Last night was a birthday party for my dad. He hit a major age milestone and I’ve been somewhat touchy because the reality of life and death, and how little time we really have on this earth, is at the forefront of my mind. A beloved pet died an untimely death two weeks ago, young, and perfectly healthy, so we thought. Even the vet has no idea why she died. Husband has a much more difficult time dealing with these things than I do, so on top of dealing with my own emotions, I am left without any way to help him through the loss. I don’t like feeling helpless.
I may have a teensy weensy control issue.
My dad is rapidly closing in on the age that two of my grandparents died, one from cancer and the other from a major heart attack, and there is nothing I can do about it. The thought of losing either one of my parents is blood curdling for me. So you can see why I’m a little fixated on death right now. None of us are guaranteed another moment of life. And I can’t control that. And that scares me.
But that’s not what I really want to focus on today.
Today, I am recovering from last night’s realization that Blue Eyes is the first grandchild my parents have really had. When we fostered before, we lived over a thousand miles from them, so they were unable to spoil our kids. But now that we live 20 minutes away, “oh how the turn tables… have turned.” (–Michael Scott)
Last night was Blue Eyes’ first time at a family function with that side of the family, and he had the whole room of them wrapped around his little pinky. I am the oldest of 4 siblings, and the entire crew was there, plus my dad’s girlfriend’s grown kids. Blue Eyes had everyone’s attention almost the whole night and loved every minute of it!
I should preface the sharing of the following facts with the mention that since he has been in our home, Blue Eyes has had limited sweets and sugar, even on Christmas, because of his many diagnoses. It is in an attempt on our part to limit opportunities for him to become dysregulated. Last night I was unsuccessful at preventing an opportunity.
Blue Eyes let me down.
He was as close to an angel as I’ve ever seen him.
He was awesome. Even after consuming:
- A root beer (offered by my dad)
- Two fistfuls of M&M’s (a bowl offered by my dad, and when Blue Eyes took one fistful, dad insisted on a second)
- Half a container of dip and an inordinate amount of potato chips
- Two helpings of supper, a glass of milk
- Two pieces of cake with ice cream (thanks, dad’s girlfriend, for offering a kid that doesn’t ever feel full due to his cocktail of medications, a second helping of dessert, with chocolate syrup on top no less, even after I told you he’s always ravenous and we need to help him listen to the signals his body sends when he is full)
He was still on his best behavior.
Go, Blue Eyes!! Of course, he is paying for it today. He is tired, crabby, and lazy from a major sugar crash last night. His body, and his little brain, are in recovery mode.
I told husband when we got back what happened. He encouraged me, as he always does, to put my foot down and not be a doormat. I’m the foster momma! I should be able to say no! Of course, knowing something and acting on that something, are two different things.
I have a problem when you offer my kid food, put it on a plate, place it in front of him, and only THEN look at me and ask, “oh, is that okay?”
But I, being the non-confrontational person I am, said fine. No problem. And now Blue Eyes knows, from experience, to say, “No, thank you” to a second dessert. His stomach hurt.
My dad LOVED spoiling him with sweets and sending him home. He has no clue about Therapeutic Parenting.
He had a gleam in his eye as we parted ways.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Safety & Refuge 