Not Picture Perfect

About three weeks ago, our family had professional pictures taken for the first time in three years.  As you might recall, family portraits aren't exactly something our family excels at. (You can read more about our trouble with pictures HERE). In fact, if I had to describe what it's like to wrangle four kids, two with autism, one with opinions, and a three year old, I would have to say it's something like herding cats.

In other words, impossible.

Thankfully, we attend church with a lovely family who sit behind us almost every week and they do this on purpose.  For some reason, they aren't too annoyed with the rodeo in our row (and yes, I've checked, they have good hearing and sight).  Maria, of said family, is a photographer so a few months ago I asked if she would be brave enough to photograph my monsters children.

"I'd love to, " she said without even thinking about it.

"Um, you know that it might be kind of difficult?" I asked. (Queen of the understatement here).

"I'm not worried.  It will be fine." Maria smiled at me brightly and we set up a date for the session in early September.

It was hot that evening and the humidity was about 1000% (how I wish that were an exaggeration). Maria, with the assistance of her husband and one of her daughters, took us to a quiet dirt road with a privacy gate (so, no real places for any escaping children to go). I'd like to tell you that all the children were excited about getting pictures but that would be a lie.

Daniel decided, rather than be with us, wanted to go exploring on the other side of the privacy gate.  He was so intent on this, he didn't want to be in the pictures at all.  When he is anxious about something, he talks and asks many questions, usually the same question many times.  Things like, "Why can't I go over to the other side?"  "I hate pictures.  Can I climb the fence?"  "I don't want to smile."  He carried in his hand a small (very sad-looking) monkey as a fidget toy and refused to keep it in his pocket.

The monkey made it into a few pictures.

Ben was, for the most part, his easy-going self.  He's never had a problem hamming it up for the camera.

Gideon was . . . Gideon.  New place, new things to explore. Things are always more interesting to him rather than people.  Add to that people who are begging him to just look at the camera?  I don't think so.  Someone told me this week that it Gideon always seemed like he was planning to do something.  Yes, he is. And it's never what you want him to do.  Finally Maria said, "I'll just follow him and I'll get the shot." So that's what she did."  I can't say that he ever quite looked at the camera in any of his pictures but he didn't lay down in the dirt road in protest so I consider it a win.

Lastly, Katherine, who is, well, three and, I think the nice way people say it is, strong-willed.  As someone else pointed out to me recently, Katherine has three big brothers so by sheer necessity she is more aggressive, more bossy, more mean, and much, much more stubborn than all of our other children are.

All that to say, Katherine is the reason I need wine at the end of the day.

She also wasn't on board with this whole picture thing.  She wasn't terribly interested in smiling or cooperating but Maria did manage to get a few good pictures of her nonetheless.

Then, of course, there were the actual family pictures. The ones where all six of us were supposed to look in the camera and smile at the same time.  

Herding cats, guys.  Herding cats.

I'll be honest, I had no idea how these pictures were going to turn out.  I've seen Maria's work.  She takes beautiful pictures.  She's a professional.  She knows what she's doing.

But this was our family, you all. We are not the family who wears matching clothes and then, with matching toothy smiles, poses with grace and ease by staring right into the camera.  We are not the family that will patiently wait to be arranged and rearranged to get everyone just so.  We are not the family that takes direction well . . . or at all.

In short, we are not the picture perfect family.

And yet, this is the perfect picture of us.  Something about it says so much about our family.  Maybe it's the silly expression on Gideon's face or the way Daniel is definitely not looking at the camera.  We aren't standing perfectly straight or still.  Some of us have smiles, some of don't.  Some of us are tired, flustered, done with this picture business.  Some of us just wanted one good picture of everyone together.  Just one!

It's not a perfect picture but it's a perfect picture of us and, because of that, it will proudly hang on our living room wall. I don't consider myself a perfectionist but I do get caught up in trying to be perfect every now and then.  I wanted these pictures to be perfect and . . . no one cooperated.  Yet I love each photograph.  They make me smile and they make me laugh and they say, "This is our family," loudly and proudly. 

Being perfect is hard (and impossible and kind of boring).

Be imperfect; all of my favorite people are.

***Special Thanks to Maria Arcement at Two Cups of Kids Photography for having patience with us and taking beautiful, perfect pictures of my imperfect but beautiful family.  You're the bestest!

________

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Attack of the Gideon Monster

About a month ago, I got a text from one of Gideon's therapist. He seemed to be pulling on one of hie ears and it appeared red. No fever or other symptoms but they were concerned. So, I picked him up early and took him to our pediatrician.  I didn't expect there to be much wrong with him and this appointment would just be a lesson in patience for me. 

But, to my surprise, Gideon had swimmers ear and a sinus infection.  Huh?  Who knew?  Not me.  He hadn't been acting particularly upset or in pain although it's difficult to tell with Gideon.  A couple of years ago (on Valentine's Day), he broke his arm.  We think it happened on the trampoline where he was playing with Daddy and his brothers.  He never once cried out or stopped playing.  But an hour later, he came to dinner and refused to use his arm. 

Some project that people with autism have a very high pain tolerance but I think it's more that they don't register the pain.  A week after he broke his arm, Gideon got a hang nail and, judging by the way he acted anytime anyone touched it, it was the worst pain he'd ever been in his life.  But he could see the injury and understood what he was feeling.  A broken arm?  Can't see that.

So here we were with two prescriptions for Gideon's ear and infection.  One was an ear drop, the other an oral liquid antibiotic. I laughed when the doctor prescribed the antibiotic.  "You know what it's like to give Gideon medicine?"

"I can imagine.  I expected you'd only get half down him," she assured me.

She was optimistic. 

That first night, a Friday, I attempted to give him the antibiotic (a thick, white, chalky liquid that didn't taste any better than it looked.  I always take a tiny taste of the things the kids are asked to take.  To prepare myself for the backlash). 

This did not go well. 

At all. 

When we were done, both he and I had to change our shirts, his face was covered in a white, chalky film and so was mine.  See, Gideon figured out that the best way to counteract taking medicine was to spit it out.  Right back into my face. 

This little scene needed to be done twice a day. 

But, it seems Gideon was not pleased with this turn of events.  He wasn't happy about the doctor's appointment or the medicine and, yes, he probably wasn't feel great.  So, as Gideon often does, he used his behavior to speak for him and he discovered breaking glass. 

A lot of glass.

At the beginning of August, I owned four 9x13 glass baking pans.  Today, I own none.  At the beginning of August, I had three vases. Today, I have one.  At the beginning of August, I owned an oval Pyrex bowl, a Pyrex measuring cup, a ceramic cross, a George Foreman grill, three bowls and one plate.  Today, I have none of those things.  At the beginning of August, Gideon has a plywood storage bed with drawers underneath and an attached headboard.  He doesn't have that anymore.  At the beginning of August, we had one fully in tact Kindle and iPad.  Both now have cracks.

We also, I'm afraid, had a few finger painting episodes.  Just not with paint.

The broken window (2nd story, of course)

And the piece de resistance? At the beginning of August, the boys had a fully intact bedroom window.  Then Gideon put his foot through it. 

Somehow, through all the glass flying, Gideon managed to not get hurt once, not even a scrape.  Katherine, on the other hand, stepped on a piece of glass and ended up at the urgent care one evening.  (Thankfully, no stitches). 

From the Friday I began giving him the medicine to the following Monday, Gideon went from fairly easygoing to monster mode.  I called the pediatrician and told her we needed to change up the medication or commit me to a mental ward.  So, she prescribed a capsule to break apart and hide in food.  But, friends, if you haven't met Gideon before, he's a smart young man.  He tries hard to make sure no one really knows just how smart he is.  People underestimate him, including, I'll admit, me sometimes.  The capsules weren't easier.  He knew by looking at the drink I'd put it in that it was there and he was absolutely not drinking it. 

I gave up on the antibiotics after he faked me out by picking up the cup, bringing it to his mouth to take a drink, and then quickly dumping the whole thing down the sink. Thirty minutes later, he opened the dishwasher and found a glass to break.

This path of destruction may have started because he didn't feel good but it's definitely ended up as a an activity that garners him attention. Now, he likes it because it's fun.   I've moved any glass I could, switched to silicone pans, kept him busy when I can, added a piece of plywood to protect his window, and prayed for patience. 

Lots of patience. 

Oddly enough, while the Gideon Monster was in full swing, we discovered something else.  We've been working on potty training for four solid years.  Gideon has never really initiated toileting but will go on a schedule (mostly).  One day, Gideon ran in the house, took himself to the bathroom, and then striped off this pants and underwear.  As long as he is au natural from the waist down, he goes to the bathroom by himself.  That's great news.  And also, confusing news.  Around the house, he can be pant-less but schools tend to frown upon nudity. 

What I've decided is that we are in a time of great change in Gideon's young life--a new school, a new routine, more reponsibility--and, I suspect, he's reaching some new developmental milestones.  It seems when he makes about to make a big jump in progress, we seen a noticeable change in behaviors. Maybe he's trying to figure out what's happening to himself. 

He's not alone, we're trying to figure that out too. 

It's been a wild, crazy, "wear your shoes, there might be glass," emotional, frustrating, exhausting month in our house.  As a parent, it's aggravating to not understand what your child is trying to communicate.  It's a guessing game and, sometimes, yours is as good a guess as mine.  I wish this was easier for Gideon and for us.  Sigh. For now, we lock up the breakables and see where this new phase in Gideon's life takes us.

And stock up on caffeine and wine. 

__________

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