Category Archives: Revelations

I just want the truth.

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334 days without yelling, 31 days of loving more to go!

Dear Crayola Washable Markers,

Nothing says lets get this Friday morning started like turning around and seeing one son’s door covered in bright yellow marker. Nothing says let’s test mom by finding one of her favorite washcloths and trying to wash the marker off. Nothing says “hey mom can you stay cool at 6 in the morning” if we leave the wet wash cloth on the floor AND leave the guilty marker right next to it so when you jump after stepping on the wet wash cloth you fall.  Yep, nothing says, good morning like all of the above and yet, I thank you for the “colorful” morning. No really, thanks. You may have really ticked me off but at least you further motivated me to not ever return to yelling at my boys. So for that, I thank you. For the extra work you created? Not so much.

Anywho, cheers!
The Orange Rhino

*

I picked up the marker and approached sons 1 and 2. Lucky for them, I had showered already that morning and was awake, refreshed and relaxed.

“Boys, who drew on the door?” I calmly asked.
“He did!
“No he did!”
“No really he did, and he drew on my wall, my blinds, my bed, my desk and my toys too!”

(Photo courtesy: Marketplace.com)

I SLOWLY opened the bedroom door. Sigh. The last statement was more than true. The once white, green, and blue room was now white, green, blue and neon yellow. Awesome. Really? Really either a 4 year old or a 6 year old thought that it would be okay to decorate with a marker? I was flabbergasted. I slowly and calmly opened my breath, praying that I didn’t scream. Praying that patience found me.

“Boys. I don’t care who did it, what I care about is the truth. I just want to know the truth. I won’t be angry if you tell me the truth. I’ll be angry if you lie.”

And that was the truth. I didn’t want to scream at either one of them. I just wanted to know the truth so that I could have a meaningful conversation with the artist and reinforce that we don’t draw on walls, that we draw on paper.

There was silence. I looked back and forth between both boys. Eyes watched me.

“Boys, I’m not going to yell.  I promise, I am not going to yell. I just want to know the truth.” I reiterated.

A quiet voice spoke.

“I did it. I’m sorry. I just well, I just, I don’t know why I did it.”

“Okay. Listen. That was not acceptable. You know we don’t color on the walls. Lets clean this up together.”

“Okay” he mumbled as he started cleaning with me.

And that was that. I stopped and think. Sh*t. Was I too lax? Should I have been harsher? Did I get my message across? Did my son get the point?

You know what, I believe he did get the point. He got it when he lost 5 minutes out of playtime because he had to clean. He got it just by looking at my face. And he got it when I spoke to him calmly and clearly; he certainly wouldn’t have gotten it if I had yelled.  But do you know what really mattered to me more than, did my son get the point, and phew, I didn’t yell? The fact that my son felt safe enough to tell me the truth even though he knew I was beyond angry.

I am not sure I could have said that pre-Orange Rhino Challenge. When I used to yell, I mean really yell, I made my boys scared of me; I made them scared to tell me the truth. But now, 332 days later, my son wasn’t scared that I would yell so he freely fessed up to his artistic endeavor. In all my six years of parenting and pondering what kind of mom I hoped to be, this was the first time I realized just how much I always want my boys to feel safe enough to tell me the truth, no matter how ugly it may be.

If my son hits someone at school because he was bullied…I want him to tell me the truth so I can help him.

If my son “borrows” a candy bar from Target…I want him to tell me the truth so I can teach him.

If my son gets in trouble in high school doing gosh only knows what and is scared…I want him to tell me the truth so that I can comfort him.

There are so many things I want to be able to do for my boys, both in good times and in bad. But the truth is that I can only do those things if we have a trusting and loving relationship.  The truth is, as I witnessed this morning, my best chance to do those things is if I keep on not yelling.

*

Not 10 hours after this incident, two other boys wanted my attention. I was busy. So they took green and blue markers and colored on as many white walls as possible. I was LESS THAN thrilled. In fact, I was PISSED. I started to feel a yell rumble and I thought of this blog post. I thought about creating, and a maintaining, a trusting, safe relationship with my sons and my yell subsided. I hope this post does the same for you!

What kind of parent do you want to be? How does yelling hold you back from that?

My holiday wish for moms everywhere

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317 days without yelling, 48 days of loving more to go!

Dear Stars,

I have a holiday wish for all moms, across the country, across the world. Do you think you can make it come true? We need it. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I wish for the judgment amongst moms to go away so we may help each other more. Oh would it would make for happier moms and therefore happier kids.

Love,
The Orange Rhino

 

*

There once was a mom who called herself The Orange Rhino. She often felt alone, discouraged, and lost as a parent. She often felt that she was the “only one” who yelled at her kids too much, that she was “only one” whose kids sometimes did really questionable things, that she was the “only one” who cried at night because being a parent was so hard. Yes, The Orange Rhino felt a lot of things deep down under the smile, the laughter, the “oh yes, parenting is great” commentary. She yearned to find support, affirmation of her feelings; others who experienced the same because she knew that would ease her loneliness, her frustration, and bolster her happiness. But she DARED not tell a soul. She knew what might greet her if she shared what she REALLY felt:

Judgment.

And she didn’t need judgment; life was hard enough as is. The last thing she needed was people thinking she was a bad parent, that her child was a bad kid. What she needed was love, help, and understanding.

Understanding that she loves her kids, that she’s trying her best, but that it’s hard.
Help for how to handle the tough moments or how to just get through them.
And love on hard days, during the hard phases when understanding and help can’t be offered.

One day she took a leap of faith. The Orange Rhino had found a new community that seemed judgment free. She bared her soul about one of her biggest parenting challenges. It was time. This particular challenge was eating her alive and she needed to reach out; she needed as much love and help as she could find. She bared her soul knowing that the chance of understanding was very small, that the chance of judgment was very very high.

The judgment never came (at least not vocally). Instead the understanding, help, and love came in abundance! It gave her hope that she would get through the hard times; it gave her strength knowing that she now had people to turn to with the same struggles without fearing judgment; it gave her peace knowing that she no longer had to be embarrassed, that she no longer had to hide.

She learned a lot after coming “clean” with her struggle. She learned other moms struggle like her for the same reason! She learned other moms also feel alone and frustrated and afraid to share their struggles. She learned other moms yearned to be able to talk freely, free of judgment because they too sought understanding, help and love, because they too were tired of feeling like they were the “only one.”

She talked and shared with these other moms and she felt lighter, happier until she realized the loving response she received was the exception to the rule. She immediately felt sad because she knew that because judgment is so prevalent in today’s parenting circles, many parents who like her often feel alone, lost, and discouraged don’t have the opportunity to safely share their struggles… and so they don’t. They keep those oh-so-difficult feelings to themselves and continue to silently struggle instead of getting the help and love that they not only deserve but that also is waiting for them, in abundance.

Because that is one thing The Orange Rhino learned; when she reached out there wasn’t one mom waiting to support her, there were others, there were hundreds.

Her happiness turned sadness turned hopeful.

What if there was a world free of judgment so all moms felt safe to share their struggles? What if us moms stopped judging each other and offered empathy first? Because there is one truth, no matter what opinion you take on difficult parenting matters:

PARENTING IS HARD. WE NEED EACH OTHER. PERIOD. 

We need each other when we want to openly say, “I can’t do another day of this, I just want to collapse on the floor in a big puddle of tears.”

We need each other when we want to openly say, “I fear I am failing as a parent because of my child’s behavior and besides, everyone else’s kids behave “better.””

We need each other when we want to openly say, “I yell too much at my kids but I am embarrassed to admit it and I don’t know how to stop.”

Yes, we need EACH OTHER. What we don’t need is Judgment.

Us moms, dads, parents, us RHINOS, we need each other. We need to stick together. Photo courtesy enrevanche.blogspot.com

She started dreaming. What if we all felt safe enough to share our struggles? Oh how we could learn from each other. Oh how we could help each other come up with new ideas for parenting challenges. Oh how we could love each other when nothing else worked. And oh, oh how much happier we would be as moms realizing that we are not alone, that there are other mothers out there like us, helping us, standing besides us.

Oh, what a beautiful world it would be she thought. What a beautiful, beautiful world it would be.

Moms would not only be judgment free, but they would be free of the weight of hiding the deep struggles. The newfound lightness would help moms find even more patience for parenting and even more joy for parenting. Again, what a wonderful world it would be.

The Orange Rhino was awakened from her daydream at the sound of four boys screaming at each other over whose matchbox cars was whose and quickly thereafter the demands for dinner. Yes, she thought, we need each OTHER. Because this parenting gig is wonderful…and exhausting!

As she prepared dinner her eldest screamed, “MOTHER, when will it be ready?” and she had one last deep thought. She knew herself as a mama, a mom, a mommy, but never as Mother. mOTHER.  At that moment, she knew she would always remember that she was not alone, that there were always OTHER moms out there just like her. M (mom) OTHER.

That night as her sons wished upon stars, she wished for judgment among moms to go away. She is still hoping her wish comes true and promises to continue doing her part. 

 

Remember, you are a MOTHER. You are not alone, there is an abundance of other moms eager to hear you share your truths so they too can find peace.  Especially here in the Orange Rhino Community. There is no judgment here, just love. 

 

 

“Tonight, I will hug my kids tighter.” And tomorrow?

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316 days without yelling, 49 days of LOVING MORE to go.

“Tonight, we will all hug our kids a little tighter.”
“Tonight I kissed my kids more than ever.”
“Tonight putting my kids to bed didn’t feel like a chore, but a privilege.”
“Today I told my daughter I loved her over and over again.”

Last Friday night from the President to my Facebook feed to my twitter feed, there were lots of popular sentiments but one that stuck with me is that everyone declared that that day, that night they would hug their kids tighter.

I get that. I am NOT disputing it. I did too. I hugged my sweet boys as long as they would physically let me. I kissed them more times than perhaps that week combined. And I told them “I love you” even when they were sound asleep and couldn’t hear me say it anymore. Yes, I did just as every parent across America seemed to do Friday night.

But the next morning all the statements and my actions made me think. What about on Saturday? On Sunday? Next Saturday? 10 Sundays from now? Will parents still be moved to hug their kids a little tighter? To tell their kids they love them more than ever…even when they feel anger at them for “bad” behavior? Because I know myself. When tragedy or hardship strikes, whether it is Hurricane Sandy or a trip to the ER, I stop and think. I think oh, life is precious; I am going to hug my kids more today. I think, I am so grateful; I am going to say it more. I think, I need to try harder; I am going to try harder to be more patient.

And I do, for a few days, sometimes longer. And then the tragedy or hardship escapes my mind and the chaos of life brings me back to how I was before the hardship.

And I can’t stand that about myself. And I worry the same will happen now.

I haven’t stopped crying since Friday and my heart hasn’t stopped sending virtual love to each and every soul in Newtown, CT.

But one day, it will. The tears will stop and my heart will re-focus entirely on my house, my life. I will try as hard as I can to be “the mom” that I was the weekend after the tragedy at Newtown, but the truth is I will slip. I know that when I address cards to my family and friends in Newtown that I will pause and remember the lives lost and I will run and hug my munchkins.

Walking with daddy in one of the many beautiful and peaceful fields in Newtown, CT where he grew up. October, 2012.

And I know that when we visit Newtown with my sons to show them daddy’s school, daddy’s house, daddy’s favorite pizza place, daddy’s favorite ice cream shop, daddy’s oh so beautiful town that I will sadly be forced to remember to hug my kids tighter at that moment.

But I also know those days will be fewer than I like. I know moving forward I won’t be as calm and tender at Kindergarten drop-off as I was today; that I will be loving but not AS loving and present as I was today. I know I won’t run and hug my son at pick-up as I did today but that instead I will sit in the car waiting impatiently for him to come to me so that I can rush to the next place.

 

And oh this reality pains me so. Oh this reality infuriates me. Oh this reality stumps me, confuses me, and pushes me to really think. Why? Why do I do this?

Everyday since Friday I’ve asked myself not just how will I bring the memories of those lost to life, but also how will I ensure that I hug my kids a little tighter each night, even when this tragedy is a distant memory? How will I embrace the mom that I was this past weekend? How will I find the same patience, presence, and persistence to be a loving mom that I had in abundance after I heard the devastating news?

I am not going to pretend to know the answers. Because I don’t know. I don’t know a lot right now, except for perhaps two things. One, I love my sons with all my soul and the thought of losing them breaks my heart. I can only imagine what it really feels like to those who have indeed lost their children. And two, I am forever grateful that I decided to stop yelling at them.

An expected answer given my blog topic? Perhaps. But I don’t write that for the expected answers. Yes I am grateful that I have stopped yelling because it has improved my relationship with my boys, it has shown them more love, it has created a calmer home. But right now, I realize that the real gift in learning not to yell is that it has forced me to LEARN how to be more patient, how to be more present, and how to keep being persistent in my quest to be the most loving mom I can be. And these lessons have made the two most important times in the day to me easier and better.

Ironically (and sadly) I was most prone to yell at my boys at the two times of day when I prepared to say “goodbye” to them for 6+ hours: getting to school and getting ready for bed. Learning not to yell helps me send my kids to school with love in their hearts. Learning not to yell helps me send my kids to sleep with love in their hearts. Of all the moments in the day, those are the most precious to me ESPECIALLY now. Especially now as I am painfully aware of just how precious and important those goodbye moments, memories, really are. How much they really count.

Yes, there will be (have been) days when I am not as loving as I hope. And on those days I just hope that I remember to not just give my sons an apology and one great big, tight hug (even if I am frustrated) but also that I remember to give myself one too. Because getting down on myself will just set me up to yell. It will just prevent me from savoring the next moment, and any moment I don’t yell is a win for all. And right now, we all need to have these winning moments. Because any moment WE don’t yell we not only give our children the love they deserve but also we teache our children patience, understanding, empathy, compassion and love ALL things this world needs. It certainly does not need more anger.

I am going to embrace the mom I was the weekend after Newtown by continuing to share love with my boys by not yelling at them. I encourage everyone to try not yelling but also to do whatever you need to keep bringing more peace and love to your home, to this world. And I will honor the beautiful lives lost by continuing to do Just Because moments of kindness and by donating to the Newtown Memorial fund whose mission is to … provide a memorial to the victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School tragedy…(and more). Let there be a constant memory of the love these lives brought to this world and let us spread it by our kindness to our own children, and beyond.

http://newtownmemorialfund.org
http://www.TheOrangeRhino.com/just-because/ 

‘Tis the season for giving…or yelling?

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310 days without yelling, 55 days of loving more to go!

Dear Perfection,

I am pretty sure this post won’t meet your expectations. But as a holiday gift to myself, so I can be less stressed, I am letting it go.

Happy Holidays,
The Orange Rhino

*

‘Tis the season for giving, or so the saying goes. Sadly, it more often turns out to be ‘tis the season for yelling. Because let’s face it, this season exaggerates every major yelling trigger possible.

More to-dos in even less time? More stress, more yelling.
More parties and late nights? Less sleep, more yelling.
More alcohol and junk food?  Less feeling good about our bodies, more yelling.
More anticipation for gifts, more impatience waiting for the holidays, more hyper kids? More overwhelmed parents, more yelling.
More spending of money? More fights over finances, more yelling.

The list could go on and on. But I think the point is clear. This joyous season is supposed to bring out the best in people but for me? Well I quickly realized on Thanksgiving that first and foremost it brings out my desire to yell. The stress of the season teases me to give gifts of anger, impatience, and annoyance to my boys…it pushes me to give anything but love.

I think it was the setting of the Thanksgiving table that kicked the Holiday stress into high gear.  Realizing that I needed to iron the tablecloth, decorate the table, wipe down the crystal glasses, find the candles, do this and do that just triggered the other to-do lists for the holiday season. Get a good family picture. Order holiday cards. Shop for the kids, the hubby. Decorate the house inside. Put lights up outside. Find the Elf. Wrap the presents. Buy gifts for the teachers and therapists. Find a good cheerful mood. Yes, the simple task of setting a table sent me over the edge and had me sweating and cursing under my breath within minutes. I quickly became agitated and lost site of the awesomeness going on; the awesomeness of my boys gleefully watching the Macy’s Day Parade just like I did as a child. I just wanted to plop on the couch with them and ooh and awe over the floats but instead I grumpily insisted I had “so much to do.”

As I wrapped up setting the table, the boys ran to me shrieking with joy that Santa was on TV; that Christmas was coming! A wee lad plowed right into my back, almost knocking the crystal glasses in my hand to the ground. I spun around, fire in my throat and then stopped. You see, my darling boys were all wearing matching orange polos that they picked out for Thanksgiving because orange was a Thanksgiving color. It worked brilliantly. The sight of orange immediately reminded me of my promise to be a more loving mom and not a yelling mom.

In fact, the shirts worked so brilliantly that I suggest all holidays this month change their signature colors to orange! Because holidays are wonderful and full of joy but also, full of stress and therefore full of opportunities to yell. So this holiday, now that I am woefully aware of how the stress makes me want to yell, I am going to remember my Orange Rhino promise and get back to the original saying “‘tis the season for giving.” This holiday season, I am going to give all the gifts that keep me from yelling, and then some.

I am going to give empathy to my boys. I am going to remind myself of how excited impatient, and hyper I was as a child as I waited for Santa to come. I will choose to be understanding of their behavior, not critical of it, even if I just want to scream chill out!

I am going to give enthusiasm to my boys. I am going to get excited about where the Elf is hidden; I am going to get excited counting down the days to Christmas; I am going to get excited talking about Santa even if I am tired of the same conversation, over and over again, or tired from a late night out or a late night up wrapping gifts.

I am going to give myself permission to not be perfect this Holiday season. I am going to remind myself daily that the best house decoration is a smile on my face; that the best wrapped gift is a joyous attitude; that the best holiday card is one that is mailed and not one with the perfect picture.

I am going to give myself a break when I step on the scale and it screams that I ate too many holiday cookies. I am going to tell myself it is okay, that tomorrow is a new day, that I need not criticize myself for enjoying the treats of the seasons.

I am going to give gratitude to everyone on my shopping list. Sure, a thoughtful, on-time present wrapped with a bow would be beautiful, but in case that doesn’t happen (because given this month, it won’t), I will write a meaningful note of how lucky I am that person is in my life.

I am going to give myself perspective. When I am up late meticulously wrapping presents I am going to remember that what is important this holiday is family, friends, love, tradition and memories and not the number of gifts under the tree or how pretty they are wrapped.  I am going to remind myself that a rested mommy will enjoy the memories as they happen more than a tired mommy who strove to make the memories perfect.

And I am going to give kindness to everyone, strangers, myself, my family, my friends. I am going to do random acts of kindness not just because it feels good, but also because sharing love is what the season is about.

Which brings me back to the beginning. ‘Tis the season for giving. Giving love that is. If I don’t give the gifts above, well, then I will most definitely give anger, frustration, shame and quite possible a big old yell to my boys. And that is most certainly not on my shopping list.

So season for yelling begone. ‘Tis the season for giving, the season for love, and I’m giving my boys the gift of not yelling.

 

Waiting. And Waiting. And Waiting. And Yelling?

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307 days without yelling, 58 days of loving more to go!

Dear Clock,

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Is it time yet? Are we there yet? Has the line moved yet? I spend too much time looking at you, wondering if it is time yet. Perhaps I should care less and enjoy the time that is now? Perhaps that would make waiting easier for both me and my kiddos?

Yeah, I know. Easier said than done.

The Orange Rhino

*

How much of our lives are spent waiting? Waiting for an answer. Waiting for someone. Waiting for something. A lot. More minutes than I can count. In fact you’d be waiting an awful long time for me to finish this post if I actually tried to count or even guesstimate how much time I have spent waiting in my life. And even then it would most certainly be a guess.

But there would be one certainty. I HATE waiting. It drives me nuts. Not just because I am a punctual person who doesn’t like to waste time, and an organized person who likes to maximize time, and a control-freak type person who doesn’t like to wait but likes to know now, but because well, it’s hard to be patient.

It was hard to be patient when I was in jr. high school and waiting for my first “real kiss.”

It was hard to be patient in high school and waiting to learn where I got accepted to college.

It was hard to be patient in college waiting to hear if I got my first job.

It was hard after college waiting and waiting for an engagement ring.

It was hard after the ring waiting and waiting and waiting two weeks past due date for labor to start.

Those are obviously big milestones, and the waiting was obviously hard. Even though I was waiting for great moments, the nervous anticipation of these great moments was a real pain in the tuckus as it brought me way up in excitement and then way down with disappointment.

But even for the little milestones, even the little non-milestones, waiting is hard. Waiting for gas when two kids are screaming in back seats is hard. Waiting for said kids to stop screaming so you can talk to the other kids who are crying and can’t hear you over the screaming is hard. Waiting in line at Starbucks for the lady on her phone not paying attention is hard. Waiting for night time to come so I can have some peace and quiet is hard. Yes, waiting for big and little things is hard!

Little man had his MRI today and I have to wait three to four days for answers. I want answers NOW. As in thirty seconds ago. I don’t want to wait to find out if my baby has something wrong with his brain because every minute that passes I am going to be anxious and scared and sad and hopeful for good news but still scared and still wicked impatient. It’s going to be an emotional roller coaster these next few days.

But I can handle it, the wait. Kind of. I’m 35 I have had the luxury of teaching myself patience over the years. Yet still, I will struggle. I will get angry every day that I have to wait. I will snap at my kids every day that I have to wait. I will feel nervous every day.

And again, I am 35.

But what if I were 3 or 5 and not 35? If I struggle with waiting and I understand time and life (or at least kind of do) as an adult, imagine how kids feel trying to be patient? Imagine how kids feel waiting?

Since they don’t quite understand time?
Since they don’t quite get why things can’t happen now?
Since they don’t quite embrace the whole patience is a virtue thing?

It must be hard as h*ll for them. I know how much I struggle with waiting. This week proved it to me as I waited for doctors appointments and wait again for results. Waiting makes me antsy, it makes me b*tchy sometimes, it makes me frustrated, it makes me snappy.

So is it any wonder that kids struggle with waiting too? How often have I snapped at them for getting itchy in line at the grocery store, Target, Dunkin’ Donuts? How often have I yelled at them in the past for complaining about waiting for me while I ran around the house getting jackets and snacks and shoes for everyone? Sure, they need to learn patience but don’t we all? Aren’t I still learning it? Don’t perhaps my boys deserve a bit more of my patience with them as they learn patience and the art of waiting?

Waiting is hard. Again I’ve learned to manage it. But for kids, well in my experience it just makes them ask more questions, be more hyper, listen less, sleep less.

And as a parent all those feelings kids express around waiting can let’s face it…get EXHAUSTING. Especially now with Christmas 15 days away. The questions of when is Christmas and the extra hyper around because my boys can’t wait, literally and figuratively, well, it has me ready to snap!

I want to yell: “Look at the calendar! We have 15 days to wait!!!”
I want to yell: “No it isn’t Christmas. Go back to bed!”
I want to yell: “Don’t you know how to patiently be patient?!”

But instead of yelling I am going to choose empathy.
I am going to remember just how much I HATE waiting. 

And as for me and how I am going to handle waiting these few days. I’m just going to wake up each day and “practice patience” by enjoying the moment. I am going to focus on the moment as best as I can. I am going to hug lots. Laugh lots. Pay attention lots. I am going to play lots and stay distracted so I don’t watch the clock or the phone. I’m going to enjoy the wait. I am going to dance in the rain.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...

It will be hard. But I won’t let it make me waste the time that I do have. Right now. And I certainly won’t let it make me yell at my kids because I’m in a bad mood or yell at them because they are tired of waiting for Christmas. I’ll embrace the wait, the good and the bad of it. Because I get it.

Waiting is hard.

Prioritizing my Husband

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306 days without yelling, 59 days of loving more to go!

Dear Green Turtle,

People are going to wonder what this post has to do with not yelling. Here’s the thing: when I feel disconnected to you, when I feel like we are two ships passing in the night because of the stress of raising young kids, I get more snippy and much more likely to yell. When you and I are in a good place, it is easier to not yell. Today, super easy to not yell because I remembered that you count too!

The Orange Rhino

*

It was the Summer of 2010. My oldest was almost four and our third son was almost one. My husband and I were debating whether or not we would or should go for a fourth. We did a lot of soul searching that summer, both together and separate. My husband did his soul searching, pondering if he could handle four kids, while playing video games. I did mine, I know I want four kids but can our marriage handle four kids, everywhere and anywhere.I spent countless hours thinking: when I woke up, in the shower, driving here and there, when the kids were bathing, before I went to sleep and any second there was quiet in the house.

Why so much thinking? Truthfully? Because we were in what I thought was maybe? more than a marriage rut and I was worried. I was worried about where we were headed and that naturally made questioning a fourth child, well, kind of silly, no? But through my soul searching and talking with different people I realized that my concerns about my marriage weren’t abnormal and that they were in fact what a lot of couples experienced when children came along.

Disconnected. Tired. Out of sync. Unenthusiastic. Why? Because so much of their free time was spent not necessarily with each other as a couple, but either as a family or focusing on just the kids. And let me tell you, with three kids in 3 years, and my husband’s work schedule, this was most definitely our situation. We hadn’t fallen out of love as I often worried, we had just fallen off each other’s radar because every spare moment was about “survival.” It was about keeping diapers changed, mouths fed, hearts comforted, tears dried, fights avoided.  We let our couple-dom get lost, we let it become de-prioritized. It wasn’t intentional. It truly wasn’t. It just happened. We stopped focusing on us and only focused on the kids. Are they happy? What do they need? We stopped asked are we happy? What do we need (besides sleep and peace and quiet)?  I stopped making him a priority. All my free time was for the kids, then myself, and then sleep. (This is perhaps over the top, but you get the idea). Oh Orange Rhino, not good!

As I slowly started to realize this I had a huge epiphany. I love birthdays, always have, always will. My mom made my birthday’s incredibly special and as such I have dreamed to do the same for my boys. So for each birthday I spend HOURS and I mean hours planning. I find hours that I don’t even know exist. I go out of my way to find time creating the perfect birthday invitations, by scratch. 10 hours, easy. Finding the perfect plates, napkins, decorations, 2 hours. Searching for the perfect favors and party games, 2 hours. Baking and decorate the perfect cake, 10 hours. That is 24 hours. 24 hours per child.

And then comes my Husband’s Birthday. Before kids I would spend a couple hours thinking about what to do, where to go, what to buy him and then spend 2 to 3 hours making one creative thing to keep as a memory over the years. Maybe 4 to 5 hours total.

And now? The big aha? I spent max 45 minutes. For my kids I jumped through hoops to show them my love on their special day. For my husband? Not so much anymore. Awful. Just awful. The summer of 2010 I realized that I was marginalizing my husband. He deserved more than 45 minutes of preparation for his birthday. He deserved to know that I would go out of my way to make time and effort to make his day special, just as I would my sons. He deserved to know that they weren’t more important than him; but that all my boys are important to me. And always will be.

From that summer on, I have started making sure my husband’s birthday gets as much love, energy, and creativity as I would give to my sons. No, I don’t spend hours on invitations, but now instead of buying a cake at the grocery store last minute, I make him a cake just as I would my sons. And this year, my sons joined in the creativity and helped planned all the details of the day. It. Was. Awesome. The theme? Green Turtle, green everything. Daddy got balloons just like them, a green tablecloth, kazoos for party favors, polka dotted birthday plates, and got to enter a kitchen this morning “decorated” with green streamers. Everywhere.

Cake designed by the boys. #1 suggested we needed a beach so we smashed Graham Crackers. #2 said I needed to write Green Turtle instead of daddy. #3 said the turtle needed eyes and #4 just kept eating the frosting.

It was a fantastic day, despite the headaches from the kazoo chorus. It was fantastic to feel so connected to my boys and my husband. It was fantastic to see him light up at the sight of his personalized cake. It was fantastic to see the boys take joy in celebrating their daddy.

It was fantastic to have realized three summers ago that I had started prioritizing my kids over my husband and that I could change that at any minute and that that change could bring much greater joy to my life.

Code Orange Rhino.

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16

Ahhhhhh. That was a deep breath. Like a really, big, super-ginormous  ridiculously huge deep breath. What a 10 days.  First “seizure week” then “stomach bug week.” What a doozer. I feel absolutely wiped. But feel awake again after getting this novel, this pain, off my chest. Now, I can move on. Until Monday.

*

We entered the hospital last Thursday morning and all was going well.

Little man wasn’t thrilled to have 25+ wires attached to his head to measure for seizure activity, but he, we were managing. We had dance parties, read books, played with blocks and threw hospital food (can you blame him?) Friday morning came fast even after a rather crappy night of hospital sleep (he didn’t want to sleep, I couldn’t sleep) and I geared up for the harder day – a day of not eating so that little man could have an MRI at 3:30. An MRI to rule out brain tumor, brain damage, or a brain abnormality. While the previous tests were important, this was the test most important to me. This was the test that SCARED me. This was the test that I wanted done and over with. Not just because it meant sedating my sweet, young son, but because the unknown results were keeping me from feeling calm.

Party at my crib! 9:00, 2+ hours past bedtime!

Somehow the day turned out to be very easy. After a few attempts by little man to find food in my bag, he settled down and actually was rather quiet all day, even laying down on the floor numerous times to rest. I just assumed he was lethargic from no food and drink. I kept mentioning it to the nurses because I thought it was odd but no one thought it mattered. Let’s just say that mother’s instinct that he was OFF was RIGHT.

3:00 came and little man ever so gracefully let the nurse insert his IV. Not. One. Tear. That of course made me tear up like mad as I was so proud of him for being such a trooper. The wheelchair rolled in and I hopped in with little man in my lap (held perhaps more tightly than ever before), and we began our trek to the dreaded MRI. Even though blood tests and the EEG (test for seizure activity) were good to date and I should be relieved I still feared the MRI.

A rather unpleasant nurse greeted us and felt it necessary to keep trying to make little man smile. Instead, she just made him cry every time she talked and put her face in his, practicallytouching it. And she DIDN’T. GET. THE. HINT.

Just leave him alone, please!!  Let him be in peace.  Leave us in peace. We are nervous and tired, let us be.

The more pleasant anesthesiologist entered and peppered me with questions.

“When is the last time he ate?”

“9:00” I answered.

“What! He shouldn’t have eaten past 7!” barked the nurse.

“It’s okay. It will be okay.” replied the anesthesiologist politely.

He then proceeded to have me sign my name on a form stating that x,y,z, and vomit are risks of anesthesia. And then just as I got up to place little man on the stretcher for sedation he VOMITED all over me, all over himself, all over the nasty nurse.

“Oh my god. What a mess!“  the nurse, who works in a hospital, a place where people go when they are SICK, said in my direction.

“I just followed my doctor’s instructions. Please get me a towel.” I replied quietly, shocked by what she had said, sad for my little man, discouraged that the test would be delayed, that we would have to repeat the nerves, again.

The anesthesiologist returned and I looked at him and immediately the stress hit me. I burst into tears and mumbled “please, please just tell me that he didn’t throw up because of a brain tumor or something in his brain. Please. I beg you.”

“I can’t answer that. We’ll get answers soon though. Let’s clean you guys up.”

We then had the pleasure of the nasty nurse pushing us back upstairs, had the pleasure of listening to her continue to talk about how little man shouldn’t have eaten all morning. Really. Really??? Was she blaming me? Didn’t she know that babies sometimes get sick? That perhaps the stress of the situation got to him? Who did she think she was? She was luckily then interrupted by the booming voice on the intercom.

“CODE WHITE. CODE WHITE. CODE WHITE Room 621.”

I had heard a lot of Code Reds and Code Blues the last 24 hours. Being in a hospital is as unnerving as it is, then hearing code colors called out left and right is just enough to put you over the edge. I nervously asked the nurse what a code white was. Get this.

“It’s code that a parent is losing control. That they are yelling, throwing things, hitting doctors. When you hear code white you just get out of the way immediately.”

I then had a nice conversation, with me, myself, and I.

“You mean, a parent is feeling what I am starting to feel inside because of you? Oh I feel for them. It’s a good thing you are pushing faster to get us out of the way as I might be the next Code White.”

We arrived at the Pediatrics floor and the nurse laid into my doctor about how this was everyone’s fault. After she left I tried desperately to find out if the test would be re-scheduled and for when? Could I finally feed my baby? Give him fluids?

SOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER ME!

It took an hour. An hour before I was given the green light to give him food as we were re-scheduled for 8:00 the next morning.  One sip of water, thrown up, 5 cheerios thrown up, I discovered the reason for the delay.

The nurse REFUSED to answer the phone to re-schedule him since it was “our fault.”

WAIT. It gets better.

As little man hadn’t eaten all day and couldn’t keep anything down we hooked him up to IV fluids. My sweet boy fell asleep in my arms immediately; only to toss and turn and be up ALL night as every time he moved he set off the IV machine alarm.

We didn’t sleep a wink Friday night. Not. A. Wink. Which made me a really cheery site Saturday morning.

The wheelchair came again, and again the fear of putting my young baby under anesthesia gripped my body. I stayed as calm as I could, even sang a few lullabyes as we were rolled down the long, cold, start hallways to calm us both. Little man snuggled tight, gripping me. He knew what was up.

We were greeted by HER. The nurse who really, well, perhaps shouldn’t be a nurse.

A new young anesthesiologist came out and began questioning me, again. His conclusion?

“It is too risky to put him under anesthesia. Should he throw up while in the MRI there is no way to tell until a few minutes too late. The vomit might go in his lungs and he could choke and well, it wouldn’t be good. The other hospital has better equipment for sedating young kids.”

“Okay” I said. “I trust your judgment and certainly don’t want to take that risk. What a shame though. It means going home and then waiting weeks for an appointment and then having to experience this stress all over again and pricking my son with another needle. I get it. Just disappointed.”

No tears fell. But my heart fell. Way down deep and discouragement stepped up. When will I get answers I thought? What if he has another seizure? When will I stop worrying? My deep thoughts were interrupted by the nurse.

She wanted to be empathetic. I know she did. I could tell by the fact that she sat down next to me and started with “I know you are disappointed.” She should have stopped there. IMMEDIATELY. What she said next still haunts me. And will probably bring me to tears for years.

“You know, I was up at 5 am this morning booking this. I am as annoyed as you are.” (Yeah? I was up at 5 too. Because my BABY who is in the hospital couldn’t  sleep and PS that’s your job.)

“And well, I have been picking pieces of vomit out of my clothes and shoes and even in my lab jacket since yesterday.” (Yeah? This is a hospital. People throw up. You went home to a shower and clean clothes. I went to a sink and scrubs.)

And then the kicker. Which maybe to most people is fine, but to me, a mom, under major stress and fear and all sorts of emotions, it didn’t sit well at all.

“You know, they called to re-schedule yesterday but I was too angry to answer. I refused to for an hour. And now, well, now I just keep saying how lucky we were that he threw up when he did. You know 30 seconds later and he would have been sedated and he would have choked on his vomited and wouldn’t have been able to breathe and we wouldn’t have known and it would have been minutes if not longer before we knew and just WOW it would have been beyond awful. Your guy could have been so unsafe. We were 30 seconds from being in a really dangerous situation, a grave situation.”

Thank you nurse. Thank you for telling me, what I knew. I knew it was a miracle. I knew how lucky we were, how dangerous it could have been. But guess what? I didn’t need to relive it step by step. I don’t need to know that my son was 30 seconds away from well, something I can’t write. I am stressed enough and sick to my stomach with fear that he has something in his brain. Because even though 2 tests were fine, my mommy gut isn’t. So no, no I don’t want to hear about how close we were to what, potentially causing brain damage or harming him. So thank you, please, BE QUIET.  I thank exhaustion and shock and disappointment for keeping these thoughts IN my head.

“Well, yes, it was a miracle and I am glad it worked out” I said softly and started singing to little man who was falling asleep hoping that maybe, maybe she would leave me alone. She got the hint. Another miracle.

We arrived back at our floor and the nurses looked at me with shock, question, confusion.

“Denied.” I said. Denied an MRI. Denied respect. Denied support. Denied empathy. Denied. Denied. Denied. Granted FEAR. Lots of it. Tears rolled down my cheeks as we were rolled back into our room.

I settled little man into his crib (which by the way, looks more like a cage) and I lost it. I started texting a friend about my fury then stopped.

No. It wasn’t right. I wasn’t going to stay silent. She shouldn’t have told me all she did. She shouldn’t have complained about the vomit, or the job, the situation, her anger and she certainly crossed the line telling me not once, not twice, but three times that my son was so close to being harmed.

I went straight out to the hallway and asked the staff who I share a complaint with, immediately.

I told my story and the tears fell. And fell and fell. They fell from relief that he was safe. They fell from deep sadness that he might not have been. They fell from stress that I would be back. The fell from physical and emotional exhaustion. They fell from anger.

Code “ORANGE RHINO”.

No code white, but code “Orange Rhino.” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t yell. I didn’t scream. I even went so far as to say that I know the nurse meant well but that perhaps communicating wasn’t her strength and that perhaps she didn’t need reprimand, just teaching. I didn’t lose it, I didn’t hit Code White. And I am so grateful. Because code ORANGE RHINO – handling anger with warmth, feels so much better and actually made people want to help me.

The nurses kept checking on me the rest of the day and bringing me tissues. They offered support and true empathy. They said thank you for staying calm. You see, using kind words when angry, it has a much better chance of helping you. Yelling, mean words, it does you no good. Sure it might get your point made, but does it inspire positive action? Does it inspire people to WANT to help you? No. Nice words though, or words delivered with respect, they at least stand a chance. Sure, they might not get you an immediate response, but over time, there is much greater upside.

I got a call today from the manager of the Children’s Hospital. Apparently my kind words had made quite an impact. The manager called to hear my story of what happened and ultimately apologized profusely saying that there is no way she would accept or tolerate one her staff treating her patients that way. I again said that I know that nurse meant well but that well, it SCARED ME. It scared the sh*t out of me to hear someone verbally talk about what bad could have been. And with all the stress, I just didn’t need it. I went on to say on top of it all, now I have to wait one month, ONE MONTH, to get an MRI. One month to know that my son is okay. Because he will be okay. That is the only answer.

“Oh that is frustrating. I am going to call right now and see if we can’t change that. You’ve been through enough. You don’t need to be waiting a month” she said sweetly. I liked her. She was sincere, empathetic, calm, and caring. She made me feel okay to be anger and scared. She made it safe.

I got a call at 2:43 today. Little Man’s MRI has been moved up to Monday.  Monday folks. This is GREAT news. It is 24 days earlier. It means no waiting until January 3rd. It means by the middle of next week I will have the answers I need to sleep a little better. It means we can move on sooner than later.

I TRULY owe this to my code Orange Rhino, to the Orange Rhino Challenge. If I had lost it and yelled, do you think the nurses would have been inclined to share my story? If I had lost it and been rude with the Manager, do you think she would have been moved to make the calls on my behalf? Maybe, maybe not. But I am going to say, YES.

Kind words matter. Nasty ones, they just do no good. They don’t get you anywhere. Well, they do. They get you nowhere, fast. So choose kind words. I can’t imagine you will ever regret it.  I know I don’t.

* I don’t hold anyone responsible for what happened except maybe the Stomach Bug. While this experience was frustrating and disheartening, all the other care I received was great and again, the nurse had good intentions just perhaps needs some teaching. You know. Kind of like my boys who I often get frustrated with 🙂 And while the situation isn’t what I would have chose, I am grateful for yet another opportunity to put The Orange Rhino Challenge benefits to the test. 

YLLM1* * * Discover all the ways taking The Orange Rhino Challenge has changed my life beyond how I handled this situation in my just released book, “Yell Less, Love More: How The Orange Rhino Mom Stopped Yelling at her Kids–and How You Can Too!” available at many bookstores and online stores like Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, Qbookshop, IndieBound, Indigo Canada, Bookish

I want to scream at my kids (but really, I just want to cry)

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11

295 days of not yelling, 70 days of loving more to go!

Dear Orange Rhinos,

Monday night I took #4, now 16 months old, to the hospital via ambulance as he had another seizure. This one was worse than the one three weeks ago, and that one was worse than the one three months ago. I was hesitant to go but the Pediatrician insisted I call 911. 5 minutes later 4 EMT’s stormed my house. Two minutes later as the ambulance tore towards the hospital we were cut off by the paramedics who jumped in the ambulance, kicked the EMT’s out and started attaching little man to machines and oxygen. Soon after we had arrived at the hospital and I shared all that I had just witnessed (excessive drooling, a twitching left hand, a vacant stare that can only be described as, it looked like my son had no soul behind his eyes for 10 minutes) the two pediatric doctors on call agreed that a trip to the Neurologist was now necessary. As in, the next day, pronto.

I asked the doctors all sorts of questions: would he be safe at home? Should I sleep in his room? What happens if he seizes again? Will he be okay? They answered my questions calmly and thoughtfully and I bundled up my love and walked out of the hospital in a complete and utter daze. I remember getting in my neighbors car to go home. That is the extent of “feeling” I remember from that part of the evening.

The minute we got home I settled sweet #4 into his crib and then settled myself into my porch chair, big glass of wine in one hand, baby monitor in the other, and a heavy down comforter on top of me. It was 37 degrees out but I didn’t care. The cold air and the twinkling of the Christmas lights brought me the calm and peace I so desperately needed at that point.

Because you see, there are three words I don’t like together: Baby, Neurologist and Pronto. The combination successfully freaked me out and while my son’s nervous system had gone under attack earlier, now mine was. My brain was firing off all sorts of thoughts. I was simply scared shi*tless. But not much I could do at that point. So I slowly sipped my wine and breathed in whatever fresh fair I could knowing that tomorrow could very well be a hard, long day.

Last drop gone I then settled myself into my make shift bed – an air mattress outside #4’s door so that I could hear if he started seizing again (he moans and groans in a way that is unsettling beyond words.) I woke up the next morning to the sound of #1 and #2 asking each other “do you think mommy is back from the hospital? She’s not in her bed. Do you think baby is okay?” Reality hit. I needed to get up and face the day. I needed to be as strong as I could muster for all my boys that day. I needed to fight my desire to cry and stay cuddled up in bed. My boys needed me.

My boys were awesome yesterday morning. No fights over getting dressed, who got what cereal bowl, who gets to sit in the back car seat, etc….It was just the peace I needed to start the day, the peace I needed to stay calm for all of them and myself. Well, as to be expected, the peace was somewhat short lived as when it was time to go to school no one wanted to because they all knew mommy couldn’t pick them up because #4 had his big appointment. Tears fell. And fell. And fell. Legs kicked and kicked and kicked. Screams yelled and yelled and yelled. “I want mommy!”

Oh yes, the house was filled with chaos, and noise, fear and sadness. And I just wanted to scream. Scream out my worry, scream out my frustration. I wanted to scream at no one, yet I also wanted to scream at them, for no reason.

But I knew that would do nothing. So I did what I have taught myself to do.

I talked. I listened. I empathized. I treated my boys with respect and told them all they deserved to hear.

“I know you are angry. I know you are scared. I am too. I wish I could take you to school. I wish I didn’t have to take baby to the doctor. I wish I didn’t have to go to the hospital yesterday.”

“But it is not fair. You’re spending all your time with him.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t seem fair. It is all kind of sucky. But I love you. And as soon as I can get home I will. And I will hug you and love you. It will be okay. It will be okay.”

And then I cried with them. I just couldn’t help it. And you know what? I was okay with that. Because through this all (this Challenge) I have learned that of the many things I am learning to do, I am learning to teach my boys how to handle emotions. And that means feeling them. All of them.  Even the ugly ones. It means showing them that yelling at people isn’t okay, but that it is okay to cry, to be angry, to be sad and to SAY SO. Nicely. And it means learning to handle those emotions so they don’t bring you down. It means talking about them.

And that is what I did all day, and that is what I have done for the last 290+ days (albeit with a slight filter to keep my boys anxiety down and a simplified manner, but still.)

When I came home from the neurologist yesterday I was a mess. I pretty much still am but I am not talking about that. Yet. I’ll talk about it when I have something concrete to share. The appointment wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either so when I walked in that door I didn’t feel like being a parent. I didn’t feel like being responsible. I just wanted to curl up on my porch and feel the fresh air and pray that it brought me peace again. And cry. And cry. And cry. I wanted to feel scared and sad. I didn’t feel like dealing with all the energy that my boys had at that moment – all the excitement they had to see me after a long day. And yet, I wanted to be there for them at the same time. I wanted to hug them and love them and feel the goodness that was real in front of me at that moment. I was so conflicted with emotions. Wanting to hide but wanting to be present. And that overwhelming confusion actually made me want to scream at them to stop running around and to stop jumping on me.

So I did what I did earlier. I talked and I told them where mommy was at.

“Hi guys. I am excited to see you too. I love you so much. Listen. Here’s the thing. Mommy has had a long day with the baby. I’ve missed you tons but mommy is tired and feeling a little stressed. So I need you to help me. I need you to play loudly in the basement or quietly up here. I get cranky when I am stressed and I don’t want to get cranky with you. I want to love you lots. Can you help me?”

It worked. It works. It makes me feel better and my boys got it. It being openly sharing my feelings instead of keeping them inside until I scream.

I openly share my emotions with you, my boys, my friends and my husband. With everyone including the wall. Some people think it’s too much. But I’ll tell you what? It works. It keeps communication lines open, it helps people know where I am at, and I truly believe it prevents big blow up fights and screaming. And you know what else?

It is teaching my sons empathy and the more proper way of how to deal with emotions than yelling.

So, so be it if it is too much. To me, there has been nothing but upside. It has kept me “calmer” and closer to all my sons during a very trying week. And it turns out that is what I needed more than a glass of wine and a trip to the porch. I didn’t need stress from yelling and feeling crappy about yelling. I didn’t I feel crappy enough as is. I needed to love and be loved by all my boys. And I got it.

So yeah, this week has been tough. And tomorrow and Friday will be equally tough as I sit in the hospital for 48 straight hours watching my baby go through seizure tests galore to rule out all the bad stuff. And yeah, I wanted to go out to my porch tonight and cry instead of packing for the hospital. But I needed to get this out. I needed to set my feelings free. I needed to admit I was having a hard time.

It works wonders you know, sharing  your feelings with adults AND kids alike.

(Now let’s hope our Neurologist can work some wonders too and give me good news.)

Fingers crossed,
The Orange Rhino 

Don’t ASSume…

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4

287 days without yelling, 78 days of loving more to go!

Consider this blog post a PSA. Not a Public Service Announcement. Not a Politics Service Announcement but a Parents Service Announcement, about what I will not say, you’ll have to read to find out!  I hope you enjoy and learn something from my story, which warning is both gross and funny

*

My darling second son has always been fond of touching everything. And I mean everything. And that includes his bottom. Yes, his bottom, the inside of his bottom to be precise. This has been a problem since the moment he discovered that he could indeed, explore that part of his body. Now, I have heard that this is normal. So every night at bath time when he goes exploring I would gently remind him that it isn’t safe and he could hurt himself.

I always got the same answer. “Okay mommy. Sorry.”

But then there was one night back in October when the answer was different.

“But MOMMY. I simply HAVE TO put my finger up my butt.” (Really?!)

He was rather insistent so I clearly had to understand why it was so necessary.

“Something is stuck up there! I need to get it out.”

“Okay sweetie. Do you need to go the bathroom?”

“No. I need to put my finger up my butt.”

Lovely.

“Well no more sweetie. It’s not safe. Come on, time to brush your teeth.”

That conversation just did NOT settle with me that night. It just didn’t seem normal. So I called the pediatrician the next morning. With four young boys I call A LOT so let’s just say they know me pretty darn well!

“Hi Theresa (the nurse). It’s Mrs. Orange Rhino. Again. So here’s the thing. #2 (ha!) normally puts his finger in his bottom. Sorry, I don’t know how else to say it. Anyway, last night he insisted he had to get something out. Is this really normal?”

I heard my pediatrician chuckle in the back, clearly sharing my feelings of “wow, what will happen in this family next?!” and then clearly state to the nurse:

“No, this is not normal. Have him brought in immediately.”

I panicked. Really? What could it be? A tumor? Hemorrhoids?

We rushed in and my pediatrician took a swab of the area and left the room with a small smile on his face.

He returned with a large smile. Like I said, we know each other. He knows I have a sense of humor and can take the punches!

“So Mrs. Orange Rhino, the good news is that he has RECTAL STREP.”

“Huh! What? How does one…”

I couldn’t finish my sentence as #1 started chanting LOUDLY “Rectal strep. Rectal strep. You have rectal strep!” Can you blame him? It does kind of have a ring to it.

I was flabbergasted. I had never heard of it and had no idea how one would contract such a thing at this age. My pediatrician interjected my thoughts:

“The other good news is that it isn’t Worms. That would be really gross. No, this is only kind of gross, right? Just what you needed, right? More good news: antibiotics will get rid of it. He most likely had strep undetected and passed it below when wiping.”

“Okay. How long did he have it?”

“Well he had a pretty big colony in there. I’d say a few weeks. Maybe a month? You are actually REALLY lucky you caught it. Undetected strep can be dangerous to the body, including kidney problems.”

Well, well, well. I assumed my son was just being gross and difficult and stubborn about his butt exploration but no, he indeed had a problem. Good thing I called and then did further research that night. You know, search the web and pretend I am a doctor, type research. I discovered that it is actually contagious. And a light bulb went off.

#3 started potty trained in August. The last few weeks prior to his brother’s diagnosis he was having bowel accidents daily. I ASSUMED he was just regressing and not trying hard enough. When he said it hurt and he needed help I was frustrated. When he had an accident I got frustrated. When I realized SH*T he probably has rectal strep too because a symptom is hurtful bowel movements, I got frustrated.

I called the pediatrician.

“Hey, it’s me again! So #3 has the following symptoms…and #2 bathes with #3 and #4, should I bring them in?”

“Oh yes. Most definitely.”

And GUESS WHAT? We had a winner folks. #3 AND #4 also had rectal strep. As the doctor chuckled at my predicament (I now had three bottoms to lotion up twice a day and three kids to wrestle meds down, twice a day for 10 days) and wrote more prescriptions he said:

“Yeah, so probably a good idea to bring #1 in tomorrow.” (Ya think?!)

And GUESS WHAT?! Another winner. 4/4. The best part? #1 normally bathes separate but that week. THAT ONE WEEK he bathed with them once. Just once and voila. Rectal strep.

Only thing missing? The 4th bottle. Comical. Absolutely hilarious to me. I have a hard time remembering to give medicine to one child. Let alone 4. Of the same kind. How the heck would I keep it straight?!

 

 

As we were leaving the office, my 4 rectal strep boys and myself, I overheard an intern say to a doctor:

“Wow. You learn something new every day. I had NO IDEA rectal strep even existed.”

 

 

Hmm. That makes two of us sweetheart! But now we both know. And now I know, or rather have been forced to REMEMBER to never assume that my kids are wrong, or what they have to say doesn’t matter simply because they are kids or because they are frustrating me. I must give them the benefit of the doubt. They may just be RIGHT.

This was not the first time I made a bad assumption about my kids or dismissed what they said. It’s easy to dismiss their actions, to assume because they are younger and “just kids” that I am right and they are wrong. Oh so unfair (how would I feel if someone dismissed my feelings? Um. AWFUL.) I used to constantly jump to conclusions that they were up to no good and yell at them only to have them turn around and hand me a beautiful picture, or show me how they were cleaning up. Yup, I’ve yelled unnecessarily before and made an a*s out of myself but more so, hurt my kids feelings. Have you ever made an assumption about your children and yelled at them only to make an a*s out of yourself?

 

 

Don’t give up…

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2

281 days without yelling, 84 days of loving more to go!

Dear Self,

Remember a few months ago when you hated your body because those last 12 pounds of baby weight wouldn’t budge and felt it mandatory to stay glued to your thighs, hips, a*s, stomach, face, arms, and  well everywhere? And remember how many times you wanted to give up because all your tracking of food and extra exercising seemed to be producing no results? And remember how one day the scale FINALLY showed progress and that pushed you to keep going until all 12 pounds were gone? I tell you this to prove that you can lose those 8 pounds that you gained these last few weeks eating processed carbs and drinking numerous glasses of vino! You can do it!

xoxo,
Yourself (the one tired of hearing you complain that you can’t do it as you shove another bite of ice cream in your mouth).

*

ARGH! I am stuck, stuck, stuck! I want to lose weight but I can’t seem to move forward. Every morning I say “today is the day! Today is the day that just like that I am going to stop eating crap and starting feeling better about myself.” And then every night comes and as I get in my pajamas and I see my belly shake I say “tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow will be the day that I exercise and eat well.”

I’ve been having these chats and trying hard to eat well for two weeks now. And I am making NO progress. The scale isn’t budging and I’m pissed.

Is it good that each day I keep trying? Yes. Is it good that each day after one mistake I say screw it I’ll start again tomorrow and give up? NO. Because not only does that just make it harder, but also there are lots more chances that day to succeed and get back on path.

When I recently lost weight I wanted to give up every single day because I didn’t see any progress. One morning the scale yelled at me ever so rudely “YOU SUCK AT LOSING WEIGHT!” and then my pants yelled at me “STOP EATING SO YOU CAN BUTTON ME AGAIN!” and then my husband said to me as he saw tears come to my eyes, “Don’t give up. Don’t give up.”

And I didn’t because I knew I wanted to change, that I had to keep going because I felt so awful about myself that it was permeating everything and everyone I touched. And what would know? The very next day the scale finally showed me some serious love. And that day I worked even harder because I knew I could do it. And I worked harder the next day and the day after and the day after and then weeks later I was at a weight I have dreamed of for 8 years.

All because I didn’t give up.

Because I didn’t stop trying after one mistake. Because I asked for support from my husband. Because I forgave myself after the extra cookies. Because I stopped putting myself down, telling myself I couldn’t do it, that I sucked. Because after a few pounds of success I believed in myself that I could do it.

Oh wait, am I talking about my challenge with weight loss or the challenge of learning not to yell?

When I started this challenge the counter always yelled at me “You suck, you can’t stop yelling!” and my children yelled at me “STOP yelling, you’re so mean!” and then one day when I wanted to quit because it was so HARD and EXHAUSTING I wrote on The Orange Rhino Facebook wall and you all told me “Don’t give up. Don’t give up.”

And I didn’t. The next moment I wanted to yell I didn’t because I knew I could control myself. And the moment after, and the moment after that. Before I knew it, I had gone days without yelling. 281 days later and I still haven’t yelled…

Because I didn’t stop trying after one bad moment of yelling.
Because I asked for support.
Because I forgave myself when I did yell.
Because I stopped telling myself I would never change.
Because after a few moments of success I believed in myself that I could do it.

And I believe that I can lose weight again.
And I BELIEVE that you can learn to lose your yelling voice.

Ask me for help. Don’t write a day off if you yell. I promise that your kids will give lots of opportunities to try again! Forgive yourself when you do yell. Stop yelling yourself you can’t change. Know that you will have moments of success and that those moments will make you encourage and inspire you to keep going.

I wrote this last night when I was angry that I had done well all day and then blew it when I rammed ice cream down like a champ after the kids went to bed.

BUT this morning I got on the scale. Ironically, it FINALLY showed me that my attempts this week weren’t for naught. That moment of progress inspired me to finally eat a healthy lunch again and finally said no to the extra cookie. Sometimes it just takes one good moment to be propelled to keep trying. But if you don’t try, you might never get that one moment.