Do you ever see one of those saying on facebook, or pinterest? Perhaps it’s a pillow that someone spent hours knitting by hand? Or a few words with a famous person’s name at the bottom? A catchy phrase that makes you laugh or think about your life? You stop and breath it in for a moment. It’s a good saying. Maybe you should hang it up and start to live by it as well. But you know yourself better than that. And even if you could pick a catch phrase that defines you in 5 words or less, you are way too flaky to. How can you pick a line that describes you so permanently? Permanently enough to hang on your wall. Permanent enough to make a hole in your wall! I can’t commit to that. I can’t even commit to a permanent hole in my wall, much less the saying that goes with it. Thank goodness for command strips or my walls would be bare. I often admire people with tattoos for that very reason. They committed to something FOREVER.

I’m definitely not one of those people with a phrase. Not one of those people with a proverb or saying to live by.

I just don’t live consistently enough. I don’t have that kind of focus. I pursue the path of least resistance some weeks. I pursue making your children independent other weeks. Some weeks I pursue diverse eating. Last week I got on a kick that they are spoiled rotten and signed up to donate lunches that I plan on making them pack and deliver with me. Some weeks I freak out and put away all the electronics for fear they are going to have no executive function and the wi-fi is going to burn a hole in their brains. The next week I give them free reign because, well because I just got a really cool new book for my book club that I want to read right now.

Sometimes I feel like there is nothing consistent in our house at all. As soon as you get four kids summer clothes folded up neatly and ready for the new season, the weather turns, someone has a growth spurt, or one of the twins decides to take all that hard work and pull it all out and throw it around the room while you turned your back for a second.

As soon as you get into a schedule with soccer, baseball, therapy, mommy and me classes, the gym, school, and after school, as soon as you book your sitter to cover the stuff you can not, get the school supplies sorted, the sports stuff organized, the semester changes and you have to start all over again with new after school days, new sports, new mommy and me class times, new therapy sessions.

One of the few things that is doesn’t seem to be changing in our house is the growing deterioration. The more kids that pile up in here, the more it’s in shambles. I’m not talking about the toys. Everyone with kids knows the toy mess is inevitable and lives with it. The painful moment you step on those tiny legos. Or stubbing your toes on a tricycle while trying to tip toe in the dark past the babies room. Or coming downstairs at the end of the day and having not an iota of energy left to pick up all the plastic, furry, wooden things that cover your basement floor so thickly that all you can do is drag your feet in a ‘wax on, wax off’ effort, making a small path to the couch so you can sit down and watch some mindless TV.

The deterioration I’m talking about is the bigger stuff. The fraying couch. The stained and no longer fluffy duvet. The dents, scrapes and marks on the walls.

Adam often asks me to replace them. My answer is always the same, “Absolutely NOT.”

Then I calmly explain that I yell at the kids enough. Too much, really. Please, please do not give me something else to yell at them about. When they spill their sticky sodas on the couch I show them how to clean it (if I’m in the pursuit of independence mode, that is.). When they throw toys down the stairs, for the hundredth time even though I’ve asked them not to do it at least a thousand times, the new dent is hardly noticeable next to the old ones. And I didn’t even bother to magic erase the last pen scribble that one of those denying, lying rascals did in the back room.

Hey, what can I say? Not much except…

Please Excuse the Mess, We are Busy Making Memories.

Last week my friend Hedy texted me asking if I wanted to go to the Bears game with Jack. She bought four tickets and was planning on attending with her daughter who is Jack’s age.

You may remember Hedy as the friend who invited me to my First Blackhawk Game. Now she was once again opening my eyes to the world of Chicago sports by inviting me to see inside Soldier Field for the first time ever. Jack too.

Not what I expected from this eight year friendship that started in pregnancy yoga.

I jumped at the chance. So did Jack, following me around the house shaking his head yes wildly as I worked out the logistics.

Are these good seats or what?

I remembered Adam’s trick for sporting events, keep the kids happy with lots of concession stand treats and you might even get to watch the game.

I didn’t see that much of it and I must admit following a game on TV is much easier when the camera tells you where the ball is at all the time.

Jack’s cotton candy tie.

But even as the cameras make it easier to follow the game, they give you the stats and lots more information, there is something that TV can’t replicate.

It’s the feeling you get when you these sorts of things. The enclosed hallways that open, suddenly, almost shockingly, to a grand, lush field. The excitement you feel when you go to a large event. An event so large that you start off as one person in a big city and slowly, as you get closer, you become part of something bigger than yourself. A sea of matching clothes. You can feel the camaraderie. The smell of sports. Or maybe it’s just you getting a whiff of hot dogs and beer. The testosterone. So much testosterone! There are probably 20 guys to 1 girl but there is still a line a mile long out the woman’s restroom and no line for all those men. Seriously, why is that? The noise, the vendors up and down the stairs, all of you packed together like sardines. All of you, all 60,000 of you, facing the same field hoping these 11 men can outplay those other 11 men.

It was awesome. And I could tell Jack was very happy to be there. I couldn’t stop smiling at him, happy that we were sharing this special moment together. Thank you so much Hedy for making it all possible!

It all started with fried chicken. Yes. Fried Chicken. Most of my supermarket shopping occurs right after we put the twins down to sleep at 8pm. Adam reads to the older kids and tucks them in. That night I arrived home with a bunch of bags and fried chicken.

“I had a craving…” I started to explain to Adam.

He saw the fried chicken. His eyes went wide and he said, “OH NO!”

Yes, pregnancy and fried chicken go hand and hand with me. When I first moved to Chicago it wasn’t that out of the ordinary but now that my eating habits have changed to a calorie counter with vegan and paleo tendencies, it’s pretty out of character.

Next Adam was in a funk about a mistake he made at work. He expects his work to be perfect which is very hard when you are, you know, human.

Also, as many of you know, I’ve been waiting on a call for Ben to get evaluated for an IEP. An Individualized Educational Plan (IEP) is a “plan or program developed to ensure that a child who has a disability identified under the law and is attending an elementary or secondary educational institution receives specialized instruction and related services.”

Without it, I am sure Ben will not make it through Kindergarten.

Last Wednesday (and last tuesday, and last monday, and the friday before) I called the Office of Diverse Learners and found out that they are only open for one more week in the summer and there were no more appointments until September.

I almost broke down crying. “How did this happen?” I asked.

“I was told by the teacher who pre-screened him that we would be contacted in 3 weeks to 2 months for an appointment. That was on June 6th.” I said angrily.

“I can’t send him to school without help he won’t make it!” I wailed.

The woman on the other end of the phone took pity on me. “We often have cancellations, do you want me to call you if there is one?”

“Yes please”, I replied. “I will drop everything, wake two kids up from naps, do whatever I need to in order to make this happen.”

The next day I got the call at 8:30am. There was a cancellation. We packed food, books and other things. Adam cancelled his meetings, took off his newly donned suit and got ready for the mess that accompanies watching our other three kids.

We were there from 10am to 3pm. We were in the room with a case worker, a special ed teacher, a general ed teacher, an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, a psychologist, a social worker and a speech pathologist.

They questioned me. They tested Ben.

In the end I walked out with an IEP. The plan was very accurate and allowed Ben lots of things to help him learn. Unfortunately, to implement it they were suggesting that he not attend the school his brother does (a top rated magnet school), but a “blended school”. This school was to be decided by the head office of CPS. They would send them the paperwork and I should expect a letter within 10 days.

My heart sank and once again I had to do everything in my power not to cry in front of these people.

“Can you note that he has already been accepted to his brother’s school?” I asked.

The OT suggested I talk to the school, because you never know if they are willing to be accommodating. Which gave me hope that it could still work out. But also depressed me because I knew it meant CPS would not suggest my school of choice.

That weekend we, along with two other Kindergarten parents, hosted a welcome party at Pump it Up. I arrived in a funk. I was suppose to be bright and friendly, purporting the virtues of the school that Ben may not even attend.

I started talking to the other hosts about the party. One heard my story and said, “Sounds exactly like my son’s IEP”. She then proceeded to tell me what else was in it. It was even more involved than Ben. In a moment, I had hope again.

This was like an emotional roller coaster that could only be stopped by someone of authority at Jack’s school.

Over the weekend one night I cried myself to sleep with the vision of myself pregnant, trudging the twins to two schools in the middle of a Chicago blizzard to pick up Jack and Ben. All while hoping that Adam would find gainful employment after he lost his job.

Monday morning Mr Monthly showed up. I had never been so happy to see myself bleed in my life.

Monday night Adam came home and told me the other side signed the paperwork he forgot and didn’t even fight about it. He was stressing over nothing.

And today, we met with Jack’s school. I was full of jitters. They held Ben’s future in their hands. Would they accept Ben or not?

Turns out the principal didn’t even notice the suggestion for a blended school. She looked at what he needed and said, “We can accommodate him.”

She looked me in the eyes, so deep it made my throat constrict and I felt like she was squeezing my tear ducts so tight that they were dangerously close to overflowing and said, “I have two kids with special needs. We are going to get him the help he needs.”

They are applying for an aide for him and will provide the other services on the IEP like occupational therapy and social work.

The kindergarten teacher and principal were upbeat and helpful, wanting to do the hard work required to help him thrive. They told stories of other kids they knew and they were so similar to Ben.

They are even happy to let me take him out early once a week to join a group therapy session at his therapist’s office.

So today I learned that it’s not just bad things, but good things happen in threes too!

Among other goals that we had this summer for our older kids, (Jack learning to tie shoe laces, Ben buckling his seat belt and learning to swim…) one of the goals both Jack and Adam really wanted to achieve was to stop using Jack’s training wheels.

So on this sunny, 85° day, we dressed Jack in long sleeve and pants, took the training wheels off and prayed nothing too bad would happen.

And ALL the boys love to wrestle. Everywhere and anywhere.

This summer we hired a part time helper. Just like last summer, I used Sittercity. I placed an ad late and was worried all the good people would be taken.

But once again I had incredible luck with the ad. Twenty people applied for the job. Two really stood out. I asked both to come over and visit with the kids. Both seemed more than competent, caring and qualified. In the end Ben decided for us. Both visits he thought it would be funny to attack the applicants with stuffed animals or whatever he had handy. The first applicant handled it well but seemed a bit uncomfortable. The second leaned in and gave him a hug.

We had a winner.

Her name is Brittany and she has been making the summer fun for all of us.

 When our cousin Jackie first met her she thought she was so great she wanted to know if she was single. She would love her brother to marry someone like her! (She isn’t)

At the Zoo

Calming Ben after a particularly rough morning at the Morton Arboretum.

My mother couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful she was either. I think she called her “healthy”.

I love how she intuitively helps out without me having to ask all the time. Not just being playful with the kids but when the kids are occupied, cleaning, folding, straightening stuff around the house.

Tracing Sam’s fingers.

This morning while I took Ben to therapy she created this entire humongous hopscotch for the twins and Jack. They had a blast!

It has occured to me when writing this blog that she is so busy helping and playing with the kids all the time that I only have pictures of her bent over my kids! I’ll have to rectify that before summer is over. 

Joy, Sean, Roman and Sky left us Saturday afternoon.

We were all very sad to see them go.

I know the twins will miss Sky terribly. Sam followed her around like a shadow for days.

And I know Jack is going to miss Roman too. They spent almost every moment together. 

In fact, all the kids mixed and mingled together really well, for the most part.

We managed to fit a few fun activities in together too.

And we were very lucky to all be together to help Bubbie and Grandpa Bill celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary.

Joy, Sean, Adam and I, with the help of two sitters, managed to escape one evening for an adults only dinner at The Boarding House.

After many days of being the only girl, we had a great afternoon where Sky connected with one of our friend’s daughter, Josephine.

They had so much fun together we continued the play date the next day.

Who says it’s just the boys who play with guns?

Joy and Sean took pity on me and kindly watched all our kids for an hour each day so I could go for a run. It was a very nice, unexpected treat.

Even though Roman is already 9, it amazes me that it’s still the simplest things are the most fun. I wish I could have captured the evening we spent chasing the kids up and down the stairs trying to tickle torture them. Or the random giggles we had just sitting around the house. Perhaps it doesn’t matter what age you are, the best times are when you have time to spend together with family and friends – no matter where, or doing what.

Lunch with the Pasquiers at the Butcher and the Burger

Sounds like a boring title but considering the last few days that I’ve had it’s the most exciting thing in the world.

Since Ben’s sensory processing disorder has reared it’s ugly head, it seems the good days are fewer and the bad days bowl us over and over again.

Unfortunately it’s a demoralizing cycle. Because when you have a bad day it makes it that much harder to get up again and try for a good one. And when you have a bunch of bad days, the good days seem an impossible, distant dream.

Today, with much trepidation, I headed out with my four kids alone to Chinatown. We decided to take the water taxi.

My friend Pam told us that they just opened a stop at North Avenue behind Old Navy so we were able to walk down and not worry about parking.

With some many kids, sometimes going anywhere outside the house is like an act of faith. Faith that nothing will happen to your kids. Because with so many little ones, anything can go wrong.

Luckily the kids were very excited to see all the sights on the boat. Jack very nicely held onto Sam while I held Aaron, keeping the twins safe.

And miraculously Ben didn’t get into an altercation with anyone on the playground.

In fact, for the most part they stuck together. Jack was even sweet enough to get everyone’s water bottles after they were hot and sweaty from running around on this gorgeous, sunny and cool day.

Even Ben, who is a runner, stayed close by and held the stroller every single time I asked him. Without a tantrum. He ACTUALLY listened.

It was going so well I even tried to sit down for lunch with all four of them. 

The staff kept asking if I was expecting anyone else. No, I am just the crazy mom who takes all her kids to lunch. Alone.

Again, I was shocked that the kids all sat (or stood in their chairs) eating.

We even made it back on the el with no incidents. Jack and Ben took turns holding doors open for the stroller and pushing elevator buttons for me.

It was great.

And it gave me hope that maybe, just maybe Ben will be okay one day. That one day the good days will outnumber the bad.