I'm not really an opossum. I just play one at night.

My husband’s ability to play dead during a preschooler onslaught is unparalleled in the annals of human history.  Behold.

7:30 PM. Friday night.

I am collapsed on the couch in a pool of my own drool, exhausted from a busy week, and a trying child.  Turns out we forgot to give him his Vitamin B6 (to counter the behavior effects of his seizure medicine) for two days in a row.  The result was a child that at best could be described as defiant and having a “hard day” at preschool.  So when I wonder, “Does this vitamin have any effect?”  Then answer is a resounding, “oh HELL YES.”

You should take rest, says my adoring opossum.  This translates into: “you look bad.  real bad.  get some sleep. but only after you take care of the bedtime routine because you know I won’t brush his teeth, read books or put him to bed on time.  And that drives you crazy.  I blame my lack of opposable thumbs, but we both know that’s not the real reason.”

8:30 PM.

Books have been read.  Preschooler teeth are clean, enough.  He is safely ensconced in his own bed.  I sink into mine and begin to lose consciousness, only to have the bedroom door creep open.  A 3 year old shadow appears.

Go to bed.  Now.

Since he had his vitamin as soon as we got home, it is now working.  Instead of continuing to plot out the vile names he was going to call his classmates when he returns to school next year, he blows me a sweet kiss and quietly closes my door.

The opossum is watching MSNBC news in the living room.

Awww.

1:30 AM

Ismael comes to bed.  Wakes me up.

3:30 AM

Adam is trying frantically to get into bed with me.

Go to bed…go to your own bed.

And he does. Kind of. I hear a rustling in the hallway and realize that he has transferred all of his bedding to our doorway and is having a “campout.”  Fine by me.

The opossum snorts and snores beside me.

6:30 AM – 7:30 AM

Adam returns.  We are in snooze alarm mode.  I get an update every 5 minutes. I resist the urge to smack him like I do to my *real* snooze alarm.

Mommy, it’s light!

Mommy, my pull up is still dry! (he rips it off and throws it in my face as he runs, bare butt, to the bathroom)

Mommy!  I’m going to build a track!

Mommy! I’m going to have a campout!

Mommy!  I’m going to get in bed with you!

Mommy!  I have a bump on my butt!  It’s huge!

Mommy!  I have a story for you.  You and … me…. well.. umm… you and I are picking bananas in Africa!  Isn’t that a good story??

The opossum:   snores.  rolls over. never flutters an eyelash.

I relent and get up.

The opossum sleeps on.

I needs my beauty sleep.

And God help me, he’s starting to ask questions.

Mommy, you have a penis.

No, sweetie, I don’t.

Then what you have?

Girls don’t have penises.

Then what they have?

Something else.

What’s it caaaaallllled?

Something else.  Oh look! A plane!  A dinosaur!  Do you want some chocolate?  Sweet Jesus, please stop asking me about lady parts.

His mouth has no filter on it whatsoever and any new word he learns is fair game for use anywhere: the grocery, mass, Cracker Barrel.  You name it.  He’ll use it there. I cannot bring myself to teach him the any name for girl parts, let alone the proper ones, because I know that giving him these words is like loading a gun.  Except instead of bang! bang!  This gun would go…vagina! vagina!   I’m not sure I can handle that.  It’s okay as long as he knows by college, right?  Marriage? Retirement?

Until you, Method Lemon Verbena Anti-Bac cleaner.  You turned his head  the moment he met you.  I used you to clean our counters and when he arrived home the first thing he said to me was….

…not, Gee honey, the counters look fantastic.  I don’t see a single germ on them.  You  must have been cleaning all day.  It’s so, so sparkly in here! 

No, instead, he said, This house stinks!  STINKS!  UGH what is that smell? like he was morally offended and his nose hair was melting, all at the same time.  (kind of like he caught me scarfing down bacon in the kitchen)

And he was right.  Upon further reflection, and smell dissection, I was taken back to the odor that had permeated the plastic of the diaper genie despite multiple cleanings, right before I gave up and tossed it in the compactor as a final act of mercy upon our olfactory senses.

I’m not sure that’s what the people at Method were going for, after all the label doesn’t SAY “Pine Sol Scented Infant Urine,” but it should.  Please catch me in my new occupation – cleaning product marketer.  Coming soon.

The problem is though, that it works.  It really does.  So I’m caught between a rock and an offensive smell.  What to do, what to do?

Just call us stinky, I guess, but please still call us.  We’re clean!

My mother has made sure that my son is well stocked in Dr. Seuss.  In fact, last time, she picked a Seuss book for him based only on which one was the longest and then snickered her way to the check out.

Adam’s favorite is Red Fish, Blue Fish, One Fish, Two Fish.  His favorite page has long been:

I have that little rhyme memorized. I have used it to distract him from various unpleasantries, brighten his mood, or just make myself laugh.

Now?  His rendition, if you please.

Well son, those are the wrong supplies for building a track, though the scrapbooking scissors are a nice touch.

Birth?

Although I was the perfect daughter *shining my halo* I did tell the occasional lie when the situation called for it.  (Hey mom!)  Mostly to my dad and mostly to avoid a huge scene over something stupid.

Lorie thought about starting a business in college as she perfected her ability to let a golden lie slip right off her tongue and keeping her eyelashes perfectly unbatted.  I do not recall the exact name, though with her perfect memory, she definitely could fill in the blank here. I think it was something like “Lies R Us.  Lies for your gals and guys.”

I wonder then, when does the lying really begin?  Adam generally gives me shades of the truth and has not yet reached the stage of out and out lies.  Mostly it falls under the category of “Let me dazzle you with some shiny BS to distract you from the truth.”

Let me translate for you:

Mommy, I’m just drinking apple juice:  I’m standing on my stool in the kitchen drinking pear juice straight from the can you foolishly left on the counter.

I’m just thinking about getting a pet: I’m really thinking about how I’m gonna suck down the rest of that pear juice without alerting you enough to come in here.

Chipmunks aren’t stinky. They don’t poop:  I have no earthly idea what a chipmunk smells like.  Please do not go into the kitchen.  Alternately, can we get a chipmunk?

Do not come in here: Please do not come in here.  I’ve been drinking pear juice and I sense that you’re about to lose your shizzle with me.

Where’s the potty here? We are at the park.  I’d like to explore the cleanliness of public surfaces.  With my face.

Consider this my PSA for the day.

Every night, I put Adam in bed, read more books than I feel like reading, and then fight with him for a solid hour about whether or not he will go to sleep.  The boy’s excuses/delays are endless:

But mommy.  I have to tell you something.

I love you mommy.

I’m hungry.

I’m thirsty.

I need X Y AND Z and once you find those, I’ll want  A and B too.

I want to watch the show.

I need reindeer.

You need reindeer.

I want to snuggle.

That last one always gets me.  I miss my little infant boy who snuggled for hours.  This one that I have now is more like greased lightning than snuggleupagus.  It’s so hard to say “no, no snuggles.  Go to bed.”  But I do it.  Mostly because I am worn completely out at that point.

So the bedtime struggle.  What to do?

Come little boy….let’s set the timer for ten minutes.  Come snuggle in Mommy’s big red chair.  When the timer goes off, then Mommy’s all out of snuggles… YOU will have allll the snuggles!!    We will talk about reindeers, and cars, and big diggers with scoops, and when the bell goes off, you will go to bed and go to sleep.

A 10 minute love investment saved 60 minutes of pleading, whining, and finally demanding.

And the best part?  No one had to cry.

Last time, Adam fought the nurses off who tried to put in an IV.  It was awful and it was my biggest concern this time around.  After we arrived in radiology today, the nurses put some numbing cream on his future IV site and fired up a Cars DVD.

Then a lady appeared in the doorway.

What she said,

Hi, I’m Julie.  I’m your Child Life Specialist.  I’m going to help you out today.

What I heard,

Hi, I’m an angel of God.  I have an iPad and a Thomas the Train book to razzle dazzle your son with.

While Julie showed Adam how to build cars on the iPad and blocked his view of his left arm with the Thomas book, the other nurses inserted his IV in the easiest procedure we have ever had done in the history of medical care.

Thank you Riley Hospital.  We love you.

Then febrile seizures.  Then multiple, severe food allergies.  And now, a not so febrile seizure.

And I am out there making my own path now.  None of my closest friend’s parenting experience compares to this; the guiding path of collective wisdom I was following has disappeared.  And to be honest, these days, I feel a little numb.

****

Adam will have an MRI on Friday.  The only way to perform this test on a child is to sedate them.  He had one two years ago and I didn’t think the nurses were going to be able to get the IV in him.  He fought and he was strong.  Now he’s twice the weight and probably four times stronger.  This promises that some fun times lie ahead.

I choose to concentrate on getting him ready for the test now that he’s older and understands a little more.

I choose not to concentrate on the test itself.

The last one was clear and showed no brain abnormalities.  This one won’t either.  I’ve decided, and in truth, it’s not really expected.

I hope.

*******

Last Sunday, my own personal theme song was Lady Gaga’s On the Edge of Glory, except the only part that played on loop was “on the edge the edge the edge the edge the edge…”  because I was definitely on the edge.

A solid week of increased Keppra – seizure medicine for Adam – brought a week of heinous behavior from him.  I try not to explain away his honest bad behavior by blaming medicinal side effects. Sometimes he IS just rotten and rambunctious and oh so sweet at the same time.  But after he was in time out six times within two hours on Sunday night and did little but glower at me the rest of the evening, I decided to give in and call the doctor.

She suggested 50 mg of vitamin B6 each morning.  Just let the tablet dissolve in juice, give it to him, and see how it goes. Some families see huge behavioral improvement, some do not.  Give it about three weeks, she suggested.

On Monday morning we gave him his first dose and when I picked him up Monday afternoon from preschool, I got a glowing report about his behavior.  He was perfectly compliant at school.  I took him home and he proclaimed his love for me multiple times, ate his dinner, and when before bed he came out and cleaned up his own toys without being asked, I thought the Rapture was at hand.

******

I am cautiously optimistic.