Devolving of Man

I'm only slightly addicted to a show called Ancient Aliens on the History Channel. I've actually discovered more about the mysteries of our world watching that show than any other. Strange ruins, amazing architecture, legends and stories, evidence of cultures crossing oceans long before there seemed to be the capability of doing such, etc.

Now, I believe in God. I also believe in the Great Flood and a young earth (between 6,000 and 8,000 years old). I have seen a lot of science that says carbon dating is a bunch of manure and that the pressure and heat produced by a flash world-wide Flood explains a lot of what other scientist believe took hundreds of thousands of years.

What is really interesting about this show is that the "specialists" assume that everything that cannot be explained has to be the work of some extraterrestrial beings. Either they told humans to do it, gave humans the tools to do it, imparted new knowledge or technology on humans or did the building and planning themselves.

The reason for this is because worldly science has an almost completely backward look at ancient history than the Bible does. It proposes that man evolved from nothing and has gotten more intelligent as he has gone along. What is interesting about Biblical science is that it proposes that man was created infinite and perfect and entirely capable and intelligent and that he, through sin, devolved.

Not to mention, these men lived for hundreds of years vs our pitiful 90 year lifespan. I've said it again and again, take a man like Albert Einstein, give him two lifetimes and see what kind of amazing things he could have discovered. Now, take an even more intelligent man, give him eight lifetimes and is it possible he could come up with some form of electricity? Advanced tools? A means to lift large stones? Architecture? Yeah, I'd think so.

Now, I won't even begin to say I have all of the answers. Some of the things discussed on the show are absolutely out-of-this-world incredible and not even remotely touched upon in Biblical history.  What amazes me is that we stopped at only naming seven wonders of the ancient world when, to me, there are thousands!!

The show constantly substitutes aliens for any kind of angel or deity. Are they one in the same? A rose by any other name? The Bible talks about angels as flesh and blood and places. Who knows?

Either way, it's as fascinating as fascinating can be. So much hidden history. So many questions. So many mysteries and amazing things to discover in an age where there seems to be nothing left to discover.

These kinds of questions have not served to rock my faith, only to make it that much more intriguing.

Stop the Pity Party

About three years ago I happened to be in a conversation with another woman about child-rearing. I was pregnant with my first and so it weighed on my mind. I don't remember exactly what topic we were discussing but as I told about my childhood bouncing from home to home of relatives while my parents traveled in Europe for their ministry. When I got to the part about my parents always traveling together meaning that sometimes my siblings and I would be split amongst several homes I was suddenly cut off with, "Oh, you poor thing."

Her response completely and totally took me off guard and I didn't know what to say. I had not been lamenting about my past, merely stating facts. I had not even implied that I had had a difficult childhood. In fact, the conclusion to my tale was to talk about the strength of our family and the kindness of those who took us all in while my parents travels. If you'd have asked me my opinion of the way I was raised I would tell you it was pretty good and out of the blue, for the first time in my life, I was being pitied for it.

She took my stunned silence as que to go on and said, "How horrible to be abandoned by your parents like that--to not have the stability--and to be ripped away from your siblings, too." Gasp, "You are such a strong woman to have overcome that."

More stunned silence.

I guess if you were to erase the "missionary" part my story would sound a little bit like the tale of a foster child: parents coming and going, being farmed out to relatives or the occasional stranger (to me at least), living out of a suitcase from time to time.

Horrible, awful, tragic.

Funny it took me until I was 23 to have some stranger tell me how bad I had it. If it wasn't for her I would have thought I'd had it pretty good.

Today, with the invent of Facebook, email and other instant sharing services, it seems downright impossible to keep news and articles out of view. And since I am a mother of two now I am subscribed to a couple of mom sites that share articles to make you feel guilty about seemingly relevant articles about parenting and child rearing.

I have read three articles in as many weeks blasting parents about the ways they are ruining the lives of their children. There was the article about the Mom on the cover of Time magazine and how her son will forever be scarred by his mother's selfish need to be in the spotlight. There was the article about how primitive parenting is better than modern parenting. And another about the long-term negative effects of spanking. Or there are the countless posts and tweets and blogs and blerbs from people more than happy to tell you badly you are parenting and how horribly scarred your child will be.. FOR LIFE!

Imagine being constantly told how bad you have it. Imagine being at an impressionable age and reading how horrible mothers are for not breastfeeding and finding out your mother didn't breastfeed you. Imagine constantly being bombarded by statistics saying that you will be a failure or more prone to some untoward behavior because of something your parents said or did. I'd imagine that it would only take so long before you starting wondering if you were really as screwed up as you were being told you were.

If being farmed out to other homes while my parents traveled was the worst of my life, yeah, I had it pretty easy. The truth is there are some darker events in my past as well, many of which transpired while my parents were away attending to the duties of their ministry. If they'd been home would I had been spared some hurts? Absolutely. But certainly not all. My parents were/are human. They made mistakes. But they love me and they did their best to raise me to be the best I could be. And I didn't only survive, I flourished. I'm happy. I'm loved. I got it great!

I don't blame my parents for anything bad that has happened as a result of living on this earth. You can't walk through this world without getting a little bit of its ugliness on you. If your life experience is summed up in all the parental negatives you can pin-point and sift through and point your finger at then you're going to have a pretty miserable existence indeed.

You also can't expect these doctors and psychiatrists and child-rearing experts (what the heck is that anyway?) to be infallible in their recommendations and diagnoses and statistics and theories. They are human, too, and I'm sure a few have had kids that have both suffered and succeeded with or without their parental guidance.

Instead of droning on about how badly we parents are screwing up our kids, why don't they talk about the amazing ability of individuals to overcome their environments? Instead of telling kids how horrible their lives are because of their parents, why don't they tell them it's up to them to choose whether or not they are going to let the good outweigh the bad? Pity and guilt and blame won't get anyone very far.

Sooner or later you have to stop blaming your life on your circumstances or upbringing or whatever and take responsibility for your own choices and outcome.

Loss

I don't know if it's true or not but I once heard of a a poem called "Loss" that a poet carved into a stone fountain. But before anyone could read it he chiseled out all of the words and said, "There are no words to describe loss. It cannot be spoken, only felt."

There is a deep truth to that even if the story is just that; a story.

Over the last week or so one of my good friends has been posting blogs from a woman who recently lost her twin sons at 20 weeks gestation after a few days battling for them after her water unexpectedly broke.

I did not say much about the situation. As I've said before, as extroverted as I am there are certain things that I can find no words for. Some things cannot be spoken, only felt.

I didn't intend to say much about this dear woman, Diana, as it has all been said a million times by dozens of women who know her far more than I do. But something she wrote in her two most recent blogs really touched me.

She said...

I was blessed to be able to have a hospital that let me stay earlier than 20 weeks and when they died – they were recognized. I was never made to feel .. that my struggle was in vain or silly. My children meant something there – and they let me know it.

But so many of you never got that chance. And no matter what you believe or what religion you are or aren’t – choosing to have a baby and then losing it at any stage changes you forever. To not have it recognized before a certain point is cruel and dehumanizing. My boys were born 3 days shy of 20 weeks. It makes so much of a difference every week that went by – somehow to someone they were closer to “real” and after that point, after those weeks, it was ok to grieve. And this truly bothers me.

And then she said...

The thing is – so many want to brush off women’s pain as something to do with that time of the month, hormones, pregnancy, mama bear, etc. But God made us in a different way than most men in this process. While we all grieve differently, it’s hard to grieve and let the words flow knowing that someone is going to try to diagnose or compartmentalize the way you feel. It isn’t done maliciously, ... but we have to stop doing this to each other. As Chrisians we so often feel anger is wrong or a loss of faith in God. Mine is neither. ...
I have a right to be in pain and grieve and be angry – as a woman and as a Christian....

And with that I broke into tears.
 
Just about four years ago, a few days before Christmas, after trying for months, John and I found out we were pregnant with our first child. On New Years Day we lost the baby. It broke my heart in a way I can't find words for. I suffered a deep loss.

And what drove me to a point of hurt I could even less explain was the reaction of those around me. Those who told me that if I hadn't of tested I wouldn't have known I was pregnant and therefor I would have thought my miscarriage was just a late menstrual cycle. I was treated very much like I was over reacting and that my loss was somehow minimal because.... because what? Because I hadn't gotten an ultrasound of my baby yet? Because I hadn't found out the sex? Because I hadn't named him or her? Because I didn't hold him or her in my arms as he or she died?

Do those things quantify a mother's love? Justify it? Make it any more real?

All I know is that I wanted that baby, badly. And when I learned I was pregnant I celebrated the life within me like the life it was. I talked to my baby. I told my baby he or she was loved and greatly anticipated. My husband talked to the baby as well. Then, suddenly, he or she wasn't there anymore.

That hope, that joy, that expectation... our child was gone.

And people treated me like it didn't matter. Like I was some kind of hormonal psycho. Sure, I may have gone through something sad but nothing nearly as sad as what others have had to endure.

I've never written about this because I have wondered (and often felt) like maybe everyone was right. Maybe I was just hormonal. Maybe my loss was not as great as the loss of others. Maybe my loss didn't matter as much as the loss of those who have something tangible to say goodbye to.

I have been forced to feel guilty for my grief. To feel like I should be thankful I didn't have to hold my child as he or she struggled for those last breaths. I've been forced to feel like I overreacted, made a mountain of a mole hill or that I somehow overestimated the life I lost.

That's right. I've been made to feel like I overestimated my child's life.

And this morning a woman I don't know posted something in a blog I've only read a few handful of times that seemed to give me permission to stop feeling guilty for the pain I experienced.

It was a long time ago and there has been healing and there has been joy. I have two beautiful children whom I love dearly. Though the memory of my loss has faded it has not disappeared and sometimes I wonder about my third little baby. S/he is waiting for me. That gives me comfort.

Diana will probably never read this blog. She'll probably never know how her experience, still so fresh and tragic, has helped me find some sort of post-loss peace, but she has.

I pray for her. I hope she finds the healing and peace she needs. I hope and pray she finds joy.

Growing is Good

In about fifteen hours or so my little girl will celebrate 5 months of life (outside of my belly, that is). She's my little sweetheart. My smiley one. My bubble blower and, yes, she's growing up so fast.

As the old cliche goes, it seems like just yesterday I was holding her for the first time and while five months is just a drop in the bucket it can also seem like so much time.

When you have kids and you love them as much as most parents love their babies there is this conflict that seems to kind of tear you up sometimes. On one hand there is this kind of sadness that its going by so fast. People tell you it will. You know it will. And while there are times (i.e. when you're baby is screaming her head off at 2 am and nothing can console her) that it seems like it will never end, somehow it seems to fly by and the sadness comes. You try to cherish every moment the way everyone tells you to and hang on to every second, but all of a sudden they are too big to fit the newborn outfits. Suddenly your baby is growing out of 0-3 month clothes, she no longer wants to sleep in your arms all day but wants to sit up and look around and even tries to start standing and rolling. Yep, there's that part of you that kind of screams, "I'm not ready for you to grow," no matter how much more growing they have to do and how relatively little growing they've done.

But, on the other hand, it's always good to remember that growing is wonderful and something to be so thankful for. I don't have to look farther than my own family and friends to find mothers who've lost their children in infancy. They will never see their babies open presents or hear their first words or give them kisses. Still other mothers have their children but through disease or illness will never have children that grow the way other children might. The disability may mean their child will never walk or talk or see or read a book or sing a song or climb a tree or skip on the sidewalk.

Sometimes I watch other parents talking with their children and I get jealous. I so crave that interaction with my son who is still struggling to catch up in his speech. While he is making daily progress there are still delays that make me ache from time to time. I want to share those moments with him and I'm so eager to listen to what he has to say and share stories and ideas. I can only imagine how much a mother would ache to watch her child who cannot walk take the steps I take for granted in my own children, or say the words or throw the ball or paint a picture or ask for a hug.

My heart breaks for these mothers and I think of how ignorant silly we are when we express how sad we are to watch our children grow and develop. A common phrase I see all over the place is, "I just want to freeze my child like this forever."

I know parents who have children who are frozen (at least mentally, if not physically) at a particular age forever and I'm sure they are far too polite to tell us what they really think. That WE should grow up, get real and thank God that we have children who do and will grow to accomplish new and wonderful things. That we should look at our growing children as a miracle and remember that children who are frozen in time usually come with expiration dates much earlier than children who are healthy and grow in the manner we lament and take for granted.

When I hear mothers lament about how quickly their children grow (or even when I start to get those feelings myself) I have to stop and remind myself how blessed I am to have children who are growing and learning and developing into healthy, beautiful children who, Lord willing, will grow into healthy, beautiful adults.

Olivia and I spent a few minutes before bed laughing and playing as I tickled her feet and kissed her cheeks and hands. Every day it seems she is getting stronger and more coordinated, faster with her hands and steadier in her balance. She's no longer content to sit in her swing, but wants to stand in her walker and for the first time she started to scoot across the kitchen floor yesterday morning.

She amazes me with her strength and new strides every day and I cherish the moments I have with her as my little baby. But I am so thankful and blessed to be here to watch her grow and change. There is so much to look forward to and I cannot wait to watch her grow and learn just like I cannot wait to watch Garrett's progress and growth.

I am so blessed with the gift of growth for my children.

Might be time for a new pediatrician

When we moved here from Virginia Garrett was three months old. I looked up pediatricians in the phone book and took the next available appointment with the next available ped when it came time for his 4-month check up. We've stayed with the same ped even though there are times she has really annoyed the fire out of me.

Now, fast-forward three years and I'm taking my 4-month old daughter to the same ped. It was deja vu all over again and I realized again why I was thinking about switching three years ago and just too lazy to do it.

Pediatrician: "How is she sleeping?"
Me: "Great! She only wakes up once or so to nurse and then she goes right back to sleep." I specifically through in "She easily sleeps five to six hours straight," because as a pediatrician she should know that "clinically" 5-6 hours of uninterrupted sleep is one of the three criteria considered "sleeping through the night." 
Pediatrician: "I think you need to wean her from that. She doesn't need to nurse during the night and she's essentially using you as a pacifier and relying on you to put her back to sleep. You need to wean her from the night nursing."

I've mastered the art of smiling and nodding while standing up and screaming, "NO!" inside. If Olivia is healthy and growing well and we are happy, well-rested and enjoying the arrangement why should we have to change it? I greatly enjoy nursing her and being close to her at night, especially on the nights I have to go to class and I see no reason why I should change that. From a medical stand point there is no medical reason to change our arrangement either. 

We moved on to food.

Ped: "How is she eating? Is she eating any baby food?"
Me (rather proudly, I might say): "She is still exclusively breastfed."
Ped: "I recommend starting some solids at four months. She doesn't need them but at four months she's lost the tongue-thrust reflex and can start eating solids. You can mix some rice cereal with breast milk if you'd like and feed that to her. It will also help her learn to accept a spoon."

This was the same speech she gave me when my son went in for his four-month check up.

My facade must have cracked and I think even she could see my disdain through my tense smile and nod.


Now, I'm no doctor but I am a mother and I like to think of myself as educated and versed on the needs of my growing children. I am a fanatic when it comes to breastfeeding, having breastfed my son for one year, eleven months when he weaned himself. I did not start my son on solids until he was eight months old when he got his first teeth and started showing genuine interest in other food. I also have a fantastic and healthy breastfeeding relationship with my daughter despite being back at school. She is growing beautifully and is perfectly healthy!

I know the American Academy of Pediatricians (AAP) recommends exclusive breastfeeding for the first six month with supplementing with breast milk up to a year. According to the CDC the risks of childhood obesity decrease the longer you breastfeed, specifically if you exclusively breastfeed to at least six months. For every month you breastfeed, according to the CDC, your child's risk of obesity is decreased by 4%. There may even be health benefits to delaying solids and new research presented in the breatfeeding and baby food classes I took in 2008 suggests one sign a baby's intestines are ready for solids is the introduction of the baby's first teeth.

Either way, my 4-month old shows NO signs she is ready to start solid food. She cannot sit up on her own. She does not reach for food or bring things to her mouth on her own. She also has no pincher grasp.

I've also read many articles that suggest a child eating solids too early can mess with sleep patterns and entice him or her to start nursing more during the night.

I remembered the battles I had with her when at Garrett's 6-month check up he was still exclusively breastfed and how she warned how he would have a problem using a spoon. We battled it out again at his 9-month appointment when he was only beginning a few solids and feeding himself, not being "fed" by me with utensils.

Well, when you are using the baby led weaning method, why does it matter if he (or she, in this case) can tolerate a spoon or not?

Then she got a crooked smile on her face and said, "Are we doing any vaccines today?"

She knows my answer to that question. She's been my son's pediatrician for three years and we have yet to give him a single vaccine. Before I get crucified on the cross of pro-vaccination I must say that I am not anti vaccines. I am anti so many vaccines at such young ages when there is low or no risk of the disease being contracted. I have told many people, many times, that if the diseases we commonly vaccinate against were to start coming back due to individuals not vaccinating against them I would be the first in line to get my children vaccinated. If polio started a come back you'd better believe I'd get my kids a polio vaccine. Yes, there has been a slight come back in some diseases such as pertussis and even measles but the risks in our family are exceptionally low. They do not go to day care, they stay at home with me in a closed environment. All in all we really don't have much to worry about.

I shook my head. "No," I said.

"You'll have to sign the vaccine refusal form."

They must have a dozen of those refusal forms from me.

I'm not trying to be difficult and I'm sure that she had 3-dozen patients who have gone through her model of growth that are alive and well to tell the tale about it. I have my own style and opinions and research to back up my parenting decisions regarding my child's sleeping, eating and vaccinations. I have not felt disrespected for my decisions, but I have felt that condescending disapproval that says, "I'm the doctor, I know best."

I don't want to have to be geared up for battle every time I go to the pediatrician's office. It might be time to make a switch. But, to who?

Spiders and School and Squirrels, Oh My

Garrett has had two more appointments with his speech pathologist since my last blog (or has it been three). Since that time I have also gone back to school to become an EMT. This has set our little world on its head and effectively sent it spinning.

There are rarely spare moments (like the one I stole to write this blog). I'm constantly trying to find time to study and when I'm not studying I'm thinking I should be studying playing with the kids or feeling guilty I'm not playing with the kids studying.

I'd be lying if I said I have been perfect about keeping up with what I'm supposed to be doing with Garrett for his therapy.

Because of that, or maybe not, Garrett has kind of hit a wall. His understanding and speech have really not gone anywhere in the last 3-4 weeks. He continues to be able to give two or three word commands for things he needs or wants but he still cannot tell stories or put things into sequences through verbal communication.

The pathologist has been trying very hard to get him to tell simple stories such as what he did on a particular day or what is going on in a book. If he talks at all it's a bunch of jumbled gobbly gook with a few words thrown in that mean nothing when taken out of context. 

The two events that have encouraged me have been the dead squirrel and spiders.

Tonight, while coming home from the grocery store, Garrett saw a dead squirrel lying in the road.

He correctly identified it as a squirrel and then noted that, "Squirrel fell down."

I confirmed for him that the squirrel had, indeed, fallen down.

Garrett continued with, "Bump his cheek. Boo boo."

I confirmed that I was certain the squirrel did, in fact, have a severe boo boo.

When we got home he continued to talk about the squirrel.

"Squirrel fall down. Bump on the cheek. Hurt. Boo boo. That's naughty."

I corrected him that neither getting a boo boo nor falling down was naughty and that sometimes it just happens and it's okay to get hurt.

He said, "Oh. Okay."

It's really been the first time he has attempted to tell a story that ended up having any kind of sense and flow to it. He's tried to tell many stories before with unsatisfactory results.. i.e. we couldn't understand anything he was trying to tell us. So to have a story, even if it's just three broken sentences, is a huge thing for him.

He's also fascinated by spiders. He hasn't been able to tell me any stories about them but he has been able to alert me with, "Mommy, come here!" and point out spiders wherever he sees them. He's also very good about saying, "Bye bye, spider!" as I flush it down the toilet.


Another part of his therapy I finally got around to doing was making picture prompt cards for him. Previously, whenever John would come home from work and ask Garrett what he did during the day the onslaught of unintelligible blabbering would start. Thrown in would be those few words that meant nothing to me but obviously were sources of great passion for Garrett.

The pathologist then suggested that I make picture cards of places we commonly go and things we commonly do and as he does the activity or goes to the place, upon returning home I was to put the picture card on display so that when John got home he could take Garrett to his activity board and run him through the prompts to get him to tell the story of his day.

I started out taking pictures of these places but decided to get crafty and ended up making construction paper pieces instead....

I think they turned out pretty good. If I may say so myself.

I will admit that I am extremely jealous of parents who can talk and dialog with their young kids. In our play group there are several 2-4 year olds who have regular dialogs with their parents. They tell stories, communicate wants and desires, give their opinions. I ache to do that with my son. Then I feel like crap because I realize there are parents out there with children with much greater disabilities who will never be able to dialog with their children even to the extent that I can with my son.

I am trying to be content with what I have while also trying to press for betterment and the best for my son... all while trying to be a mom to my daughter, a wife to my husband, a student, a housekeeper, an accountant, an instructor, a friend, a sister, a daughter and whatever other role I'm forgetting I need to play at this particular moment.

Right now, however, I think I need to play the "sleeping person" role. 

Understanding Correction

When the Speech pathologist showed me that Garrett's echolalia was a sign he didn't understand what was going on I felt particularly bad because there had been many time I have disciplined or corrected Garrett thinking his echolalia was evidence that he was understanding.

"That was naughty."

"Naughty."

"Do you understand?"

"Understand."

"Say you're sorry."

"Sorry."

I'm happy to say that in the last three weeks, through being more interactive with him and with some more tools to better understand him I have not had to correct him for anything. He's been pretty obedient and good.

That changed last night when I saw the cat go galloping out of the bathroom with Garrett following close behind with his bathroom cup held over his head. Before I could even process the scene, Garrett threw the cup at the cat who barely escaped behind the basement door.

"GARRETT!" I yelled. "That was naughty."

Instead of echoing back to me he just looked at me.

"Come here. You are going into time out."

"Time out."

"Yes, time out."

I put him in his time out chair and it did not seem to register to him that he was in trouble. He sat there smiling and seemingly waiting for an explanation for why he was sitting there.

After a minute or two he tried to climb down.

"No. You stay there. You are in time out."

He finally got it. His little face scrunched up in sadness and he whined, "Time out?"

"Yes. Time out. You threw your cup at the kitty. That was naughty. You need to be nice to the kitties."

He just looked at me.

"Mommy, time out!" he said.

"No. Mommy doesn't go into time out. I didn't do anything naughty. Do you know what you did that was naughty?"

"Naughty?" he asked.

"Yes. Naughty. What did you do to get a time out?"

"Throw at the kitty."

"Yes. You threw your cup at the kitty."

"Sorry," He said without my prompting.

"You need to say you're sorry to the kitty."

"Sorry, kitty," he responded.

After that we hugged and he promised to be nice. We practiced being nice by petting the kitties and that was it.

This is rather paramount to us and him as this is the first time he's ever been corrected where I know for sure he understood what he did wrong and why he was being corrected.

Again, this morning, at play group he tested the waters by pushing another little boy who was trying to play with the same toy Garrett was playing with and we went through the time out process again. This time when I asked him what he did wrong he said, "Push the boy."

After he apologized we practiced sharing and being nice by helping the boy build a fort out of giant legos. He didn't push anyone else for the rest of the play group (which in itself is a bit paramount as pushing has become his go-to method of communicating disapproval).

It's such a relief to know that he's understanding correction and discipline and even responding to it.

It certainly beats sentence after sentence of echolalia.