1+1 = 4 x C to the Square root of Chaos

 

I never was the most gifted student of mathematics, and as someone who loves language as much as I do I was shocked to recently discover that mathematics is a bit like another 'language' and that I should in fact like it if I like language so much...

Nah...

Not my thing.

I was so happy when I wrote my matric maths final paper way back when (let's not mention how many years ago that was!) and I think I closed my paper and myself on maths. Beyond the most rudimentary of addition and subtraction when I need it most, I steer clear of sums of any kind. I just don't have it in me...

So I was understandably excited the other day when I met another dad who agreed with my suspicions on additions to the family - that is to say that one child is one child, of course, but adding another child to the equation does not equal two... well not in terms of work involved, the attention forcibly demanded, and the overall effort needed to get from morning to night without needing to crack open a bottle of scotch.

No.

1+1 simply doesn't = 2

Why is this simple act of adding another child to a family such an upheaval? Why does it feel like we now have 22 children instead of two, like we missed something along the way that we were supposed to read or know or learn? I had to start to think, and because I'm just not that good at mathematics, I couldn't use figures to well... figure it out.

This is my theory though - and I think I've kind proved it when I happen to have just one of the boys with me instead of both, which by the way is a total breeze and makes me feel almost like a good mom again - but I digress... The reason that two kids equals the effort of having 22 kids is because they are boys (yes, this matters... and no, all you moms to girls only... girls simply don't get anywhere near the chaos of boys), and because they wired to do several things seemingly simultaneously and with such agility that I sometimes feel like I'm in the middle of a guerrilla warfare, not sure of which way to turn...

I like to call my theory the 1+1 = 4 x C to the Square root of Chaos

Compete
Two kids like to compete for space. For attention. For who gets what first. For more attention. For who spoke first. For more attention. For who broke what and when. For more attention... and... ummmm... for more attention (I think that about covers it).

Compare
Yes, they want everything that they other one has... all. the. time. It can be a completely useless broken clothes hanger (this is not a word of a lie) and the other one will want the exact same thing, in the same colour, broken in the identical way. And you're like, "oh no, I would never give into my children in that way..." but I do, and you will too. Just wait.

Conspire
Just when you think your children will never stop competing and comparing, they do something even worse... conspire. The team up like a crazy little two-pack and just attack; hanging off my arms and legs, jumping all over, giggling as I trip all over the place and try to get them into the car without having one of them land under oncoming traffic. I have had mornings dropping the boys at creche where I just hang my head I leave and exhale... seriously. And then conspiracy usually leads to the last 'c'...

Crash
You just know it... this is going to end in tears. Someone is going to have a meltdown. There will be snot, and maybe even blood, and definitely screams and accusations and a total drama...You're just not sure exactly how it will happen, but it's coming and that's no lie...

So, that it exactly why 1+1 does not equal 2! Because with two (or more) invokes the  4 x C to the Square root of Chaos. But I've learned a few things in my last almost-four years of rearing 22 children, and there are a few antidotes - the two most popular being smiles (your childrens', which will just make you instantly forget everything a bit like the zapper thing on Men in Black) and naps (please refer to my very important post about this) which give you time to recharge and regroup, ready for the next round...

A hat and redemption

As if to remind me that I am in fact doing a better job of parenting than leaving my children to be raised by wolves, the night after writing this post I sat back and enjoyed the most beautiful performance of my life.

After dinner and bath Malakai disappeared into the room and returned to where we were all sitting in the lounge, with a cap in his hand. He instructed us all to be quiet and then donned the hat and started to act as if he was riding a horse - hilarious and very cute! He then went on to pretend he was a frog, a cow, a dog and more.

Now, anyone who knows Malakai will also know that he loves to perform - he is really and truly designed for a life on stage without a single shy bone in his little body! And this after my admission on previous occasions that one of the very few things I thought I knew about Down syndrome was that people with the condition couldn't act or pretend. Seriously? What a ridiculous thought, I know - but nevertheless it was one of my previously ignorant beliefs.

And it struck me how much I've learned about Down syndrome since Malakai's arrival - sometimes I learned new things just by chance, through reading articles that I came across, books, blogs and the like. And other times - let me honest here - I 've researched obsessively into the wee hours of the morning, consuming huge amounts of information, study results or whatever I could get my hands on. This tendency to obsessively research was usually the result of not finding someone who could help me with a particular problem I was having with Malakai, and at other times a result of being told that I was overreacting about something, so I suppose on the one had I researched to find answers and on the other I researched to find redemption.

I wouldn't necessarily return to the doctor or specialist and tell them that I was in fact not breaking my child or overreacting, but I would at least be able to sleep that night knowing that I was doing my best, that Malakai's development and future was safe in my hands and that no harm could come to him because of ignorance... not on my watch.

Because you see, Malakai is precious, he is beautiful and he is wonderful. He deserves the best and he deserves to be given the best shot at life considering he's already got some real challenges to deal with.

But I digress from the performance...

So after we enjoyed watching Malakai's performance (and here's what I love so much about him) he wasn't content to just call it night - oh no. He called everyone up for their turn with the hat and he would sit in their seat and direct - sheep; dog; cow; horse... We each had a turn to wear the hat and perform to the applause of the room.

Now I don't know where he learned this version of charades from - or if he came up with it all on his own - but it was a poignant reminder of how clueless I once was, tempered with the redemption of just how much more I know (and get to enjoy) now.



 

Information-station

 

Last week we celebrated Malakai’s fifth birthday, which was a resounding success I must say! By success I mean that he felt loved, appreciated and validated on his special day – of course he enjoyed unwrapping his presents, but his face just lit the room up when we sang happy birthday to him first thing in the morning, and again at school, and again that night with family. My heart just swelled when I saw his pure joy – what a good day!

Malakai’s birthday is always a little bitter-sweet for me because it was also a day of total anguish. Instead of enjoying our little baby boy, we were enveloped in a sense of utter devastation when we received his diagnosis. I have never cried so much, and they were certainly not happy tears; although now I wish they had been.

I clearly remember that the only thing I knew about Down syndrome when Malakai was born was that people with Down syndrome apparently couldn’t pretend (which is a total fallacy by the way). Odd ‘fact’ really… Oh, and I knew it was a terribly bad thing, that my baby was somehow ‘broken’, and I was probably the one who had broken him.

Oh how little I knew then… and oh how lucky I was that a voice (eerie… yes) spoke to me in the days following Malakai’s arrival; a voice that told me that it was simply nuts that a blood test could tell me who my child was going to be. Only he could tell me that!

So it was rather fitting that the day before Malakai’s fifth birthday last week I was sent a press release about a new prenatal test for Down syndrome that is incredibly accurate and can be done at 10 weeks – so early that a termination could be done without any pain or any fuss…

Now don’t get me started on my views on ‘medical termination’ – they’re obviously very biased, and for good reason, I’ve lived it and I know much more than any medical professional. I know about the Real Deal of life with Down syndrome, while they know only cold medical facts, statistics and beliefs that a person’s blood can predict their future.

No, I am not going to talk about medical termination… and how everyone will feel one day when they’ll be able to prenatally diagnose autism or depression or alcoholism or bad breath or propensities to job hop… because that day will come… and then what? Should we just get rid of those pesky little problems as well?

And I am not going to get all emotional and talk about how this impacts me as a mother of a child with Down syndrome… and how I am frankly pissed off and terribly saddened that the world out there is getting so excited about a way to get rid of children like my own in quicker and more effective ways.

I am also not going to talk about being Pro-Life, because I truly don’t consider myself to be in that category either.

What I am going to talk about is Pro-Information.

I simply want to see couples making informed decisions based on accurate and up to date information. I can almost guarantee that once a positive diagnosis is received with this new wonder-test the couple will be surrounded by a bunch of doctors and geneticists and given a list of what is wrong with their broken baby. I don’t believe the parents are ever put in touch with a real family who live a real life filled with real love, real joy, real accomplishments and real proof that a life with Down syndrome is worth living.

If I imagine how little I knew of Down syndrome when Malakai was born I can thank my lucky stars he was a little beautiful and cherubic baby lying in my arms full of expectations of love. When I was told all the things that could be wrong with him, I was given the benefit of touching his soft skin, breathing-in his new baby smell, peering deeply into his startling blue eyes, and of course the voice that spoke to me… What about a couple who have no real connection to a 10 week old foetus? What about them? They have nothing to hold on to…

And so what, you may ask?

Well, this kind of new test has been available in the USA for some time and Down syndrome support groups who in the past would welcome between 8-10 new families a month are now opening their arms to only 1-2 families. There has been a 90% drop in the number of babies born with Down syndrome in some areas, which can only mean one thing – we can thank modern medicine for finally finding a quick and effective way of exterminating a whole group of people. And why? Because they can.

And here I thought the eugenics movement had been relegated to the history archives alongside Hitler’s master race, mass forced institutionalisations and sterilisations. But now, it is alive and well and being dished out without the most important ingredient – the information required to make an informed decision.

I believe that if given the chance to really see the truth of life with Down syndrome, someone somewhere would choose differently. They would choose the road less travelled, they would embrace a new way of seeing the world, they would relish as I have in cutting out all the bullshit of competition and expectations in favour of just being. Being loved. Being happy. Being real.

“Oh, I really wouldn’t like a child who gives the best hugs, loves unconditionally, says please and thank you with real sincerity, shares with abandon, dances everyday like no one is watching, makes friends, changes people’s mind sets, and is generally a child that I am so proud of that my heart could explode…” said no one ever.

 

*Disclaimer: I am not for one minute saying that raising a child with Down syndrome is simple or easy or all roses and sunsets – but the same is true for any child. I know, I have a typical child and a special needs child and they both challenge me as much as they give me utter joy and delight. What I am saying is that my children are worth it – both of them.

Stop laughing, you're hurting my ears... said no kid, ever.

I take this motherhood thing somewhat seriously – too seriously perhaps. I consider it make or break if dinner isn’t served at precisely 5:45pm and doesn’t include at least one protein, one starch and one veg… anything less is complete failure because honestly, how difficult is it to get dinner done? It’s not rocket science… unless of course I have two kids screaming at my feet that they want to play, play, play.

There are many evenings where my kids just want me to read them a story, or help them build a Lego-garage for their cars, or play just another 10 minutes in the garden and I decline with the usual, “Mommy has to make dinner, here’s your digital babysitter iPad…”

Things gotta get done, and dinner doesn’t make itself… Just like doctor’s appointments don’t make themselves, chronic medicines don’t magically appear, therapy appointments don’t keep themselves and those painfully boring daily fine-motor exercises disguised as ‘fun’ do not invent themselves… So yes, things gotta get done and mama’s on it!

But I realised the other day that all this stuff; the nitty-gritty of keeping kids clean, fed, housed and early-interventioned (that's not a real word, of course) makes me frown. Possibly more than I should frown… because like I said; I take it all so very seriously… I blame it on a ‘worry gene’ that expresses itself in my ability to have an anxiety attack over pretty much anything. But enough about me.

Let’s talk about the kids… and what they actually want from me.

I am delusional if I think that they care whether dinner is half-an-hour late, or if they even noticed that I hid veggies in their pasta sauce. They probably couldn’t care less if I put clean pants on them, or yesterday’s pair (ok, I lie… Harlan would care. very. much. But he’s strange like that). And have they noticed lately that their toys are sorted by theme, size, colour and function? Huh? Nope. They simply don't care about that stuff.

What they do want from me is lots of time… lots and lots… in fact, they spell ‘time’ this way – L.O.V.E.

And they don’t settle for just any kind of time, oh no. They’d much rather prefer the kind of time that includes lots of mess, stickiness, chaos, jumping, hiding, running, laughing, hooting and tooting… The kind of time that will etch itself in their little cells… because let’s get real, they’re never going to actually remember each moment of these early years. They may actually not remember any specific moments at all… but they will remember how they felt because it’s etched into their little bodies at a cellular level – and their very essence will be screaming ‘I am loved’, and perhaps more important than that – ‘my mom doesn’t just love me, but she loves being my mom.”

Because there’s a difference between loving your children, and loving the process of being their mother.

I find it easy to love my children, as I imagine most mothers do – how could I not love my children after carrying them for nine months in my own body. It is biologically and hormonally impossible to not simply love the daylights out of every little inch of them! I am totally crazy about my kids – stark raving bat-shit crazy.

It’s the process of being a mom that’s a little more challenging – the balancing of delivering everything they need to be safe, secure, and healthy while also remembering to just have some fun, laugh, make funny faces, dance under the stars, and make shadow puppets in bed at night – you know, the cellular stuff, the actions that show my children I love being their mom, the stuff that will leave an indelible mark on them as they grow from little-ones into big-ones. The stuff that says ‘I am loved'.

I’ve realised that above all else, I need to show my children that I love being their mom.

The days are long...

 

There's this almost imperceptible thing that happens to babies... they grow into toddlers and then into children... Yes! I swear!

No matter how hard I try, I cannot actually see the boys growing before my eyes as the days pass by in a whir of testing boundaries, fine-tuning personalities, and just carrying on with the busy job of stepping further and further into Life. But, when I look again they have grown and I am left with a confused expression asking, "When did this happen?" I feel rather sheepish, like I missed out on... oh I dunno... a few months or something!

I talk about having two toddlers, and I realised the other day that - no - they are now little boys. Full of bear growls and pretend games, climbing the furniture and doing mind-blowing stunts on the jungle-gyms down at the Irene Dairy. There's plenty of 'Look mommy. I show you!" and "No! I do it!", and I realise they are taking their independence whether I like it not - can anyone say 'white knuckle fist' as I hold pathetically onto notions of them being little toddlers that I can physically guide to safety?

Oh no. Where I was once all embracing arms and gentle whispers of 'let me help you', building forts or steering them to safety down the slide, my arms are no longer welcome... Now it is more of 'watch out!' and 'how many times must I tell you?' in high pitched desperate tones of utter horror and often times disbelief in what they'll get up to next.

Nighttime storybooks are now not as exciting as finding the next 'big thing' to jump off, and instead of calm and peace I hear squeals of utter delight as the boys collude on the next game - hiding under the dining room table, rearranging furniture in order to reach things they're not supposed to reach, chasing each other up and down the passage, and pretending to be bears, or tigers, or whatever other animal makes impressive growling noises.

The passage of time - 5 years since I became a mother - stops for no one; you're either on it or you'll miss it. And there is nothing quite like a little human being to show you just how fast time flies by. It reminds of one of my favourite sayings by another author and blogger, Gretchen Rubin of The Happiness Project:

THE DAYS ARE LONG, BUT THE YEARS ARE SHORT

There is only so much longer that we'll be greeted with whoops of joy when we tell the boys we're going to search for the Gruffalo until this will become too uncool or boring for them... I don't expect they'll tip-toe into our bedroom at night and sneaking into our bed when they're teenagers. And I doubt I will be faced with imploring pleas to 'come and look mommy' when they grow into young men. 

So, the next time I have to microwave my cup of coffee because I'm too busy with my boys to drink it while it's still hot, I will not frown. I will gladly move over and make space in my bed at night so that my boys can cuddle in close and steal my blankets. And I will dish out my sincerest interest and attention for the myriad of inventions, discoveries and works of art that my boys produce, so proudly, on their own. Parenting is in the details; every last miraculous one of them.

BY Loren Stow

Things My Children Teach Me

I am going to risk it all and accept that this post is totally slushy and gooey, and is aimed directly at the heart-strings… but these thoughts have been rolling around my head for some time, demanding a voice.

A great man and philosopher once said that of all the lessons we learn in life, three are the sweetest and most life affirming – simplicity, patience and compassion. I agree. And it has taken the better part of my thirty-odd years to learn the first two (and I am still not quite there), while the latter has been somewhat easier for me.

I think that if anyone would be able to teach you these lessons, it would be a small child. Their needs demand that we simplify our own needs, and then have the patience to wait for them to be met. I wouldn’t say I was ever an extravagant person, but I was pretty used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted it, until my children came along. Since their arrival I’ve paired back on indulgences to make sure they get what they need to grow and develop, and every mother understands the patience necessary to put off a morning shower until a friend or loved one is around to watch the baby… patience and simplicity.

As for compassion, I am sure that every child teaches their parent how to see the world in a different way. Recently my second son, Harlan, has been asking me the names of total strangers wherever we go… I can’t remember the last time I wanted to know a total strangers name, if ever actually. I now see strangers as more than just shoppers at my local store, or people to share a queue with – I now know the grey-haired man with the suede overcoat is Bill and his pretty plump wife is Margaret. It is amazing how knowing a person’s name changes the way in which you see them.

But more than learning compassion from my children, I am in awe of seeing how they develop compassion themselves, despite being inevitably single-minded toddlers. Malakai is a different story altogether – I don’t know if it’s his extra chromosome or whether he is just naturally a giver, but he has always been quick to share, quick to hug, and quick to say sorry – even if it’s not him at fault. Harlan, on the other hand, is a lot less giving… I suppose typical of a three-year-old.

But as the younger brother to a child with special needs, Harlan often takes the back seat to on-going therapy and interventions, without even blinking an eye. But more than that, I have seen in him a compassion for his brother which is profoundly touching, especially when Malakai is really upset over something.

For example, haircuts – oh the drama. Malakai just cannot tolerate a haircut without a lot of tears and even guttural screams. But there is no escaping the six-monthly visit to the hairdresser. It is here that Harlan’s full quota of compassion comes to the fore as he makes gentle cooing noises and reminds Malakai of whatever amazing reward we’ve conjured up at the end of his ordeal; “You want to see the cows at the dairy Malakai? You want to?” Harlan will sing repeatedly in his tiny little-boy voice. We take turns, Harlan and I, to soothe our Malakai; me with renditions of ba-ba black sheep and Harley with eyes focussed on their mutual reward.

It is at times like these that I realise the depth of patience and compassion that lies in my sons, and my pride in being able to learn from them as much as they learn from me. As for simplicity – children do it best. They are lovers of life’s smallest details, soaking everything up and proverbially sucking the marrow out of every single day.

Children really are our teachers in life – they bring us the lessons we need, if we only open our eyes to see them, and hearts to learn them.

When was the last time you took an inventory of what your children have taught you?
 
BY Loren Stow