I'm so dang excited for this race.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
A Sensory Kind of Day
Today, we started the day like every day. Emerson woke up and started babbling in his crib which woke up Sam who began quietly yelling "Stop talking! Go back to sleep!" over and over until I got up to tell him it was ok to wake up now.
We went downstairs and Sam sat at the kitchen table, immediately ready for breakfast. Isaac, who had been in the shower, came out and turned on the kitchen light.
That's when Sam's sensory world began.
He began crying and covering his eyes with his blanket, saying the light was too bright and that it hurt. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the light and he calmed down. He requested a banana with peanut butter on it, but we ran out of bananas yesterday so: more crying. I gave him oatmeal and said a prayer of thanks that we still had one package left of the oatmeal with the dinosaurs in it because the dinosaurs worked. I put it in the microwave for way less time than the package recommends because it doesn't really matter how long you cook instant oatmeal. Even with less cooking time, it was too hot and: more crying. Eventually, it cooled down. He was able to find a straw for his apple juice (why do I keep forgetting to buy more straws at the store?) and he finished his breakfast.
We turned on a show (his favorite), and he sat in his little chair, snuggled up to his green blanket and zoned out for a while. I took a shower while Emerson hit his head on something and ran to me screaming, which then caused Sam to begin crying again. But we made it through that.
Then I got my boys ready for the day, sifting through my ever-growing piles of clean laundry, picking out a shirt and some shorts that I was pretty confident Sam would not be bothered by. I passed the test. He wore them, no problem.
It was time to go. I explained to Sam 30 minutes before we were going to leave that we would be visiting a different kind of fun doctor today. Sam wanted to go to the park. He didn't want to drive in the car, because taking a walk means he gets to ride his red bike and he loves his red bike. More crying.
We got in the car and began backing out of our driveway. As soon as we backed out of the shadow of our house, I felt my body tense. A second later, there it was: "The sun! It's so bright! Ug. The sun!" I reassured him that it was ok. He can close his eyes. It won't be in his eyes much longer. I wasn't really sure anything I said actually helped.
I pick up some dry cleaning first. I was worried about not having explained this step to him, but he handled it just fine. He was very interested in the sliding glass on the dry cleaning window.
Sam's jacket hood fell off while he was sitting in his carseat and he couldn't get it back on: crying.
We dropped Emerson off at my cousin's house so I could be fully present for Sam's therapy appointment. Emerson wailed as I walk away from him, leaving him in an unfamiliar place.
We made it to Sam's therapy appointment right on time. Success. As I began filling out the forms, so many feelings of anxiety and questions ran through my mind. Will they understand what I'm talking about? ("Has he ever had what kind of drugs?!") Would they get why I was seeking further assessment? Would they understand that I just need to know, as his mother, that I am doing everything I can to make his life the best it can be? ("No, he's not sexually active, for goodness sake.")
We talked to the therapist who was very nice, but had absolutely no idea what SPD is. I spent the session explaining it to her and she set up a referral for an official assessment/evaluation. Not a complete loss, I was only there to get the assessment referral.
Sam did really well.
We picked up Emerson and spent some time at the park before heading home for lunch. Sam and Emerson loved the park, especially the swings. Then it was time for lunch and quiet/ nap times. Lunch went pretty well: pb&j again, with any fruit I could scrape up or some pea chips. I put Emerson down. I helped Sam go potty and put him down.
Peace at last.
2 hours later, Sam began moaning/crying from the playroom and I got him up. He rarely sleeps anymore, but he plays by himself pretty well. Such a blessing.
Emerson woke up and we got ready to go to a trampoline park with my cousin. We had never been there before and this made me nervous in more ways than one. I like going places at least once before I invite friends, just so I know the potential risks/good things about the place. But I needed the social piece of it for myself, so we went. Sam was very excited. He loves trampolines.
As we were putting our shoes in the cubbies, the loud speaker came on to announce that the hour had ended for those with green bracelets. Sam cried and covered his ears. It was too loud and too sudden. I was able to bring him back and distract him with the possibility of jumping.
He spent a solid hour running and jumping into the foam pit. He was in heaven. I wandered with Emerson and talked to my cousin, and Sam just played and played.
When our hour was up, the loud speakers came on again. I didn't anticipate it, so I wasn't very close to Sam when it happened. He was trying to get out of the foam pit and couldn't quite get his hands over his ears, so his ears were blasted with the noise of the guy telling us it was our turn to be done jumping. I went to Sam before I even heard his cries and wasn't surprised to see him struggling. I got him out of the pit and made the mistake of trying to bribe him with one more jump. I was worried about the transition since I hadn't told him it was time to go and I thought that one more jump might help him transition better. Unfortunately, I think that jump just put him over the edge and he lost it. We put our shoes on as he cried and cried. I tried to talk calmly to him. He wasn't upset about leaving. He just couldn't get his body to calm down. I gave him a drink of water and that helped for a second, and then: more crying. As I was getting his shoes on, he began pulling at his clothes, telling me that his body was wet and so hot. I told him that his body was sweating because he had been running around so much. He told me it hurt and that he felt sick. I tried to explain there was nothing I could do to make him stop sweating, but that he could take a bath when we got home if he wanted to. He liked that idea, but it wasn't enough to calm him down. "I'm feeling so sick! My body is so hot!"
He cried all of the way home, telling me how sad he was and how hot his body was (even though it was only 65 degrees outside and I was blasting the AC.) I kicked myself for letting him take that one last jump.
When we got home. I got him out of the car and he just curled into me. He's not usually a "huggy" kid. He's very purposeful with his hugs. But recently, we have been offering him more hugs because his occupational therapist says deep pressure hugs can be very soothing. This was one of the first times he's initiated a deep pressure hug with me. I knelt by our car in the driveway and just hugged him as tightly as I could. I felt his body relax into me and his breathing calm. Eventually, I was worried that Emerson would think I forgot about him, so I let go, but Sam just clung to me and wrapped his legs around me. I carried my 45lb, 3.5 year old into the house and he laid down on the carpet, somehow immediately finding his green blanket.
He was crying softly again by the time I got back into the house with Emerson. I remembered another technique his therapist said I could try, so I took his green blanket and wrapped him like a burrito. I told him he could get out of it as soon as he wanted to. I expected him to fight it or immediately break free, but he just lay there. He looked completely comfortable and at peace. He stayed in his cocoon for a few minutes and then sat up and asked to play with his sand (another soothing thing for him), as I cooked dinner.
The rest of the day went well and he loved playing with his daddy when he got home.
Sometimes, I wonder to myself if I make a bigger deal of this than I need to. I over analyze everything and I often wonder if I'm just over analyzing Sam's behavior. But very slowly, I am beginning to learn more about all of this. I am learning what the difference is between a tantrum and a melt down. I am learning how I can help him the best and when I should just let it go. Some moms at the trampoline park were remarking that at least I know he'll sleep well tonight (in reference to the wailing he was doing after the loud-speaker announcement). I agreed that he would sleep well, but I wished they really knew what was going on for him. I find myself wanting to explain it all of the time but realizing that it's not necessary. Every kid has their thing. Some kinds struggle more than others, and sometimes they just struggle differently. I don't need other moms to understand him. I just need to understand him. I know that even within the SPD world, Sam has it good. He's not nearly as severe as many instances I have read about. I don't find myself feeling bitter or resentful to this struggle for him. Instead, it breaks my heart a little. I hate that he has to deal with this everyday. But I am so, so grateful that I am learning what to do and that I can help him through it.
We went downstairs and Sam sat at the kitchen table, immediately ready for breakfast. Isaac, who had been in the shower, came out and turned on the kitchen light.
That's when Sam's sensory world began.
He began crying and covering his eyes with his blanket, saying the light was too bright and that it hurt. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the light and he calmed down. He requested a banana with peanut butter on it, but we ran out of bananas yesterday so: more crying. I gave him oatmeal and said a prayer of thanks that we still had one package left of the oatmeal with the dinosaurs in it because the dinosaurs worked. I put it in the microwave for way less time than the package recommends because it doesn't really matter how long you cook instant oatmeal. Even with less cooking time, it was too hot and: more crying. Eventually, it cooled down. He was able to find a straw for his apple juice (why do I keep forgetting to buy more straws at the store?) and he finished his breakfast.
We turned on a show (his favorite), and he sat in his little chair, snuggled up to his green blanket and zoned out for a while. I took a shower while Emerson hit his head on something and ran to me screaming, which then caused Sam to begin crying again. But we made it through that.
Then I got my boys ready for the day, sifting through my ever-growing piles of clean laundry, picking out a shirt and some shorts that I was pretty confident Sam would not be bothered by. I passed the test. He wore them, no problem.
It was time to go. I explained to Sam 30 minutes before we were going to leave that we would be visiting a different kind of fun doctor today. Sam wanted to go to the park. He didn't want to drive in the car, because taking a walk means he gets to ride his red bike and he loves his red bike. More crying.
We got in the car and began backing out of our driveway. As soon as we backed out of the shadow of our house, I felt my body tense. A second later, there it was: "The sun! It's so bright! Ug. The sun!" I reassured him that it was ok. He can close his eyes. It won't be in his eyes much longer. I wasn't really sure anything I said actually helped.
I pick up some dry cleaning first. I was worried about not having explained this step to him, but he handled it just fine. He was very interested in the sliding glass on the dry cleaning window.
Sam's jacket hood fell off while he was sitting in his carseat and he couldn't get it back on: crying.
We dropped Emerson off at my cousin's house so I could be fully present for Sam's therapy appointment. Emerson wailed as I walk away from him, leaving him in an unfamiliar place.
We made it to Sam's therapy appointment right on time. Success. As I began filling out the forms, so many feelings of anxiety and questions ran through my mind. Will they understand what I'm talking about? ("Has he ever had what kind of drugs?!") Would they get why I was seeking further assessment? Would they understand that I just need to know, as his mother, that I am doing everything I can to make his life the best it can be? ("No, he's not sexually active, for goodness sake.")
We talked to the therapist who was very nice, but had absolutely no idea what SPD is. I spent the session explaining it to her and she set up a referral for an official assessment/evaluation. Not a complete loss, I was only there to get the assessment referral.
Sam did really well.
We picked up Emerson and spent some time at the park before heading home for lunch. Sam and Emerson loved the park, especially the swings. Then it was time for lunch and quiet/ nap times. Lunch went pretty well: pb&j again, with any fruit I could scrape up or some pea chips. I put Emerson down. I helped Sam go potty and put him down.
Peace at last.
2 hours later, Sam began moaning/crying from the playroom and I got him up. He rarely sleeps anymore, but he plays by himself pretty well. Such a blessing.
Emerson woke up and we got ready to go to a trampoline park with my cousin. We had never been there before and this made me nervous in more ways than one. I like going places at least once before I invite friends, just so I know the potential risks/good things about the place. But I needed the social piece of it for myself, so we went. Sam was very excited. He loves trampolines.
As we were putting our shoes in the cubbies, the loud speaker came on to announce that the hour had ended for those with green bracelets. Sam cried and covered his ears. It was too loud and too sudden. I was able to bring him back and distract him with the possibility of jumping.
He spent a solid hour running and jumping into the foam pit. He was in heaven. I wandered with Emerson and talked to my cousin, and Sam just played and played.
When our hour was up, the loud speakers came on again. I didn't anticipate it, so I wasn't very close to Sam when it happened. He was trying to get out of the foam pit and couldn't quite get his hands over his ears, so his ears were blasted with the noise of the guy telling us it was our turn to be done jumping. I went to Sam before I even heard his cries and wasn't surprised to see him struggling. I got him out of the pit and made the mistake of trying to bribe him with one more jump. I was worried about the transition since I hadn't told him it was time to go and I thought that one more jump might help him transition better. Unfortunately, I think that jump just put him over the edge and he lost it. We put our shoes on as he cried and cried. I tried to talk calmly to him. He wasn't upset about leaving. He just couldn't get his body to calm down. I gave him a drink of water and that helped for a second, and then: more crying. As I was getting his shoes on, he began pulling at his clothes, telling me that his body was wet and so hot. I told him that his body was sweating because he had been running around so much. He told me it hurt and that he felt sick. I tried to explain there was nothing I could do to make him stop sweating, but that he could take a bath when we got home if he wanted to. He liked that idea, but it wasn't enough to calm him down. "I'm feeling so sick! My body is so hot!"
He cried all of the way home, telling me how sad he was and how hot his body was (even though it was only 65 degrees outside and I was blasting the AC.) I kicked myself for letting him take that one last jump.
When we got home. I got him out of the car and he just curled into me. He's not usually a "huggy" kid. He's very purposeful with his hugs. But recently, we have been offering him more hugs because his occupational therapist says deep pressure hugs can be very soothing. This was one of the first times he's initiated a deep pressure hug with me. I knelt by our car in the driveway and just hugged him as tightly as I could. I felt his body relax into me and his breathing calm. Eventually, I was worried that Emerson would think I forgot about him, so I let go, but Sam just clung to me and wrapped his legs around me. I carried my 45lb, 3.5 year old into the house and he laid down on the carpet, somehow immediately finding his green blanket.
He was crying softly again by the time I got back into the house with Emerson. I remembered another technique his therapist said I could try, so I took his green blanket and wrapped him like a burrito. I told him he could get out of it as soon as he wanted to. I expected him to fight it or immediately break free, but he just lay there. He looked completely comfortable and at peace. He stayed in his cocoon for a few minutes and then sat up and asked to play with his sand (another soothing thing for him), as I cooked dinner.
The rest of the day went well and he loved playing with his daddy when he got home.
Sometimes, I wonder to myself if I make a bigger deal of this than I need to. I over analyze everything and I often wonder if I'm just over analyzing Sam's behavior. But very slowly, I am beginning to learn more about all of this. I am learning what the difference is between a tantrum and a melt down. I am learning how I can help him the best and when I should just let it go. Some moms at the trampoline park were remarking that at least I know he'll sleep well tonight (in reference to the wailing he was doing after the loud-speaker announcement). I agreed that he would sleep well, but I wished they really knew what was going on for him. I find myself wanting to explain it all of the time but realizing that it's not necessary. Every kid has their thing. Some kinds struggle more than others, and sometimes they just struggle differently. I don't need other moms to understand him. I just need to understand him. I know that even within the SPD world, Sam has it good. He's not nearly as severe as many instances I have read about. I don't find myself feeling bitter or resentful to this struggle for him. Instead, it breaks my heart a little. I hate that he has to deal with this everyday. But I am so, so grateful that I am learning what to do and that I can help him through it.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Why I Run
We went to visit my family this past couple of weeks. It was awesome to spend time with them. For the first time in about 4 or 5 years, we had every single one of my siblings in one place. In fact, we had almost every person in my family there except my brother-in-law, Tyler, who is completing his Residency and understandably could not get the time off. It was somewhat chaotic to have all 9 grandchildren (under the age of 7) at my parent's house for a full week, but it was a bunch of fun. Sam and Emerson had a blast playing with their cousins and Sam has not stopped asking to play with his "cousin friends" ever since.
While I was there, I had some downtime and I was able to read a bit.
I finished this book:
And haven't stopping thinking about it every since. It tells the true story of a journalist/ reporter who is trying to find the solution to his running injuries. He discovers a hidden tribe in Mexico called the Tarahumara and learns from them that humans were always meant to be able to run, especially long distances. This tribe is surrounded by mountains and rough trails, yet they are consistently able to run hundreds of miles at a time without stopping or getting injured and they have been doing this for quite some time. It was amazing to me to read through example after example of extraordinary runners and find the commonalities between their stories.
When I began running after I had Emerson, it started out as a way to get out of house. Isaac could be home between the hour of 8-9 every night and I was welcome to do whatever I wanted with that time. So I went to the gym. I knew if I tried to work out at home it would never happen, but something about being away from my house, without kids or anyone who needed me was incredibly freeing. As I began to run/walk shorter distances, it was pretty rough and not fun at first. By the end of the first mile, I was struggling and would often quite. But slowly, I began running further and further. I felt myself getting stronger. I ran a 5k in April of last year and it felt so great that I decided right there that I would train for the same race, but do the Half Marathon in 1 year.
The first time I ran more than 4 miles was emotional for me. I was doing something I had never done before. I was discovering a strength in my body and myself that had never been part of my life until that moment. I knew that my only limit in running was myself.
For the past year, I have been ramping up the mileage and going on more runs each week. The other day, I ran 4.5 miles for fun and I would've gone further if Isaac didn't need me back home so he could go to the library. I'm up to 10 miles for my longest distance and I'm planning an 11 mile run this Saturday.
If you were to ask me even 2 years ago if I would ever become a runner or even enjoy running, I would have looked at you like you were crazy and said, "Um..., no. Running is for crazy people." But I get it now. I get why people do this, why they go through the pain and stress on their body to run long distances. For me, after about 2.5 or 3 miles, I reach my "happy place." Suddenly, my body has taken over and I'm not paying attention to my running anymore. I am just there. I guess you could call it a "runner's high," but for me, it's more like a "runner's peace."
So much of my life is riddled with anxiety. I overthink everything, research everything, over process everything in my mind. But when I am running, I hit a place where nothing else exists. I can feel my breath giving energy to the rest of my body and my feet hitting the payment over and over. I can look around and take in the beautiful mountains or the cars driving past. But my brain doesn't have the energy for anxiety. Every part of myself goes into making me run.
It's a peace unmatched by almost any other area of my life.
This book, Born to Run, talks a lot about the motivation behind the running and I think that's why it rang so true for me as I read it. When I have tried to run before, it was so that I could lose weight or prove something to my friends. I had some wonderful roommates in college that really enjoyed running, but I hadn't gained my own positive experience with it yet. In my mind, it was something that other people could enjoy, but it definitely wasn't for me.
I'm convinced that the reason I love it now is because I have absolutely no goals, no outcomes that I am looking for. When I run during the week, I almost never set a distance goal for myself. I just run. I do set distance goals on my long runs, but I always tell myself I can stop if I need to or I can go longer if I want to. This time around, running was not for loosing the baby weight or impressing anyone. It was for me. It was my time to connect with my body and the world around me.
My friend, Stephanie, who has been a huge inspiration to me throughout this process has talked before about how running is a spiritual thing for her. And I couldn't agree more. With my anxiety falling away, I can connect to my world, myself, and the Spirit much more effectively while I run. My emotions are more free and my heart is more open.
I am excited that this has become a part of my life. Sam asks to go on runs with me all the time and I love that I can set that example for my boys. I love that it's so much more than body image or proving anything to anyone else. It's about loving myself and pushing myself as far as I can go. I am so excited for my Half Marathon in a month. I imagine that once I'm done with that, I will only want to keep going.
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