I’m climbing into the back of my minivan so I can help my four children get buckled. I have a four-year-old, a three-year-old, an almost 2-year-old and a newborn. I tell myself you can do this. Indeed, we are almost ready to go. Before this car buckling scene, I’m helping each one put on socks and shoes. Before foot coverings, I’m packing sippy cups and snacks for each kid. Before gathering snacks, I’m helping some of them go potty and wash their hands. All of this and more just so we can leave the house.
It’s hard to imagine all the odds and ends in my ‘Mary Poppins’ type diaper bag. Need diaper cream? It’s in here somewhere at the bottom right. Need a Band-Aid? Just a minute, baby. I know I have it somewhere in one of the five zippered pouches on my handy-dandy-everything-you’d-ever-need-for-life-with-kids bag.
Today, I look back at the effort it took just to leave the house, with four children all aged four and under, and I can now see that I was as determined as any superhero might be to save the galaxy.
“You are much stronger than you think you are. Trust me.” –Superman
As contradictory as this logic may seem, I just HAD TO LEAVE the house with my babies because I needed my life to be as normal as possible. Before kids, I loved to go on walks, to bike, to just be outside. And now, with kids, I refused to be a prisoner in my own house. As my mother (who also was crazy enough to have four children very close in age) would say, “You’ve gotta break up the day. It just goes faster. You have to get out.”
Personal sanity (as well as some personal space) was a forceful driver for me in the early years of motherhood. My ‘road trips’ were trips to the grocery store, the local Walmart or Target, the mall, and most frequently, playgrounds. I always took my children to playgrounds, sometimes multiple times in one day. Fresh air, sun on my head were all cathartic and restorative to me.
As soon as we were inside a fenced playground area, the kids were occupied, and I could take a moment to feed the baby without everyone on top of me. Seeing my kids play inside a sandbox, ride on small toy cars, or go down the little tyke slides, I felt immediate relief not only because they were happy and safe, but also because I could sit for a moment and observe their innocence.
Enjoy and exhaust yourselves, please, dear children.
I’m the mom who had four kids in just under four years. My husband and I wanted a large family, although having them so close in age is certainly not for the faint of heart. Every day was a mental and physical marathon of sorts. Throw prediction and calmness out the door until the four little heads were all napping in the late afternoon. Only then could I try to recharge for the second half of the day.
My third child, Brady, was a very challenging boy with the biggest brown eyes, so full of expression. He was a screamer, a child who operated mostly in extremes. His voice could certainly be heard across an entire grocery store when he became upset about dropping a Cheerio. How dare I refuse to pick it up so he could eat it! He made sounds that caused me to check nearby windows for cracks. I really am not joking; I lost hearing as a result of his high-pitched screeching. Strangers would turn and stare; store managers would suddenly appear to see if I had lit my kid on fire.
Who screams like that? My personal answer to that internal question turned out to be: a child with sensory processing disorder, a severe case of ADHD, and a gorgeous layer of autism which made things especially fun (a bit of sarcasm or humor is often necessary for sanity). Through our outings, I began to understand that Brady’s body felt his environment so much more intensely than other children. He was a child who didn’t know how else to tell his mother that the lights in the store were too bright, that the song was horribly loud, or that the strangers were too close to his mom. I kept him tight on my body because it became clear that the pressure and warmth of my body was what soothed him the most. Alas, I wore him until he was too heavy to wear. As he grew older, I caressed him or hugged him tightly (pressure soothing techniques) when I saw the signs of overstimulation/anxiety.
Oh, but on the playground, Brady was so content. It was the place where I could release him and delight in his giggles as he climbed too high on the play structures. I felt more relaxed in these natural environments and so did he. As he grew into a two and then three-year-old toddler, he began to collect things, smell things, take things apart. I would try to connect with him by examining the acorns in his bucket, or the leaves, the caterpillars, even the mulch pieces (seriously, whatever he wanted to show me). When he wasn’t collecting, he was climbing and often hanging his head upside down with a giant grin as if he had discovered a new world. He loved to swing as well; and you might have guessed that with a child like this, the higher you pushed him, the broader his smile grew.
The hours we spent daily at playgrounds helped me begin to understand the complexity of who Brady was. As I began to recognize Brady’s needs, I adjusted my parenting style to accommodate us both. For example, Brady seemed to need to put items into his mouth. He wouldn’t necessarily swallow or eat the item, but he liked to chew it for a while and then take it back out for a second or two before placing it back into his mouth for more chewing. My parenting style went from: You will not put anything but food or drink into your mouth to instead, “Here put this chewy necklace into your mouth.” I recognized he was seeking ‘sensory input’ and it was better to give him something safe that his Occupational Therapist had recommended (chewelry – chewable jewelry that he would wear around his neck) than chase him all day with the repetitive, stressful question: “WHAT IS IN YOUR MOUTH?”
So, I bought him a few chewelry necklaces that looked boyish: hard, rubbery, SAFE sharks teeth.
The problem wasn’t that he refused to wear them; he did wear them. The problem was that he chewed on each necklace with such vigor that they fell apart (hello, Shark Boy). He chewed through his chewelry in a matter of days and so I was at a loss for a better solution. I tried gum when he was older (four years) but him taking it in and out of his mouth proved problematic as well (gum on pants, gum in hair). By the time he was approaching 5 years of age, his therapist and I agreed that I should focus on offering him hard foods when he seemed particularly ‘chompy.’ Hard pretzels became a staple in my bag.
Around this time, I had to again alter my parenting tactics concerning Brady. My new mental rule was: As long as it is safe, I’m not going to stress. After all, I had pulled out so many non-food items from his mouth by age four. This kid must surely have the immune system of Tony Stark (yes, Iron Man).
One of the first times I took all four kids on a road trip to the beach, I was tested with a trying scenario that unfolded inside of a public McDonald’s. We stopped for an easy road trip lunch. Little Brady was between three and four years old, and so my other children were also very young.
I was standing in line to order food with the baby on my hip. My oldest two kids were at a nearby table where I told them to sit down with Brady. Just as I’m up to order, my oldest (Reagan) comes over with Brady.
“Where’s Alexis?” I ask.
“She’s over there, Mom. But Mom. Mom, Brady is eating fries off the ground,” he informs me like a little officer who is calmly giving you the lowdown of a ‘in real time’ situation.
I feel and sense several pairs of eyes on me. I did not care. I had reached the phase of parenting where practically nothing was embarrassing.
“Oh, how many has he eaten?” I ask, as I wonder if I should order a small or medium fry since Brady’s stomach may already be half full.
“Mom, he ate like five under that table (points to a table), and then he took one from the door area over there, and he’s trying to eat more but I stopped him because he actually ate a very gross one, Mom.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I tried to stop him, but a man dropped a fry and then stepped on it, and well… Brady scooped it up and put the smashed fry into his mouth.”
I look at Brady. He has already swallowed all the free food.
“Thanks for letting me know, Reagan. Don’t worry about the fries. Remember the time Brady took someone else’s hamburger at McDonald’s and ate most of it before we realized what had happened?”
“Yeah. That woman was mad,” Reagan replies.
“Well, at least he’s only grabbing stuff people have dropped. That’s a big improvement. And fries are edible so he will be fine.”
I continue: “That’s gross though – eating food off a public floor, so we don’t do it. Brady will learn that someday I hope.”
Fast forward to current times, I am happy to report that Brady no longer eats fries from the filthy floor. He does however befriend patrons at McDonald’s and I’ve seen a few offer him a fry. Perhaps he asked or let that person know how incredibly delicious McDonald’s fries are to him. At first, I tried to prevent him from approaching others in his favorite restaurant, but I found out that often people find him charming, especially older folks. Sometimes when I’m in line ordering, he sits near a solitary customer and I know exactly what he’s conversing about:
“Did you order a LARGE fry? You should always order a LARGE fry.”
“Are McDonald’s fries the best in the universe?” (Hint: He won’t take NO for an answer).
Aww! Sweet Brady. McDonald’s fries are definitely delicious. As you described the playground scenes, I could picture that one in Vienna with the donated toys and awesome shade and sandbox so clearly. I miss the younger years when a sandbox brought hours and hours of joy. You sure had your hands full when they were little and I’m glad you always made the effort to get outside in order to replenish yourself and get the kids’ energy out. Brady has come so far (I suppose all of you and all of us have). Really sweet and touching post, friend!
Yes, that’s the park we visited most often because it had everything to occupy the kids for hours. I remember meeting you and Tucker there so the boys could play (and we could catch up!).