Wrestling Saved Him...

Long before my kids were born, I worked part time at a facility for kids, ages 6-11.  It was, for lack of better terms, the last stop for them. The histories of these kids were horrific, The physical and psychological abuse they sustained was unimaginable. The good news was that this center had a 90% rehabilitation rate, their success was the combination of caring invested professionals and their ability to get the kids care before the critical ages when the damage becomes completely irreversible.

Just part time, I aided the kids in basic day to day activities, provided a watchful eye, and hung out with them. Along with the federal CORI checks and such, I was also trained in CPR and restraints.  Thankfully I never had to use any of it, but I felt confident I could if I had to, to keep myself, the child, and the other children safe.

Fast forward 8 years or so and I found myself using that training on a nearly daily basis.  Youngest's anxiety spiked so often and uncontrollably that I often had to restrain him and I was thankful that I knew how to properly hold him until the situation would diffuse. Over the years we tried many, many ways of snuffing his fuse.

Quiet spaces.
Hoodies.
Talking.
Medications.
Safe destructible rooms.
Reading.
Behavioral therapy.
Rewards.
Consequences.
Karate.
Multiple Therapists.
Scouts.
Psychological testing.
Running.


The list is endless really.  As the years when on we figured out what worked, and what didn't. Most importantly, he figured out what worked, and the switch that was the uncontrollable aggression, was able to be switched off. He was making progress, slow and steady progress.

It wasn't long into his freshman year when he came home and announced he was joining the wrestling team. Seriously, of all the sports on the planet, he picked the one sport my husband knew virtually nothing about. He would be one of 80 kids on the team, with only 14 spots available for regular wrestling, and honestly I figured it wouldn't last. He'd go for the work out, but likely never wrestle. And I'd not have to worry that the switch we worked so hard to keep off would flip back on.

I. Was. Wrong.

Turns out, the coach saw potential in him.  He put him on the back up starter line.  He wrestled JV.  And when he took the mat the first time, literally blind from the head gear getting pulled over his face, my stomach sank as I sat and waited. I waited for the anger, the blind rage, the blood and bones to fly. Instead, he flipped and pinned his opponent, literally blindfolded. Then, he got up, shook his hand, and he walked off the mat.

I was so proud of him then.  I was even prouder when the season pressed on when he didn't win, and still, no tinge of anger.  He continued to train in the off season. It wasn't always easy but it kept him focused and gave him a goal to work towards.

As the years have gone on I have watched him grow as a wrestler and as a person. During Sophomore year I was watching him goof around with some of his friends after school.  Aggressively joking as bratty boys do, one of them decided to get physical and throw a punch to his lower regions.  As if on instinct, he grabbed his fist before it made contact, twisted his arm and took him to the floor without hitting his head.  He neutralized the situation and turned the tables on his friend without anyone getting hurt or embarrassed.  It was a work of art actually.

Junior year he began focusing on the nutritional part of making weight.  He got very interested in how the muscles worked in conjunction with food, and suddenly he knew what he wanted to do with his life.  Senior year has been spent heavy into the academic sciences, and he's applied to his top 2 colleges for PT with a minor in nutrition, one of which he's already been accepted to.  He told me then that "Wrestling saved him".  Upon pressing further he felt it was wrestling that gave him the confidence to believe in himself, to push himself, and to be himself, regardless of the end result. Win or lose, he had only himself to hold accountable.

The end of Junior year was difficult.  He had been working through multiple injuries, milking them along to make it to the end of season and because he kept qualifying, his season seemed to drag out forever. He pushed through and finished 2nd place in the regional division, and 6th place in the State Division. Shortly after season ended he went through a very messy break up with his first real girlfriend. There were many ups and downs, poor choices, and heightened anxiety. He continued to train, but the call of teenage social demands dragged him in and he got way off course.  Injuries became worse and he had to stop training for 6 weeks right before season ended to rehab. As season approached, anxiety ran high, and  for the first time I started to see traces of that little boy I used to basket hold on the floor.

Today marks roughly the fourth week into his Senior season.  He's a starter.  A captain. And most important, is back on track. The first tournament of the year he placed 2nd in the 152.  While his record isn't perfect, he's wrestling strong.  Today he finished 7th at two day tournament that last year he washed out in the first two matches.

Seventh out of 32 teams.  Each match was challenging in it's own right. He was focused, strong, and confident.  His current girlfriend only attends after his matches or quietly in the back so as not to distract him.  Win or lose, he is often found after a match sitting with his opponent, having a snack, discussing the match and techniques. He leads by example with his nutrition, training, and sportsmanship.  He offers no sympathy to those who don't want to work, and props to those willing to work hard and try even when they are defeated.

After four years I can tell you wrestling is the most disgusting sport there is.  It's full contact, sweaty, and physical. He has dislocated fingers, popped shoulders, an elbow and ankles. He has possibly broken his nose. We are pretty sure he's been concussed.  There's permanent scars from mat burn. He's had ring worm so many times the oral script is on stand by at the doctor's office. We disinfect everything in the house with laundry sanitizer and stock Hibiclens year round.  Our ENT is on standby for cauliflower drainage.

And yet, it saved him.

Wrestling gives him the confidence to stand alone, at the center of everyone's attention, IN. HIS. UNDERWEAR, and have his every move dissected and analyzed until the 6 minutes are up.

Every time he takes the mat it makes me believe that if he can do that, he will be able to do anything.

It saved him.

And the confidence and lessons it has given him, will undoubtedly save him for life.

Boys Matter Too...

The relationship between a mother and her sons are different than a mother and her daughters.

They just are.

Just like each relationship with each son or daughter is different.

I have all sons.  Each relationship is different, special, and complicated in it's own way.

I'm a crafty person. I am also a dork. At times, I am the queen of dorky and it overlaps with my creative craftiness, which sometimes overflows into my Mom-ish-ness. The end result is usually a crafty gift of uniqueness that the boys either embrace fully, or accept and then promptly put it in the back of a closet where it will never be seen again.

It's no secret that Oldest's being away at college has left it's mark.  When he was returning to school from Thanksgiving break he said "You know it's weird. When I left school on Wednesday I was sad to go home.  And now that I'm headed back, I'm sad to leave home." Which, of course, is the perfect balance, right?  He's doing well at school, and has made a home there for himself.  But he still likes coming back to his big bed and handknitted blanket I made him during one of my hospital stays. The only thing he likes better than asking me if we have a dinner plan, is when I make him angel hair pasta, lightly buttered, and he can eat it in front of the TV.

Over the months I have sent him a few packages.  Some have held necessities like his ADHD meds and his SS card so he could square away his work study job, and other times it's just for fun. I've sent random snacks and dollar store toys. For Halloween I sent crime scene tape along with a plastic pumpkin full of his favorite candy. For his birthday I sent him an Office themed birthday party in a box. Every time I've visited I'm amazed that none of the other parents seem to send anything to their sons. Regardless, I have continued to send him things so he knows we are thinking of him. So, for the holidays, while it seems fun to set up a Christmas tree in the dorm, the reality is that there isn't a ton of space and he has NINE other roommates which makes it less than practical for the 12 whole days he's there before he'd be coming back home.  So I made him an advent calendar instead from the grapevine out back.  A 20 inch wreath with ribbons and ornaments, and a chalkboard hand written sign that states "I'll Be Home For Christmas".

Is it dorky?  Yes.  My husband looked at me as he was packing the truck to bring him back and said "He's not taking that. It's ridiculous."  Oldest looked right at him and said "But she made it for me."

And so it went back to the dorm with him.

I have no idea if it was hung up.

I do know that everyday I have gotten a text of what was in each ornament.

Day one he got excited about the Target gift card he discovered.  Then he sent me a picture of ornament #2 where he could barely make out the Kit Kat logo behind the tissue paper.

I told him not to cheat.

Day 3... a shareable size M&Ms.

Today he told me he had played with Day 5's yo-yo for over 30 minutes already.  I told him it was good for stress relief.  He laughed.

My relationship with him is different than that of his brother.  Youngest will not embrace my dorkiness as readily as Oldest.  He's more of the shove it in back of the closet kid.

But I know, deep down, when he goes off in September, he'll be waiting for his packages in the mail too. And secretly loving the surprise behind each door as he counts down when he'll be home for Christmas.

Because deep down, even the manly, macho, too cool for feelings, boys need to know that they are missed. No matter how much they brush it off, and say they don't care, they need to feel like they matter.

Seven days and counting...

Picture Post...

It has been an eventful week here.  Most of which, I won't temp the universe in discussing early, but all in good time.

 The husband has been home on vacation, and I have worked myself to the bone as per the usual.  He came home last Thursday and by Friday morning was sick as a dog.  No amount of Lysol and Clorox wipes could hold off the ungodliness of this bug, of which he was so kind to share.  I have succumbed to it all, plus an ear infection and weird rash, which just gives it that added holiday flair, right?  Thankfully Youngest planned a *down* weekend, cancelling his black Friday craziness and reigning in the outings with friends.  This has been key to his getting more sleep and thus fighting it off so far.  Fingers crossed we don't send it back to the dorms with Oldest. It would be the last thing he'd need before finals.

Anyhoo...

A bit of a picture post for y'all...

I set the tree up a few weeks back because it was new and we had to figure out where it was going and fluff appropriately.  Oldest and Youngest decorated it last night for me, along with Youngest's girlfriend who was visiting.  Our tree is a combination of all the places we've been and the best memories from each year in photos. It was a fun trip down memory lane.

The angel I made in college.  Her gown is a scaled replica of an 1800's wedding dress.  And then because I didn't want to throw her out, I gave her wings and sat her on top of the tree.  The boys think she's creepy.  I'm kind of loving that she now sits eye level for them to stare at. 

My Mum made us the tree skirt a few years ago.  It lights up.  I am thinking of adding fairy lights for next year to really make it pop.

We are expecting our first accumulation of snow Sunday.  Thankfully it's turning over to rain for us.  I honestly can not handle snow before Christmas.  Hauling packages up driveways is hard enough without adding ice and slush.  Plus, this girl is not a fan...

Seriously.  She's such a Netflix couch potato.  Not a fan of rain either.

Sled dog?  I don't think so.

We've had her just over a year now, and she's the best rescue I've ever found. The perfect addition to our family.  I've been sleeping on the couch lately to help alleviate the spreading of the germs and coughing fits.  She checks on me at night. Multiple times. I get the wet nose against my face and this...

There's no better night nurse, let me tell you.

The Joy Of Not Doing...

Seventeen years ago this February I started working for the Post Office.  Which means this would be my sixteenth Holiday season.  Sixteenth.  A lot has changed over the years.  It is a far cry from what it was 3 years ago, let alone 16.  We have become a package delivery service.  During buzzards we no longer even go out with first class mail, only Amazon and Priority packages. Much of which doesn't get delivered, but an attempt is always made, and we rarely escape a holiday season with our staff in tact.  We have two carriers out injured already due to oversized packages and unrealistic delievery standards that require many carriers to be out in the dark.

But I digress....

Sixteen years ago it started out innocently enough.  Every year the office participated in Family To Family, a partnership with DCF to help families in need put something under the tree.  It was, for lack of nicer terms, a tinsel-poop project on our end with not much organization.  The lists from DCF were posted on the bulletin board, people glanced, picked up what they wanted, crossed off (or didn't cross off) what they bought, and in the end there was a frantic rush to even off the piles, wrap everything, and get it to DFC before the deadline.

The first year I bought a present or two.  The boys helped me wrap and liked that they were Santa's secret helpers.  The second year we bought more gifts, wrapped them, and started down the rabbit hole of Holiday tradition.

The third year we took one whole child.  Not an easy feat for someone who had barely the money to keep the heat on, let alone take on Christmas for another child.  By year four, I had started taking donations so I could shop for more kids on the list in addition to the one I had chosen.  I wrapped it all, and worked with the person in the office who was in charge to ensure it all got done in time.

Five years ago she and I decided to streamline the process.  We took the lists, wrote the items on ornaments, putting them on a giant poster board so employees could pick which ones they would buy, wrap them, and return them by a set date. This enabled us to double check everything and deliver it to DCF a few days later. This new system was so much easier on ALL of us.  Sure there were hiccups, but it was nothing we couldn't handle.  Four years ago, when she retired I took the entire thing over.  Making the tree, selecting the kids, collecting the donations, wrapping, collecting, and dropping it off.

I handled nearly all of it for the last four years.  Last year we got a new postmaster who, while enthusiastic at first, ruined the entire thing.  His nonchalant approach to the deadlines and his handling of his commitment to it ruined it for me.  I threw away the tree and was done. This year, there is no tree.  No last minute buying.  No excuses on why someone can't get to the store.  No asking coworkers for money.  No extra wrapping or decipering handwriting on gift tags.

Instead, I put up my own Christmas tree and actually enjoyed it. I took the time to recreate our angel tree topper and pick out crystal garlands to strategically place around the branches.  I made cascading ribbons of silver, red, and white.  I decorated the outside of our house, setting the old Christmas tree up outside in a large pot, lights and all, covereing it in red ribbons and bows. I twirlled the ribbon down the railings, and put the wreath on the door, enjoying every second of it.

I have done my own shopping.  Wrapped it all in the prettiest of papers and tied it with fancy fabric bows. I have cooked actual meals instead of having cereal because I had to run to the mall for a 2T jacket.  I have walked the dog instead of franticlly searching for boxes to wrap stuff in. I have spent time focusing on my boys, my husband, and the renegade balls of husky fur that cover my floor, instead of sending calls to voice mail while I'm standing in line. I am planning a road trip out to peep Christmas lights instead of running for the fourth time to Walmart.

It's now the week of Thanksgiving.  By now I'd be knee deep in excuses, boxes, searching for scotch tape and Black Friday deals. Yet tonight, I'm here with my feet up, ennjoying my day off.  In the beginning it was hard to walk away from it.  I debated doing something different, maybe a toy drive or an online shopping campaign.  There are tons of things one can do this year.  But not one person has asked about the tree. Not where it is, or what we're doing.

Not. One. Single. Person.

I had convinced myself over the years that it was not a big deal.  I could handle everything, balance it all, and in truth, I couldn't.  This year it's absence is proof of how much I was harming myself by trying to do for others. This year, I am not sick. I have not had a single stress headache.  I am not upset or disappointed by my co-workers inability to get their sh!t together. I am happier and finding actaul joy in the little Hoilday things, despite my having to work six days a week.

This year I am simply allowing myself to not do, and finding immense joy in it.

No Sausage For Me....

I remember standing looking at the directory. A giant maze of the building I was in, the big you are here dot in red, each wing of the mall laid out and segmented, with numbers to correspond to the store index below.

It had to be at least 7 feet tall.

I might have been 9.

My mother came up behind me, furious and panicked, with my sister and brother in tow. Apparently I had not told her I was going to explore the mall.  She thought I had just gone next door. I had been lost for about 30 minutes or so, and had no idea. I thought I was shopping, asserting my independence, and now I was grounded for a week.

In actuality the mall was just a giant X.  Four wings that all converging in the center housing a giant fountain that shot up into the glass atrium ceiling and fell back to the ground with a loud PLOP into the water below.  Everyone threw pennies into the fountain, making it a wishing well of sorts.  I can't remember how many wishes I made over the years, or if any of them ever came true.

Every Christmas they would cover the fountain with a platform and assemble the 20 foot Christmas tree.  We did countless pictures with Santa there, odd since money was always tight, but we did. Hickory Farms would set up as a kiosk, along with countless others, to capitalize on the sales of the season.  A painting from the art store still hangs in my basement. Years worth of winter coats were purchased from Sears and we'd walk the aisles of Child World, mentally calculating our favorite toys to find under the tree.

As teens we'd sneak into Spencers novelty store, check out all the gag gifts and naughty cards.  We'd don our concert t-shirts, or have custom t-shirts made, and then hit the movie theatre out back for a PG-13 and popcorn covered in artery clogging buttery goodness.

It was not the only mall in the area.  When I was 13 they opened another mall, 10 miles closer to home. I worked in the Levi Strauss store, hung around on my days off, and learned to navigate all the back hallways like only a teen in the know could do.  Both malls have become ghost towns over the last few years. Even over the Holiday season parking has never been an issue and you rarely wait in line.  The mall I worked in has been doing an overhaul of sorts, becoming more of an activity center.  It is slated to have the end wing torn down in the near future to make way for attached condos and hotels, which could bring some of the liveliness back.

But the original mall, the one with the fountain and memories, is slated for destruction. Last week was the last time the doors would be open for mall walkers. The Macy's, so I've read, will remain open while they rip down the rest and convert it to an open air shopping experience, complete with fighting for parking spaces and running from store to store in the harsh New England elements.

A new experience completely devoid of sitting face to face in a food court, fountains full of pennies, or hickory smoked sausage.

Practicing Self Care

In light of everything going on, I'm trying to practice more self care.  It does no one any good if I am not healthy, and stress will be my undoing.  I have found that getting back to the basics, writing, painting, crafting is incredibly soothing when my life gets crazy.  It's as if the stress rolls out onto the canvas, off the keyboard, or into the bag of scraps to be pitched later.

Every year our grapevine gets cut back.  Some days I wind the vine into a wreath and give it away, other years I've made a new seasonal wreath for the door.  This year we only got a small wreath.

And since I only have one front door, I decided that Oldest should have one for his door in the city...

He'll only be in school for 12 days during December, so I got twelve fillable ornaments and made him an advent wreath.

Will he like it?  Who knows.

But with treats like candy and gift cards, and stress relievers like a yo-yo and light up alien baby bouncy ball to get through finals week, I suspect he won't hate it.

And in this moment, I am stress free.

And have left over chocolate.

Win-Win.

33% Empty Nesting...

*phone buzz*

Me: Who's that?
Him: Sally
Me: Like Sally that lives behind us?
Him: Yeah.  She goes to a college in the collegiate.  Her dorm is right behind mine.
Me: Seriously?
Him: Yeah.  She lives on the 12th floor.
Me: So she still lives like, 500 feet away?
Him: Un huh... and she found me on Tinder.
Me: It's like the universe wants you to date or get a restraining order.


And that my friends, is where I'm at currently with Oldest.  He has, in fact started college and after a six month stent of ups and downs has settled in to his new home.  He is, on a good day, 45 minutes away. On the day this conversation happened, it was a 3 and a half hour ride home thanks to never ending construction, and everyone wanting to take advantage of one last good weekend.

We got a late start to the college tours, finishing them up at the tail end of the summer Junior year.  One school was an outright no. While he liked the program, walking a mile through the city to get to humanities classes in the snow/rain/heat, and the underground  tunnel system smelling like musty subway crossed it right off the list. Another he loved, but the price tag and wait list were daunting.  I made him apply to a safety school, just in case, which in hind sight was a giant waste of money.  He never wanted to go there and being a state school he go ZERO in aid. In the end, he ended up where he'd always said he was going.  By chance he landed in the Civil Engineering program figuring he could switch second semester.  Now nine weeks in, he's decided to stick with it.  It combines his interest in architecture, design, mechanics, and job security that will ensure he can pay off his student debt.  He currently has straight A's, with exception of Physics which none of us are particularly worried about. He has plenty of time to rebound the grade and be just fine.

Settling in has been a bit of a challenge.  One of his best friends attends another college in the collegiate (not the one above) and she stumbled quite a bit in the beginning.  Making poor choices and disrespecting their friendship, he finally had to push her away entirely which was difficult for him.  She seems to be coming around and finding a balance, and they are working to repair their friendship at arms length.

He's confessed he upgraded his Tinder account.  While I'm not a fan, he's nearly 19 and is using it mainly for entertainment and to meet people in other schools.  He's got a few girls that he's interested in at school,  some of them have boyfriends, (of which he completely respects the boundaries), some of them don't.  He's exploring the city, making his own way, and trying to figure out how to sleep with sirens and constant noise in a suite of 9 boys with no filters. He's made real, actual in the flesh, friends with students on other floors, in other dorms, and other schools. None of this online gaming friend crap.  Actually, he has little time to online game which I secretly love.  We'll be bringing his desktop computer home over Thanksgiving since it's just taking up space at the dorm.

The first weeks were rough.  At home he has his own room, a queen bed, and sleeps to the sound of crickets.  A far cry from city life, sleep deprivation has been a struggle. We set up a tentative schedule of when he'd be home and when we'd be up to visit to help him trudge through the tougher days. Somewhere around week 3 I got a text in the middle of the night that he wanted me to know how much he appreciated all I have done for him as a mother, and that he loved me.  Then a quick follow up text to assure me that he had not in fact made poor choices, but was just genuinely thanking me.  It was greatly appreciated because in today's day and age my mind immediately went to him being in a horrific situation.

I miss him every day. I look at his room, clean and absent of half drank water bottles, and long for the balance that he brought to the house daily.  But I know he's off making a life for himself and there is something oddly comforting about that. We trained for these days, worked hard to get him ready, and he's proof of that. I think about how well he's doing and find reassurance that I am not a complete failure as a mother. He will be home in 5 weeks for Thanksgiving, and we'll likely visit him for his  birthday, but all and all he's doing just fine.

Now if we could only get the other two on track, that would be great.

The Hoodie...

The hoodie.  For most, it's a simple hooded sweatshirt, for others it's a fashion statement.  Worn as a trendy accessory it can complete the ensemble, providing a touch of warmth when the weather gets brisk. Just a simple hooded sweatshirt, it can give the wearer a sense of comfort on dark and lazy days.  Or, it can convey a sense of sneakiness, concealing the wearer who may be up to no good.

And then there are the necessity hoodies.  When the lights, sounds, and chaos of the day gets overwhelming, the hoodie is a place of refuge.  An instant barrier from the crazy, like an invisible fortress surrounding them, keeping them focused when the world insists on distraction.

Youngest's hoodie was a necessity hoodie. His sensory overload often caused anxiety, which lead to melt downs, aggression and running away, daily and often.  When he was in second grade, during one of his toughest years, his teacher gave him one of her son's hand me down sweatshirts.  The hood went up, and the rest is history.  It became his tell when he was teetering on the edge of crazy or when he was highly focused.  There he would sit, in his tiny desk, hood up, writing away hand gripped around a fat pencil slowly forming a story all his own. In middle school it became his invisible bubble, allowing him to move through the halls, without incident, among the hundreds of other kids during the three minute window.

High School came and the hood was down more often than not.  He found his own way among friends, and made a place for himself without barriers.  He has about 6 different hoodies that he wears regularly.  Some he's gotten as gifts. There's a short sleeve and a no sleeve for the gym. And there's the wrestling Sectional Championship one that has his name on the back, commemorating his 2nd place finish. He wore that one for Senior pictures.  About 8 months ago we were discussing something and as his frustration grew he sighed deep and threw his hood up for the first time in years.

I laughed.  He had had enough.  It was his tell, and I left him alone.

Now, it's his senior year.  We fight more than we talk.  The lines of appropriateness are gone.  He's trying to find his way, not making the best choices, but making enough of the *good* ones to keep him afloat. The stress of college, poor choices, and questionable friends have put a tremendous strain on our relationship.  His seventeen year old conviction of invincibility makes him very hard to live with and I find myself walking on egg shells not knowing if the grenade is coming from a blindside or if he'll hear me and just walk away. The husband is done. His brother has distanced himself.  I am left with a giant hole in my soul.

Parenthood, my friends, is not for sissies.

I used to hate when he'd shut down and hide under the hood. He could hide for hours, immovable in his stubborn ways.  But he'd always emerge. Now I long for the visual que, the subtle but deliberate flip of the hood, even though deep down I know his proverbial hood is always up.

And all I can do is pray he emerges from underneath it undamaged by the choices he's made.