Summer 2016

I may have tried to intimidate a room full of grade school kids. Just now.

This was the first week of summer vacation. As a kid, the first week of summer was the single greatest week of the year. As a parent, it is the opposite.

All kinds of cool

This summer we decided to send Finn to the very posh Fitch Mountain Day Camp, while Liam is attending the good ole' Boys and Girls Club. A lot of factors went into making this decision, but ultimately I think we figured Finn was going to need the fancy camp with it's daily swimming, water slides, bouncy houses, carnivals, endless games, and high ratio of adult supervisors to campers, while Liam needs to see a little more of the real world. With his 7th birthday looming, he's practically a man, and we don't want him to lose his edge. The Boys and Girls Club is kind of like that low-rent gym Apollo takes Rocky to in Rocky III. Eye of the tiger, baby.

If you're thinking, "Way to toughen up and send that boy out of the nest, come what may," it's because you didn't see me on the first day. Finn cried out pitiably as I left him behind at his new Kinderspa. I knew he'd be okay, but it was enough to spark the waterworks. Liam and I walked into the Boys and Girls Club and he was mesmerized by the sight of it. There were about forty kids there already, a few teenagers lurking in the corners, and maybe three or four young adults trying to manage the chaos. I walked him around a bit, showed him where the bathroom is, panicked a little because I was just allowed unsupervised in the bathroom with a child and no one really knew who I was so who the hell is going to prevent some pervert from....(breathe, breathe), checked in with the club's manager, and said my goodbyes. He said, "goodbye Daddy", and, with nervous determination, plunged right into the mix. I managed to keep it together halfway across the parking lot before the image of him, getting bullied for not being able to speak properly and ending up playing all alone in a dingy side room with some busted old Legos, came flooding into my mind's eye. I couldn't go back to work for an hour afterward.

I insisted on being there later that day for the 1pm pickup time for both boys. Finn was fine, of course. No surprise there. I readied myself to go pick up Liam, certain I'd find him in a state of abject misery, which was of course the opposite of what I found. His group was in the art room doing some cool clay sculptures and when I said I was there to take him home, he had a little meltdown. I let him stay for another hour and went away to berate myself for freaking out every time.

The entire week just got better and better, with the exception of two small hiccups. On Tuesday my phone buzzed and it was the number from the Boys and Girls Club. This image from around this time last year immediately came to mind:

Summer 2015. Boo.

I answered in a panic and the club director said "LIAM IS FINE, but he had a little accident". Two days later I got an identical call from Finn's club. Both boys are in strange new places with more independence than they're used to, so I wasn't too surprised. I figure Finn's resort has everyone in swimsuits all the time, so I'm sure 95% of the kids, and 30% of the adults, are peeing their pants most days anyway. Liam had me worried though. Grade school feels like it wasn't all that long ago. I remember how we were. We reveled in our abuse of the kids who embarrassed themselves. We were merciless and cruel. We would search for any ammunition we could, and would use it indefinitely.

So at this morning's drop of I found myself standing a little taller and doing my best to look sinister. I didn't really plan to put on a show, but I hadn't dropped Liam off since his first day, and some animal instinct kicked in. I thought why not? I'm 6'8", 230lbs, and my angel son isn't well-equipped to defend himself. I walked him to his cubby, making sure to make eye contact with any kids looking my way. There were quite a few, ha HA! I knelt down and gave him a manly hug before walking out, making sure to duck slightly under the doorway as I left. Yes, I'm a little ashamed.

Yin and Yang

Liam is, as of last week, out of special education and in mainstream Kindergarten.

My hero.

Words.

Fail.

I could go on for days about what it's been like leading up to this, how much sleep was lost, battles fought, hopes wavered, hearts broken, tears shed, and so on, but BAH!! How about we just talk about ice cream.

So CLEARLY, with this achievement, Liam has earned himself ice cream forever. He, Finn, and I headed out Sunday night after dinner. I'd devised a route from our house to Nobel Folk Ice Cream & Pie Bar that takes us along the longest blocks because they afford me a little extra time to sprint and catch up to Finn before he can launch himself into traffic. While Liam has made all of my hopes and dreams come true, Finn is still a bit of an asshole.

To Finn, there is no greater form of comedy than forcing others to save him from mortal peril. My shouts of "FINN STOP!!!" in my burliest dad voice are always answered with belly laughs. Once we get downtown, the blocks aren't as long, so I can't let him loose for a second. Instead, he gets the death-grip hand hold which makes his knees stop working.

I knew it was going to get pretty ugly. It always does. Lately any errand I run with the boys ends up looking like a kidnapping, but it wasn't like I was going to bump into some rock-star I'd idolized when I was a teenager or anything.

We managed well enough until we were only two blocks away from Noble Folk. Then, Finn started in on a sort of "suicidal contortionist" performance piece that pushed me to my wit's end and I shouted "FINE! If you won't hold my hand when we cross the street then we'll just have to go HOME!!"

Finn's bullshit detector is keen, so he called my bluff and started back for home. I doubled down and pretended I wasn't going to follow him.

Jerk.

I eventually caught up to him in the bulk food isle of our local grocery store.

Liam was on my tail and quick to remind me that ice cream was the other direction, so Finn got to ride the rest of the way over daddy's shoulder, which was fine with him since he was exhausted from laughing maniacally.

I just had the "water" I'd brought along with me.

I'd love to say it was smooth sailing after that, but Finn felt the best nightcap was a visit to the toy store, so he staged a sit-in.

My argument that it was closed wasn't cutting it, so we crossed the street and I let him wail on the locked door. Fortunately it didn't set off any alarms. Unfortunately, Finn's renewed rage meant it was time to sprint to the very busy street down the block. Liam and I managed to pin him down at the corner, in full view of the weekend dining crowd that wasn't sure whether or not to call the police.

I glanced up with my best "Ha! Everything is okay. No really," and there was Les Claypool of Primus, the lead singer of a band I went to see five times between 1992 and 1993.

"He doesn't seem too happy," Les Claypool said.

"No, he does not," I replied.

The Hardest Working Man in the House

This kid.

We're really going for it with Liam. No more show and tell or coloring inside the lines for this guy. He's on the fast track to academic GLORY!

We've been challenging him for most of his young life to catch up to his peers and he's made great progress, but his 7th birthday is looming and he's not quite where he should be. So with the new year came this new regimen. His school schedule is jam-packed and he has homework every night. On weekends Erin is doing some supplemental reading work and I'm in charge of math. In a month we're going through another full evaluation at the Autism Spectrum Disorder Center in San Francisco which will likely grant us more speech therapy and applied behavior analysis. We've amassed an impressive team of doctors and lawyers on our side, all with the focus on getting Liam more aid and resources. Mainstream education or BUST!

Am I feeling like super-dad or what?! No. Exactly the opposite. I feel like a tyrant and the destroyer of happiness.

For the first few years you just have to keep your kids fed and out of harm's way. As they get older you kind of hold your breath and hope they develop just as they're supposed to. If they don't, then what? You educate yourself and learn ways to help them, but how much help do they need? Is more always better?

Your child only gets one childhood. On one hand you don't want to raise a spoiled rotten sociopath who can't function outside of your home. On the other hand you don't want a child to be robbed of this precious time when life should be fun and easy. It's a tricky balancing act that every parent needs to negotiate and it's different for every child.

With Liam you can sense that everything he needs to be doing in order to succeed is right there below the surface. I'm really hoping all the extra work is going to crack that thin shell that's holding him back. We're considering every recommendation the experts are giving us. Well, maybe not everything. Drugs are not an option for Liam as far as I'm concerned.

Finn is another story. When your 4-year-old ends up at the doctor's office because he doesn't want to poop on the potty, you've lost the battle. Bring on the drugs! "Encopresis" is not a term I'd ever hoped to become familiar with. It's earned Finn back his pull-ups and regular doses of Miralax until we can figure something else out. The war isn't over yet.

I haven't been blogging much. I like to keep it light-hearted and funny, but, as you can see, the stories lately have been tough ones to spin. So, on a lighter note, here are the boys running around on the grass, picking flowers, and hug tackling one another.

A Girl and Her Snail

Evie turned nine on Wednesday, and her birthday wish was simple:

Yep, she wanted a snail. No big deal, right? WRONG! As it turns out, there aren't a ton of snails in my nearby radius during a rainstorm in January. I upturned every chunk of cement, abandoned 2x4 and water-filled flower pot in our backyard, all to no snavail. (Get it? Snail + avail! Hahahahaha!)

I did some attempted out-sourcing, calling pet stores (nope) and, in a desperately silly moment of mental washout, I called a nursery. Nurseries, as we know, don't really like snails, so I'm not sure why I thought they'd have one. But I called, and they didn't. I texted friends, posted on gardeners' message boards, and hit up Facebook. I optimistically erased the request and drew a picture in it's place, hoping that if I couldn't find a real-live snail, a chalk drawing of one might suffice. 

Luckily, Facebook came through, like it always does.

Meet Evie's pet snail:

Temporary name: Lenny

I got him (or her...I think they're one and the same) all set up in it's comfy new home full of water and leafy greens and a little cup to hide in, which it promptly scooshed past in order to crawl up the side of it's terrarium wall to the uppermost corner, where it stayed until it met Evie. 

I figured since it wasn't being cute anyway, I'd just go ahead and wrap it up: 

She'll have no idea what's in the big box!

Upon picking her up from school, Evie asked no less than six thousand times if I could just give her a tiny little hint about whether or not she'd be getting a snail when we got home. I was like, "no way dude, forget it!" And I made her open her boring book presents first, just for the extra torture. When she got to the big box, she was amazingly surprised! Like I wouldn't get her a snail for her birthday?! Psh, who does she think she's dealing with here, a total amateur??

"Oh my gosh mama, is it a snail?!"

Since he/she was still hiding, she had to work a little to find her new BFF.

But once she did, they were inseparable. I mean, literally - those things are super sticky.

Here is a heavily-cut video of Evie's snail - Flash - crawling. Because it's cute. Happy Birthday Evie!!

Number Two

January 4, 2015

Looking back at the blog I see that we got Finn his potty chair a YEAR ago. Since then, the main thing it's collected in its froggy head has been dust. He was okay with the peeing starting last November and there have been a couple of celebrated (though I suspect accidental) turds dropped here and there, but it wasn't until this holiday break that he finally embraced what is universally accepted as truth: pissing your pants is not cool.

Consequently we've recently declared step number one officially reached. In fact, he's so good at going number one, he'll often just sit and squeeze out a teaspoon so he can say "gummy bear", which I'm obliged to award him.

Such prowess with number one should mean that number two will be quick to follow, but this is Finn we're talking about.

Once again, the issue isn't that he doesn't know how to go, or when to go. He's in complete control of his bodily functions, he's just the kung fu master of stubborn. He will hold it from morning til nighttime diaper. I not sure how he does it, but then again his poops are 90% gummy bear these days.

During the daylight hours he's in underpants, with rare exceptions. On long road trips, or visits to locations too sacred to risk an accident, he'll get a midday diaper which he soils the instant the double grip strips lock in place. When he finds himself  truly desperate to go during the day he'll tell me "diaper?", which is my cue to sweep him into the bathroom so we can both sit for ten minutes while he doesn't poop.

Last Saturday, right after a hearty lunch, he said "diaper?" and I put him on the potty with inexplicable confidence. He hopped up, went to back to his room, climbed the bookshelf, retrieved a swim diaper left there from last summer, put it on, went into the closet, pointed his little finger out of the darkness toward the hallway and told me "go". I would have intervened but I was completely transfixed.

Jodee thinks we should try respecting his need for privacy by placing him on the potty and leaving him alone. I'm all for it, though my version might look a little more like solitary confinement than she had in mind.

Christmas 2015

I have a Clark Griswold complex. I go into the holidays with the same wide-eyed naivety every year and end up disappointed. At least this year the boys reminded me to lower the bar early.

To kick off the holiday I thought I'd take the boys to the mall for, what was destined to be, "the best picture with Santa...EVER!"

They'd watched the Rankin/Bass "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" at least 80 times and were Santa-crazy. Every decoration that appeared at all Santa-esque was dubbed "SAN KWAZ!" by Finley. I figured actually meeting the real Santa this year was going yield the most adorable moment ever captured on film. Here's what we got:

This was the BEST of EIGHT, just by virtue of the fact that all three of their heads are in frame. The first four shots looked like the boys were exploding out of Santa. After some blue lollipops that I'm sure were laced with sedatives (I have no problem with that) and the patented white-gloved death grip seen above (also, absolutely no problem with that) Santa managed to get this moment captured on pricey, high-glossed film. The cheapest package was $29.99.

Finn is a Butt

Finn would be getting a lump of coal in his stocking this year but I know he'll just draw on the living room wall with it, flush it down the toilet, and then pee on the bathroom rug.

I haven't blogged about the boys in a long time because every time I sit down and think to myself "what are they up to these days that's worth mentioning?" I get an instant stabbing sensation behind my left eye.

Of course we have our fun, and I love my boys more than ever, but if I had to sum up this chapter of our lives I'd say that Finn is continuing to aggressively "test boundaries" and Liam is making progress, but is still struggling with language. I just felt a hair turn grey.

My Angel

I don't have a single gripe about Liam. He's as sweet and funny as ever, and he's made more progress in the last month or two with his language issues than I've seen him make in the past two years. It brings me to happy tears. Jodee wrote beautifully about it on her blog HERE. The hard part is we're not sure now what path his education should take. Erin and I have been observing classes and meeting with teachers to try and figure out what's the next best move. They think he's in the right program, but Erin and I think he's ready to advance. As anyone who has tried to fight for their child's educational needs can tell you, it's an epic battle.

Finn, on the other hand, is mega-gripeworthy. His potty-training went out the window for about a month. As soon as he discovered how pleased we were to see him use the toilet, he added that skill to the list of things he will absolutely never do again. He now holds it until he's in agony, or until he's in the bath and we're not watching so that he can hop out, take a piss on the bathroom rug, and hop back in the tub. We've tricked him a number of times into using the potty, but he's peed on the rug as many times as not. Pooping he saves for the moment we're forced to put him in a diaper. Typically it'll be his nighttime diaper or any occasion when we have to leave the house for an extended period of time. Once he's in it, he runs off to hide so he can unleash in privacy.

Finn taking a dump

His other major power move is the "limp noodle". It's brilliant. You know the move: it's the one where the slightest disinclination to do something results in instantaneous full-body immobility.

"Finn, can you put your shoes on?"

I used to be able to call his bluff by simply walking away, but Liam has ruined that. Liam gets very upset when I appear to be leaving his only brother and best friend behind. Consequently, on the days Finn doesn't feel like going to school, he gets carried the whole way.