THAT’S NASTY!

It’s Friday morning.  The end of another arduous week of trying to get both kids to do their morning routines before I take them to school, allowing me to escape into my work life until 2:50pm when it’s time to pick them up.  Brooklyn normally does a pretty good job in the mornings, but CJ is another story altogether.

Unpredictable is one way to describe mornings with him.  “Groundhog Day” is much more encompassing.  For those of you who don’t know by now, CJ is Autistic.  He is on the low-end of the spectrum and high-functioning, meaning at first glance he appears to be like any other 8-year old, but after a few moments with him you’ll find that the way he processes and interprets information, and interacts with others, is quite different than most.

As I walk past their bathroom CJ is standing at the sink with his hands under the water that is turned on full force.  After about fifteen seconds, when I happen to walk past the bathroom again, the water is still running.

“CJ, what are you doing?”

“Washing my hands,” he says in a monotone.

“It shouldn’t take you this long to wash your hands.  It seems like you’re playing.”  No response, just the sound of water gushing out of the faucet.  “What exactly is going on?”  He’s trying to ignore me.  “That was a question.”

“This.”  He holds up his hand.

“What is it?”  I’m standing about six feet from him but I still can’t tell what he’s trying to show me.

“This!”  He says it louder, as if that will help me to decipher.  I tell him to turn off the water.

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is, CJ.  You need to describe it to me.”

“My finger.”  And so begins the laborious process of trying to figure out what he’s trying to tell me.  I’m a masochist when it comes to this.  It would be quicker, less frustrating, and allow me to keep some of my sanity, if I just inspected things and came to my own conclusion.  But that would be too easy, for both of us.  I want CJ to be able to relate an experience, a thought, a dream beyond saying:  This.  That.  Look it.

“What about your finger?”  I press on.

“There’s something on it.”  I can see there’s something there, but I have no idea what it could be.

“What is it?”  CJ looks intently, studying it, as if focusing through a microscope.

“Poop.”  Um, not what I was expecting to hear.

“Why do you have poop on your finger?”  At this point I’m thinking (okay, hoping) that things probably didn't go too well in the wiping department.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?  It’s your finger that has poop on it.”

“It’s in the sink too.”  I take a couple of steps towards him and before I can see what’s in there I can smell it.  It’s bad.  Like a finger-painting project gone wrong.  I step back to my safe zone.

“Where…How…”  I can’t even form a proper sentence at this point.  “What happened here?”

“I don’t know!”  I look beyond where CJ is standing and see poop on the toilet seat as well.  What in the hell is going on here?!

“CJ, I need some answers, and I need them now.”

“I picked it up,” he blurts out.

“You picked up what?”

“The poop.”

“You picked up your poop?”

“Yes.”

“From where?”

“From the toilet.”  I’m having a hard time grasping all of this.

“So, you reached into the toilet and picked up your poop?”

“Yes.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I did it.”  One of CJ’s standard responses that does nothing but drive me absolutely nuts.

“Yes, I know you did it.  You just told me that you picked it up out of the toilet and now it’s on your hand and in the sink.  I want to know why.”

“Because I wanted to.”

“You wanted to pick up your poop out of the toilet?”

“Yes,” he says after dropping his head down.  I let out a heavy sigh.  I feel like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz when she meets the Scarecrow for the first time and asks for directions and everything he says or gestures to her leaves her in a state of bewilderment.  I try a different approach.

“What did it feel like?”  Rather than trying to find out the why, which is the toughest of questions for CJ to answer, I shift to damage control so this won’t happen again...hopefully.  There are no guarantees with Autism.

“Squishy.”

“Yep, that seems about right.  Anything else?”

“And stinky.”

“Now that you’ve picked up your poop out of the toilet, is this something you want to do again?”

“No.  That’s nasty!” He makes a face.

And with that said, I had CJ clean the sink and wash his hands about six times, while I tackled the toilet.

Afterwards, CJ went on with his day as if nothing unusual happened.  Meanwhile, I was spending way too much time trying to figure out what he had seen or heard that would make him want to pick up his own poop out of the toilet.  There had to be something.

After getting out of bed the next morning I remembered waking up, somewhat startled, at about 2:00am with an answer to the poop conundrum.  The sub-conscious can truly be a wonderful thing.

On Thursday afternoon, the day before the poop predicament, CJ’s ABA tutor, Mr. Jason, had been working with him. (ABA stands for Applied Behavior Analysis, which is a common intervention program for children on the Autism spectrum.)  Near the end of that day’s session Mr. Jason asked me if CJ could feed the dogs as a daily chore.  I explained to him that we had recently changed the dogs feeding routine which made things more complicated.  Jokingly I said, “But you can have him pick-up the dog poop in the backyard.”  He said he would be willing to work with CJ to do that.  I wasn't prepared to see that happen, so I suggested that maybe they work on that during their next session.

So on Saturday morning I asked CJ if Mr. Jason had talked to him about picking up the dog poop in the backyard.  Without missing a beat he answered, “No.” 

“So you and Mr. Jason didn't have a conversation about picking up poop?”

He replied with a satisfying, “Nope.”

I stood there for a moment, trying to get into his thought process, his mind, his being.  I knew there had to be a correlation to what Mr. Jason and I had talked about and what CJ did on Friday.  After all, in the middle of the night my subconscious said it was so!

“Did you hear me and Mr. Jason talk about you picking up poop?”

“Yes.”  Aha, I knew it!  

But the strange thing about this is when Mr. Jason and I were having that conversation we were in the living room and CJ was in his bedroom, which was at the far end of the hallway.  There are times when this boy has bionic hearing (remember Lindsay Wagner as Jaime Sommers?), and then there are times I swear he is deaf.

One of the many things that I've come to learn about CJ and his Autism is that it doesn't matter if he is part of a conversation, referenced in a conversation, or a direction or question is posed to someone else -- it is always about him.  There have been countless number of times when a direction has been given to Brooklyn, specifically using her name and something that would only apply to her, and CJ has acted on it.  

Everything that has happened in the past, is occurring in the present, or is about to take place in the future, has a direct and uninterrupted link to him.  It’s not that he’s selfish, although it appears and sometimes feels that way; it’s just that everything is taken literally without a filtering process in place for him.

So when Mr. Jason and I were talking about CJ picking up dog poop, he must have heard, CJ pick up your poop.  It frightens me to think, if and when he is driving and someone says, Don’t crash into that tree! that he’ll crash into the tree.

TL-L 02/01/2014

The Thirteen Rules of Engagement

In the 1 1/2 years since the children have been with us we've experienced an overwhelming amount of support from family, friends, and complete strangers. We've also been met with some reactions, responses, and passes of judgment along the way, which I've summarized below in what I call The Thirteen Rules of Engagement. Some of these aren't unique to two dads raising two children, but they've turned into pet peeves nonetheless.

1). The Three Second Assessment

When we turn the aisle in Target or the grocery store and you see one or both of our children for the first time don’t size them up in three seconds and think they’re a little prince or princess. First of all, we don’t fill their heads with notions of them someday marrying into the Royal Family or becoming an animated Disney character. It’s best to hold your assessment until after you’ve spent five hours, or even twenty-five minutes, with one or both of them (double your trauma) and get back to us. Until then our cynical facial expressions or tepid responses will simply come across as rude or unappreciative, which isn’t entirely true, when we’ve likely just finished telling them for the thirty-seventh time to stop touching things and to keep their hands to themselves.

2). Candy and Stickers, et al

Don’t offer our kids candy, stickers, balloons, or toys without spelling, miming, or mouthing the words to us first (I’ve learned to interpret all and you’ll want me as your partner when playing Password and charades). Otherwise in mere seconds you’ve thwarted our plan, which we’ve invested an exorbitant amount of time, strategy, and effort into diverting them from these items.

3). Advice

Don’t offer parenting advice unless we’ve specifically asked you for it. And don’t think that just because we’re complaining about being a parent for a brief moment that the door has been cracked open for you to tell us what works, or has worked, for your child(ren). I can assure you that the behavioral issues and deficiencies that our children have manifest themselves differently than your child(ren). As a matter of fact, one parenting strategy rarely works on both of our kids as I’m convinced it’s their sole mission to make me schizophrenic.

4). Don’t Pass the Judgment

When I’ve had hours, or in some cases days, of dealing with oppositional behavior, defiance, or a little girl who purposely pees on the floor when the toilet is just four feet away, the last thing I need is a disapproving glare from a complete stranger in regard to my parenting skills. Unfortunately, no child comes with an operating manual so there are surprises, challenges, and LOL moments every single day. Providing a little compassion in my direction goes a long way, as does a good bottle of wine!

5). Public Displays of Defiance

If I’ve had to resort to putting one of our children into a time-out in public, trust me, it’s for a good reason. And if you see our son hitting his head with his hand or banging his head against the wall, he isn’t hurting himself, he just wants more attention, which is why I’ve chosen to actively ignore him, and you need to as well.

6). One Way Conversation

If one of our children says “hello” to you, and you hear them, please say “hello” back so I don’t have to explain to them why you’re so mean. Or if you engage in conversation with one of our kids don’t look to me to interpret what they’re saying back to you unless you’re willing to pay me an interpreter’s fee.

7) Open Invitation

While my son is sitting on a bench on a tennis court minding his own business while watching his dad play tennis DO NOT invite him over to your golf cart to pet your dog. I could care less that your dog is friendly, or that you have six grandchildren, I’m his dad and you should know better to check with me first rather than letting him traipse off out of my line of vision and causing me to have a heart attack when I don’t see him sitting on the bench any longer. What you also don’t know is that my son has Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) – Disinhibited Type, which means he has bonding issues and a willingness to go off with complete strangers, which we’re continuously working on with him, as well as with his sister.

8). Fathers Know Best

Don’t tell us the pixie haircut is too sophisticated for our daughter when as her [gay] parents that is what we’re asking for – after all, we’re fans of America’s Next Top Model and Tabatha’s Salon Takeover.

9). We’ll Pass

When giving birthday or Christmas presents to our kids please don’t send them flannel clothing (especially pajamas). We appreciate the thought, but we live in the desert where flannel is never in fashion and is considered the enemy.

10). Where’s Mom?

When you ask one or both of our kids, “Where’s your mom?” try not to look too surprised when I respond back with, “They have two dads,” especially when its mother’s day weekend and we happen to be out shopping. These days, with so many unconventional families in existence – single or divorced parents, two moms or two dads – maybe we just need to have a “parent’s day” instead?

11). Nurture vs. Nature

To the therapists (more on the “therapist from hell” in a future blog entry) and so-called child experts out there -- STOP questioning our ability to provide our children with the nurturing they need, especially for our daughter. We’re two gay men, not two cave men, who are in touch with our feminine sides. We might not know how to throw a football, but we know how to bake cookies and accessorize.

12). It’s Legal

When we tell you that we’re in the process of adopting the children, don’t look at us like we’ve given you a calculus problem to solve. You may not approve, or maybe it hasn’t even crossed your mind until now, but it’s legal in California, as well as many other states, for two gay men to adopt children together.

13). No Doesn’t Mean Yes!

Stop offering our kids cookies and ice cream right before their bedtime, and right after I’ve explicitly asked you not to give them any sweets, and then say, “I know I’m breaking the rules” as you hand them a chocolate chip cookie. First of all, you’re undermining me as the parent and the limitations that we’ve placed on sugar in their diets because they have ADHD. And don’t tell me that you don’t believe sugar has an effect on their energy levels when you don’t witness them scaling the walls because five minutes after overloading them with sugar you’re shooing us out your front door. I realize it’s highly unlikely you’ll invite us over for dinner again since I couldn’t hold back any longer and got all confrontational on your ass and brought the dinner party to a screeching halt; but in the rare event you invite us over again and still insist on giving our children sweets when we tell you not to, don’t be surprised when you suddenly find yourselves hosting a slumber party for two young and very hyper children at your house.

Best,

Thomas L-L

STILL in Training!

Poop in the Potty
After Angelica pooped on the laundry room floor I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she would be the first one to do a poop in the potty. Although I later realized it wasn’t intended. After we all crowded into the bathroom, including Humphrey, we started celebrating by giving high-fives, dancing around and praising Angelica for going poop in the potty! We did everything to celebrate her accomplishment short of putting up a banner proclaiming, “Angelica is the #1 Pooper!” and wearing party hats and blowing horns, or having a marching band come through the bathroom. At least we didn’t go so far as having a t-shirt made for her that said, “I went poop in the potty and all I got was this t-shirt.” I have to admit that one of my first thoughts was, This potty training thing isn’t so bad after all. I quickly learned to never underestimate the power, determination, and stubbornness of a three year old and not to become too confident with my own parenting skills, at least when it came to potty training. For months we didn’t see another poop in the potty from Angelica. We resolved that it was a complete fluke on her part and that all of the pomp and circumstance literally scared her shitless (diapers and pull-ups excluded).

You Happy and Proud!
As soon as some of the poops landed in the potty then we started to hear things like, “I went a big poop!” or “You happy and proud of my poop?” We toned down our level of excitement because it was obvious that our kids didn’t come from environments where their little accomplishments were acknowledged and celebrated, and therefore they had no prior experience on how to accept over-the-top praise. So we stuck to high-fives (Purell afterwards) and praising and acknowledging what they had just accomplished, and made sure they were “happy and proud” of what they had just done as well. Unfortunately, a poop in the potty one day doesn’t translate to a poop in the potty the next day, or even the day after that. In sharing pooping stories with some other parents, and reading potty training stories online, we consider ourselves lucky that our kids weren’t into smearing their poop on the walls, the carpet, the furniture, or onto themselves! Hearing about these stories helped to put what we were going through, and to a degree are still going through today, into a perspective that we could actually appreciate.

Let’s Talk Poop
At some point along the way I found myself freely talking about pooping experiences and habits with just about anyone who was willing to listen. It didn’t seem fair to keep all of these “happy and proud” parenting experiences trapped inside of me and not share them with other parents, daycare providers, teachers, social workers, therapists, checkers at the grocery store, tennis opponents (getting the thought of poopy diapers in their heads messes with their game), and now blog readers. Sometimes it’s difficult to avoid the topic all together when one, or in some cases both kids, announce to a perfect stranger in the supermarket, “I went big poop in the potty!” There are only two reasonable options at this point; actively ignore what was said and hope the stranger doesn’t notice the four boxes of Raisin Bran in the cart (it’s on sale and I have a coupon), or simply smile, nod my head and say, “We’re so proud.”

Poop Tracking
I have this weird ability (sometimes it’s a curse) to keep track of the oddest details. Some (and by some I mean my husband) might say I’m anal retentive or even a little OCD when it comes to keeping track of minute details that no one else has noticed or even cares about. I was programmed this way at some point in my youth so as an adult it’s something that happens uncontrollably. Trust me, if there was an on/off switch I would be using it because at some juncture I unconsciously started to keep track of everyone’s poop schedule, including the dogs! It’s like I’ve turned into a human Excel spreadsheet that generates bar graphs, pie charts and trends (oh my!). Through my unscientific tracking abilities this is what I’ve learned so far. If Ronald isn’t told to go on a daily basis, which I affectionately refer to as “Poop on Command” (POC), then he just won’t go on his own. A POC is almost always met with resistance, accompanied by a head-drop and some pouting, but 10-15 seconds later a “I went big poop” is heard echoing from his chamber. I know what you’re thinking, How does he not realize he has to go. (Okay, maybe it’s not what you’re thinking, but just humor me and refer to the “Let’s Talk Poop” section above.) I’ve lost count of the number of circular conversations I’ve had with Ronald about whether or not he feels the poop in his tummy. Of course it’s never a good idea to have the “do you feel poop in your tummy conversation” right after he’s gone because I’m always met with, “It’s not in my tummy, it’s in the toilet” look on his face.

A few times I’ve experimented in not giving a daily POC to see if he would eventually go on his own, but after keeping it in for 2-3 days he ends up with an unfortunate accident in his underwear. One would think that a 6 year old boy who is so dependent on routine and schedule would end up being the most regular in the family, but instead it’s the one thing that is most irregular about him. Even Humphrey (that’s our dog) is on a schedule. Every night, without fail, after he eats his dinner he’s anxious to go out into the backyard. Jim or I will say (preach), “See, even Humphrey tells us when he has to go potty.”

At the other end of the pooping spectrum is Angelica who does not and will not respond to POC, but you have to be careful of POS – Power of Suggestion.

Yucky!
If there is one thing you can count on with Angelica it’s her inconsistency. We’ll have two, three, even up to four days, where everything is landing in the toilet and then all of a sudden there is havoc in her pull-ups! Here is a classic example of what I’m talking about.

One Friday after arriving home from school Angelica is in the front courtyard blowing bubbles while I’m in the office trying to get some writing done. The office window looks out into the courtyard and the front door, adjacent to the office, is wide open, so I can keep a watchful eye on her (always a necessity). We’ve had several days of things not landing in the potty so I decide to have yet another conversation with her about the importance of going poop in the potty. It went something like this…

“Angelica, where does your poop and pee go?”

“In the potty.”

“Does it go in your pull-up?”

“Noooo, not in my pull-up. In the potty.”

“Does poop feel good in your pull-up?”

“Noooo, poop in my pull-up is yucky!”

“That’s right, it’s very yucky. And Daddy Thomas and Daddy Jim don’t like cleaning up your poopy butt. So when you have to go poop you’ll go in the potty, right?”

“Yes Daddy.”

And with that she goes back to playing with her bubbles in the courtyard. A few minutes later I see Angelica jamming herself into a corner, slightly bent at the knees, while scrunching up her face and making a grunting sound.

“Angelica! What are you doing?”

“Not me go poop in my pull-up.”

“Get over here right now!”

She plucks herself from the corner and steps inside the house, the all too familiar odor of poop wafts in behind her.

“Is there poop in your pull-up?”

“Nope.”

“Let me check.”

She turns around and I peek inside.

“Angelica, we just talked about going poop in the potty and what did you just do?”

“Me went poop in my pull-up.”

Obviously what this little four year old pieced together from our earlier conversation was something like, “Daddy Thomas tell me poop in pull-up. It feel good!”

I launch into some rant that includes poop, pee, pull-ups, yucky, wiping, smelly, disgusting, potty, listening, talking, gross, training, until her eyes glaze over. Trying to rationalize my way through this isn’t doing me any good and only makes the situation more frustrating. I throw my arms up in the air, clearly the universal parental sign of disgust and I’m so over you and this situation right now.

However, I’m sure Angelica’s interpretation is more like, You’ve surrendered and victory is mine once again.

Oh sweet child, but victory is mine, because thousands…okay, maybe hundreds…alright, two dozen…people have read all about you on the Internet and an electronic copy of this blog will one day mysteriously land on a future boyfriend’s iPad (or whatever is the hottest Apple device at that time) and be linked to your Facebook page!

Love,
Daddy

by Thomas L-L 6/13/11

I Can't Do It!

It starts out like any other morning. At 6:15am I go into the kid’s bedroom and wake them up. They take off their pajamas, take turns going to the bathroom, and start to put on the school clothes I've laid out for them. Angelica is the first one finished getting dressed and is already at their little table eating her “apple bar” (a breakfast bar that either has an apple, strawberry, or blueberry filling but no matter what the flavor, the two of them always call it an “apple bar”). Ronald, after finishing his one-man talk show while he puts his clothes on in the bedroom, finally moseys into the kitchen area . Every morning, without fail, he engages himself in a running dialogue about absolutely nothing, or continuously makes sounds that must mean something to him but are completely foreign and annoying to anyone else. He stands in the middle of the kitchen and proclaims, “My shoes are on the right feet!” I look down and today his shoes are in fact on the correct feet. At least half the time he’ll come out of the bedroom and announce his shoes are on the right feet but sadly they aren’t. He has a fifty-fifty chance of getting it correct each morning but sometimes the odds seem to be stacked against him.

I have Ronald sit down at the table across from Angelica while I gather his medication, water, vitamin, and his “apple bar.” As I place the items in front of him he launches into his morning ritual of thank yous. “Thank you for my napkin. Thank you for my medicine. Thank you for my water. Thank you for my ‘apple bar’.” He takes his medicine, chews his vitamin, and then eats his “apple bar.” It’s the same routine every morning, and he is generally content.

Except that one morning. He was struggling to get his shoes on so I told him to come out to the table and we would put them on later. He reluctantly sat down at the table as I began to dole out his morning supplies.

“I don’t have my shoes on,” he states in a monotone.

“I know," I say back to him while mindlessly pulling the clean dishes from the dishwasher and putting them away. "Your laces have knots in them so we’ll put them on your feet later.”

“But I can’t have my ‘apple bar’ with no shoes.”

“Sure you can,” I reply back.

“No, I can’t.” Not having shoes on, whether on the right feet or not, has put a hitch in his morning, and possibly for the rest of his day. I reassure him that we will put his shoes on after he is done with his breakfast, but this does little to reduce the anxiety that I can tell is building inside of him. By not having his shoes on he struggles with what to do next. I prompt him through each step and by the time he has finished eating his “apple bar” he isn’t doing any better. This is just one of the many examples of how dependent Ronald can be with his routines.

But I digress…

By the time Ronald is done at the table on this particular morning, Angelica is already on her school bus and on her way to torment a small group of adults at her pre-school.

“Daddy Thomas, can you help me with my butt-ins?” In speech therapy Ronald is learning to put more emphasis on his consonants so sometimes one word sounds more like two or three.

Ronald is wearing a powder blue polo shirt with thin white and pink stripes running horizontally. If Ronald is wearing a polo shirt he usually wants every “butt-in” done. I know that he’s done buttons before, so I say, “Ronald, I want you to try to do them by yourself. If after trying you still aren’t able to do them then I’ll help you.”

Without evening lifting a finger he says, “I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can,” I reply back enthusiastically.

“I no can do it,” he says. I can tell from the lack of structure in his sentence that he’s becoming frustrated.

I kneel down so I’m at his height and give him a little pep talk, “Ronald, in our house, in our family, we try before we give up or say we can’t do something. Now, I would really like it if you tried doing your buttons before saying you can’t do it.”

His bottom lip pops out and his head drops down. “I don’t wanna.”

Normally I would say something cheeky like, “You know, pouting about it isn’t going to change anything.” But in a moment of parental genius -- if I do say so myself – I come up with a different tactic. “Well, I can see that you’re feeling sad right now so I think you need to go to your room and have some ‘Ronald time’ until you’re feeling happy.”

He comes back with, “Nooooo, I’m not sad!”

As I lead him to his bedroom I’m telling him, “Oh yes you are. And you know what? It’s okay to be sad.”

He sits down on his bedroom floor and he turns on what Jim and I have termed as his “fake crying/sobbing.” As I gently close his bedroom door his “sobbing” becomes louder.

About two minutes go by and the sobbing hasn’t decreased. This isn’t unusual so I just let him get it out of his system. We’ve been told by therapists that it’s good for both children to self-soothe during moments like this.

Then, through his exaggerated sobbing, I hear him scream, “I’M HAPPEEEE! I’M HAPPEEEE!” The only thing missing was a “GOD DAMMIT!” in between his two happy moments!

I can’t help but laugh to myself. I decide to leave him alone for several more minutes. When I don’t hear anymore sobbing, or anymore “I’M HAPPEEEEs!” I quietly open his bedroom door and see him sitting on the floor trying to do his button.

He looks up at me as a completely different little person and calmly says, “Look Daddy Thomas. I’m doing my butt-in.”

Sure enough, with his little hands trembling, he is trying to get the button through the button hole. With every ounce of determination he gets the button through the hole and looks up at me, his eyes filled with surprise, and says, “I did my butt-in, Daddy Thomas!”

“I knew you could do it, Ronald.”

With his face taken over by a smile and his blue eyes twinkling he says, “Yeah, I can do my butt-ins now.”

“I want to tell you something very important. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I’m listening,” Ronald replies.

“Just because I didn’t help you with your button doesn’t mean I don’t love you. And Daddy Jim and I will never ask you to do something that we know you can’t do. When you get bigger and older there will be all sorts of things that Daddy Jim and I do for you now that you’re going to be able to do for yourself, and then you won’t want us to help you.”

“Like my butt-ins and tying my shoes.”

“Exactly. And getting your breakfast and making your lunch.”

“I get my own lunch at school.”

“That’s right, you do. And after you get your lunch who do you help get their lunch?”

“I help my friend, Gus.”

“That’s right, you help Gus get his lunch and you help him so he can eat his lunch.” Ronald nods his head in agreement. “Why does Gus need someone to help him?”

“Because Gus doesn’t have any fingers. But I have fingers!” Ronald then launches into counting his ten fingers.

“Does Gus have any arms?”

“He just has one small arm.”

“So Gus needs someone to help him, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. And I’m his friend and I help him.”

“You’re a very good friend to Gus.”

“Yep! I’m a good helper.”

“And because you and Gus are friends you talk about Sponge Bob, and all sorts of things.”

“Sponge Bob and Pat-wick are friends just like me and Gus are friends, and Sponge Bob lives in a pineapple and works at the Krusty Krab and makes crabby patties, and…”

I cut him off with, “…and you did your button!”

“And I did my butt-in. Are you happy and proud?”

I kneel down so we’re looking at each other eye-to-eye. “I’m very proud of you, buddy.” I open up my arms and give him a hug. “Give me a big hug,” I say. Ronald squeezes his arms even tighter around me.

When we’re done hugging I say, “I love you.”

He replies with, “I love you too!”

“I love you three,” I say back and we both laugh.

“Daddy Thomas. Will you help me with my top butt-in?”

“Well, since you did such a good job on the bottom button then I’ll help you with the top one.”

“The top butt-in is harder,” he says. I agree with him that sometimes top buttons can be harder as I easily slide the button through the hole. “But when I get bigger I do it all by myself.”

by Thomas L-L 04/17/11

In Training...

We do it every day (recommended), sometimes two or three times a day (wow!), and yet it’s the one thing we don’t talk about very much, unless you’re Oprah (this might be one of her favorite daily things), or you find yourself with two children who haven’t been potty trained. If you guessed “poop” then you’re absolutely right. If you guessed something else then you haven’t raised young children (or it’s been a while since you have) or you’re not an Oprah fan as “poop” has been a topic on several occasions…Is it shaped like a “C” or an “S”?

My first “hands on” experience was with Humphrey, the shepherd/lab dog I rescued in June 2007. I was living in LA at the time and had to drive out to Santa Monica to meet Humphrey and then take him home with me. My friend Lisa and her eleven year old son, Lyndon, came along with me because Lisa was interested in meeting another dog, who she ended up adopting the following week (a Chihuahua she named “Peanut”). The rescue worker told me that Humphrey had been experiencing some diarrhea recently, which they attributed to nerves and him having a sensitive stomach. So before the four of us piled into my VW Jetta I thought it was prudent to take Humphrey for a walk around the block just in case he had to go, which he did. As we’re driving back to LA Humphrey is pacing around the back seat and trying to stick his head out the window. We all did our best to try and calm him down thinking that he didn’t like riding in a car. Since Lyndon was sitting in the back seat he ended up taking the brunt of all of this and did his best to try and put this 75 pound dog at ease.

About forty minutes later we finally arrived at my apartment. Before parking my car into my narrow parking space I let Lisa out first and suggested she get Humphrey out of the back seat, thinking he was more than ready to get out of the car as well. She opened up the back door on Lyndon’s side and Humphrey trampled across him and leaped out of the car. I tended to Lyndon, who was complaining about all of the dog slobber he had all over him, while Lisa took Humphrey to the neighbors’ backyard. After I parked the car Lisa came over with Humphrey and said, “This is one amazing dog you have here! As soon as he found the grass he vomited and had explosive diarrhea.” I was trying to figure out what exactly was amazing about this feat when she chimed in with, “There aren’t many dogs that would have held all that in for that long.” I looked over at Lyndon and said, “I guess dog slobber doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?”

Humphrey’s diarrhea continued for about two weeks, which only involved one accident in my apartment, easily keeping him in the “amazing dog” category. But when I would take him out for his daily walks around the neighborhood (at least three to four times) there was no way to be a responsible dog owner and “pick up” after him given how lose everything was. The neighborhood I lived in was very dog friendly, but they didn’t look kindly upon dog owners not picking up after their dogs. So I devised a plan that when Humphrey began to squat I would slide a folded piece of newspaper right underneath him that his poop would land on (okay, sometimes it sprayed so I made sure to keep my distance). Then I would pick it up by the four corners and place it in the plastic bag, tie it off (holding my breath) and toss it in the nearest dumpster or trash can. I continued to do this with Humphrey from then on, even after the diarrhea had passed (so-to-speak), as an efficient and sanitary way of picking up my pooch’s poop. At the time George W was President so it was fun seeing how good Humphrey’s aim was!

When Jim and I were in the process of becoming foster parents we were eventually informed that both children were still wearing diapers and hadn’t been potty trained yet. Let me just say right now, I would deal with Humphrey’s diarrhea issues any day over poopy diapers. At least I didn’t have to wipe Humphrey’s ass or deal with poop caked on his butt or oozing out of the back of a diaper. At some point you begin to accept this as the norm -- there isn’t a defining moment, it just happens. From then on it became a challenge to see how quickly I could do a diaper change, from snapping on the rubber gloves to tying off the diaper bag. I never officially timed myself (that would have been too anal), but when your own kid looks at you in amazement at how fast they’re out of a dirty diaper and into a clean one, you know you’ve set a new record. You’ve also just reinforced to them, in your own efforts to be efficient, that this pooping in the diaper thing isn’t so bad after all.

And just when you think you’re mastering the whole poopy diaper dilemma there comes a day when you don’t find the poop in the diaper. Don’t get your hopes up because it wasn’t in the potty either. Hmmmm, where could it be?

One Sunday morning I came home after playing tennis and saw Angelica gleefully running naked from the laundry room and through the kitchen. At that precise moment I hear Jim yell, “ANGELICA, get back in here!” I dropped my tennis bag to the floor and immediately found myself torn between chasing after the naked cherub and searching for my husband. Before I was forced to make a decision Jim appeared with a rubber glove on one hand and carrying a plastic bag in the other – not a good sign!

“Your daughter just pooped on the laundry room floor.”

“You can’t be serious,” I replied, channeling John McEnroe (fitting since I was in my tennis clothes). (If you’re not a tennis fan, or even familiar with tennis, then this reference probably won’t make any sense to you. Sorry.)

“Oh I’m serious all right. She took off from their bedroom and when I finally found her she was in the corner of the laundry room taking a dump!”

Sure enough, there it was in the corner (thank goodness the floor was linoleum). At least she didn’t have diarrhea. But some newspaper would have come in handy!

To be continued (oh yes, I have plenty of material)....

--Thomas LL

A Snapshot of Everyday Life

It's been a very LONG time (VERY!) since I've posted to our blog. So, to get things going again I'm posting an e-mail I recently sent to our social workers in northern Nevada that provides just a little snapshot of everyday life in our home. Enjoy!

E-mail dated September 13, 2010

Saturday night we went to a BBQ where there was probably about two dozen guests…Ronald and Angelica were the only kids. Aside from Angelica grabbing handfuls of pretzels and cashews, both of them were extremely well behaved, without Jim and I having to keep tabs on them very much (or as much as usual). Everyone at the BBQ thought they were delightful children (I know, a first time for everything!). However, just before the turkey burgers hit the grill Angelica had a brawl with a barrel cactus (a big, round, low-to-the ground cactus with medium-sized needles).

She was in an area where we could see her clearly, but we weren’t able to see the villainous cactus. As only Angelica can do, on occasion, she managed to fall while innocently standing, and her lower leg, unbeknownst to us, landed on the cactus. But it soon became apparent (still a slight delay in her reactions) from her screaming and tears that something was more serious.

I went running over towards her and this little girl fell into my arms very upset and trembling from her experience. She ended up with a couple of cactus needles in her leg, which Jim easily pulled out, and there was some blood. The host quickly supplied us with some antiseptic and a BIG band-aid. As soon as the band-aid went on she was totally fine (it’s all about the band-aids!). During all of this Ronald was the best big brother you could imagine. He remained at Angelica’s side, and at one point held her hand, and kept telling her that everything would be okay. We praised him up and down for being such a good big brother to Angelica!!!

Once Angelica calmed down I thought it would be good if she faced her culprit! At first she didn’t want to go, but I convinced her that the cactus had been bad and we had to say something to it. So, I held her hand and we walked over to it and I said, “Bad cactus for hurting Angelica!” Both she and Ronald echoed my sentiments with, “Bad cactus! Bad cactus!” Then, at least 7-8 more times Angelica went over on her own to scold the cactus even further, as only Angelica can do, and then proceeded to put the other nearby cactuses on warning! It ended up being quite hysterical. She’s been running around and being her normal self yesterday and this morning. Of course, the moment you ask her how her leg is the actress in her comes out, “Oh, my leg hurts…my owies!” She has some tiny little bumps on her shin from the bad cactus needles, but she is just fine otherwise!

After the BBQ we were driving home and from the backseat we hear Ronald spell, G-A-Y (he’s really into reciting letters he sees in all sorts of places). Turns out we had passed a big billboard that was advertising the local Gay Yellow Pages! First it was the “gay bar” (skate park) and now it’s spelling the word “gay.” Hmmmmmm, he must be figuring out this two daddy thing rather quickly!

On Sunday morning we went to a brunch at the Hyatt hotel in downtown Palm Springs. Jim received a scholarship from a local organization and they had a brunch to honor the recipients. We tried to secure a babysitter but the two people we normally use weren’t available. So, we dressed the kids up and brought them along with us…I know, I know risky on our parts! The mayor of Palm Springs was even there (he’s running for a congressional seat), who is a somewhat closeted gay man with two children. Outside of Angelica dropping some scrambled eggs and sausage on the floor (we should have brought Humphrey with us!) they both behaved extremely well. Again, they were the only children in the room amongst fifty or so adults. This was a tougher environment compared to the BBQ the night before (minus the cactus) because it was a lot of sitting and listening to people speak, but they both came through exceptionally well. I lost count of the number of people who came up to us to say how well behaved our children were, and how they would never have dreamed of bringing their own kids to something like this knowing they wouldn’t be able to behave themselves, etc… Jim and I made sure we praised them throughout the event (we were there for a total of 2 hours), and continued praising them the rest of the day as well, partly out of shock on our parts, but they also earned it…BIG time!!! It was a very pleasurable event, and I’m glad it all turned out the way it did so we could have that family time together.

Now onto something that I know you’ve been waiting for…The Potty Express!

We continue to make good progress with both Angelica and Ronald, but Angelica has been the true success story recently. For the past week and a half Angelica has been doing ALL of her poops in the potty, and she makes sure to tell someone (if at home she tells me or Jim, at daycare she tells one of the adults) that she has to go poop in the potty, and then she goes and does it!

Last week I got them both home from daycare and the normal routine is to go potty then wash hands. When it was Ronald’s turn to go I asked him if he had gone poop today and he answered honestly with “no poop!” I asked him to work on going poop because it’s important to poop every day. I left him alone in the bathroom and before a minute went by I hear, “Daddy Thomas, I went poop!!!” (music to my ears!) So I go in there thinking I’ll find a poop the size of a golf ball (which is normal), but instead was greeted with, “Daddy Thomas, look, look, a BIG poop!” And sure enough there was a gi-normous poop that was right up there with Humphrey! (I can’t believe how freely I’m writing about all of this!!!). Given my state of disbelief I was a little slow with the honorary high-five. Thankfully Ronald chimed in with, “I want a high-five for my big poop, Daddy Thomas!” I think I gave him a high-twenty-five by the time we were done. Then Ronald said, “I want a high-five from Angelica!” So we quickly got him cleaned up, pull-ups and shorts back on, washed his hands, and left the bedroom to find Angelica. She met us halfway and said, “You did a big poop?” And Ronald said, “Yeah, I made a BIG poop! I want a high-five Angelica.” Ronald got his high-five, but then Angelica said, “I want to give hug!” So they hugged each other, then gave a kiss, which was promptly followed by Ronald saying “Yuck!” and wiping his mouth with his arm. Then Angelica said, “You want to play with me?” And Ronald responded with, “Yes, I want to play with Angelica!” They went off to their play area together, skipping and holding hands (okay, maybe not skipping and holding hands…LOL!), and played nicely with each other for a good 15-20 minutes! Who would have thought that a BIG poop would result in such a special and spontaneous moment!

All day yesterday I was expecting Angelica to poop. She didn’t go on Saturday so I knew there was something on the horizon (oh, the little details I now keep track of in my mind). Jim and I would check in with her throughout the day…”Angelica, do you have to go poop?” She would respond with a simple, “No.” As the day went on the farts started to creep out, followed by giggles and Angelica saying “Me farted!” History has proven that a poop was in the making (again with the crazy details…ugh!). Ironically, she and I were out shopping for some “big girl” underwear (she’ll start wearing them at school this week, and already wears them at daycare…she insists on it!) and I was starting to get a little paranoid because the farts were coming more frequently (and lingering) and I didn’t bring the backpack with all of the wipes and extra pull-ups, etc. (I know, living on the edge). “Angelica, did you go poop?” She would respond casually with, “No. No poop.” Being somewhat skeptical I would ask again, “Are you sure you didn’t go poop in your pull-up?” She would quickly retort with, “I said no!” (Translation…what part of “no” didn’t you understand?!).

Well, we made it home without incident and I asked her to go potty and to try and make a poop. “No poop!” I didn’t dare question her. But not ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room and Angelica comes up to me and says to me softly, “Daddy Thomas, I poop in the potty.” Not sure of what she said I responded with, “What did you say, sweetie?” Now she is pointing in the direction of their bathroom and says, “I go poop in potty!” “Oh, you have to go poop in the potty? Okay, let’s go!” And off we went. She got situated on the toilet and I left her alone, thinking little Miss Independence would want some privacy. Not ninety seconds later, she comes running out to the living room, butt naked, saying “Daddy Thomas, I go poop!” So we all go in there, including Humphrey, to checkout her impressive poop. Humphrey sort of gave a look of, “I’ve done better!” but he was still excited! And Ronald was the first to offer up a high-five and congratulate Angelica, who was busy jumping up and down and saying, “You happy? You proud of me?!” to both me and Jim. Then, Ronald had to get on the bandwagon and say, “I’m going to do a big poop just like Angelica.” He couldn’t get his shorts and pull-ups off fast enough. Nothing like some healthy sibling rivalry! Unfortunately Ronald’s Whopper-sized poops (you may never be able to eat another Whopper chocolate candy milk ball in your life now…so sorry!) was no competition!

Thomas L-L 10/11/10

Catching Up - Part 3

I'm back...finally! So much for the statement at the beginning of my last blog entry about posting at least once a week. But I have a good reason, actually two, that will give you a little insight...Jim and I have had the kids for almost four months now! Yes, they've been placed with us permanently, so as you might imagine life has been turned upside down, sideways, and even inverted at times. As I begin to write this entry, the kids are sitting on the sofa watching Sesame Street! At least we were able to ween them from Sponge Bob...that theme song was stuck in my head for weeks. And I thought Miley Cyrus was bad. As one Facebook friend put it, "at least it's not the theme song from Barney!"

My goal is to get everyone caught up on the happenings in the Lister-Looker household within the next two to three blog entries...but please don't hold your breath because I don't want to be responsible for anyone getting brain damage. And we're off...

Home Visit
As soon as Jim and I got back from Reno we went into "we have to get the house ready mode," and pronto! Everything had been pretty much child proofed in the house, at least as much as we could without the two little ones scurrying around, but we needed supplies. Our goal was to have the basics in place for the three nights they would be with us, and during that time figure out what we were missing. My very good friend Christina, from the L.A. area, offered to come down one weekend and help us shop for the necessities, which we couldn't pass up. She arrived with a car load of items...hangers, toy storage bins, kiddie dishes, cups, and utensils, bubble bath, shampoo, band-aids, toothpaste and toothbrushes...you get the idea. She basically assembled a parent starter kit for us, minus the Vicodin and case of wine.

A few days prior to Christina's visit Jim and I had purchased the bedroom set for the kids, which was scheduled for delivery the following week. So one of the first things we needed to get was bedding for the kids. We hit Marshall's, Target and Bed, Bath and Beyond (we purposely bypassed WalMart). I'll just sum up our shopping trip this way...what did we ever do before Target?!?! I had no idea there were so many aisles dedicated to children, with one and a half aisles dedicated just to diapers, which we needed. On previous trips to Target I was aware of this area in the middle of the store where shoppers would venture into, usually begrudgingly, with little people in tow, especially the men! Back in the day there was never a reason for me to step foot into the children's department...now I'm in there all the time. And I think they should change the department name to something like, "I Want That!" or "Is That For Me?" or "Look, But Don't Touch." And the mucky-mucks at Target, if you're reading this, please make the aisles wider, especially in the shoe department...thank you!

The home visit with the kids couldn't have gone better. They were both excited to see the two of us (a good sign) and I think had a tough time returning back to Reno. While they were with us we celebrated Angelica's third birthday and visited our local zoo, The Living Desert...an excellent family destination!

When the time came for them to go back to their foster home I flew with them out of the Ontario airport to Reno via Southwest. They both love to fly on airplanes and are fascinated with airports. Even when we would hit some turbulence their eyes would get big, they would smile or laugh and say, "Yay bumpy," while I was white knuckling the arm rests. Their foster mom met us at the Reno airport and immediately I saw both of them become deflated. This is nothing against their foster home in Reno, but clearly they had started to bond with me and Jim, and Humphrey, and wanted to be with us. At that moment it was difficult to watch them walk away, but I knew they would be with us permanently in two weeks.

Permanent Placement - Here They Come!
But two weeks turned into one week due to the children being removed from their foster home and placed into a kids shelter. Once we were informed of this move Jim and I made the decision to have the children come down sooner, which their social workers agreed to. So, on Monday, January 25, 2010 is when Ronald and Angelica were officially and permanently placed in our home...yay! But they came down with nasty colds, which wasn't fun for any of us, especially since Jim and I ended up getting sick as well. I guess that was our official welcome to parenthood.

Earlier in the month we got the kids enrolled in pre-school so the day after they arrived I was already driving them to and from school...just for the first week. We thought as part of the overall transition it would be better if I drove them to school instead of taking the school bus. Ronald previously attended pre-school in Nevada, but this was Angelica's first time, so we thought it was important to ease into the transition.

Our first month together was spent establishing routines and structure for them, figuring out what worked and what didn't, and making sure we were establishing ourselves as the ones with the parental authority, rather than the other way around. Initially there was some testing and crankiness going on from Ronald, which could have been attributed to him not feeling well. But after about a week he started to come around and seemed to get the concept that whatever Jim and I would say would happen, good, bad or indifferent, was indeed going to happen. On the other hand, Angelica was very compliant with everything, which again could have been attributed to her not feeling well. But fear not, eventually she started digging through her behavioral tool box and was hitting us with everything she had, mostly the bad and indifferent with very little good stuff coming our way.

During all of this (the home visit and the permanent placement) Humphrey was amazing with the kids! At first I thought he would be jealous of having additional members added to the "pack," but from day one he has been very affectionate, lovable, and playful. After Ronald and Angelica went back to Reno from their home visit Humphrey would go around the house looking for them! In the beginning Ronald would call Humphrey "Humpy" while Angelica would say "puppy." Now Ronald can say "Humphrey" while Angelica says "Humpy." But truth be told, it doesn't really matter what they call him...he hears their voices and comes running (sometimes galloping)! He's also come in very handy after meal time to help pick up all of the food that inevitably gets dropped onto the rug under their table.

Making It Legal - We Do!
After the children had been with us for a month it was time to send them back to Reno. Not back to live, but for a scheduled visit with their mom. Plus during this time is when Jim and I traveled up to the northwest to get married in Victoria, BC!!! This is how the travel scheduled unfolded. On Wednesday I drove the kids to Ontario airport to meet a social worker from Reno who flew down to pick them up and fly them back. Thursday morning Jim and I flew up to Seattle where we stayed overnight. Then very early Friday morning we took a ferry from Seattle to Victoria, BC.

We celebrated Jim's 40th birthday that night with family and friends, then the next day we got married at noon, had a lunch reception afterwards, then hopped on the ferry to take us back to Seattle. The next day we drove down to Olympia for a 40th birthday/wedding reception with Jim's family (now my in-laws). Afterwards we drove back to Seattle and were on a 7:05am flight the following day back to our home. This puts us at Monday. The very next day I drove to Ontario airport and flew up to Reno to pick up the children and bring them back home. At this point, as you can imagine, I was done with planes, airport terminals, and little bags of pretzels. Oh, but wait, there's more...

When I arrived in the designated meeting area I see the children right away along with their social worker, the county therapist, and the CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate)...the children are in the midst of creating complete chaos. They are in "performance" mode because there are four adults who's attention they are competing for, and they are doing everything and anything to try and get it. Angelica is crawling on the floor like a baby and Ronald is bouncing around from one person to another, and is trying to strike up conversations with complete strangers. Another distraction is the flashing lights and obnoxious sounds coming from the nearby slot machines, which are viewed by the children as toys or an apparatus to climb on. Neither child has demonstrated that they can sit still for more than five seconds. It's no wonder I feel like I've just fallen down the ADHD rabbit hole.

When it's finally time to say our good-byes we head upstairs to go through airport security, which I'm not a huge fan of anyway, let alone trying to corral two young children who are literally bouncing off of anything that will give them traction. And I should mention that I'm also juggling several backpacks and some luggage while trying to get all three of us moving in the same direction. So when you factor in the backpacks, luggage, coats and shoes, along with two little ones who are in desperate need of some downers, you end up with a lot to get through the scanners and metal detectors. At this point I'm beginning to question my parental skills...or at the very least my ability to corral kittens. At least neither of the kids has scratched me...yet! We eventually make it through airport security. What a relief to know that neither child is hiding a bomb or carrying weapons in their Garanimal shoes! (Note to self...be sure to allow at least five extra minutes to get everyone's shoes back on after airport screening.)

We make our way to the gate, and as fate would have it we're departing from one of the last gates in the terminal. It's not so much the distance, but rather the abundance of slot machines, yet again, with their flashing lights and ringing bells (this is Reno after all) that we have to pass by. And by "we" I don't mean harnessing my own desire to throw in a few quarters (I lived in Reno for nine years so slot machines do nothing for me), but to get the kids past all the bells and whistles and flashing lights. One of them did take a dive onto the carpet due to the evil distractions of a slot machine!

We arrive at the gate and I see all of the Southwest passengers lined up like cattle (I know this description is overused when it comes to Southwest, but bare with me). I think to myself, "there is no way I'm waiting in that line with these two!" I quickly make eye contact with the gate agent, and before I even know what I'm saying I find myself playing the "special needs" card..."I have two young children with special needs and I have to pre-board the plane." I feel every pair of cattle eyes on me (there might have even been a disgruntled "moo" in there somewhere). They are either jealous of the bull balls I have to cut in line, or are relieved that I'm not subjecting them to my current frustrations, also known as Ronald and Angelica. We board the plane and once I get them strapped into their seats they begin to calm down.

A few rows in front of us is a toddler who is in the midst of a major tantrum in her seat. Both of them are saying, "baby crying, baby upset." It's in this moment that I feel sympathy for the parent of this little toddler (just months ago I would have been annoyed), but I'm also thankful that neither of mine are screaming and crying at the top of their lungs. I guess when it comes to parenting there is always a brighter side, even if it's at the expense of another parent's struggle. I'm digging my heals in, but it's no use, I'm becoming a member of the "parenting club" of I share in your pain and you share in mine. Because either I've been there already and I know what you're going through, or a similar experience is undoubtedly coming my way. Regardless, at some point I'll find myself icing two dozen cupcakes at 9:30pm, so they can be delivered to school the next day, and I'll be thinking to myself, "how did I get here?!" And then, in a moment of mischievousness, I'll realize that all of these little kids will be sent home with a sugar rush and will be bouncing off the walls. Maybe these cupcakes need even more frosting!

But I digress...

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful, so long as their seat belts were securely fastened. Once we landed in Ontario airport, and I got them into their car seats, it wasn't long after that they both fell asleep on the ride home. Finally some peace and quiet, albeit short-lived in the grand scheme of things. But driving back home, with the little ones asleep, did give me time to realize how happy I was to have them safely back home with us. And when I finally pulled into the driveway and my husband (I love saying that now), along with Humphrey, came out of the house to greet us, there was no doubt that I, that WE, were home.

That evening as we all went to bed something felt different. It wasn't two recently married men falling asleep together, or two young children snuggling under the covers in their very own beds, or a loving dog curled up and breathing a notable sigh of relief that the pack was once again in tact. This time it was a family falling asleep...something that was new, and extraordinarily comforting, to ALL of us!

--T. Lister-Looker