Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

This site is mostly dedicated to kvetching; but it would be dishonest and depressing if it was completely filled with my (mostly pointless) rants and complaints. So, here is a list (in no particular order) of things I am soooo grateful for:
1. Sam thinks I'm hilarious and laughs at me all the time. He also loves to be kissed, tickled, hugged and all-around manhandled,
2. Today's weather is absolutely 100% perfect. Sixty-two degrees, sunny, no humidity. It's UNBELIEVABLY BEAUTIFUL,
3. Henry had an appointment with an ENT today, and they can do his ear surgery NEXT WEEK! (We were going to have to wait a month at the first place.) ALSO, Henry was an absolute angel at the appointment, despite the whole thing taking a lot longer than we had planned and a gazillion people putting all kinds of medical devices in his ears. I almost cried I was so proud of him,
4. Tripp. Just everything about him,
5. Grandma Margie. As is the case with most people, the things that drive me nuts about her are also the things I love most about her. Case in point, her obsession with my children: While that can have some annoying fallout, her interactions with Henry and Sam are some of the sweetest, cutest, loveliest, most beautiful treasures of my life,
6. It's spring and there are big, beautiful dogwoods in bloom all over the place,
7. All of our wonderful, amazing friends who offered so much support and love during my virtual freak-out last week,
8. Chocolate and good coffee,
9. My recumbent bike,
10. Everything else. We have a roof over our heads, access to good health care, food, clean water, and the people we love are healthy and happy most of the time.
I am truly, truly blessed.
I'm about to make myself vomit, so I'll be back to bitching soon.

The Will of a 2 Year-Old vs. The Determination of a Mommy

Is it just me or are 2 year-olds unbelievably strong-willed? I know, I know, everyone says, oh yeah, that's a 2 year-old blahblahblah; but I can't believe their little brains are capable of the maniacal power games that Henry seems to play.
Picture it, nap time today: Henry spent two hours (this is not an exaggeration) jumping out of bed, running down the hall, and then standing in front of me jumping up and down, shrieking, grabbing toilet paper, flushing toilets, and doing anything else he could in what I can only assume were attempts to rile me up. In true "Supernanny" form (I'm a devotee), I did not engage. I ignored for a while (which usually, eventually, works--in that Henry gets tired/bored and eventually just goes to sleep). In the past week, my next step has been to lock him in his room--something I was initially against (what do I do when he can break out? And isn't the point to get him to learn the rules?). But several friends told me this worked for them, so I tried it. However, my little devil learned how to break the baby lock in less than a week. I locked him in today, hoping that he wouldn't bother fiddling with it; and by the time I was down the hall he was running after me, lock in hand. Finally, I began to silently escort him back to his bed. Again, I did not engage: After I put him back in bed the first time, I said "It's time for rest, honey." The next 247 times, I kept silent and made no eye contact. I even tried to make the walk back to his room as boring as possible--walking slowly and quietly so Henry couldn't run. But this went on for two hours, people. TWO HOURS. Henry never got upset, pitched a fit, or cried. He was completely content the entire time.
I find this kind of thing so difficult. As a parent, you start questioning yourself--at least I do. Am I doing the right thing? Is this ever going to work? Even if it works today, am I going to have to start all over with this tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day? It's especially hard when you're alone or (most difficult) when you're with someone who does not support you. My mother, God bless her, is thoroughly, completely, head over heels infatuated with my children; and as a result refuses to enforce anything resembling a rule. She also questions me (that's putting it mildly; it's really more like an active criticism at best and a complete tantrum at worst) when I'm attempting to set limits with Henry. So, when I'm with Grandma Margie, it usually goes something like this:

Me: Henry, it's time for bed.
Henry: Wah!
Grandma Margie (to me): Are you sure he has to go to bed now? He didn't eat enough dinner. He's been sick! This is a new environment! He's excited to see his grandma! Can I go in there and talk to him? The fan is running in his room, and it's keeping him awake! The room is too warm! The room is too cold! Do you think I should go in there and sing to him? He doesn't like the color of the room! Don't you think I should go sit with him? I'm going to go sit with him.

This continues until I either give in or tell her (usually loudly) to STOP, in which case the whole thing starts again within a minute if Henry is continuing to complain. The point is, when you're a new parent (again, at least for me) and you've never done this before, and you're trying to raise your kids right, it really sucks when other adults aren't supporting you.
Anyway, I'm proud of myself today because I stayed calm (deep breathing helps), did not engage, and kept repeating to myself, "I WILL out will this two-year old!" Eventually, Henry got tired and instead of popping up and running down the hall after I put him in bed, he got up at a regular human rate and walked down the hall. Silently celebrating a chink in his armor, I carried him back to bed; and he immediately started to get back up. I put my hand on his belly and quietly said, "We don't have to do this, honey. You can relax. It's okay. It's time to rest now, but we'll play later." He went to sleep.
I'm fucking exhausted but proud of myself.

Pity Party, Interrupted

Just put Henry to bed. He snuggled up to me, put my hands on his cheeks and fell asleep while I quietly sobbed. Like I said to my friend who recently revealed she has a bun in the oven, motherhood is messy and complicated. But ultimately, you just love these damn kids so much it hurts.

Too Exhausted to Think of a Title

It's been a shitty week. Four trips to the pediatrician's office, a visit to the ER, a hospital admission (complete with a blood draw that took a four-point restraint), three misdiagnoses, a horrendous rash, a five day fever, and all sorts of antibiotics and antihistamines later, Henry is finally back to baseline. He was supposed to have tubes put in his ears this week, but that was canceled because of all the other medical insanity happening with him. We're so bummed about the tubes because it could be the answer to all of Henry's problems (constant sickness, lack of language skills, incredibly low frustration tolerance-even for a two year old); and it took weeks to schedule the surgery the first time. Now, we're back to square one. On top of it all, at his post-hospitalization check up yesterday his pediatrician brought up in the gentlest way possible that she'd like to refer him to their developmental specialist because "even if he's on the spectrum. . ." Oh, Jesus. My mind went into overload and switched off. One of my biggest fears is that Henry will be "on the spectrum", as in the Autistic spectrum, as in he will have a life-long, incurable condition that will (among other things) cause him to have difficulty connecting with people. I've worked professionally with people on the spectrum, and I realize it's completely my hang-up, but I have had so much trouble with the people I've met who have had these diagnoses. Connecting with people, finding common ground, empathizing (and being empathized WITH) is so meaningful for me. It's meaningful for everyone, I realize; but this is my blog so I'm talking about me. From the time he was in utero I've been scared shitless that my kid will be autistic.
Anyway, for the past two days, I've been trying to over-compensate for the horrible week Henry has had by doing fun things with him. Yesterday, I took him to an indoor playground; today took him to get cupcakes with a mommy and me group. At both these child-friendly events, Henry had complete meltdowns. Yesterday, after the initial freak-out he sort of kept it in check and just sat on the floor moaning while we waited in line to pay. However, this did not keep a busybody old lady from making a snide comment about my parenting. This has happened probably a dozen times-strangers (almost always old ladies) forcing completely unsolicited parenting advice on me, expressing outrage, or making sarcastic, nasty comments about how I'm dealing with my kid. I hate old ladies and I hope they all die in fires. No, I don't; but it felt good to write that.
Today, mid-walk to the cupcake party Henry collapsed in the street and literally began kicking and screaming. As I was holding Sam (and Henry is 40 pounds) it was physically impossible for me to carry Henry, so I essentially dragged him to the curb like a giant bag filled with wiggling, screeching kittens. A mom from the group saw me and smiled breezily as she gently shepherded her children into the yard where everyone was meeting. "Do you need help?" she asked and didn't wait for my response, just happily slid on her sunglasses and followed her children. I continued to drag Henry closer to the yard, watching a half dozen other moms contentedly chat while their children happily played together, all of them completely oblivious to me and the human tornado at my feet. I got down to Henry's level (a Supernanny suggestion) and firmly said, "Henry, you need to calm down and walk with mommy to our friends, or we're going home." This appeared to make a 0% difference in his attitude, so I said, "Okay, we're going." Frustrated and determined, I struggled to pick him up (still holding Sam, mind you), and fortunately my dear friend Liz showed up and helped me carry a still kicking and screaming Henry to the car.
Basically what I'm saying is, I'm spent. I don't even know what this post is supposed to be about. It was going to be about how old, bitchy ladies who think they know what's best for me and my kids had better step off. But I'm too tired to even get into that. I'm just worn down. And I long for the support of people who understand me, and empathize with me, and get what I'm going through, and can/will say, "I've been there." As in, "I've been in plenty of social situations where I was the only mom with a lunatic toddler, and I've felt embarrassed, and sad, and exhausted, and worried, and fed the hell up."
Honestly, I'm probably going to have to find a support group for parents whose kids are " on the spectrum."