Pumpkin Pie and 11 candles

My dear James,

It's Thanksgiving day,
and it's also
YOUR BIRTHDAY!
And you are absolutely, positively, 100%
11 years old.

I know it's been sneaking up on you since you were, well....a toddler.
That independent spirit.
Keen Intuition.
Navigational skills.
Super hero and helper.
Always aware.
Positively Correct.
All. The. Time.

You were born to be 11.

And it frees me up just a bit.  Because I feel better about you roaming about as your 11 year old self, digging up holes, catching fish, building fires and chicken coops, babysitting babies and bugs....

11 years ago today, it, too was Thanksgiving Day, and I was counting my blessings at
Norfolk General Hospital:
my healthy baby boy, snuggly and fat,
the hospital pumpkin pie which was absolutely divine,
and your Daddy, the best birthing coach in the land.

And there we were.  A little happy-ish family.
And we had no idea what was about to go down. Did we?

And then year after year it never ceased.
The re-shaping, the re-grouping of our family, the gnawing ache in my heart for something
that could never be, the sudden shifting tides,
the silent dragon, that only breathed fire,
but never ever spoke.

The mourning.
The waiting.
The night time.
The medicating.
The self-medicating.
The morning.

And every time we cycled through, you added a brick and put it in a basket around your neck, and you tried with all your might to hold your head up high.
But you couldn't any longer.
The bricks weighed you down to the bottom of the ocean floor.
And you stayed.
And we waited. Very patiently.

Praying, begging, pleading with the Savior
to pick you up, and put a new song in your mouth,
and give you back.

And in your time, and in your way, you crept right back into my arms again.
Right where you started 11 years ago.

It wasn't the greatest year, was it?
In fact, it may have been the worst.

But James,
You overcame.
You needed time to heal, time to process, time to re-learn,
and time to re-imagine your life again.

We will never be the same.
And we never want to be.

Happy Birthday my sweet, sweet boy.
I just know that 11 is gonna be the sweetest.

Normal

The day after school let out I sacrificed my summer to the doctors, therapists, nurses, pharmacists, and counselors of Hampton Roads.

It literally happened over night, in an instant.

And while I can't tell you that story, I can tell you that it's been isolating, lonely, and for an extrovert like me, a game of carefully walking a line and balancing my friends on a tightrope so I don't go crazy.

Today I literally spent 8:15 am  to 3:00 pm dealing with medical or insurance issues.
L-i-t-e-r-a-l-l-y.

I made my kids' lunches while I sat on hold for the 17th time with another doctor's office.
I cursed the answering service under my breath as I smeared the last tablespoon of peanut butter onto an organic wheat piece of bread.
And then I called someone else, held my breath.
And hoped they understood my plea.

I do not cry anymore.  I don't have time to.

The menagerie of bills, toys, artwork and forms on my kitchen counter has become more than embarrassing and tonight I rallied and made some order to the seemingly ending chaos, polishing the black granite shiny with a rag.  I may have rubbed a little too hard, I am not sure.

My attendant asked me today if I like being a stay-at-home mom and I almost choked.
"No," I thought.
 But instead, "I don't love it in the summers," slipped out.

The other day I was walking with my kids, June strapped into her special needs-stroller.
I was at the beach by myself with these little people.  Which is a miracle within itself.
Some guy says, "Aren't you too big for that stroller little girl?"
I looked at him, pursed my lips and let out "Hmmmm."
Because I was contemplating him. And contemplating my life.
Because I didn't have the energy to sock him across the face.
Because he's right.  I have a 9 year old in a stroller.

And sometimes my 10 year old takes care of her as his "chore".
And lately it's been my 6 year old.

I am sorry if you have called me and I have not responded.  I am on auto-pilot.

If you didn't catch it up there, I have run out of peanut butter.  That never happens.

This too, shall pass, but the unfortunately the passing is taking too long.

I told God yesterday "I thought you just wanted my Summer".
And I think He whispered back, " I want all of you."

And as if I thought it was enough to have just one child with special needs, I am coming to the realization that I may have two.  Matter of fact, I am certain my entire family is some kind of special.

I have accepted it.
But I can't move on.

I'm sorta stuck.

I wanted the other family.
The normal family.

God, would you help me love my new normal?

What I really want for Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day Eve and I'm racking my brain trying to figure out what we will do tomorrow to commemorate this special event-

the day where I'm supposed to 

rest
eat bon-bons
lie in my bed while my children serve me hand and foot.
get a massage
and a pedicure

And since I am fairly certain that all of this will happen, I will rest well tonight.

So...
DO you want to know a secret?

This is what I really want.  This year. And this year only.

I would like for 
every single person, little and big 
to leave my house for the day so I can

clean the house from top to bottom 
pay the bills and go through the stack of mail sitting on the counter
organize the toys and put them away in bins
wash all the clothes and fold them neatly, rearranging and thinning drawers
scrub the floors until they shine and shimmer

And then do you know what I will do?

I will pull out the chocolate cake that my kids made me yesterday for my birthday and 
sit at the table and eat it all by myself
with not a single hint of an interruption
while I watch everything stay
 EXACTLY WHERE I PUT IT FOR THE REST OF THE DAY.

Because that would be pure bliss right there.
NOTHING MOVES.
FOR AN ENTIRE DAY.

Happy Mother's Day Friends.
May your day be bright and beautiful!


Proverbs 31:10-31 The Message 

A good woman is hard to find,
    and worth far more than diamonds.
Her husband trusts her without reserve,
    and never has reason to regret it.
Never spiteful, she treats him generously
    all her life long.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,
    and enjoys knitting and sewing.
She’s like a trading ship that sails to faraway places
    and brings back exotic surprises.

She’s up before dawn, preparing breakfast
    for her family and organizing her day.
She looks over a field and buys it,
    then, with money she’s put aside, plants a garden.
First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
    rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.
She senses the worth of her work,
    is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.

She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
    diligent in homemaking.
She’s quick to assist anyone in need,
    reaches out to help the poor.

She doesn’t worry about her family when it snows;
    their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear.
She makes her own clothing,
    and dresses in colorful linens and silks.
Her husband is greatly respected
    when he deliberates with the city fathers.
She designs gowns and sells them,
    brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops.
Her clothes are well-made and elegant,
    and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.

When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say,
    and she always says it kindly.
She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,
    and keeps them all busy and productive.
Her children respect and bless her;
    her husband joins in with words of praise:
“Many women have done wonderful things,
    but you’ve outclassed them all!”

Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
    The woman to be admired and praised
    is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.
Give her everything she deserves!
    Festoon her life with praises!

I like you

I shouldn't be writing this.  It's the dead of Winter and everything seems...well, dead, or dying, or sick.  I'm just your average mom in the USA who hasn't left her house much because just when we get done circulating one sickness and I can breathe again, the school nurse calls me and tells me to high-tail it down there to pick up a crying child.  Or, (God bless her), my son's friend's mom called me to tell me my son had puked all over her living room carpet.  And me-well, I don't have time to be sick, but unfortunately, I had to make the time and also unfortunately, my toilets, my sinks, my floors, my drawers and my husband have all noticed as well.  How many times does one become bedridden without becoming depressed?

 I certainly have an appreciation for those of you out there and bedridden and sick for forever.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry you have to go through this flu, this sickness, this cancer, this old-age thing.  I'm sorry there is not a ray of sunshine shining through your window right now.

Honestly, I've been super thankful for the Olympics, Disney, Adventures in Odyssey, the actual onion-thin pages of the Bible and the creators of This is Us for the last couple months.  Thank you for helping me get through this season.  Oh, and the book, Hillbilly Elegy.  If you haven't read it, you should.  If you like true stories.

Which brings me back to Disney.  And my June-bug.

It all started a couple weeks ago, when, in between sickness, I went to observe June in her classroom.  I usually do this once a year to check out her situation, since she can't really tell me what's going on at school.  Usually she ignores me completely while I sit at the back of the class.  I usually see her happy at circle time, steal a kiss, she wipes it off, then I leave.  I breathe a sigh of relief that things were as good as I had imagined.

Well, this time was different.  Upon entering the classroom, she turned completely around in her chair and stared straight at me.  She kept giggling like the secret was out.  "Guys. My MOM is here.  Can you believe it?"  She kept making eyes at me, and while I was trying to ignore her, I really sat there mesmerized and in disbelief.

She notices me I thought.

She likes me.  LIKES me.  I can't even believe it.  My 8 year old likes me!

I grabbed her little cheeks and looked her in the eyes and said
Mommy sees you.  And I like what you are doing here.  Thank you for having me in your class.  
I love you.
And I walked out of the classroom.
And she didn't follow me.  She sat in her little chair in the circle at the front of the classroom because that's what little third graders do.

A week later I was watching Frozen with my 5 year old. We were both sick and snuggled up on the couch.  All of the sudden June came barreling into the room and squished her body right next to mine and put her hand in mine.  I was startled.
Oh!  You want to actually watch a movie with me?  
Okay....well this has never happened.... 
And she watched the entire second half of the movie with us.
On the couch.
With her hand in my hand.
She kept looking up at me and smiling as if to tell me
Mom I like you.

I know it doesn't seem like much to some of you.  But this is HUGE for our family.  We are not your typical family that sits down and watches a movie together while mom and dad lay there zonked.  It simply doesn't happen because June doesn't care to or doesn't have the attention span for a movie.  And not that she will for every movie, but this is a small window for me into learning that she is growing up just a little, and if we have to watch Frozen once a month as a family, we will.
Because it feels so normal.

This morning my 5 year old handed me a slip of paper.  And I almost cried.

Do you?
Do you really?
Because
In between the
Iloveyous
hugsandkisses
Momineedyous

It sure is nice to be liked.

June's new happy spot.  I like it.