My dilemma

Things have been fairly boring around here lately, so I thought I'd get up close and personal and share a dilemma I have. Just don't think too badly of me, okay?

Clara has developmental challenges, or developmental delays, or special needs, or autistic tendencies, or dyspraxia, or whatever you want to call it. In public, I'm not sure that people really notice unless they try to carry on a significant conversation with her. I notice, of course, but I don't know that others do. (How do I ask them, "Okay, so tell me honestly. What was your first impression of my daughter when you met her?") However, it is very hard for me when people who don't know Clara's difficulties talk to her--ask her a question, comment on how beautiful she is, etc.--and Clara doesn't respond appropriately. What is my definition of "appropriate"? I define an appropriate response as eye contact, even if it's brief and a clear, audible, topic-related response. Is that too tall an order for a four-year-old? Am I expecting too much?

The crux of the issue is that I care about what others think too much and want to make a good impression on them. But just as important as this shameful admission is the fact that I genuinely want people to have compassion on Clara and recognize that her slightly odd behavior isn't (necessarily) because she's being willful or ignoring them. I have asked myself, "Would I appreciate it if another mother whom I met explained that her son or daughter had developmental challenges, or would I find it awkward and unnecessary?" I have, I am embarrassed to admit, on occasion explained to complete strangers about Clara, and I think sometimes they have been interested and compassionate and other times slightly bemused. I want to give Clara some slack and defend her, but I also want to make myself look not so bad. I never want another adult to feel like they have to tell me, "Um, do you know that your daughter . . . (fill in the blank)?" So I beat them to the punch and probably tell them information they didn't need or care about. Don't get me wrong, I don't do it frequently. But I am tempted to. Frequently (like earlier today, for example, when we went to pick strawberries.)

Another concern I have is that when I talk about Clara in front of her (or while she's within hearing distance), does she understand what I'm saying? Am I scarring my child for life as she overhears these things? That is my biggest concern, far greater than fearing judgmental thoughts from others or personal embarrassment or awkwardness. Do I just not talk about it? Should I just let her not respond? I think that makes it worse, personally, and I also feel like she needs to learn the proper way to communicate. When she doesn't respond, I ask Clara, "Can you say thank you?" or "Say, (fill in the blank)." I often have to ask her more than one time, but she usually complies, even if she doesn't always have the eye contact.

And perhaps I should just stop even talking about her/my difficulties on the blog at all. But to sugarcoat my life as a mother and pretend that there aren't any challenges would not be sincere, and I feel like I would certainly want to know if my friends or family were feeling similar struggles. But perhaps a blog is not the place for such personal things.

I don't have the answers. That's why it's my dilemma. But the one answer I do have is that I know that I love my sweet child, and I just hope I haven't messed up too much.

Natural consequences

Lately I have been mulling over how I can allow natural consequences to occur for Clara and enforce logical ones.

Well, yesterday all three of us experienced some real-life examples of what natural consequences can really entail.

The action: Clara took a bite out of a raw jalapeno pepper after being warned they were very hot.

The natural consequence: Severe burning and mouth discomfort for a considerable period of time.

The action: Michael held a burning object in his hand (long story) and then tried to blow it out while still holding it.

The natural consequence: A large, extremely painful burn and blister under his index finger.

The action: I sliced and de-seeded 15+ jalapeno peppers with my bare hands.

The natural consequence: Incredible burning pain for several hours. The ice cold "milk bath" above was just about as painful as the burn itself and only slightly effective.

The action: We hosted a potluck dinner party to celebrate the graduation of our friend, Beth, with her Master's degree in special education. (Beth sits with Clara at church now that I am the chorister and Michael's on the stand and has Clara wrapped around her finger (and vice-versa). She is very encouraging and a good sounding board regarding Clara's challenges.)

The natural consequence: Serious delicious food devouring.

The action: I endured the pain mentioned previously in order to make these bacon/jalapeno/cream cheese appetizers for the occasion.

The natural consequence: Much discussion of the spiciness tolerance levels around the table. Almost all the jalapenos were eaten.

The action: Some friends from church celebrated with us (Beth is the one at the head of the table), including the bishop of our ward and his wife, seated on the right. It might seem a bit odd, but some of our most favorite people in our ward could be our parents. Or grandparents.

The natural consequence: Good-natured frivolity and great conversation.

If you do housework and no one notices, . . .

. . . did it really happen?

This is my take on the whole "if a tree falls in the forest" scenario, and it's a dilemma I've had since I got married. Especially since becoming a stay-at-home mom.


I love being able to stay at home with Clara. It's a tremendous blessing, a luxury that many mothers cannot afford. However, one thing that is hard for me (and I don't think I'm alone in feeling this way) is that I don't have any external indicators of how I'm doing. I thrived on teachers' praise and getting good grades in high school and college. I reveled in approval from my bosses while working during college and after graduation.


Now? No one is there to say, "Excellent job on cleaning the blinds today, Brittany. I also noticed that you read approximately ten stories with your daughter. That gives you a grade of 98.5 on today's exam."

Don't get me wrong; my fabulous husband is very good at complimenting me and thanking me for things I do around the house. But there are still times when I want to shout to the world, "THIS IS WHAT I ACCOMPLISHED TODAY! DOES ANYONE SEE? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE VALIDATE ME AND TELL ME I'M DOING A GOOD ENOUGH JOB?!"

Of course, I try not to do that too often so my neighbors don't report me, so instead I compensate by having a conversation like this:

MICHAEL: How was your day today?

BRITTANY: It was fine. I had so much to do. I woke up at 5:30, read my scriptures, worked out, did two loads of laundry, washed the floor on my hands and knees, cleaned all the cupboards out and washed the cabinetry, and cleaned out the stove and oven. Oh, and I also took Clara to the park and we played CandyLand and school and did play-doh. (NOT A REAL-LIFE EXAMPLE.)


Or, more frequently:


MICHAEL: How was your day today?

BRITTANY: Fine. It was a good day.

MICHAEL: What did you do?

BRITTANY: Um, well, not much, just played with Clara, did stuff, y'know.


Why do I have to list everything that I've done that day and announce it? It's like I feel that (1) if I didn't accomplish a ton of things--housework, activities with Clara, etc.--then my day was all for naught; and/or (2) if I don't tell someone about them, I might as well have not even done them! I feel like I'm fishing for compliments.

Oh wait, I am fishing for compliments.


This sometimes spills into doing works of service--feeling like I need to share with Michael what charitable deed I performed that day in order to think to myself, "Gee, aren't I a great person?"

Michael reminded me that of course, God knows, and all our works are recorded and will one day be shown to all. But that's a lot of delayed gratification.

I am not sure what the answer is, but in the meantime, I have decided to try any and/or all of the following:

1. Try not to tell my husband all the things that I did that day (or at least not for the wrong reasons)
2. Blog daily about what housework and childcare duties I performed (hmmm, not sure how that would affect my readership)
3. Pray about it and tell the Lord (too obvious)
4. Write it in my journal (so I can brag to my posterity?)
5. Write my to-do list on the fridge and check it off so that Michael can see what I've done that day without my having to say anything (probably wouldn't keep up with it)
6. Relish quietly and humbly the good feelings that come from serving the Lord and my family and doing my duty (way too hard)

Any other possibilities I'm missing?


Oh, wait, I forgot! I have another option: don't do any housework at all. Duh! Why didn't I think of that before? See, this whole thinking out loud thing is very helpful.

Thanks for listening.

Satisfaction is . . .

Hope.

Progress.

A new issue of the Friend.


Homemade bread.

Homemade bread sliced with an electric knife.

Three different kinds of dark chocolate candy.

A clean car.

Dead slugs.

Cinco de Mayo!

I threw a Cinco de Mayo girl's night dinner party last night. It was mucho bueno.

Muchas buenas? Muy bien? Can you tell I don't speak Spanish and have absolutely no justifiable reason to celebrate this holiday? Hey, who cares . . . I'll use any excuse to throw a shindig. (I had some serious deja vu.)

Aren't these sunflowers lovely? I'm hoping they'll last through Mother's Day.

Sweet Emilee building her quesadilla. I got the "build your own quesadilla bar" idea here and expanded on it a little.

There were two cheeses, black beans, tomatoes, and sauteed portobello mushrooms, red onions, and red and green bell peppers. And some other dishes, too. This dip was a big hit.

Cari, Chelsea, and Ashleigh were thrilled I was taking their picture with their mouths full of food.

I'm all about the action shots.

Tamara and Maggie, enjoying the outdoors before the drizzling began.

Cute pregnant Lindsay.

After dinner, we enjoyed a close game of Taboo. And of course, we topped the night off with (store-bought) fried ice cream and homemade brownies.


Thanks for winning against the French army, Mexican soldiers of 1862. You made last night possible.

Hmmm, I've never heard that version before . . .

I love hearing the versions of song lyrics that kids invent. My own personal example of this is that for several years (and I'm ashamed to recall how old I was) I thought the song by Sonny and Cher was "I've Got Heat Wave" instead of "I've Got You Babe."

Here is Clara's version of Yankee Doodle:



The lyrics translated:

Yankee doodle went to town
Riding on a pony
Stuck a feather in his hat
And called it macaroni.

(Here's where it morphs)

Gangkee doodle keep it up
Gangkee doodle gang-ee
Mind the music and the steps
And let the girls be handy.