October 24, 2010 "Horrible or Humorous"

Though it might sound like it, this is not a post about the upcoming Halloween Holiday. It’s about Porter’s first visit to the psychologist and how I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at various times during the appointment. We are still on our quest to find answers to help Porter with his “condition,” a condition we’re not even sure about. If he doesn’t have cerebral palsy does he have dystonia? And how does the anxiety/OCD behaviors fit in? Though starting him on medication last Spring was definitely helpful, more than helpful, some behaviors are ramping up again.

When I picked Porter up from school last Thursday, his special education teacher caught me in the hallway, wanting to quickly relate a concern. She told me that Porter has been randomly standing at attention in class, for just a few seconds at a time, and seems to be focused and mumbling. Thankfully, I already knew this so I neither laughed nor cried. He has been doing the same thing at home, at the store, at Scouts, playing outside, at restaurants, etc…. I explained to the teacher that we were actually headed to see a psychologist to try and figure stuff out.
The appointment started out with me explaining some of my concerns to the doctor. Porter still has an obsession with the moon, looking out his window several times before he falls asleep. Then I explained how Porter feels the need to make sure I’m really his mom by regularly attempting to remove my head from my body when he’s giving me a hug (horrible). I also explained his latest compulsive behavior of standing at attention at seemingly random times (which he demonstrated throughout the appointment). And the list goes on and on.
The doctor began telling Porter how he’s in charge of what he does and how they were going to work on getting that “thing” under control. He said, “It’s like a monster.” Porter said, “Monsters are fake.” Doctor “Okay, maybe like a dragon.” Porter “Dragons aren’t real.” (humorous) The doctor tried to explain how the monster or dragon was just a symbol and it could really be anything, and Porter should draw a picture of it. “I can’t do that.” “Why not?” “Because if I draw a picture of God, it might not look right.” (horrible)
So Porter thinks it’s God telling him to stand at attention, or what have you, because if he does it, the people in his life will be safe. The doctor looks over at me and tells me as an aside that preoccupation with God is totally typical for kids of Porter’s age. But Porter is not a typical kid. He’s extraordinary. I told the doctor how it was hard to understand how an overly social, outgoing kid, uninhibited by his disability, could also be so paralyzed and controlled by fear and anxiety. How a kid that can manipulate a computer, spout off sport’s statistics, and problem solve his way in or out of anything feels so defeated and dumb when it comes to school work.
But that’s Porter, a study in opposites, which brings out the same in me. I regularly vacillate between laughing and crying when it comes to Porter, sometimes laughing because he’s humorous, sometimes laughing to keep me from crying at the “horrible” things that he does, the things that make me worried for him, for his future. Other times crying from laughing so hard at things like, “Mom, today I asked 13 girls to be my girlfriend and they all said no.” Really? 13? I’m not sure I would have made it past 2 or 3 and he went all the way to 13? Like I said, extraordinary.

August 8, 2101 "Did you date my mom?"

That was Porter’s question to every guy I introduced him to. Porter would extend his arm, grip the guy in a handshake and then ask, “Did you date my mom?” I have to admit that it took me by surprise the first time he asked, but it really shouldn’t have considering Porter’s interest in all things “love.” He’s already proposed marriage, to two girls at once. In kindergarten he got down on bended knee in the lunch room and asked Evie and Maria if they would marry him then held both their hands while waiting in line to go to recess. Though I don’t know if he’s made any other such proposals since then, I do know there have been numerous professions of love. Porter wears his heart on his sleeve, actually more like on his forehead in blazing neon.

So back to his interest in me, “Did you date my mom?” “No, we didn’t date.” “No, we were just friends,” and on and on it went throughout the afternoon at the family picnic. Then we walked up to Forrest, and instead of surprising me I was about to surprise Porter. First of all, I have to say that I didn’t recognize Forrest. I saw him when I first arrived, across the lawn, and wondered, “Who is that big, burly guy?” but didn’t have a chance to follow up as Parker was off and running for playground equipment. Over an hour later when talking to one of Forrest’s good high school friends I asked, “Where’s Forrest? I haven’t seen him yet.” To which I was told that he was the guy with the beard. So I actually had already seen him not knowing it was him. I immediately headed over with Porter. I couldn’t believe it! Forrest looked like a mountain man. We started talking, I met his beautiful oldest daughter, and I introduced him to Porter who had been staring intently since we had walked up. Porter shook Forrest’s hand and continued to stare.

Then it hit me and I said, “Porter, Forrest and I went on a date. He took me to a dance.” If I remember right it was homecoming of our senior year. Porter looked from me back to Forrest in stunned silence. He began to rub his chin, and then finally asked, “Did you have a beard in high school?” No. Forrest’s daughter was enjoying the conversation and contributed a story about how Forrest, when going through airport security, immediately gets sent over for the additional screening procedures. One of the last things Forrest said before I walked away was that he was going to shave for the dinner later that evening. And he did.

January 25, 2010 "Way to go!"

So Clint and Porter had a conversation while riding in the truck the other day which I would consider his first “sex” talk.
Porter: “You and mom made Parker.”
Clint: “Yep, we made you too.”
Porter: “I know. By making sex,” which he chokes out at the beginning of a giggling fit. When he catches his breath: “Yeah you guys made sex. Good job Dad!” Porter tries to congratulate his dad with a fist bump from the back seat.
Clint: “What does sex mean?”
Porter: “Kissing, hugging, making out. You take Mom’s hand, go up in your room and shut the door, turn off lights and make out.”Laughing hysterically all the while.
Porter: “How did you guys make Parker? I never saw you guys making sex one time.”
Clint: “Where are you learning about sex?”
Porter: “Uncle Jesse on Full House. Jesse said ‘Let’s have a baby to Becky and then he took his shirt off and turned off the light.”
Full House is Porter’s favorite show right now. He aspires to be Uncle Jesse, a cool dude. Uncle Jesse is on the same pedestal as Danny Zuko from Grease. We did not realize Porter was gaining that kind of knowledge from what we thought was an innocent 80s show.
Porter concludes the conversation with: “Sometimes I see people making out at the mall. Gross.” This from a boy who is a little ladies man, who talks about girls all the time, who would like to start dating now, who is into “older” girls, who comments on how hot he thinks particular girls are, who tries to flirt with girls when we’re out and about, who hopes to be married in the future.
Porter at KOHLS to the petite cashier: “Hey cute thing.” To which she responds, “I may look really young, but I’m much too old for you.”
Tell me, are we in for trouble? Or are we already in trouble?
I haven’t written for awhile because we’ve been having a lot of difficulties with Porter. I can’t write in frustration because I don’t want that to become our focus. We, as patiently as we can, wait out the challenging moments, knowing that our charismatic, inventive son is still there and is also frustrated. So, we wait for glimpses like the one above, and that’s when I write so as not to perpetuate any negative energy. Porter is having some tests done this upcoming week. Will we get answers? Maybe, maybe not. Either way we did make him, and we wanted and wished for him to be in our lives. We will continue to learn with and from him, and most of all we will always love HIM, for HIM. In the end that’s what matters most. 

October 8, 2009 "The Love Master"

Tonight during class I sent off a text to the sitter to see how things are going with Porter. She texts back letting me know that Porter has been sad because of Rachael. I ask for a little more info. It took a couple of texts and a conversation with Porter to piece it all together, but I finally got it figured out.

Rachael’s grandparents live a few houses away. She visits them often and plays with all the kids in the neighborhood. She is a VERY nice, thoughtful, and cute little girl. Porter has known her for 3 years, but this summer he began to develop a “romantic” interest in her. He talks about her often and a couple of weeks ago told me he wanted to ask her to be his girlfriend. I told him two things: he’s too young to have a girlfriend and she was too old for him anyway. Rachael is twelve and Porter is nine. Porter countered with, “How old are you?” I tell him, and then, “And how old is Dad?” I answer that too. “See, Dad’s older than you are.” Yes, but a three year difference is a lot less at our age than it is at his.

Today he went over to Rachael’s grandparent’s house and asked for her phone number, which they gave to him. He then used his sitter’s phone to call her. He told her he thought she was beautiful, nice, and that he loved her. Then he asked Rachel to be his girlfriend. Porter told us that she turned him down because he was only nine. Which is exactly what we emphasize when we talk to him about this whole situation, “You are only nine…. There will be plenty of time for girls and dating when you get older…. You are too young to have a girlfriend….” He said it would be nice to have someone to hold and cuddle with, and of course we agreed, though again emphasizing that there will be plenty of that for him in the future.

Clint told Porter how proud he was that he showed such courage to call a girl and tell her how he felt, even if it didn’t turn out the way he wanted. We talked to him about heartache and that he would most likely experience a lot more of it. And that though now wasn’t the time for this romance to happen, who knows what’s in store for the future. “But I’m the love master,” a self-appointed title.

After a little more discussion, we just laid it out for him and told him, bottom line, he would not be dating anyone at nine years old. It just wasn’t going to happen. Then Clint goes on to explain the parameters under which it would happen, “You’ll be sixteen, or close to it. It will probably be to a school type function.” Whoa, whoa, whoa. We don’t need to discuss this now, do we? And after Porter’s next comment, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t listening to Clint at all anyway. He says, “I want to make out.” Excuse me? And where did you get that from? Thank you Uncle Jesse from Full House, Porter’s new favorite show and second favorite “cool guy.” (His first favorite cool guy is Danny Zuko.)

I am so proud of Porter, of course right? I’m his mom. But it’s more than that, I’m amazed by him. Nothing stands in his way, not his disability, not his speech difficulties, not his age, nothing. I worry about him, probably as much as any parent worries about their child, but then he does something as brave and bold as this and I know, I just know that he’s not only going to be just fine, but that he is just fine now, and in fact so much more than that, he’s AMAZING!

September 12, 2009 "Too Sexy?"

There’s a fashion deputy that lives at my house. His name is Porter. There’s little chance I’ll ever leave the house looking like a hussy under his watch. Porter had a meltdown at the shoe store last week, but let’s start at the beginning.
Last summer, we were invited to an afternoon pool party at the neighbors. It had been over a year since my body had had a good dose of sunshine (chemo, surgeries, etc….). I wasn’t going to get in the pool (still going through reconstruction), but I definitely wanted some sun. I came downstairs wearing a tank top, sat down for breakfast, and was almost immediately accosted. Porter reached over and grabbed the middle of the tank top, pulled it up, and informed me, in his own words, that my boobs were showing and that was not acceptable for a mom, and more specifically, for his mom. I explained that since we were going to a pool party, that a tank top was indeed acceptable attire, and that he’d just have to live with it. Little did I know…
Porter is my shopping partner. We shop pretty much everywhere together, though I think those times are becoming numbered as he is growing up and growing bored of the whole process. Shortly after the pool party, I took Porter to a store with me to find more tank tops for the rest of the summer. I looked around, put some in the carts to try on, then approached a halter type top, a sleeveless one that tied at the neck. As I reached for it, Porter blocked my arm and says, “No way, not my mom.” So I asked him what was wrong with the top to which he replied, “It’s too sexy.”We’ve had other incidents since then with other outfits and even with my hair. I have been told that I can’t wear my hair a certain way because I’m a mom, not a kid. And he’s never liked my hair pulled back. The latest was over a pair of boots, the ones he had a melt down over. I looked all last year for a pair of knee high boots I could wear with capris and skirts. So, of course, I find a pair when I’m not meaning to. Before I even try them on, Porter tells me that I’m not going to get them. I try them on, and he’s getting anxious. Then we go through the “Not my mom,” rants and he tells me it’s because they are too sexy and his mom doesn’t wear sexy clothes. I try to calm him down by showing him boots with stiletto heels and other shoes that are “sexy,” but he’s not having it. In fact, at one point he said to me, “Who are you?”

Porter modeling the "too sexy" boots.

Porter went into full meltdown mode when I told him that I was indeed going to purchase these boots. The quivering pouty lip of his babyhood was front and center. Big crocodile tears were rolling down his face. I elicited the help of the sales lady to give “her opinion” of how “professional” the boots looked. Porter had to go to the restroom to try to get himself together. It didn’t quite work. I finally told him that if we took them home and Dad said they were too sexy I would return them. Of course I knew Clint wouldn’t say that, because as you can see, they are not too sexy. I wonder what brought all this awareness on? how long it will last? and if Halloween will be the only time I’m allowed to leave the house looking like a hussy?

August 12, 2009 "Vices"

Ok, I might as well come clean and follow up the smoking story with one about a bar. You know how most kids play house, or school, sometimes even doctor? Not mine. Porter prefers to play bar. This past spring, during a sleep over, Porter and his BFF created a “bar” in our basement playroom. There was a sign on the door announcing the name and hours of operation. There was a big screen tv with a football game on it (homemade on poster paper and taped to the window). They had a counter and cash register. And they were serving root beer. When Clint arrived home, I instructed him to head downstairs to experience a “proud” parenting moment. Porter hasn’t played bar since, but he’s recently showed interest in playing poker.

Yep, one bad habit after another. What kind of parents are we? Should our 9 year old be interested in smoking, bars, and poker? He’s not obsessed or anything, he only played bar that one time. His interest in poker comes and goes, and to his credit, he is trying to quit smoking. Maybe we can work all of these vices out of his system now so they won’t be issues later in life? Or does Porter have an addictive personality (he did ask the hygienist where he could buy laughing gas)? Who knows?

For now I’ll chalk it up to childhood curiosity, which Porter has an over abundance of. In fact, the other day he asked me how babies were made. This post wouldn’t be complete if sex wasn’t mentioned, right? I asked why he was asking, he said he just wanted to know. I asked again why, if it was something he saw on television or did he talk to someone about it? He said he just wanted to know. So I asked him how he thought babies were made. His answer: “You pray to God and he gives you a baby. That’s how you got me.” Good answer! From his explanation I knew that he wasn’t quite ready for “the talk.” And what he said was actually not far from the truth.

August 8, 2009 "Cold Turkey"

“Mom, I quit smoking,” Porter announced to me during breakfast one morning. My response was something like, “Well, that’s good, because smoking isn’t good for you.” As a point of clarification, this was over breakfast, a time when my head is usually buried in the daily paper while I mechanically attend to my children’s needs (i.e. passing them a napkin, pouring a drink, etc…). And besides that, I wasn’t really expecting a statement of that caliber to come from Porter’s innocent mouth.

“Really mom, I quit smoking,” he insisted, obviously not happy with my less than stellar first reaction. “What did you say? You quit SMOKING? You don’t smoke. How do you quit doing something you don’t even do?” “But I do Mom, I have been smoking,” he insisted.

Long story short, he had indeed been “smoking.” Thank goodness it wasn’t real cigarettes, just the straw variety. We have a Costco size bag of drinking straws that I bought him for the perfectly benign purpose of creating art projects. Little did I know Porter had used his imagination in an unexpected way and turned those very straws into cancer sticks.
He demonstrated the process for me, and the whole while I was thinking, ‘I hope he didn’t “smoke” in front of other kids or worse, their parents.” Since I hadn’t heard anything from the neighbors, and we’re a tight bunch, I assumed that he was discrete in his habit, a habit that he lovingly learned from his Uncle Andrew, who was discrete around my kids, at least at first.
When Uncle Andrew first moved here a few months ago, he was careful about smoking away from and out of sight of my kids. This wasn’t something we asked him to do, in fact I didn’t really know he was smoking at all, until Porter told me. It was inevitable that Mr. Curiosity would find out eventually, more likely sooner than later, it’s in his nature. Porter ADORES his Uncle Andrew, so you’d expect him to want to be like his uncle. My dad was also a smoker, until his heart attack 4 years ago. Porter is aware of this also, so I used it to “celebrate” his smoking cessation. “I’m glad you quit Porter, because remember what smoking did to Grandpa? It hurt his heart.

I caught him a couple days later, out on the deck with a straw, which he quickly hid behind his back when he saw me. Do they make a patch for that? 

July 24, 2009 "Costco, a Cell Phone & Poop"

"Why, I oughta...."

What do Costco, a cell phone, and poop have in common? Porter, that’s what, and this is how. A couple of weeks ago I stopped by Costco to grab a cute shirt and some beach towels. I still hadn’t replaced my Costco card (stolen along with my wallet) so I stopped by the counter to do so. As I was waiting for the card to process, Porter told me he had to use the bathroom. His actually words were something like, “I need to go poop.” I told him to go ahead and that I’d meet him there as soon as I got my card. The card took all of two minutes, so I grabbed it and started pushing the cart down to the bathrooms. Half way there I realized that I didn’t have my cell phone, so I turned around and went back to customer service. I asked them if they had seen a phone, but they hadn’t, and I thought, “Hmmm, maybe I didn’t bring it in.”

When I got down to the bathrooms, I heard Porter talking and quickly realized that he was talking to his best friend ON MY CELL PHONE! Men are entering and exiting the bathroom and I yell in there, “Porter, get out here right now!” and he replies, “I can’t! I’m pooping.” Me, “Hurry up and finish and GET OUT HERE!” My response was a very controlled yell. So I wait, as patiently as I can, until I hear him talking on the phone again, not to his friend, but to his dad. WHAT? He started another conversation?

Once again, I yell into the bathroom for him to get out here, which he does, and I realize it’s unfortunate that he has decided to listen to me. We had just come from a waterslide park so Porter was wearing his swim shorts, which have a drawstring that is tied tightly to keep his pants up. When Porter emerges from the bathroom, the pants are up in the front and down in the back because he couldn’t manage to get them all the way down in the first place, and now he can’t manage to pull them back up.
It might have been easier for him to pull them up if his hands weren’t full. In one hand is my cell phone, with Clint still on it, and in the other hand is a wad of toilet paper, soiled with poop. Yes, you read that right. So, as calmly as I could, I grabbed the phone, turned him around, and sent him back in the bathroom with strict instructions to WASH HIS HANDS. I had to tell my husband that I’d call him back, but didn’t explain why right then. I was more concerned with the poop smell that was coming from the phone.

I immediately went into the ladies restroom and cleaned my phone with soap and water, as delicately but as thoroughly as possible. I dried it off, headed out and met Porter coming out of the men’s restroom. I immediately grabbed his hands and gave them a sniff, clean, thank goodness. He asked me if I was mad. I told him we’d talk later. And we did. He hasn’t tried to “sneak” my phone since then so I assume that I made myself clear.