Potty Training Twins!

Here's Parker, sitting on the potty Sunday after church. Here is his twin, Penelope, who thinks he's hilarious for brushing his teeth while they both wears panties (or shortys--we had to think of the boy equivalent in this house, and underwear was just not working for us) while showing us their (and my) new pasttime.

OK, can you imagine?

I have to say that I am sooo in love with the twins right now. I know most people would cringe at the thought of potty training one kid, not to mention 2 at the same time, but I've decided to go for it, and do them both together. Since Parker is obviously behind Penelope in most, if not all, development milestones, I had received alot of advice to concentrate on her first, then get to him later.

BUT the motivation is this: school starts in a few months' time. It's the french law that children starting "Petite Section" (3 year old preschool) are "propre", or potty trained. I suddenly realized since I am no longer ONLY fixated on "fixing the poor meningitis boy" Parker, that I can actually do this. And I've got only 3 1/2 months to do it. School starts the beginning of September, so I'd better get to work.

We've had a few VERY lame attempts to train OP, but they were always thwarted by 1-a real toilet (I just didn't want to do that little potty thing again this time--its so gross!), 2-our trip to Peru awhile back, and 3-a bad case of the gastro (the french term for the stomach flu) the whole house had while my mom & sister were watching the kids. (Poor, poor them!)

SO, when I got back with John, she told me in her cute little bossy toddler very-matter-of-fact-voice, "I don't want panties. I want diapers." How could I say "No"to her? She's a pretty smart cookie. And I trust her judgment (Why? do I trust my 2 year old's judgment?!), and I was frankly not all that into it. I think I need to be more present. I mean, physically around to do this. Not running to and fro to this meeting and that, and not another appointment or whatever.

So I decided it was worth blowing the budget for those pink and blue matching potty chairs I spent 4E50 each on at Monoprix. Then, I spent way more than that for some fabulous bribe stickers for each of them (Penelope picked hers out--fancy, old fashioned princesses and carriages--we're still pretty hung up on Princess Kate at our house--, and Parker got some adorable far-out cars with little guys in them for his sticker bribe). THESE they get when they even SIT on the potty at first, and then I BOUGHT THE OBLIGATORY lots and lots and lots of ice cream.

(BTW, this is how I potty trained my other kids---they get a sticker on their potty chart, and an ice cream every single time they "go"on the potty. I don't know any other way---do you!?!?!)

So why am I so happy?

I'll tell you:

There was a very real time when we weren't sure we would still have a son who would reach potty training age...

Then, when that son lived, we weren't sure he would ever have the consciousness to actually be potty trained, or even want to be....

And then, even if we had that hope, we certainly never thought he'd be doing it at the same time as his twin sister. I haven't held her back, I promise. She has resisted, and I haven't persisted with her...

They encourage each other and think it's really fun to sit on the pottys at the same time...

It's ridiculous and adorable and scary to see them both on their pottys, grinning from ear-to-ear when you walk into the bathroom...

They sometimes push each other off of their pottys...

They always laugh and giggle, and there are often many more echos and shrieks of joy through the house when one or both of them run around with the pottys on their heads...

Penelope says, 'Yee-haw!"when she puts her pink potty on her head...

Parker laughs his deep, deep, belly laugh...

And we start all over again. And again, and again :)

I love it!

Ready, Set, Go!

I know its been a looonnggg time since we've blogged. There is alot to say:

The biggest thing is that Parker is getting better EVERY SINGLE DAY.

The hardest thing is that Parker and Penelope are getting bigger EVERY SINGLE DAY, and I feel like I missed the twins' baby and toddler years.

NO, actually the HARDEST thing is that I feel sooooo very alone, though I am surrounded by people-little people, big people, a loving, hard-working husband, adorable family, devoted friends, doctors, clinicians, random people on the bus, and neighbors, etc, all the time.... BUT I FEEL ALONE.... SO INCREDIBLY ALONE.

Why? You ask. I know the answer. NO! I'm not depressed.

I feel very whole-heartedly that we have recently turned a MAJOR corner in Parker's story the past two months....I can actually almost feel the "meningitis"chapter closing.

And it reminds me of something I saw in my mind's eye when Parker was in his coma. I'll have to tell you that in person, or at a later time.

It's because--It's the most incredible feeling in the world to walk with God. It's the most amazing thing imaginable to be held and carried by God, and His angels-for hours, days, weeks, and months on end. And I could argue years...or at least a year plus. It's truly, truly, TRULY out of this world.

But I have found that the better Parker has gotten physically, the worse I seem to have gotten spiritually. It's inversely proportional to Parker's health, the amount of heaven's presence I have felt. And it feels soooooo incredibly empty and dark and cold, and lonely. This is what prompted the prayer last summer at my parents' home in SoCal for a sign to know that He was still mindful of me, and us. AND I LEARNED WHOLE-HEARTEDLY that He was, and that He continues to be. I also learned not to ask for signs again. (See the entry, "Angels Swim Among Us, He Hears and Answers Prayers")

I remember coming out of the ICU one day when Parker was sick. It was the first day back to school after those dreaded February vacations, and I felt that I should feign some "normalcy" with the girls at home, while I was no doubt, walking with big, doe-ey eyes, and very slowly at that point in time....and feeling like I actually did not want to live anymore.

That I had seen and heard and felt heavenly things, and that I had a VERY strong and REAL desire to be "there", where those people and feelings and songs were, and NOT here, not this earth full of distraction, filth and world-ly-ness. I remember thinking it was bizarre that the feeling was so strong since this was, afterall where everyone I loved, lived, and of course I wanted to be with them. And yet, this feeling remained. Not at all in a suicidal type of way, but in a matter-of-fact "That place is way better than this place"way.

So it's been over 2 years. (!) And I finally don't cry anymore when people ask me about Parker, and why he has a flashing light on his ear. Or I don't want to throw up when I hear the words "deaf"or "meningitis".

And my focus has finally, finally, finally started to change. Thank goodness. It feels creepy and empowering at the same time.

My focus is FINALLY as a wife, and as a mother of 5 beautiful, God-given creatures. Not only of one that teetered on a balance of health and sickness these past 2 years.

And the amount of pain and guilt that I feel for not doing what I should have (normally would have) done with the other 4 children during the past 2 years will never be erased. But it is eased in knowing that they have been very well taken care of, by loving family, friends, and a few choice nannies :)

But the adrenaline is gone. It's gone. I have been running nonstop on adrenaline for 2 years. Maybe 3. Can you imagine? It's been an amazing blessing--what a Godsend. What awesome vessels we have that allow us to be pushed and pulled way beyond what we could imagine. These bodies of ours.

Now imagine what it feels like to no longer need that adrenaline, or have that adrenaline, and that God-like strength to "pull the wagon myself"--and imagine how incredibly difficult that change must feel. It's impossible for me to describe. (This is when I need Melissa to step in and articulate exactly what I feel. She seems to be built for that...Are you there, Mel?)

I FEEL LIKE A MASSIVE, FAST TRAIN RAN OVER ME, BUT I AM NOT BLEEDING.... I AM ACHING. ACHING FROM EVERY SINGLE CELL IN MY BRAIN TO MY HEART TO MY LUNGS, DOWN MY ARMS, TO MY VITAL ORGANS IN MY STOMACH, TO MY WEAK AND TIRED LEGS, ALL THE WAY DOWN TO MY TOES.

And yet, psychologically I know this is progress.

It just feels like I'm standing up after a stampede. And no one is standing at the sidelines anymore. It's just me. Just dusty, old, me.

And I recall so affectionately those heavenly beings I saw while Parker lay still, nearly dead, jumping for joy. And felt so completely those loving hands and looks and encouragement from friends, neighbors, church-goers. And envision them standing beside me, and cheering for me, and carrying me all those many months when I know now that I was not carrying myself . I had help from beyond, from outside this "dusty-old-train-wrecked-stampeded-self".

So I'm contemplating a new career, or a new hobby, a drastic hair color and cut. To mark the end of this very enriching, nourishing, soul-searching chapter in my life, in my husband's life, in my family's life...but I haven't decided what to do yet. Maybe it will blow over.

In the mean time, I am rediscovering my 4 gorgeous girls, and all of their beauties and complexities. And not always running right beside or behind Parker.

I've put Parker in a big-boy bed. I've been told by 2 different "specialists"to start treating him as if I would have treated him had he never been sick with meningitis. He's beginning potty training, we've solidified a spot for him in the same bilingual school the girls attend, with a teacher who is very enthusiastic about learning sign language, and loving and teaching my boy-and integrating him into a hearing classroom!

His anti-seizure meds are being increased this month because he has gained 3 kilos since we last adjusted. But I hate doing it. I hate what it does to his brain, and spirit (it slows him down)--and imagine the damage it's doing to his kidneys and liver. But I guess it's better to do it now, before summer, and school starts for him in the Fall.

Dr Q at Garches saw him last week and said to verify with the physical therapist, but she thought he no longer needed PT. On Friday, Madame Catherine agreed. I wept in her office in disbelief. She was shocked to see how well he was walking after an extended absence (2 weeks of spring vacation, and 2 weeks missed for various illnesses). She said, 'Pourqoui vous etes la?"--"Why are you here?". Remind me. And I deleted the rest of her appointments through the end of the school year in my calendar tonight.

Madame Rouge a Levres, the enthusiastic occupational therapist, said to me last Tuesday, that his gait was "normal" (before it was too wide) after 3 weeks of not seeing him.

I've been reminded about the power of prayer through this entire process. And the question of faith in healing the sick. I read in the Guide to the Scriptures tonight,

"The object of prayer is not to change the will of God, but to secure for ourselves and for others blessings that God is already willing to grant, but that we must ask for in order to obtain."

I recall my faith those harrowing days in that gray February ICU, and that it was "perfect". And that I was willing to give my "perfect" 8 month old son to God, if it was His will. OR to take him back, and love and cherish him, assuming all the while he would be "whole". I did not expect a "broken"son in return for those prayers of faith. And for many months, that is what I thought that God laid at my feet, returned to me. NO matter how hard I tried not to think it, I was really, really really sad that He had not heard and answered my prayers. And wondered why some prayers for miracles are answered, and some appear not to be. And yet, I knew it deep in my heart all along, that I WAS THE ONE WHO WAS BROKEN, AND WHO NEEDED FIXING, NOT PARKER. I HATED THAT THE PRICE HE PAID FOR ME TO LEARN THAT LESSON WAS SO GREAT. THAT I NEEDED TO BE BROKEN IN ORDER TO BE HEALED, AND SEE THAT EVEN THOUGH SOME OF US HAVE PHYSICAL HANDICAPS, ALL OF US HAVE SOME TYPE OF HANDICAPS. THAT SOME ARE MORE APPARENT THAN OTHERS. AND SOME ARE MORE PERMANENT THAN OTHERS, AND THAT SOME ARE TO TEACH US, AND SOME ARE TO TEACH THOSE AROUND US CERTAIN THINGS IN THIS LIFE.

Every morning, noon, and night, and often many more times than that, we have offered prayer in our home the past 2 years. And we continue to do so. And all of those times, and these times, different family members would include, or do include, a certain phrase, "Please bless Parker that he can walk, talk, crawl, run, hear, have good balance."And Axelle always prays for her baby brother to have "..strong muscles", too.

I was not sure he would be able to hold his head up after we exited Necker all those months ago. Or sit. Or crawl. Or eat. Or swallow. Or hear. Or walk. Or smile. Or kick a ball. Or hold our hands and walk with us.

NOT to mention have a happy life, or learn new things and grow every day.

But these prayers have been answered. Mine and yours:

Hold his head up. Check.

Swallow. Check.

Smile. Check, check, and check.

Sit up. Check.

Crawl. So hard at first, but check.

Hear. Many months of turning up his CI, and years to come of speech therapy, but Check.

Talk. Check (in progress, but yes, he is talking!)

Walk. Hooray! Check. This is HUGE.

Run. Check! Check! Check!

Have good balance. In progress.

So now we wait to see how else he progresses, treat him as if he was never ill, stimulate him appropriately by way of speech and language and fine and gross motor skills. And press forward.

And keep the faith.

And maybe change our prayers to say, "Thank you that Parker can walk, talk, crawl, run, and hear."Please continue to bless him to progress and find good balance, and have normal brain function to do reading/writing/and math in school."

Thank you for your prayers. I know they have been heard. And I can tell you that I really really really feel them. Imagine what Parker feels! It's no wonder why he's always smiling.

Check him out here:

Ready, Set, Go!

We've got many great things ahead.