A Busy Week for Teeth

At the start of last week, Mira had a loose tooth that had reached that super-wiggly stage but refused to come out. Each day she asked if I’d try to pull it out for her, and I refused, mostly because she winced whenever she wiggled it too much, so I didn’t want to hurt her if it wasn’t ready to come out yet.

Cordy also had a wiggly tooth, only in her case she didn’t want it to come out. This was her silver tooth, and despite all of the trouble that tooth had caused her when she was younger, she loved that it was “shiny” and didn’t want it to go away.

I tried to reason with her. “Cordy, the tooth needs to come out so the adult tooth can come in.”

“Will a shiny silver tooth grow in to replace it?” she asked.

“No, sorry sweetie, teeth don’t grow in silver,” I explained. “Yours has a silver cover on it because it had a weak spot in it when it formed that caused it to crumble. The silver cover made it strong so they didn’t have to pull it and we could wait until the adult tooth was ready to come in.”

That didn’t convince her. She still didn’t want to give it up.

So I should have guessed why Cordy seemed so upset when Aaron picked the girls up from school one day. As they got out of the car, Cordy looked defeated, frown fixed on her face and disappointment in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked Aaron.

Aaron held out his hand and gave me the silver tooth. It had fallen out after school, and Cordy was distraught. Unlike the other baby teeth she had lost, this one was important to her and she was sad it was gone.

Meanwhile, Mira was also sulking, upset that her sister lost a tooth without even trying while she was wiggling away at her tooth that wouldn’t come out.

I tried to cheer Cordy up: “Hey, I’ll bet the tooth fairy probably pays extra for shiny silver teeth like that!”

“Noooooo!” she wailed. “I don’t want her to take it! Please don’t let her take it, mommy!” That didn’t work.

“Ok, ok, we won’t let her take it. How about this: I’ll hide it away until you decide what you want to do with it? Sound good?”

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it worked for her. So now I have a silver-crowned tooth sitting in my nightstand drawer, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to safely get rid of it.

A few days later, Mira got off the bus with a big grin and something hanging around her neck. “I lost my tooth!”

The gap in her grin confirmed the missing tooth as she held up the tooth locket for me to see. At school they put lost teeth in a little tooth-shaped container that’s on a necklace, to keep the hallways free of misplaced human teeth.

Missing a tooth

Mira was triumphant, of course. And unlike Cordy, she couldn’t wait to hand her tooth over to the tooth fairy for a reward.

That night, as I tucked her in and made sure her tooth was also tucked in to her tooth-fairy pillow, Mira motioned for me to lean in close. “Mommy,” she whispered, “will you help me wiggle my other teeth to see which will come out next?”

No. Two teeth in a week is plenty for me.



Birthdays Don’t Stop To-Do Lists.

Today I’m 37 years old. Light the candles, dim the lights! Sing it with me, everyone!

Hap-py birth-day to meeee,
I’m go-ing to the BMV
To get my new li-cense
For a $25 fee!

(And don’t forget the registration renewal!)

Yes, for my birthday I’ll be buying my own present – the gift of continuing to drive. On the upside, four years ago I was heavier and so this photo should be an improvement over the previous one. Then again, better is such a subjective term when it comes to a driver’s license photo. I mean, getting stung by a bee may be better than being bit by a black widow spider, but that doesn’t mean either experience is desired.

Driver's license photos never look goodI think there’s been some improvement since that photo.

It’ll be fun to update my weight on the license and not “accidentally” forget 30 pounds for the official record. For once my weight is currently lower than what’s listed on the card. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll probably still lie and set a lower goal to aim for. They never question the answer I give, which is why I’ll never complain about the wonderful people who work at the BMV.

And just in case that wasn’t un-birthday-like enough for the day, I’ll be frantically cleaning the house in-between working to get ready for a late-afternoon appointment with a behaviorist for Cordy. When I set up the appointment, I didn’t realize she intended to meet at our house, or I might have made an excuse about being busy until late next week to buy me some time.

I’m sure I’m not alone in having a panic attack when a professional comes to the house for the first time. Our house is cluttered, I’m never on top of the dust, the carpets have a few stains, and there are some cobwebs in hard-to-reach corners, but it’s not unsanitary. And yet I still have this moment of freaking out that this woman will come into our house and quickly make a mental note to call child services for raising our children in an unfit home. So I toss all the clutter in boxes and shove them in the closets or in the garage, hoping she’ll think we’re a respectable family.

(I know, I know…hiding clutter still wouldn’t make us respectable. Quit laughing.)

I’m not sure what to expect from this behaviorist. She works with the psychologist who evaluated Cordy, and the psychologist recommended that Cordy begin behavioral therapy soon to help with adaptive skills. (Daily life stuff that she refuses to do on her own.) I’m hoping the initial meeting will be short since, you know, birthday.

So that’s what’s ahead for my birthday. The kids get the Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties, while the grownups realize it’s just another day and there’s stuff to get done. However, gifts of Jeni’s Ice Cream in Rainbow Frozen Yogurt will be graciously accepted for when the stress of the day is over.

And the one lesson I’ve already learned this morning about turning 37: apparently at 37 you just don’t care about being as critical and start liking some of the photos of yourself.

Not a bad selfieExhibit A

 



She’s Too Clever For Childhood Illusions

As we were driving home from school yesterday, the kids suddenly struck up a conversation about the upcoming Easter holiday:

Mira: What do you think the Easter bunny looks like?

Cordy: I think he looks like a white bunny with white sparkles all around him.

Mira: I think he’s bigger than a regular bunny. Like as big as a grown up.

Cordy: NO! He’s a normal sized white bunny with white sparkles all around him!

Mira: But when we’ve seen the Easter bunny he’s always looked bigger.

Cordy: Maybe he can change size so he’s big enough for pictures?

Mira: Or maybe the Easter bunny is just a person in a suit.

—–
I was a little stunned by Mira’s flat statement. Had she really figured it all out at only five years old?

I can’t remember when exactly I stopped believing in Santa and the Easter bunny. I think I was older than five, but I’m not sure. It’s partially blurry to me because there was a period of time when I knew they weren’t real but never told anyone I knew it for fear that I would stop getting Easter baskets and presents from Santa. Why give up a good thing, right?

Mira seemed to believe in Santa this last Christmas, but there have been plenty of clues that she is starting to wise up to the ways of the world. I blame this partially on Aaron’s involvement in a charity organization where he dresses up as a superhero to visit sick children or support charity events.

At these events, kids genuinely believe he’s Superman. Mira, however, knows that the man in the costume is really her dad. It took awhile for us to teach Mira not to spoil it for everyone by telling each kid who lit up at seeing one of their favorite superheroes, “It’s really just my daddy in a costume.”

So now she looks at any person in costume and wonders if they’re the real thing or just someone pretending to be that character.

Even at Disney World last month, she occasionally struggled to force that doubt from her mind. During most character visits, she suspended any disbelief and fully fell into the magic of seeing her favorite Disney stars.

But there were moments that caught us by surprise. Just after meeting Stitch in Tomorrowland, she wondered how he was out on the street when he was also across the way appearing in his ride. “Maybe his ride is taking a break right now?” we suggested.

Mira frowned. “Or maybe they just have more than one Stitch.”

Later that day, we were rushing to meet the princesses near the entrance to Main Street before we then ran to the other end of Main Street for dinner at the castle.

We were hoping to meet Rapunzel, although Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty were also part of the meet-and-greet. Mira and Cordy still happily met with Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, even knowing we’d see them at dinner in less than an hour.

As Mira gave Cinderella a hug, I told her, “You’ll see her again in just a little bit at dinner.”

“She’ll be at the castle, too?” Mira looked puzzled.

“Yes, she will,” I responded. “She’ll have to hurry like we will so she can get there in time.”

Mira thought for a moment, then motioned for me to lean down so she could quietly tell me something. I bent down closer to her and she said, “Or maybe they have another person playing Cinderella in the castle, too.”

She’s in on the secret. But at the same time, she doesn’t seem to care. Mira still hugged Cinderella at the castle and acted like she was the only Cinderella there could ever be.

In some ways I’m sad that she’s figuring it all out. I wanted her to believe there was magic in the world for just a little longer. But she’s too clever for that and insists on figuring out every mystery.

I’m not ready for my little one to grow up.



Weekends Aren’t As Much Fun As They Used To Be

I remember loving three-day weekends when I was younger. As a kid, it felt like a nearly endless time of playing, with no schedules to keep, staying up late, and plenty of time to watch cartoons.

Even once I was in the working world, a three-day weekend meant an extra long weekend of fun, relaxation and sleep. Sometimes we’d go on a trip somewhere, but most of the time it was just extra time to be lazy, hang out with friends, and have a TV-watching marathon.

Or take a long afternoon nap, like this bear at the zoo.

I occasionally miss those days.

Now weekends in general are “chore and errand catch-up days” and a three-day weekend is a challenge to get as much accomplished as possible while also fending off children who may say they like weekends, but in reality prefer the structure and routine of the weekdays. I can only be their cruise director for so long before I’m out of ideas. Sadly, “let’s fold and put away the towels” isn’t a game they enjoy all that much.

The past three days involved little extra sleep or fun. There was lots of cleaning to be done that we can never seem to get to during the week. Lots of laundry, too. Haircuts for the kids. And grocery shopping. See all of the FUN we’re having?

Then we put new tires on one of our cars in preparation for our upcoming anniversary trip. Both of our cars need new tires, but only one gets the prize at the moment. (Tires are EXPENSIVE!)

You know that little trick they tell you to check tread depth, where you stick a penny into the tread upside-down, and if all of Abe Lincoln’s head is showing it’s too shallow? You could probably have seen his top hat with our tread, should he have been wearing one. It’s no wonder that the tires had trouble gripping the road, even on clear, dry days.

We know how to live it up on long weekends, yo.

And if all of that wasn’t excitement enough, our Saturday ended with a bang. No really, it was a loud bang as our garage door opener broke it’s hinge and the part that runs along the ceiling came crashing down into our garage as I tried to raise the door. One part shattered, with pieces found everywhere, including wedged into the door hinges.

Even though it was a holiday, garage door repairmen are available on Presidents’ Day. So Monday was spent waiting for the garage to be repaired. $135 later, we have a working garage door again.

At this point I think I’m ready to trade in my adult membership card for a weekend of acting goofy with friends and sleeping until noon.

How was your three-day weekend? (Or regular weekend for those of you outside of the US?)



Faking It

Last summer we signed Mira up for gymnastics after she expressed an interest in finding an activity for herself. Mira had tried ballet before that, but we decided she just wasn’t right for ballet. No matter how hard the instructor tried to calm the kid down, it all moved too slowly for her. We hoped gymnastics, with the ability to jump, tumble, and flip, might be more her style.

One week into it, Cordy decided she wanted to be a part of it, too. We never thought Cordy would like gymnastics, but she really wanted to join in. We signed her up as well in the hopes that she might gain some confidence and improve her coordination.

Since then, Mira continues to love gymnastics and while not even close to the most coordinated kid in her class, she’s making progress. Mira insists she’ll be in the Olympics someday. Considering she’s an entire head taller than every other kid in the class of five year olds and trips over air, I doubt it, but I’m thrilled she has goals and works hard at improving.

Cordy, though, is not making any progress and instead is showing signs of being uninterested. She insists she likes going, but once there she’s usually too distracted by what the other classes are doing and then doesn’t want to try anything new or push herself outside of her comfort zone. Her teacher has been incredibly kind and patient with her, but I can tell even she is getting discouraged with Cordy’s unwillingness to put any confidence in herself.

She enjoys gymnastics and comes out with a smile on her face, but she’s made practically no progress with her skills and is becoming more and more distracted during class. We haven’t told Cordy yet, but this is her last session of gymnastics and we’ll encourage her to try another activity she might like more.

Last week, both girls appeared happy to go to gymnastics. After dinner, they put on their leotards and were all ready to go. Once there, they went to the benches to wait for their class to start, but then Cordy looked around for a minute and then went to the bathroom. Several minutes later, she came out frowning and sat back on the bench, clutching her stomach and looking miserable as she looked at me.

I waved Cordy to come talk to me, and she said she felt sick. I put my hand on her forehead (classic mom first move for a sick kid, right?) and she wasn’t warm. “My stomach really hurts, mom. I feel like I’m going to be sick,” she continued.

“Can you get through gymnastics?” I asked.

She sighed and clutched her stomach again. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can tonight because I don’t feel good.”

Her class was gathering to begin, so I had to make a quick judgement call. She was completely fine before we got there, but this is also my child who is honest to a fault at times. Her fear of missing out on something she’s supposed to do and disappointing a teacher generally pushes her to keep going even when she shouldn’t. Maybe she really was sick?

I texted Aaron, who was on his way from work, and let him know that Cordy was sick and needed to go home as soon as he got there. Cordy then came to sit in the parents’ waiting area with me. She walked there hunched over, looking miserable, but as soon as we reached the bleachers, she perked up as she climbed to the top row.

“Wow, mommy, these are fun! Look how high I can sit!”

I frowned. “I thought you didn’t feel good? Maybe you could join your class if you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes widened, and then her bright mood disappeared again. “Oh! Oh, I really don’t feel good. I just thought these seats were interesting.” She resumed crossing her arms over her stomach again.

Mira and her class were soon in front of us starting their first activities. And within minutes, Cordy was once again distracted. “Look, mommy, there’s Mira! Let’s wave to Mira!”

Again I asked, “Cordy, I thought you were sick?”

“Um, I can still cheer for my sister even when I’m sick, right?”

“Not with that much energy,” I responded.

She continued to go back and forth between looking ill and being distracted by something until Aaron got there. I realized by then that she had faked the whole thing. She wasn’t sick at all, she just didn’t want to do gymnastics that night. It’s the first time Cordy has ever lied about being sick to get out of doing something, and I totally fell for it. What’s worse – she had a good idea that I’d fall for it or she wouldn’t have done it.

In some ways, I’m proud of her for faking it. It’s often believed that kids on the autism spectrum have a hard time with lying, or can’t do it at all. She’s made up creative stories about why something didn’t get done before, or used the convenient “I forgot” excuse a few times (which in her case is often true), but she’s never out-and-out lied about being sick to avoid a task, complete with acting the part. True, she wasn’t very good at continuing the act, but she managed to keep it up long enough to fool me. So really, this is Cordy portraying very typical kid behavior, which is progress for her.

But on the other hand, I don’t want to celebrate a child who lies, either. When Aaron arrived, I specifically mentioned to him that I was certain she was faking it, and so he took her home to finish her homework and go to bed, since sick children don’t get to do anything fun like watch TV. She wasn’t so happy about that part, and I hope that will keep her from trying it again. He told me she seemed totally fine at home, too, further confirming my suspicions that she was never sick to begin with.

Even if she’s losing interest in gymnastics, I’m not letting her quit until this session is over. Both kids were asked if they wanted to sign up for the winter session and both said they wanted to, so I expect her to finish out what she agreed to. After that, Cordy is free to choose another activity to try.

I only hope she won’t try repeating her “sick day” again this week. I don’t like having to play both mom and talent scout to determine if she really is sick or is trying another performance piece in the hopes of winning the award of getting-out-of-work.

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