The Sad Buckeyes

“Well, there goes the good cook,” I sighed as Tom’s Mom left. She had stayed a few days and yes, she did make a few things. She made me her potato salad. Oh, and these:



Those would be sad buckeyes and chocolate dipped peanut butter Ritz crackers.

I call them sad buckeyes because they weren’t quite working properly since we used margarine instead of regular butter.

(Look. Here’s a picture of a Sad Buckeye with eyes.



It’s all, “Hello! I may look pathetic but I’m still tasty!”)

I ate the sad buckeyes anyway. I couldn’t let them go to waste.

I may have also eaten the leftover melted chocolate that we dipped the things in.

What, like I’m going to dump out perfectly good chocolate?

Anyhow, it was a nice visit with Tom’s Mom.

Natalie took a few days to warm up to her. She’s like that with adults. Like when Tom’s Mom first got here she played shy. Oh, she allowed Tom’s Mom to admire her from afar—but if she got to close, she gave her a warning stare. Come any closer, and I’ll bite!

Actually, she doesn’t really bite.

Well, unless you tell her that you will not put in Snow White for her to watch for the thousandth time.

But she can look quite scary when she wants to.

On the day before Tom’s Mom was set to leave, Natalie decided that she’d allow her to touch her.

So she started to do this:





She’s all, “You’ve been granted permission to touch me. Be thrilled. Now you must catch me.”

She shared herself with everyone that night.

Daddy also had to catch her:



Then I had to catch her.

We’ll all miss her.

Hurry back, Grandma. We already miss your potato salad.

My Little Hero

“I think something might be wrong with Tommy.”

I still remember uttering the words. Tommy was about three at the time. He barely spoke and he did this funny thing with his arms that I realized other kids didn’t do. When I’d bring him to the park he would rarely climb and play on the toys. No, instead he preferred to race around in circles. Sometimes I’d watch him stare at an object and he’d just walk back and forth, back and forth.

“Nothing is wrong with Tommy. He’ll grow out of it,” Tom told me. He refused to believe that anything could be wrong with his namesake. But still, I could see his frustration when he’d try to toss a ball to Tommy. Our neighbor had a boy about Tommy’s age and that boy could easily catch the ball. I could see Tom thinking, Why can’t my son catch a ball?

“Come on, Tommy, hold out your arms,” Tom would coach and Tommy, who wants to please everyone, would comply. But still the ball would slip down his stomach and drop to the floor.

Tommy’s preschool teacher would call at least once per week.

“We can’t get him to sit still at circle time.”

“His speech is incredibly limited.”

“Tommy flips out when we have a fire drill.”

This continued on to Kindergarten. I began to feel helpless. I was trying to do everything I could to help Tommy. He had speech and occupational therapy since he was two, when we realized he was so behind other kids. I’d sit with him on my lap and we’d point out pictures in books.

“Look Tommy, look at the girl in this picture. What is she doing?” I’d prompt.

“Crying,” Tommy said.

“What do we do when people cry?”

And he’d just sit there because he honestly didn’t know. To say, “Give her a hug,” wouldn’t even pass through his mind.

I became lost in various books on how I could help Tommy. I’d search for hours online hoping I’d come across a miracle cure.

“I don’t feel like you’re here anymore,” Tom admitted one day.

“I’ll never be fully here until I know my son is okay,” I answered as I flipped through another parenting book.

“I feel like I don’t have a wife sometimes,” Tom said. “You’re always pouring through books. You don’t...you haven’t asked how I felt about all this. I hurt too. I hurt because I see my son needs help and I don’t know how to give it to him. I don’t know how to bond with my own kid. I don’t....I don’t know how to bond with my own kid.” Tom hung his head and looked away. I was sure he was blinking back tears.

I had been so busy searching for answers that I hadn’t stopped to realize how Tom was feeling. I knew how thrilled he was to have a son. When we found out I was having a boy, he was so happy.

“I’ll teach him to play ball!” Tom had said excitedly. He bent down to talk to my bulging stomach. “Do you hear that Tommy the Third? I’m going to teach you to play ball!”

But what happens when that boy can’t catch a ball? What happens when that boy is trapped in his own world and would rather stare at an object and walk back and forth, back and forth…what happens when your kid has so much energy that he can’t seem to concentrate on basic rules for a game?

This story has a happy ending for us though.

I realized this as I sat on the bleachers for an assembly to watch my son, that same boy who flaps his arms when excited, get an award for being a Persistent Student, a kid who never gives up even if he’s struggling. He’ll keep trying until he gets it right. If he makes a mistake, he wants to know how he can fix it.

You see, we found out that Tommy had Asperger's Syndrome and ADHD. We were able to figure out how to help him. He began to come over to our world.

So I clapped and clapped when Tommy’s name was called, knowing how far we’ve come:





“Is he yours?” the woman beside me asked.

I smiled as wide as I could. “Yes. He’s mine.”

Little Miss Sick?

Natalie woke up screaming at three in the morning on Friday.

She does that sometimes. I guess she has a nightmare or something so I’ll stumble in, assure her that everything is okay and then say that it’s time to go back to sleep.

Tom rarely hears it when Natalie cries. I think he’s going deaf. Because when Natalie started to wail on Saturday, he just rolled over. Sometimes I want to lean over and start wailing into his ear.

I forced myself out of bed and went to Natalie’s room. That’s when I realized she was making a horrible gagging noise.

No…

Please no….

Not barf.

I cannot deal with barf. I can deal with blow out poops any day….but barf? Not so much.

I watched in horror as Natalie spewed all over the carpet.

“Mommy!” she gasped in between retching. “I sicken! I SICKEN!”

I would have gathered her into my arms. But then she threw up down her front.

The smell was….let’s just say I was trying hard not to throw up myself.

I went over to Natalie, who was sobbing, and told her it was going to be okay.

“Mommy!” she wailed and then rushed into my arms, pressing last nights regurgitated dinner all over my front.

“It’ll be okay,” I said in a strangled voice. I was trying hard not to breathe.

“Mommy, I---” Natalie began and then a spew of throw up hit my shoulder.

“Okay, Linda Blair, let’s settle down,” I said, scooping her up. I rushed her into the bathroom.

Of course she didn’t throw up again though.

No, she had done that already all over her room. All over me.

I gave her a quick bath and then stripped her bed and cleaned up her floor.

Then I put her back to bed and took a quick shower.

When I climbed back into bed Tom was all, “What happened? What’s that smell?”

“Natalie threw up,” I explained.

Then he started snoring again.

The next morning Natalie was clearly out of it. Instead of racing around the room, she lounged on the couch. This is unthinkable for my children. My kids are always on the go. They rarely sit for long.

Natalie threw up a few more times. She said she was hungry for lunch so I fixed her a plate—and then she threw up all over it.

“I’m going to be sick,” Tom said, dropping the pizza he was about to eat.

He was still sitting there in horror until I shouted at him to “help clean up the puke, for God’s sake, don’t just SIT there…”

Natalie went to bed early and then woke up calling my name at two in the morning.

“Mommy? MOMMY!”

I braced myself for the vomit.

But thankfully there was none.

Natalie just wanted cold water and a diaper change.

On Saturday morning Natalie was a bit warm but she was behaving more like herself. She was racing around and getting into everything. Towards the end of the night I noticed that she crawled back on the couch and I thought she was feeling sick. I checked her temperature and it showed she was back to normal.

“Mommy. Want water with ice,” Natalie told me primly.

That was something I did for her when she was sick: I’d add an ice cube to keep it cold longer.

When I returned with Natalie’s ice water she went, “Want princess blanket.” So I got that for her.

Then she asked for her pillow.

And I started to wonder if she was pretending to feel sick…..

But then I felt guilty. Of course she was still sick.

But then again…..

She probably loved it when I babied her all day Friday. She could have thought, “Wait a minute. I don’t want to give that up. But if I pretend to be sick…”

On Sunday Natalie did the same thing. When I dared to give her plain water she went, “I want ice,” and handed her cup back.

I took her cup and bent down to her level. “You wouldn’t be pretending to be sick, would you?”

Natalie blinked sweetly at me. “Water. With ice.”

“Amber! Why are you just standing there? Our sick daughter asked for water with ice!” Tom’s voice rang out. He took the cup and gave me a dirty look. He was totally falling for it. Natalie is his little princess. His baby.

“She’s not sick anymore, Tom. Her temperature is normal. She’s been running around the house all day at top speed. She squeezed out the last of the toothpaste all over the bathroom. She’s faking it,” I explained as I walked into the kitchen.

(Further proof: this was Natalie on Sunday. In the background you can see the mess she’s made. PLUS she’s clomping around in her Daddy’s shoes...

)

“She is not! Look at her! She’s laying there all pathetic under her princess blanket,” Tom said. He walked back out with Natalie’s water. “Here you go, sweetie.”

Natalie took it. “Thank you, Daddy.” Then she gave me a Look that clearly said, “Mwahaha.”

She didn’t want dinner. She asked for ice cream.

“Okay,” Tom said.

“TOM! I tell you, she’s faking it!” I argued.

“She’s not. Look at her all pathetic under her princess blanket.”

Of course when I looked at her she gave me another “mwahaha” look.

I walked out and gave Natalie her ice cream. “I’m onto you,” I said.

Natalie grinned at me with ice cream dripping off her chin. “I yuv you,” she said.

I smiled back. “I yuv you, too, little faker…”