Bulls and cows.

Owen is in the field with me helping me or at least hanging out with me while I feed and water the cows and chickens.

He walks over to the cows to offer a pat. Smokey comes looking for a crab apple treat, but getting nothing, turns her attention back to the grass. The bull comes wandering his way so I ask him to step back on the other side of the electric fence. (The bull has never been or shown any signs of being mean, but he's still a bull, and you never trust a bull 100%. Plus I think the heifer was in heat.)

Me: Owen, why don't you come back to this side of the fence. The bull is coming over.

Owen, looking at our cow Royalty: Is that the bull?

Me: No, she's a cow. That's Royalty. (Pointing to the bull) That's the bull.

Owen: I thought they were both cows.

Me: Nope. Royalty is a cow and you can tell because she has an udder. See, where the milk comes from?

Owen: Yeah, but that one has one too. (Pointing to the bull again)

Me: No, that's not an udder, those are his testicles. They're different. Only boys have those. Even you.

I leave Owen to run this information over in his head.  I wonder if he's wondering if his "fellas" will grow as large as the bull's. I wonder if I'm going to have to answer more difficult questions. I wonder where his dad is. But Owen moves on to wonder about something else. What would I do without livestock to explain these things?

Favorite Toy

When Shady was a pup the toy duck was bigger than she was.  But she would proudly drag it around, doing her best to lift it.  She sucked on it and slept with it and quacked it until it had no quack left.  Eventually the poor thing was brought outside and left there. With no wings or feet left, we eventually threw it away.

When I was a kid I had my sookie blanket.  It (she, really) was rainbow stripe with white satin edges.  I wore her as hair, tying her back with a clothes pin. She was the roof of my forts.  She came with me everywhere I went over night.

My mother made a blanket for each of my boys.  Satin on one side and the softest flannel on the other.  Don't tell Reiley I told you this, but he still has his hidden in his room.  Owen still uses his.  I am torn between him being old enough to give her up already and being heart broken that he's too old for her anymore.  He uses his blankie more than I did or Reiley did.  On long car trips he'll bring her along and suck on his fingers with her tucked under his nose.  Just like he did today when we went shopping in Halifax.

We didn't notice she was missing until Owen was getting tucked into bed.  After 2 trips to the truck looking and looking again, we couldn't find her.  I was ready to call the stores we had visited on the long shot that someone had turned her in, having found her in the parking lot.  She must have fallen out the truck when Owen climbed in. To be honest, I was heart sick at the thought of her lying in the wet, dirty slush, all by herself.  Lost.  I really didn't want to tell Owen she was gone.

I went back outside one last time and looked around the truck and found her lying in the snow.  After a quick fluff in the dryer, she was as good as new and warm too.

After good night hugs and kisses I walked into the kitchen and found Shady lying on the floor with her Christmas present.  Her favorite toy.  Even after all these years.  I guess we never get too old for some things.

Jammies

Yesterday I spent the day at home on the couch sick.  I prepared the coffee table with necessities so once snug I wouldn't have to move.  I had the phone, remote, glass of water, the usual.  Unfortunately I forgot that daytime television doesn't change depending on health.  Daytime television is worse than being sick.  But I was snug.  I didn't want to move.  So I flicked through the best of the worst and settled on Gene Simmons Family Jewels.  The guy is pretty funny and his kids are funny, so I was surprised.  It wasn't awful.  Glad I didn't move from my perfectly snug spot at any rate.  The best part of the show was when they showed him in the morning wearing cozy jammies with feet in them.  The kind I wore when I was 5.  The kind I wish I could still fit into.  With the zipper up the front and the rubber grips on the bottom of the feet.  I guess that's what having millions of dollars will buy you.  Fuzzy jammies with feet.  Sigh.

It reminds though of Owen wearing those jammies.  He had a few pair when he was small.  He only wore them until he was 2 or 3 though.  Unlike Reiley who wore a pair until he was 8 which he had really out grown when he was 6.  Some things are just hard to let go of. 

Anyway, Reiley and Owen would often linger in their jammies long into the morning and play together with the big duplo legos.  I don't pretend to understand the motivation behind what my boys do, or how they come up with their ideas but that one morning still leaves me scratching my head.  It wasn't until I was changing Owen's diaper that I noticed a huge blister on the inside of his knee.  I mean huge.  Red and chaffed  and painful.  I asked him what happened and he said he didn't know.  So I asked Reiley, he didn't know either.  Come to find out, they had been playing with the legos like usual and Owen had on his jammies with the feet in them like usual.  But that morning they decided it would be fun to see how many legos they could stuff into Owen's jammies and zip them up.   They stuffed so many legos into his jammies they were stuffed down his legs and when he walked, they rubbed a blister on the side of his leg.  To the boys I'm sure this was quite funny.  Seeing Owen double in size with squares sticking out everywhere.  After the blister I'm not so sure how funny Owen found it.

That was the end of that game and the end of the jammies with feet in them for Owen.  Not by my choice, by his.  I never understood how he couldn't just love those kind of jammies, but now that I think of it, maybe he has his reasons.

Letters

It took a while to get my head around it. I think it would for any parent. I think we always knew something was off, but just hoped it would be OK. That, I don't know, he'd grow out of it. I can't tell you the exact time it became obvious to me, but grade primary really made it clear to everyone that our boy had a learning disability of some kind.

It scared me. I can't speak for Mart, but I think he'd agree in the early years. It felt like a life sentence and I wouldn't accept it. I defended him like an angry mother bear. We couldn't be the only ones to see the sweet, smart boy, could we? But if he was a normal little boy, why couldn't he read the alphabet? Why could he remember one day and not the next? Why could he not see the letters on a page? Why was he so lost?

School was beyond hard. He cried. Everyday he cried.

I've learned to find strength as a mother. Learned to be an advocate. Learned that letters after your name doesn't mean you know best. The only way I can describe his life in school from primary to grade 6 is a fight. I fought tooth and nail, and stood before principals, teachers, professionals and told them they were wrong. That I may not know what is wrong, but I know my boy is not stupid and I know my boy does not have ADHD.

The first educational assessment done was in grade 2. He was still in French Immersion (it took me 2 more years to convince the school board to take him out). Because he hadn't been taught English reading or spelling, they told me they could not properly evaluate that area. (Which is the area he struggles in) Therefor his assessment was inconclusive, but his behaviour in class fits the profile of ADHD and from there out he was labelled.

There have been 2 things I will not budge on when it comes to my boy. 1) he has at least average intelligence and belongs in a class with his piers. 2) he does not have ADHD. The hard part has been how to convince people who have framed papers hanging on the wall, making them the expert, facing a girl young enough to be their own daughter, that they are wrong and I'm not just a delusional mother who won't accept reality. I know kids with ADHD, they take medication and are wonderful. But this was not the case for my boy and it was not going to help. It would be like treating him for an ear infection when he had a broken toe.

In grade 4 we got the assessment done again privately. This time it was magic. It was like she cracked open his head, looked at all the pieces and figured out how he worked. The report came and I was washed over with relief. Finally someone agreed with us. Finally someone with letters after their name, papers framed on the wall, saw what we always had. She found that he has a severe learning disability in phonological processing-rapid naming. Not ADHD. The symptoms of those 4 little letters were brought on by insurmountable stress and frustration. Eliminate one and the other will take care of itself. He had been coping the only way he could, which wasn't well, by avoidance.

Up until then we were lost together in the woods. We knew there was a mountain to climb, but we didn't know which one, or where it was. We were so lost. And our boy was losing himself. He hated himself. He hated that he couldn't read. Hated that he felt stupid. That he was different from his friends. This little boy held his secret tight. He didn't want anyone to know. Up until the second assessment, we had no way to help. My heart breaks at the thought of how much he was hurting inside.

Since then, we've moved. Changed school districts and we are, I dare say nearing the top of the mountain. Our boy is happy and proud and doesn't have to carry around a dark secret anymore. We have worked so hard to get here.

Then the other day, his LD specialist emailed and said "He is quite tired lately and I see he has ADHD, has his medications changed?" I freaked out. Frantically typed an email. Erased it and tried not to panic. Suddenly we were back to square one. After 4 years of progress. I was scratching at the earth to get hold and keep us from sliding back down the mountain we'd just climbed. That it took us 4 years to climb. I sent an email explaining. I hope she couldn't hear my panic. I hope she believes me. I hope we don't end up screwing something up and lose his program. All for 4 nasty little misplaced letters.

Sometimes I wonder if I brought this on him. Having him so young. I didn't want to be pregnant. It was......it just wasn't supposed to be like that. I screwed up and he was being punished for what I had done. I know it's not true, but sometimes it wanders into my mind. I know in my heart why, if there is fate or a great plan, he was given to me. I would be lost in many ways without him.

I don't wish for my life to be any different. I love my boy just the way he is with his unique mind. I have been a mother longer than I've been an adult, but I have no regrets. Our boy will struggle with his learning disability for his whole life. I just wish for him to live life easy. I think most parents want the same for their kids.

let the games begin

I thought it was over at 9:00, but there was no sign of kids leaving so I went in to find my budding teen. I pulled the door and entered another dimension. The semi-formal junior high dance. The air was hot, the music loud and I felt old.

The girls took the opportunity to show off bra straps or lack there of, and more skin than the dress code regularly allows. They floated around in dresses, limping from shoes too big, heels too high. Officially initiated into the world of womanhood where, for some reason I've not yet understood, vanity outranks comfort. Some were beautiful, in dresses well suited to them. Others, I can't believe their parents bought them that getup, let alone allowed them to leave the house. They each had a try practicing their skills for the mating game. Some dared join in, other ran away in swarms of high pitched giggles.

I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the display.

The guys pretended not to care. To not notice. Practicing skills themselves. The brave using the slow dance as prime opportunity to take a turn playing the game. Most boys walked faster when a slow song started. Either searching for, or avoiding a girl. I couldn't tell which. A few brave pairs dared the next level and held hands. The girlfriend taller than the boyfriend. Dragging him along with her throng of friends. I asked Martin why a boy would subject himself to it at that age. "Because you got to hold her hand" was his answer.

Eventually the last song was played and the game was over. The budding teens returned to being just kids and found their parents for a ride home.

*************

I find it interesting. Like a study of social behaviour. To watch from the outside as Reiley enters what will be the most socially challenging years he has yet encountered. To see it all from a different perspective. Sometimes the reality I see now is vastly different from what I remember of that age. I worry for Reiley, but remember that as an adult it will all mean much less.

a stamp in time

Reiley and Dad were wrestling on the kitchen floor. A scene that plays out more and more often these days. I sit by pretending not to care, acting as official judge, but I can't hide my smile. I love having boys. Owen jumps in, or more like jumps on the heap. He's not really noticed, his 40 lbs. He lands a few punches, but really it's like watching a mouse beat up an elephant.

Dad pins Reiley in some wrestling position, leaving his butt exposed. Always cheering for the underdog, I coach Owen from the sideline. "Spank Reiley's butt Owen, spank him!" Reiley wiggles and squirms to avoid what's coming. Owen laughs then asks "What's a spanking?"

Reiley and I were watching TV, the Olympic Cheerios commercial where the boy mails an athlete a post card. Reiley admits to me "You know mom, I don't know how to do that." "What?" I ask "Mail something?" "Yeah, I can email him, but I don't know how to send paper."

I imagine 30 years ago, I be viewed as a failure as the matriarch to this family. Failing to enforce dicipline and teach life skills. Owen doesn't know what a spanking is, Reiley can't send a letter, and well, the dog has never had her nose stuffed into a puddle of pee. I'm glad times have changed, but I really should teach the boy what a stamp is.

the brink of teen

Remember being on the cusp of 13? I remember. Grade 7 and the first peek at being a teenager. First year in a new school. Lockers. Walking the hallway between classes. Real sports teams. More than one teacher. Crushes and note passing. Wishing mom would buy me the cool clothes like the cool kids. Wishing I was pretty. That I would grow boobs. That a boy would ask me to dance.

I was a sad thirteen year old. No particular reason I could put my finger on then, but likely the last three things on that list had alot to do with it. It was a big deal being in grade 7, on the verge of teenhood. As if I didn't get it right in that first year, the next 6 years would be ruined. I never was a social butterfly, always awkward and with few close friends I trusted. Watching the other girls trying to learn how to fit in, how to get a boy to like me, how to be. Then failing miserably at it. Like vultures, the other girls would swoop in at the scent of my weakness and pick at me until I bled. I did well in sports, I was strong, did well in school and oddly enough never had a real issue with self esteem. I found I was no comelian, but I was great at building thick skin and had attitude to spare to fend off the vultures. Who eventually left me be. But thirteen was hard. Lonely. And it did shape the rest of my teenage years. Luckily they only lasted 6 more.

Now, looking back, that year really had little impact on my current self. A blip on my radar that I can on remember bits and pieces of. Insignificant in the long run. (All though I still don't like girls. They're just mean at that age.) But all in all the worries I had then were a light load to the realities of life. I seem Herculean now in comparison for what I carry on my shoulders each day.

Reiley is there in those shoes. He'll be thirteen in another month. As a parent I see my boy, not a teenager, not the same boys I remember, that I had crushes on back then. He somehow seems younger than I was then. Reiley is socially very strong. He has lots of friends, girls crowding together when they see him and giggling and running off when he smiles their way. He's well balanced, funny and treats people nicely. With him, I don't worry about the things that I had trouble with back then. School however, is hard. Very hard for him. He has a learning disability which affects more than just his spelling. I see it in his organization and his ability to plan. Keeping up with homework and projects and making sure he brings the right books home is a challenge. All he wishes for is to have it easy like his friends, to slide through school, to just get it.

I forget how huge this year is in his life. What is feels like from the perspective of a kid on the brink of teen. I talk with him and lift the load from his shoulders to mine, and then I remember. I feel how heavy it is. But it too, will only be a blip on his radar in 18 years.

Owen's story

Once upon a time, there was a 5 year old boy named Owen. He lived in a world with blue suns and bright yellow flowers. He was a happy boy.

He lived with his family

and liked to play in his yard under the tall trees.

One day while playing with his friend he met a bad guy. The bad guy said "Grrrr"

That made Owen's friend mad and he chased the bad guy away. Which made Owen happy.

The end.

Story written and illustrated by Owen.

I'm scared because it scares me

It it so unlike to me wake up in the middle of the night to pee. I never do, I have a bladder made of stone. Of all the nights to wake up it had to be that one, in that place. I had been awake for an hour fighting off the urge, trying desperately to convince sleep to come back to me. We were camping. No big deal really, to need to pee in the middle of the night when camping, except when it's pouring rain and thundering and lightning like a son of a bitch.

I am petrified of thunder. Scared to tears. Not lightning. I like watching lightning and would sit by the window to catch a flash if it weren't for what came after. So that night I fought the urge. The storm was directly over head and the thunder shook my soul. The ground rocked with each overlapping boom. A contest to see which could be louder. We were in a tiny little tent, with no 2x4's or insulation to muffle the noise. But that tent was my only refuge and I was not giving it up easily to crawl out into the most frightening scene I could imagine for myself. Eventually, it had to be done, I had to go out into the night with thunder everywhere. I ventured no further than arms length then flew back into the tent a shaking, screaming, crying mess. My rational brain thrown far into the woods, not to be found until the sun rose and the storm passed. I never slept another wink.

The memory would be no big deal if it was from our family trip to Toronto when I was seven, or to Keji at 10. This little gem however, was from our family trip to Fundy National Park a few years ago, when I was the mom and my kids slept in the tent next to me, soundly all night.

Fears and phobias have no place in rational thinking. I understand that it's more reasonable to fear the lightning, as it can actually hurt me. Thunder can't hurt me, it's just noise. Someone who knows about these things would tell me I have ceraunophobia, a fear of thunder, not lightning. To be afraid of both would be at least somewhat rational. It makes no sense, it just is. I'm scared of thunder because it scares the shit out of me. It has been since I was little.

It makes me wonder if my boys will outgrow theirs, if it's a real fear, or just a boy thing or what. They are afraid of the toilet. Not sitting on it, or standing in front of it, just flushing it. They will press the handle and run out of the room, for fear if they don't escape quickly enough, they'll be sucked into the swirling vortex. An odd fear I guess, but one none the less. They aren't afraid of monsters, the dark or even thunder. Just flushing the toilet.

I hope this is something they'll outgrow, because I know there is no convincing them with the logic that they cannot physically fit into the toilet and therefore there is nothing to fear. Fear has nothing to do with logic. This has been made boldly clear to me. But as an adult, especially with children, the toilet and all it's wonderful cracks and crevasses is something they are going to have to get up close and personal with. I don't think it will go very far in convincing a 2 year old to pee when dad doesn't dare flush.

I'm sure it's no big deal, but if it were I'm not sure what I would do. When reminded or asked they'll do it. Maybe they're just lazy or forgetful. At least I don't need to worry about catching them surfing with G.I. Joe in there. But until they outgrow it, if it's yellow, it's going to mellow.

My Boys

I thought I wanted a girl. I already had a baby boy, so a girl seemed fair, to me. A little redheaded mini me to do mom stuff with. Reiley was hoping for a brother. It's all he wanted in the world. I'm happy I was able to oblige. I can't imagine our house any other way.

I'm not sure if it's a rite of passage in a boys life, but they each seem to learn it somewhere, how to test their strength. You don't see girls do it. (unless they have brothers) But the game of uncle, mercy fights and wrestling moves seem to be ingrained in a boys DNA. An instinct to be acted on.

Someone should let Owen know he's in for a long ride before he can beat his brother.

Baby boy

I haven't been here in a while. My words lost to life. Thoughts pass too quickly to form paragraphs, rarely do they form sentences. The spring season, heated by the nearing of the sun excites the community and the race begins. The race to enjoy summer is in full swing now. The weekends on the calendar marked, counted and etched with pen. A destination, event or to do in each.

Owen's graduation is Tuesday. 5 yr olds in blue gowns and handmade construction paper hats will mark the passing of time, will mark the transition to a new age. He is ready, my little one. The ABC's all memorized, numbers to 20 counted and even a few words can be spelled. That part has never been hard for Owen. The shy little boy who latches to my leg and gives the best hugs is who I was worried for. Secretly I didn't want this to change, for him to grow out of his cuddly shyness. I'll miss the way his cheeks dimple when he sucks on his fingers, his blanket tucked under his nose. But he must, and he has. There isn't a tentative step in the boy's feet, there is purpose. He runs on strong legs and I watch him grow with each step.

September will be here too soon. I doubt he'll look back when he climbs the steps onto the bus. His blanky will have to be left behind. I may suck my fingers and hold in under my nose for the day as comfort. It's smell. I love the smell. My baby boy.

Honesty for supper

It's a wonder my boys grow at all for how little supper they actually eat. The dog on the other hand has a full belly and the cat is down right fat. All because of the daily battle to get them to eat their supper.

Serving anything that can't be dipped in ketchup is reason enough for them to dance their fork around their plate and not eat more than a few bites in an hour. Reiley has mostly grown out of this, though he is still a fussy eater. Owen is still working on finding ways to avoid cleaning his plate. Someday I'm sure his honesty won't interfere with his plans of escaping the table, but not yet.

This evening was no different than any other. Long after we'd finished our own supper, and left Owen at the table he calls to me and asks if he's done. "I'm asking you Mom, not Dad, just you. Am I done?" Cosy on the couch avoiding the battle, and with Martin near by, I tell him to ask his Dad. "But I don't want to ask Dad" Owen replies "He knows I'm not done."

home from school

I knew it was coming, but I just didn't expect it so soon. I knew it was coming because it's just one of those things you do when you're a kid with boundaries to test and push. But at 4 years old? I really didn't think kids figured it out that young.

This morning you could have called me a witch doctor. A magic man. A true healer. Praise the Lord, you are well! Well I didn't say that. All I said was 'you don't have to go to preschool' and miraculously Owen was healed. That is until I changed my mind. Then the spell was broken and he was horribly sick, unable to stand at all. Bound to his bed. He did it all except moan. The bottom lip hung limp, his eyes moistened and looked as sad as a basset hound. His shoulders sagged and he looked down right pathetic. If I hadn't been paying attention he may have got away with it. But I didn't become a mom yesterday.

All weekend, quite out of the blue, I earn my stripes again. (Not that I'm lacking any) While sitting cosy on the couch together Saturday evening, Owen suddenly gets up and decides he doesn't want supper anymore, and it all comes back up. All over the floor. It wouldn't be as much of a panic if it weren't for Shady. Skills of an acrobat are needed to get from my seat, over the mess to the paper towel on the other side of the room. All the while keeping the dog and my toes, out of the mess.

By Sunday evening, the battle between going down and coming up was won. A bagel successfully stayed put. But since that was all he ate all weekend, I thought Owen would be as exciting as a blob of goo today, stuck to the couch. I snuck into his room this morning to find him curled up, eyes fluttering somewhere between awake and asleep, sucking his fingers. The way he has since he was a baby, reminding me that he's still a little boy. 'How are you feeling?' I asked when his eyes finally met mine. A shrug of the shoulders was all I got. So I said the magic words.

That's when he showed me that he's not so little. In fact he's a sneaking little fart, trying to pull a Ferris Buelers Day Off. I'm sure now, that in seconds he had a list of toys he would sneak out of his brothers room while he was stuck in school. In minutes he was out of bed, dressed, breakfast in the toaster and sitting cosy on the couch watching the beginning of what he hoped was a day full of cartoons.

I have to give him credit though. I didn't know he had it in him. Too bad he hadn't studied his brother a bit longer, planned a bit better. Reiley knows that you have to fake it until at least lunch time to get away with it.

Sick day

I find it quite amusing to watch how my house changes when Mom gets sick. It's more wonderful than mothers day. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why I don't pretend now and then.

On any given day, I can guaranty, that you will hear Owen whine, and Reiley scream Owen's name for some monstrosity that he committed. Boys will be boys but mostly, brothers will be brothers. They don't get along all the time, that's for sure. Even when they do the house is filled with their foot stomping, dinky car dropping, lets line the stairs with pillows and roll down them, noise. No matter what I say, short of get out of the house, the result is the same. Quiet long enough to for a new game to develop, and then be ruined when someone gets hurt. It's been happening for generations between brothers, and will likely continue for many more. Well at least it will for my two boys.

So when I come home and plunk myself down on the bed to wish the sick away, I am amused, because the house goes completely quiet. A librarian would be impressed. Bickering - gone. Whining - done. Suddenly the years of Tree House and Sesame Street sink in and they're actually cooperating. I know! Amazing!

I don't do sick very well. I'm always a mess with puffy red eyes, hair a matted into a single giant dreadlock Bob Marley would be proud of, and if you're real lucky I'll even have a Kleenex stuffed up one nostril to try to tapper the flow. I'm never lonely though. No matter the vision of beauty I am (or not) the bed is always full. Reiley, Owen, Shady and even Hobbes join me on the bed. Quietly. Very quietly, asking if they can watch their shows on my TV.

path in the grass

Mart, can you do me a favour? Mow me a path in the grass?

The grass 5 feet tall stood ragged like hair in bad need of a cut. Through the grass if you could see, there is a gate. But the grass is just too long. A path is needed indeed.
So off he goes, to please his wife. He was looking for a chore to do anyway. An excuse to be outside. The little red mower that could, small next to the stand of grass, chopped away. Soon to my delight a path was formed.

The clear blue sky and air that perfectly matched the heat of my skin called me outside. I love the evening sun. And watching him out there working away, only his head visible to me, well I just had to go see.

The little red mower, with her task complete sat quiet at his feet. "There you go" he said with a smile. Then the butterflies started tickling my insides and giggles spilled out of my cheeks and I couldn't stand it anymore. I skipped, I danced, I ran down that path, then turned and did it back again. The silliest thing a for mother, but I wasn't a mother just then.

Then the kids, a yard away, seeing the top of their mothers head bobbing through the grass, gave in to curiosity. The butterflies and giggles must have found them too, because soon I was joined by the two. Dogs sense fear, and sadness, but most of all joy. They bounded down the path, barks of excitement they couldn't hold back, came pouring out. Our fun echoed over the field while we ran.

The trees became silhouettes, the air cool on my skin, and soon it was time to go back inside. The smile still spread across our faces for a silly path in the grass.