The Grossest Day There Ever Was

     As a parent, I feel that I have a pretty strong stomach. Unusually so. In fact, I was always given the grossest tasks when I worked in residential treatment because my co-workers were weak and squeamish – they couldn't handle the bodily fluids/lumps/or chunks, leaving me to do the clean up when the kiddos got sick or went bonkers.

     But even the strongest people have their limits. And today, I reached mine at least 12 times. To set the stage, it's important to note that most of our household is currently getting over that lovely end-of-summer cold, complete with all things Mucinex is supposed to fix but doesn't. Additionally, the humidity was approximately 2,794% and my clothes were sticking to me like they'd been attached with a gallon of Elmer's glue. Along with my hair. And everything floating through the air.

     We started the day off at church. The weather was still somewhat cool and we were all freshly showered (a rare occurrence, really). By the time we'd left the church and made our way to the park for our annual picnic, the sweat started attracting an array of flying insects… insects that get stuck in your hair and your eyelashes… insects that find their way up skirt and make you swat at your unmentionable parts, all while trying to avoid looking like a lunatic and disgracing the family name.

     It wasn't long before small people started revealing to us that naps were needed immediately. They demonstrated this need by throwing hot dogs at me and by dumping my plate of macaroni and cheese onto my lap. Because I just wasn't sticky enough. The smallest of the group then made a run for it and fell face first onto the muddy road. Covered in scrapes and donning a hefty lump on his head, I ran to him and scooped him up, cuddling him into me as I tried to assess his marks. Thankfully my Sunday dress served as a magnificent towel. It soaked up his mud-covered front side rather well.

     We arrived at home and nap time could not come quickly enough! We sent the Bigs to their rooms and prepped the Littles for sleep as fast as we could. The husband and I laid down as the air conditioning finally started working it's magic. Isaac rolled into me for a sleepy cuddle and I happily wrapped my arms around him. And then, just as heavy eyelids were starting to close, he sneezed a handful-sized ball of snot all over my chest. I couldn't get the words out fast enough….

     “Don't touch….!” But it was too late. Chubby little hands wiped the remaining snot all across his chubby little face. And then he sneezed about 8 more times with equal amounts of boogers connecting and stringing to me like a spider web. Wyatt was screaming from his crib and Isaac obviously needed to be power-washed, so I gave up on the hopes of a nap. Isaac was sent to the bathroom as I grabbed the little one and brought him into the restroom with his brother so my husband could rest. After all, he had done the dishes, cooked breakfast, and did all of bedtime routine the night before. The man deserved a medal… but he settled for a nap instead. When I returned to the door, Isaac had stripped down and was peeing on his potty chair.

     “Good boy!” I said with enthusiasm, setting Wyatt down. Only there was a sticky suction sound that popped in the air as I detached from my baby. And there was an orange substance gracing my stomach, arm, and hand that had held him. Carrots? Yams? Nope. One sniff answered all my questions. Crap.

     It's really something when poop works it's way into the crevices of your wedding ring, isn't it? It's also fun when you're in the process of changing a baby's diaper and he shoves his fist and a toy into the mix. Meanwhile, trying to keep the poo splattering to a minimum, Isaac finished his toilet endeavors and INSISTED on emptying the contents into the big potty by himself, despite my repeated pleas to “Wait for Mommy!”

     “I do it, Mama, I help you...” In the rush to change the baby, I notice that I had set my cell phone on top of the toilet lid. Isaac, however, failed to see this. He lifted the lid and dumped pee everywhere. Sure, some of it got in the toilet. And some of it got on my phone… the phone that fell off the lid and knocked over the toilet brush holder, spilling grimy toilet nastiness all across the floor and my phone. Wyatt happily splashed in his orange crap, laughing at his big brother while I hastily finished up the diaper change and hand sanitizing. That's when I felt sprinkles coming from behind me. I turned in time to see Isaac fondly petting the toilet brush, sending flecks of grossness EVERYWHERE while he giggled, “It tickles, Mommy!!”

     As chemicaled poop water rained down on me, I contemplated the very real possibility that this was the worst day of my life. If not the worst, it was certainly the very grossest. I couldn't take another second of it.

     “STOP!!!”

     For a moment, both the little ones stared at me and stopped smearing, spraying, and splattering. They stared at me with wide eyes and still hands. For a full 2 seconds, I felt powerful. It had worked! It NEVER works, but today, God smiled down on me and had pity.

     It was Isaac's sneeze that broke the silence. And of course he wiped the rest of it across his face… along with all the toilet germs he'd accumulated in the previous 5 minutes. (Ok… so maybe it didn't actually work.) Disappointed and exasperated, I scrubbed the babies down and hustled them to the playroom. Isaac immediately began building his train and pulled me to the floor to help him. After 10 minutes, we were rather proud of our track and ready to play.

     The trains were making their first loop around our newly-built creation and both boys were mesmerized. Isaac made train sounds and Wyatt clapped his hands while gasping at the sight of a train car getting closer and closer to where he was seated. It was more than he could handle. He had to grab it. And as Wyatt bent down to snatch up the passing car, he projectile vomited everywhere.

     “Aw, Wyatt!!” Isaac bellowed. “You're gross!” (He obviously hadn't seen his snot-covered face today.) I grabbed the tracks and rushed them to he sink, dripping white chunks of stomach acid down my arms as I ran. We are NEVER having sex again, I thought to myself as I tried to undo the baby-proof latch with slimy hands… the very latch that was keeping me from my highly-needed bleach products. Curse these latches! And curse trains! And motherhood! And VOMIT! But as I finished up with my final curse, I noticed pink gooey crud all over the still-to-be-washed train tracks. “What the heck is this??”

     Isaac climbed up on his stool next to me at the sink, looked over my shoulder and said to me as innocently as possible…. “Well, it might be yogurt.” Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be yogurt is the REAL question. I scrubbed it clean and brought it back to the train room. Bending to wipe up the floor, two raisins fell out of my hair. They were warm.

     You have GOT to be kidding me.

     My hubby came downstairs just in time to save me from banishing all raisin/grape products from our house forever. He was there to help, but he just needed a drink first. Upon opening the fridge, he pulled out the milk, only to find that the lid had no been screwed on tightly and that milk had poured through the entire lower refrigerator and the crisping drawers. Yep. That's going to help my day tremendously.

     And then, as he pulled out the first drawer, I noticed a brown sticky puddle spanning the entire width of the fridge. It took me a while to realize that it was teryaki sauce, you know, because it was covered in milk and all. In my haste to clean it up, I grabbed the rag covered in baby puke. Because that's how I roll. (Please know that if you choose to eat at my house or use my bathrooms, I make no guarantees that you will not die of e.coli or C-diff…. This is why I don't host parties. That and because all my appetizers are hiding in my hair somewhere.)

     We cleaned up the mess as best we could, but it was time to get Isaac ready to go back to his Dad's house and I needed to get the puker outside where he could run free. And run he did. He ran well, but I did not. I ran into a pile of dog poop. I didn't know it right away, but my oldest informed me that I had it all over my foot AND my leg. I grabbed my only tissue to wipe my leg, but remembered too late that it was the one covered in Isaac's snot. It smeared the poop and seemed to help it adhere to me, creating some sort of Super-Poop never seen before.

     I kind of wanted to cry. And I kind of wanted to vomit just a little bit. I very much wanted to shower, but I wasn't about to put that dirty baby in his crib before giving him a bath. And I've learned the hard way that showering with him loose in the bathroom with me leads to all my things being put into the toilet. All of them. So I washed my leg in a mud puddle and put the baby in his swing. With a few hearty pushes, he was giggling with glee. As I was contemplating the fact that he could very well throw up again, I started feeling itchy on my legs.

     I looked down and my legs were swarming. I had stood on an ant hill and was apparently being overtaken by its colony! That was it. I could handle no more. I screamed bloody murder and swatted at my legs so hard that I left marks… marks that I couldn't see until I had killed at least 50 ants. This was more than anyone should have to bear, honestly. It was practically the plagues of Egypt all rolled into a 5-hour period - all directed at ME. There I was, in dirty garments and a bug-filled land, trying to lead my sick children and dogs across our 40 acres of Ellwood City wilderness. I was basically Charlton Heston.

     The thought of a nice hot bath was quite literally only thing that kept me from pulling my clothes off in the middle of my yard and scaring my neighbors half to death. The husband returned home and I immediately took my leave. Since the baby needed a bath as well, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and I just joined him in the tub. He played with his train and wash cloth, I soaped myself and let the suds marinate my skin. Naturally, Wyatt peed in the bath water. But I didn't care. It was the cleanest thing I'd touched all day. And I allowed myself to think that the suds would protect me from all things. The magical suds that were washing away the grossest day of my life.

     Snuggled into bed an hour later with my computer and a bottle of Nyquil, I made my list of tasks for tomorrow:

Scrub all floors.

Sanitize all counters.

Wash all laundry.

Disinfect both bathrooms.

Clean fridge.

Buy new toilet brush.

Spray for ants.

Clean dog poop from yard.

Burn house down.

     Yeah. That'll work. Goodnight, Friends. And may your tomorrow be better than my today.

When 9-Year-Olds Get Depressed

     Women, have you ever tried to talk to a man about his “feelings”? Fun, isn't it? And Men, have you ever actually wanted to talk about your feelings?? Probably not! It goes against all that you are and everything that you stand for in today's culture. Men are told from an early age that they're supposed to be tough – no whining, no crying, no feeling. And if you DO happen to feel something, it better come out as anger, right? Because that's the socially acceptable way for a man to express an internal need. (Hey, I don't make the rules, here. I'm just a social observer!)

     And Parents, have you ever tried to talk to your young children about their feelings? Yeah. And how did that go? I'm guessing you probably got a lot of “happy/mad/sad” answers, or even a shrug with a mumbled “I dunno”. Am I right? That's because kids have no idea what they're talking about most of the time. They don't know how to attribute a name to an emotion because deeper feelings than happy, mad, and sad are foreign to them. It's like trying to identify the color purple when your entire life has been colorblind.

     Now, put the two together and try to talk to a young boy about his feelings. Not only does he not WANT to, but he has no idea HOW to! As a therapist, I know this. Yet as a mother of quite dramatic and emotional kids, it's hard to know when they're having a RAD day, a day filled with traumatic memories from their previous life, or simply a day where they're sick/tired/cranky (aka NORMAL!).

     This past week was quite trying for our family, particularly our oldest. He's 9-years-old and comes from a past of abuse, neglect, drugs, and a bucketful of unsavory crap that shall remain his to tell someday, if he should ever choose. When he came to us at 6-years-old, he was diagnosed with RAD (https://mommyhood-shivonne-costa.squarespace.com/the-blog/2015/6/26/my-kids-have-rad) and a few other milder disorders. And some days, I only see RAD – everywhere I look, between him and his sister, THERE IT IS! But we also have days (weeks, even) where all seems normal and I forget that there is this deep emotional need that rises up within him… something that he just can't put words to yet. Something that he may not even want to put words to because, let's face it, focusing on yucky feelings just plain sucks.

     Because of so many ups and downs that both my older ones face, I sometimes neglect to see what is right in front of my nose. And this week, it was the obvious fact that my 9-year-old son is depressed, but I completely missed it. Perhaps you have a child that, too, struggles with moods. Maybe your child takes medicine, sees a counselor, or you're suspecting that he or she needs to. Here are a few signs that I overlooked and passed off as symptoms of other things… signs that you may see in your child.

• Sleeping more – He's usually the last one up in our house as it is, but even when we started moving his bedtime earlier in preparation for school starting, he was still sleeping just as late. I assumed he was tired from the sudden heat wave and working outside in the yard for hours at a time.

• Some days eating a ton and other days, not much of an appetite at all – This is unusual only in the sense that he normally has a huge appetite EVERY day. For him to turn down extra food… well, that should've tipped me off!

• Crying spontaneously but not wanting to talk about it – I feel badly that I didn't read more into this sign. But like I said, RAD days and past memories days are often filled with tears as well, so it's not always as it appears.

• Not able to find joy in anything and constantly asking for more and more (time, things, attention) – Sadly, I thought he was just being ungrateful. He often gets a sense of entitlement and he expresses his desire for more in rather frustrating ways (aka, “If you would just make more money, you could buy me more toys so I wouldn't be bored and sad!”) Yeah… that one just ticked me off and I didn't recognize it for what it was - an inability to communicate that he was feeling depressed, not because he doesn't like his current toys, but because there is no joy to be felt in anything at the moment for him.

• Affectionate one moment and aloof the next – Isn't this just boys, though? I don't know. He's not a real lovey-dovey kid and I usually don't push it as not to make him feel uncomfortable. But he was very up and down with it this week, even for him.

• Argumentative and irritable – Again, I attributed this to the fact that school is starting up again in a few days and this, for many kids, is no-good very bad news.

       It wasn't until my kid started writing goodbye letters to our family that I realized. The tears… the arguing… the “boredom”. He wasn't cranky or tired or nervous about school. He's depressed. He's in despair and has no idea how to tell me what this terrible feeling is inside of him. It wasn't bad behavior or ungrateful words that he was trying to share. It was just the only way he knew to show me that something is very, very wrong inside. (So glad I paid all that money for my MSW, right??) He was literally screaming for me to WAKE UP and see his need, for me to look past the diagnoses and the medicines and the end-of-summer blues. So he took it to the only place his mind could fathom next.

     If you find yourself in a similar situation with your kids, or even children that you're with regularly through your job or your family, I hope that you are able to look at a child's behavior with wisdom and insight – to see it for what it truly is, not just for what it appears to be.

     Not everything is for attention… but even if it is, if they're willing to go that far for your attention, doesn't that say something? Some kids have a need that is sooo great that they can't find the words to tell you. But they will show you. If you're watching.

     As school gets ready to start, pay extra attention to the changes in behavior, routine, stress levels. Kids can't tell you when they've “had it up to here!” or that they “need some time away to unwind and regroup”. Nope. Kids will tantrum and cry and dump out all your shower supplies while grandma is babysitting.

     It's up to us to pay attention and help them learn the words they need to express all those crazy new feelings they're encountering. A bad day is a bad day. And may be a bad week is a bad week. But just in case, be attentive, Moms and Dads. Your child doesn't know it yet, but one day they will thank you!

Tomatoes, Traffic Jams, and Anxiety

      I hate tomatoes and liverwurst. They're gross and I have no problem admitting it. I also hate scrubbing my bathtub. I hate cold weather and icy roads. I hate being late. I hate really long commercial breaks. I hate road construction and, now, even the color orange. I hate my kids' math homework. I hate my scale. I hate multi-lanes roundabouts – they freak me out and should be illegal. I hate heavy metal music. I hate spiders. I hate itchy tags in my clothing. And I hate shaving my legs.

     These are my socially acceptable hates. These are the “safe topics” that come up in casual conversations with people I meet throughout my week. These are the things that normal people can relate to – the things that give us the smallest sense of connection with one another. Oh, your neighborhood is blocked off for construction, too? Weeellll, let me tell you about MY street! Right? You could have that conversation with your grandmother, your neighbor, or the person in line behind you at the bank. Safe topics.

     So, while I was at the doctor's office last week, my PCP asked me the list of questions he always asks: Do you smoke? No. Are you still taking the same birth control? Yes. Is Patrick still your emergency contact? Yes. Have you been under any stress lately? Not really.

     Not really? Not really?? My mind screamed at my mouth as the vicious lie slipped out. On what planet are you NOT REALLY stressed out?? So, I tried to backpedal a little bit.

     “I mean, I have stress… and I sometimes feel anxious. But, you know, not like crazy or anything. Just a little more stressed than some other people.”

     Yeah. That cleared it up. I mean, what was I afraid of? That he would find me crazy? That I would start rambling on like a fool about all the things that make me lose my mind on a daily basis? That I would begin sobbing uncontrollably in the doctor's office and that he would feel so uncomfortable that he'd ask his nurse to take over so he could make a quiet escape? That he would have me committed?

     In a word, Yes.

     And the fact that the things I have to say are not part of the socially acceptable hates. They're not the things that an average person can relate to. Not the things that the average person wants to spend time thinking about because, quite frankly, they're depressing. If I walked out into the street right now, I could find at least 10 people willing to talk to me about the weather. (Ok, that number falls kind of flat if you think I live in a big city… to clear things up, 10 people would be like 95% of the people, so…. Yeah. Basically everyone would talk to me about the weather.)

     What I needed to say to my doctor was my list of non-socially acceptable hates.

     I hate mental illness. I hate that it's waiting at my door when I first wake up and that it lives in my home all year long. I hate that I can't fix my kids and that I get angry at them hourly for this. I hate that every other Sunday I have to return a child that I love so deeply, so fiercely, to his biological dad's house. I hate that he sobs, hyperventilates, and fights tooth and nail when the hours arrives for him to leave. I hate that I watch the life leave that same toddler's eyes as he gives up the fight, knowing that he's going back whether he wants to or not (and he never wants to). I hate that he screamed and pointed to me, telling his dad's girlfriend that he wanted me and not her… “I want THAT Mama, NOT YOU!” I hate that every other Sunday becomes the new worst day of my life and that it requires several days of a mourning period to readjust to life again without him. I hate that my husband and I don't get to see each other more, and that when we do, quite often we argue. I hate that we pay our bills from our savings account too regularly. I hate that I've been having anxiety attacks more and more often, not being able to catch my breath or stop my heart from racing. I hate that I'm supposed to help others when I feel like a hurricane is constantly blowing inside of me.

     Have you been under any stress lately? Not really.

     I hate that anxiety is so hard to talk about! That it makes me feel weak and useless and like a failure. And that my doctor may prescribe me medicine and brush off all my symptoms as “womanly” or “psycho-somatic”. And that he may be right.

     Shivonne, why would you post something so negative? So much hate and bad feelings going on here! I'm sorry if I've brought anyone down tonight. But quite honestly, I didn't have it in me to talk about the weather. 

     Friends, if you know of someone that is just really going through it right now, someone that's facing anxiety or depression, do me a favor. Make it a safe topic. Don't let that person go on and on about tomatoes or traffic jams. You don't have to personally know what their situation feels like to care. You don't have to understand to love.

Nine End Of Summer Must-Do's

     Since we are barreling into those final weeks of summer vacation, my kids have decided that all the things have already been done and that those things are now “boring”. Perhaps your kids are like mine and they have become bored, as well. Perhaps you are like me and you smack them upside the head. Or perhaps you have more self-control than I.

     Good for you.

     Either way, I have compiled a list of end of summer must-do's for the “bored” child and the smacking parent.

1) Homemade slip-and-slides: This has become a particular favorite in the Costa home. To say we have experimented with variations of this is an understatement. In fact, I'm pretty sure we've never done it the same way twice. Key ingredients for this to work well are water, dish soap, and some form of slippery surface. Our most popular variation has been securing a large tarp to the end of their swing set slide. I douse the slide and tarp with soap and water, do the same thing to the kids (and even lather up their swim suits), and I spray them with the hose as they whiz past me on their way down the path. They literally slide a good 5 feet past the 20-foot tarp! And the best part? Their swim suit crotches will lather up like an out of control yeast infection, making it the perfect time to take embarrassing photos and threaten to show their future boy/girlfriends.

2) Obstacle courses: My kiddos started building these one day when they had a few friends over and, I gotta say, it was genius. They heaped bowls with water balloons, filled buckets with ice water, attached the sprinkler, and created pathways across the yard that each person had to run through while people literally chucked all forms of water at them. They seriously had just as much fun building the course as they did running through it!

3) Read for an hour each day: One hour of quietness… they can choose any book they want, and it doesn't matter how much they read as it matters how long they read. Trust me. You'll thank me for this one.

4) Create a play/skit/dance/song to perform: This is where your creative and outgoing child will shine! But even if your kid is a dud (like my son), he'll still have fun if you tell him that he can charge admission for the show. BUT I refuse to pay for a show of poor quality. I will demand a refund if it is not creative, not artistic, done with a negative attitude, and if it's under 15 minutes. Props and costumes are a great way to help them think outside of the box AND keep them busy for longer than 5 minutes. THIS is called Winning, folks.

5) Make your own board game: My children are ALWAYS asking me to play board games with them. However, I don't have the time to play games like it's my job. A great way to keep the bored ones busy and the smacking ones from smacking is to have the kids build their own board games. This way they spend plenty of time working on the construction of the game while the parents get their things done, and they will enjoy it even more when you can sit down later to play something that they developed all on their own.

6) Experimental Cooking, A.K.A. “Mini Chopped”: If you've seen the show, you know where I'm going with this. Give the kids each a set number of random cooking ingredients, set the timer for however long you feel is age-appropriate, and then let them go! For my kids, the stove is out of the question. But the microwave is fair game (as long as I'm supervising… did you know that kids will attempt to put all kinds of metal objects in the microwave? Even after telling them 45 times that this will blow our house up? Forty. Five. Times.) In the end, have them taste both dishes and vote. If there needs to be a tie-breaker, you can offer up your taste buds (if you dare) and cast the final vote.

7) Crazy Races: We all remember elementary gym class, right? That's where we learned how to skip, crab walk, bear crawl, compete in three-legged competitions, and slither like a worm. Sadly, gym class these days is all about sports (blah) and our kids are growing up in a world without the crab walk. You guys, this is a travesty. My son is quite literally the most uncoordinated human alive. He NEEDS the crab walk! And, since he's older and bigger and (amazingly enough) faster than my daughter, he hears the word “race” and immediately thinks that he'll win. However, having them do “Crazy Races” evens the playing field… and allows for parents to videotape their children looking absurd. YouTube, anyone?

8) Bury them in sand: If I have to tell you why this is amazing, then you are not my kind of people. Hello. They Are IMMOBILE. And if they keep yacking too much, just place the sand bucket over their head. Prepare to love me, Guys.

9) Hose Tag: I “invented” Hose Tag this summer as a way to keep my children and their friends from melting. It was sooooo hot and they were sooooo grouchy because of it. I couldn't blame them, so I picked up the hose and told them to start running. I counted to 15 and shot the first person I saw (with the jet stream, of course). That person was then frozen and couldn't be unfrozen unless another child ran and slid under their legs. I, as the shooter, would have to count to 15 again before I could spray anyone else. It's fun because they get cooled off and release some pent-up, heat-inducing energy…. And because you can shoot cold water at them. Everybody wins!

     I hope these ideas help you and your children as you anxiously await the not-so-distant sounds of school buses rumbling toward your doorstep. Prayerfully we all make it to the end of summer without hearing the words “I'm booooored” one more time! And if all else fails, tell them to drop and give you 20.