pre-school. He participated with his class because they didn’t want to leave anybody behind. So I got it together and as I clapped one last time for the class of 2013, I was grateful for the practice run. This mama needed it.

                              Foster Johnson
                                Class of 2013

Double the Trouble, Twice the Reward

She was a shy, precocious cocker spaniel – living in a breeding dump, infested with fleas.  On our first night together, she wouldn’t leave my side and as she slept beside me with her eyes open, I knew she was the one.  I named her Georgie Girl and we never looked back.  It sounded like a smart decision at the time.  I was young, single and thought that a daily walk with my dog would be a fun social thing to do and the idea of coming home from work to a waiting companion was appealing.

A long year and a half later, I thought Georgie needed a playmate.  I had purchased my first home and my best friend looked lonely patrolling the backyard by herself.  Kiwi is my Italian Greyhound whom I rescued from a family afraid of dogs.  Her primary care taker was a 10-year old and Kiwi had never even been given a heartworm pill.  It was love at first sight and eventually Georgie came to tolerate her, too.

Dogs are wonderful, loving companions.  Dogs are also very expensive and long commitments.  Fast forward ten years and my family has grown.  I now have a husband, a 4-year old and an 8-month old.  Add two spoiled dogs to that mix and it’s like having two more ch’ren with the mentality of toddlers.  I never envisioned having four children – certainly not four children under the age of five. 

Here’s the deal: The dogs that captured my heart years ago are now pains in my ass.  I spend more on them than I do my own children–more money on Georgie with all of her health issues, and more time on Kiwi with all of her mental issues.  Georgie is a cancer survivor, pulling through two tumor removals and eight rounds of chemo.  She’s also had two cruciate repairs and about 300 stones removed from her bladder – which resulted in ridiculously expensive food that she’ll be on for the rest of her life – not to mention her incontinence issues, which also require medication daily for the rest of her life.  Georgie is the rascal of the two, pulling pumpkin pies off the counter at Thanksgiving and nearly killing me on more than one occasion by walking in between my feet.  And then there’s Kiwi, my epileptic drama queen who gets medication to control seizures and has weird eating rituals that involve pushing all of the kibbles to one side of her bowl with her snout while also trying to cover her bowl with her bed – every single morning.  She also has ‘pee where I want to’ syndrome – just because.  Kiwi will go to the door when she has to pee, spend five minutes outside doing her business and come back inside only to piss somewhere in the house two minutes later, just because she can.  We feel she’s slightly retarded. 

Selfishly, I fantasize about the days when they are no longer with us.  I look forward to when the pizza man rings the doorbell and all hell doesn’t break loose.  I look forward to when I can call my sister and sing “Happy Birthday” to her without my solo becoming a trio.  There are a number of things that will be easier when they are no longer with us.  I often joke about how the sooner they pass, the better for my introverted personality.  Next time I’ll get a cat – a creature with independence that will occasionally present itself and not assault my mouth with wet kisses (another Kiwi annoyance).  The truth is: I say these things to lessen the torture of what it’s going to be like for me when they really are gone.  They both turn 10 this year and the painful reality is that there will come a time for gut-wrenching decisions.  They will pass and we’ll lose two cherished members of our family.  They may be pains in my neck, but they are fiercely loyal and love me unconditionally.  They stand watch at our home and say ‘no one will get close without us letting you know.’  Kiwi is my energy efficient electric blanket in the winter – Georgie is my faithful friend who ensures I make it to every room in the house successfully.   They are family.  They are irreplaceable.

If you have a dog, be extra nice to them this year.  They are the only creatures alive whom you can curse one minute but will be sitting by your side immediately afterwards.  If you don’t have a dog, it’s a big responsibility but a rewarding one.  They are the most selfless, loyal companions you’ll ever know. 

One day, I’ll have to figure out how to live life without them, but until then…Frosty Paws for everyone!

  

Georgie & Kiwi on watch

Foster David Johnson aka The Bugaboo

Let me introduce you to the greatest joy and biggest pain in my life, Foster.  Foster is my first-born whom we affectionately call, The Bugaboo.  I’m convinced that behind those big brown eyes, he is actually the Devil.  The day after tomorrow he turns 4 years old.  It’s hard to believe.  I really don’t know where the last 4 years have gone but I wouldn’t repeat them.  The bigger he gets, the better, and less laundry I have to do all by myself.  Buga, (because we’re efficient people) is such a good combination of his daddy and I.  Unfortunately, I think he has a little too much of mommy though, hence the Devil.  He’s really a good kid but the most obstinate thing I’ve ever tried to teach.  Mike and I have absolutely zero control over him.  He’s a good listener when he wants to be and a horrible listener when he wants to be.  He likes to press our buttons.  The thing is, I didn’t have children to have my buttons pressed.  If I wanted my buttons pushed to the brink of insanity, I would walk into Wal-mart any day of the week and hang out for 5 minutes.  No, I’m a smart girl – I had children to help clean my house, maintain the yard and do the laundry.  It worked for my great-grand parents and who am I to break tradition?  The problem is, trying to survive the ages that pass before they are old enough to manage a lawn mower is just about enough to kill you.  Foster is in a phase.  Or is he?  This phase has been going on now for about a year and a half.  The – I will not listen, I don’t care what you threaten me with – phase.  To put it simply, it sucks.  What are we doing wrong?  We feel we’ve tried everything, even corporal punishment – gasp!-

That’s right, I’m so good that out of desperation one time, I popped Buga’s hand.  He popped me right back and followed up with “why’d you hit me?”  What?  What do I do with that?  So yeah, I do think there is something to hitting teaches hitting and that was the end of corporal punishment in our house.

Then there are times when he’s the sweetest, most loving angel you’ve ever seen.  Times when he’s polite, uses manners, listens and even rubs my feet.  He’s a loving big brother and jovial friend to all of our neighbors.  Even when he prays at night, he asks for blessings on “all of the people in the whole world.”  I think somewhere in the last 4 years, he’s learned something good.  Perhaps we’ve built some sort of foundation that houses solid humanity inside this little creature.  Time will tell…I sure hope it slows down.

Happy Birthday Buga, Mommy’s so proud of you.

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