Get Found, Kid

November 10, 2007 By

Years ago, I read an article by Robert Fulghum in The Reader’s Digest that I have never forgotten. Now I know why.

He spoke of a neighborhood hide-and-seek game. As children scattered, he noted there was always that one kid who hid so well, nobody could find him. After a while they would give up on him and leave him to rot wherever he was.

Sooner or later he would show up, all mad because they didn’t keep looking for him. In turn, the “seekers”would get mad back because he wasn’t playing the game the way it was supposed to be played. There’s hiding and there’s finding. But sure enough the next time around, he would hide too well again.

As Fulghum reflected upon his childhood merriment, he spotted a kid hiding under a pile of leaves. He walked over and shouted, “GET FOUND, KID,” scaring the life out of him and probably sending him home for shock treatment.

My mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis 25 years ago. She was that person: a successful business owner whose domestic prowess was renowned throughout the city. She was the life of the party, the one even my friends came to visit.

The disease crept in slowly like a predator stalking its prey. We could never talk about it. We lived for years with a monster hiding under the covers. Maybe if it was just not discussed, it would go away.

It never did.

A grown-up game of hide-and-seek. Wounded and hiding. Prideful and worried about being pitied. Desperately wanting to be found. But all play and suffering were done alone.

There were times she just wanted to die. And I wanted her to die. Not because I could bear the thought of losing her but because when you see someone you love suffer so much you want the ultimate healing – even if that means death.

Today, she is the shell of the woman she once was. Time is slowing eroding her battle. She has good and bad days but I feel grateful she held out. That my husband and children have come to know even a small piece of my incredible mother.

I just wish she would let us in.

Forget hide-and-seek. Fulghum asserted that we should be sardine players. If you are it, you are the one who hides and everyone comes looking for you. When you are found, everyone piles in. Before long, someone usually giggles and your cover is blown – together.

Life as a game of sardines.

Ready or not, here I come….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Family, Health, issues

Sending out an S.O.S.

August 8, 2007 By

It seems an inordinate amount of time on this blog is dedicated to Hadley. And with good reason. She is the embodiment of her mother, the good, the bad and the very ugly. It makes for some great entertainment but when it gets ugly, it is really ugly.

Just ask my mother. As a young child, I was a terror and my grandma is attributed to keeping me alive the first year of my life because my longevity was the last thing on my mom’s mind. She always knowingly laughs when I tell her about The Hurricane’s latest antics and surely thinks: “Payback.”

That one little word has made her have to forgo the years of post-Amber therapy.

After four weeks of extreme potty training, I am waving the white flag. Hadley has gotten progressively more resistant and more argumentative. Our home has become a battle ground and, evidently, one big potty because she goes everywhere except the porcelain throne.

If you would have told me how difficult potty training would be, I would have laughed. She is a bright, spirited and clever little girl. She has a memory like a horse and is already piecing letters and words together. But this is more about submitting to my wishes, knowing that every wipe of her butt sends me closer to my grave. A very stinky one.

Following every accident, I’ve called Jamie. Because that is what good wives do.

“What do you want me to do with about it?”
“Be there for me to complain about it.”

Because that is what good husbands do.

I hit the wall with the whole thing last Thursday after our hundredth accident and general toddler deviance that involved her “baking a cake” with our very expensive protein powder and Splenda. This, after she plastered the walls with a can of Bode’s pricey formula. I won’t even mention The Soap Incident.

That day, I had Bode’s 1-year checkup. Note: He is 25th percentile for weight, 75th for height and remains off the charts with ear-hair growth. I couldn’t be more proud.

I also had an extensive conversation with my pediatrician.

I.e. “Doc, potty training sucks. She won’t do it.”

He looked at me dubiously before proclaiming: “Well, yeah.”

He went to seven years of medical school to tell me that?

He expounded that by forcing a kid as headstrong as Hadley, it would only be met with resistance, battles, infections and general toddler deviance. That she would only do it when she was good and ready.

After his lecture, he seemed to remember his Bedside Manner 101 class and turned empathetic.
“You seem stressed out, Amber.”

It must have been my protruding vein in my forehead that gave him the hint. That, or the fact I almost wet my pants even thinking about the potty. I have to. At least one of us has to do it.

He advised me to lay off and to stop pressuring her. That when she starts preschool in a few weeks, she will likely succumb to peer pressure and it will finally click for her.

But now, I have another problem: her naughty little brother. All this potty talk has given him an affinity for a certain book every time we sit down for storytime.

How young is too young to stage my intervenion?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Hadley, Humor, issues

Reader Beware: Painful Potty Trainathon in Progress

July 25, 2007 By

We are in the throes woes of potty training the Hurricane. One would question our timing with Jamie’s recent business trip to Kansas on Monday and mine to Chicago tomorrow. But with Mexico and preschool next month, we knew we had to make a move. Again.

As many of you know, this is not our first attempt. In fact, she was almost trained about five months ago until she woke up one day and announced she was retiring from the potty business. She assured me there was surely a better way to spend her time than wasting it on the porcelain throne (with a major emphasis on waste).

And she has not used it ever since. No amount of rewards, pressure or bribery have worked so I am in need of ideas. Fast. Many people have consoled me that she just turned three and “to just give it time.”

It is time. Supernanny time. [Cue music and the sound of weeping parents.]

Jamie and I were lying in bed flipping through the channels on his new HDTV a few weeks ago (a battle I clearly lost) when we came across that British vixen. Her latest conquest was a family in Hawaii who had a 3-year-old boy. Cute little Nathan enjoyed locking his brother in the stove, causing chaos at bedtime and defecating his diaper. Cute little Nathan needed a makeover.

Supernanny started by completely ditching the diapers except for at bedtime and presented him with full-time underwear. Cold turkey. And shockingly, Nathan rose to the occasion.

We perked up. If this little delinquent could do it, so could our bright Haddie. Err…right?

Wrooooooong! We are one week into full-time Dora panties and Hadley still will not go unless we encourage coax harass her. She has also peed everywhere except for the potty.

And then there is poop. The girl has yet to do it anywhere except for her underwear or diaper. In fact, it has become a game for her to see how long she can hold out. She gets this ability from me. Some of you may remember when, on a backpacking trip, my friend Dave christened me The Camel of the Pee World for my ability to hold out for an incredibly long time.

That was before I had children. I now live in The Pee Like a Racehorse World.

The other night just before bed, we changed Hadley into a diaper and within moments she pooped. Triumphantly, she squealed over her “victory” and gave us a look that said, “I WON BY HOLDING IT IN ALL DAY, YOU UNGRATEFUL PARENTS WHO NO LONGER WANT TO WIPE MY BUTT.”

Rest assured, this will be the inscription on her tombstone:


I should know. Because if this keeps up, we’ll probably be the ones who send her there.
© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Hadley, Humor, issues
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