Birthday present: Kryptonite body suit

Sometimes you are done.
You are done
screaming
jerking
swearing

You are done with this situation.
You would do whatever it takes to make it go away.

And so it happens again and you really know you are done because
all of a sudden
you are watching yourself do what you thought you could never do.

It is an out-of-body experience.
A gift from God, really.

You breathe in, and somehow-

calmly
patiently
efficiently

you get it done.

It is not you.

Finally, it happened for me.
Tonight it happened.

It was the LAST straw.
But the FIRST time I could actually love her through this moment.
It was the last time I would find my nearly-7 year old covered with feces smeared all over her body.
And scream with disgust.

For the 187th time-
I cleaned up the mess and scrubbed her little body with grace.
It wasn't me scrubbing.
I was watching myself scrubbing.

As much as I love this girl, I hate this habit.
And so I had to show you.
So you can pray for me.
I'm even okay with you feeling bad for me.
And honestly I can't believe I'm showing you this picture.

And so,
this precious girl, who turns 7 on Monday
is not getting Princess clothes
and Barbie dolls
and Pretty Ponies for her birthday on June 6.

She is getting a backwards-zipping full-length Kryptonite Body Suit.
Maybe she is even getting 7 of them.
Because she is turning 7.

Shortcake is the answer

Yesterday I drove around in sort of a haze.  I decided at 8 am I would head to the strawberry fields with my four year old and pick juicy, sweet strawberries.  We mucked on our boots and headed out the door....filled our baskets with heaven and rain and ran for the car.

And then the day continued...I firmed up summer therapy plans for my 6 year old over the phone,  met some friends at Chick-fil-a for lunch, filled our bellies with goodness and drove home, taking sips of coffee and filtered water all day long.  I went to the grocery store and picked up some staples, zipped over to get my 8 year old from his very expensive private school and then ran back home to throw together salmon, rice, kale and strawberry salad and shortcake.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Somehow, I am privileged. I am the lucky one at the front of the line.

SOMEHOW-while my children are gorging themselves on strawberries and cream,
 there are children aound the world
DYING of starvation
EVERY 3 SECONDS.

And this weekend when my sump pump and hot water suddenly bit the dust, and my kids were screaming in pain with the fire of strep....SOMEHOW, I was the lucky one who got to go to the doctor and get this amazing bubble gum medicine that cures.  SOMEHOW, I was able to make it through an agonizing 24 hours without hot water while there are still 1 in 10 people in the world who can't even find a single drop of clean drinking water.

And how did I become so lucky that I get to drive around in a mini van all day
with the 7% of people in the world who actually own a car?

Making phone calls and pulling out plastic money-
Buying things off of Amazon Prime and getting them delivered to my door in 2 hours--

I'm not going to lie.
This is the hardest job I've ever had.
I'm kind of forever and around-the-clock in charge, wiping every sniffle, butt and  spill.
Guarding every word, managing every expectation, dream and never tuning out or fully turning in.
Carefully timing ipad obsessions, time-outs and minutes to bed time and moments til wake time.

But today I feel unbelievably blessed.
And I surely don't deserve all this I know.
Thank you God.
We are convinced of  your goodness.
We are convinced of our need to give.

She spat on the TV

I was supposed to write a Christmas post, and a New Year's post, right? That's what bloggers do....but I've been stuck.  Mostly because I feel so negative. People ask me all the time....how is June? And it's such a hard question to answer.  The truth is she's making progress every week.  And the truth is I'm rejoicing with the progress, but with every bit of progress comes the harsh reality that I have just created more work for myself.  In some ways it was easier to tote her around in a baby carrier and let her be mute and in-mobile.  At least she was safe then. And cuddled.  And fed. And happy. 

Now I just follow her around and my goal for the day is that she eats enough (food, not dirt) to put some fat on her skinny little bones, re-direct (or try not to scream at) her when she gags herself, take away toys when she spits on them, praise her when she goes poop on the potty, and make sure she doesn't eat anything poisonous or steal too much water from the faucets, because that leads to puking, and then the vicious cycle continues.  And if it's a good day, I will force myself to be an amazing mom.  The mom that sits and asks for her to make a choice, following her around and letting her do what she wants: hang out on the trampoline, contemplate electrical and shiny gadgets, force her to do puzzles and other learning activities, provide messy opportunities where she can squish applesauce and pumpkin guts or massage olive oil into her tiny little hands until she giggles and til her heart is indeed, content.

But then something like this happens.

June broke our brand new TV.  Now let me just tell you.  We had just purchased a flat screen TV last year.  Our FIRST ever flat screen TV, and with an Amazon Prime membership, our kids thought they were at Disney World with all the shows they could watch besides PBS KIDS.  Now listen, I am a TV Nazi.  My kids get an hour of screen time a day, if that, HOWEVER, it was still nice to be able to pick a new show DAILY.  Well all that ended on Sunday afternoon when June decided to SPIT on the TV.  Yes, you heard me right.  She spit on the TV like she spits on everything because that is what June does.  The way June spits is more like a drool....Now, let me warn you.
 DO NOT EVER LET YOUR CHILD SPIT ON THE TV. Because the spit runs down the screen and into the electrical compartment and then the TV goes bonkers.  Like...a demon enters the TV and the channels start changing rapidly and the volume starts rising higher and higher at random times.  So good thing my husband is a pack rat because he went out and got the OLD TV and when my kids started watching a a heart-wrenching PBS special on special needs today with sad music and all, I told them they would have to settle for the Stuart Little 3 Christmas DVD because I couldn't bare to sit through another special needs special.

June also is also becoming a little bit obsessive...like, if I take the dish towel off the oven to wipe up something (usually her spit or puke), I usually throw it in the corner to head out to the laundry room.  Well, little Miss Organization (oh the things she would organize if her hands would do what she wanted them to!) will take the towel off the ground and either put it back on the oven bar OR try to grab my hand to get me to do the same thing.  She's also obsessed with this Fisher Price Beatbo that she received for Christmas from her grandparents.  Here she is with her magnifying glass and her hand on the robot.  It's her morning routine to come into our bed every morning and snuggle with Daddy and listen to the Robot. We cannot break the morning routine. 

Some other strange occurrences our happening in our house.  Charlotte is having a hard time acting her age because she is confused as to how one acts at the age of 3.  After all, her older sister is doing things like chewing on a chew toy.  Here they are, in sisterly love both bonding as they chew on a toy together.  Every mother's dream....two daughters sharing.

 So...hope you are drinking a hot coffee like me and hunkering down for a big snowstorm, stocking up on milk, eggs and marshmallows for the hot chocolate.  Have a blessed weekend, whatever storm comes your way.  And just in case you feel like your Winter is especially long this year:

" For though the fig tree doesn't flourish, nor fruit be in the vines; the labor of the olive fails, the fields yield no food, the flocks are cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the LORD. I will be joyful in the God of my salvation! The LORD, the Lord, is my strength. He makes my feet like deer's feet, and enables me to go in high places." Habakkuk 3:17-19

Sticky Saturday

Saturdays are hard.  I'm not gonna lie.  Every time the bus driver drops June off on Fridays, I smile and take June's hand.  He smiles, and says, aren't you glad it's Friday?  I smile and say yes.  But it's not the truth.  I'm actually cringing inside because the weekend is coming and that's when I break my back the most.  That's when I yell the most.  That's when I don't really know what to do with my days, because the routine is missing.  That's when I have to stop June from gagging herself and puking about 150 times. I spend the day re-directing hands, managing expectations and wishing I could clean the bathroom, or at least fold laundry.  My family doesn't know what to do with me and I don't know what to do with them.  Tempers run short.  Days run long and for some reason I feel like everyone's happiness rides on me. Well today had happiness built into it, so there was an easy rhythm to our afternoon that was better than average. 

It was Halloween and also time to carve our almost-rotting pumpkins.  As much as I don't look forward to this event, I knew that it meant fun for the kids and and it especially meant that June would get in a lot of messy, goopy play and PERHAPS, wouldn't spend the night gagging herself while we were out trick-or-treating. Consequently,  June ate MOST of the pulp and seeds in her pumpkin, but when your child is usually eating dirt and poop, raw pumpkin pulp actually seems like an upgrade, so you let her. 

 

The night ended with some good old fashioned fun and trudging around the neighborhood.  I will say that I am emotionally exhausted from refusing Resee's PB cups at least a dozen times, but other than that my little butterfly did very well asserting herself at people's doorways and keeping up with the big kids. She has her Mama's blood running through her veins because she was very concerned that I was eating her candy and, at one point, started giving it to her Daddy to hold, because I was suspect.  I really don't blame her.  

My little June bug spent most of her time in the wagon where she gazed at the super-cool skull light the neighbor gave her until the batteries wore out.  She then wrapped herself in a coccoon in the wagon, begged for smarties and deeply mourned the fact that we could not take the fortune teller's ball with us.  Her mourning continued through her bath, and into bedtime where we are still not sure if she was crying from lack of owning a fortune teller's ball or from an upset stomach due to ingesting too much raw pumpkin pulp.  

My big boy baseball player declared that he had enough candy by 7:15 and that we should head home now. This, of course was music to our ears and we basically sprinted the way back to the homestead, only stopping to listen to our elderly neighbors play a shanty on a guitar and accordian.  

Sweet dreams, to the children across America who are going to bed with full gummy tummies, sticky fingers, and chocolate cheeks. 

We promise to bathe you before church in the morning.

They are breathing

I know I speak for at least 100 parents today.  Probably more.  But I am confident that at least 100 of us are feeling the same way.  Today I watched my friends bury their 10-week old son who struggled to survive here on this earth (read story here).  I have so much I could say about the integrity of these two parents, about their love for each other, for their son, for their God and for the human race, but what I really can't get out of my head is this:  

I have a son.
A   S-O-N
Who is alive and well.
He did not suffer or struggle to enter this world.
He spent hours upon hours nursing, sleeping on my chest, being held and snuggled close.
There were no wires or bandages or pieces of plastic holding his life together.
This son who is S-E-V-E-N talked me into playing monopoly tonight.
He WON at 9:30 pm.
I let him stay up WAY past his bedtime
Just because
His HEART was BEATING.

I have a daughter.
A   D-A-U-G-H-T-E-R
Who speaks with the gentle touch of her hands.
She finds peace in the movement and ripples of water.
This daughter opens her mouth and can take food IN.
Then she actually DIGESTS it and it comes OUT.
Where it is supposed to.
For the most part.
This daughter can SEE.
She can HEAR the music, the wind and the vacuum hum hum humming.

And if that wasn't enough,
ALMIGHTY GOD decided to bless me with
ANOTHER DAUGHTER.
She is JOY.
She has rhythm and SINGS
Strange made-up melodies.
She is stubborn and strong-willed.
She HAS an opinion.
A VOICE.
And she IS ABLE to actually DO the opposite of what I want her to do.
She can MOVE her legs.
She can BREATHE FREELY.


I don't know why I get to keep them here on this earth.
They are not really mine, are they?
Thank you God
Seems too small.
And that's really all I can think about.

Six Years Old

It's the Eve of your sixth birthday, Iva June.  Can I say it? S-I-X.  Not sure I can believe that exactly six years ago you decided to disrupt my world, little one.  How did I know we would take such an unknown and unlovely path to learn to love each other? 

I didn't think you had such a remarkable year.  I must have forgotten what the truth was though because I just looked at all the evidence...the thousands of captured digital shots that sit in my phone waiting to tell a story.

This is what I found.

It was your first year at a BIG elementary school.  Your teacher told me you were such a hard worker, maybe the hardest worker she has ever had.  You learned how to color with crayons, walk to lunch on your own, throw trash in the can and put your book bag away.  

Your teacher also told me that you have a couple best friends.  And that when they are sad you reach out and touch them gently.  You will say goodbye to one of your friends in just a few days, but I know the Good Lord will bring you another one soon.

You had a hard Christmas I must admit.  Something was terribly wrong as you thrashed your way through ten sleepless days and nights. You even spent one night in the hospital.  You were brave and beautiful.  You fought to tell us what was going on.  I'm sorry we never found out.  

 

 You gave Winter a good try this year.  It was the first time you didn't cry to come in from the cold.  You pushed the stroller through the snowy streets and swooped down to touch the flakes.  

You giggled as they tickled your tongue.

You were a rock star at the dentist.  

Something about the bright lights, mirrors and attention makes you feel at home.  

 

You purposefully played outside this Spring.  You actually found some toys and brought them to the water.  You did not stim wildly upside-down on your back and eat dirt and leaves.  Thanks for that...all so I could sit there sipping lemon-water, reading a magazine, painting my toenails, texting my friends, planning dinner and hollering at your siblings once in a while.

You said goodbye to your attendants Miss Kat and Miss Leslie and learned to enjoy your time with two new attendants.  This is hard stuff...getting to know someone new.  I know it takes a lot of work.  It's hard for your Mommy too, June bug.  Change is hard.

You participated in your very first Special Olympics taster!  You weren't overwhelmed by the people or noise and were excited to show off your mad skills! Maybe a future sprint runner??
  

For the first time in our lives we were able to bring you to the beach and you didn't eat sand the entire time...just maybe ten times....BUT such an improvement! This made us so happy!

You also learned how to get what you want by communicating, by guiding our hands to the things you long for...in this case: ICE.  You have become even more confident that we will follow your lead and it feels good to see you adamantly sharing your opinion with us.  

My beautiful child, may you rest well this evening.  May you always see the sunlight streaming through your window, may the water always beckon you to come (just don't always jump in), may your hugglepod and soft music always comfort you, may your Daddy always bring you smiles.  May our God warm your heart so you can feel His presence all around, 

within and beyond you for years to come.

I love you, Iva June.

39

Thirty-nine years ago my mother pushed me into this great world of unknowns.  I was fat with frosted hair, colicky, strong-willed and creatively searching for ways to make my mother's life just a little bit harder.  I was a difficult toddler, but mercifully when school started, things fell into place, and my dear mother could breathe again so she could take care of the rest of my five family members.

Today is the day of my birth and yet, for my mother, it was the day that changed her life forever.  It was the day she would realize what selfless truly means.  She would know what it means to be riddled with pain, with flu, with anguish, but yet, still have to rise up and wear the crown of mother.  She would know the term sleepless, and spend countless hours praying for her children to grow up and know God, be responsible and caring human beings in this broken society. She prayed for them to be loved well by their spouses and be emotionally stable in a very wayward land.  But sometimes all good plans don't succeed.  Sometimes the dreams for your children are broken by depression, destruction, pride, abuse, and death.  She didn't know she would be crying along side every one of her children begging God for mercy and respite in times of great need.  She didn't know she would be the comforter, giving chicken soup for not only the soul, but for actual healing when days were long and hard and sometimes disastrous.  She stood and wrapped her arms around each one as the pain seeped from our veins into hers as she felt what we felt, grieved what some of us had lost.

My Mom and me

 Today I celebrate her,  because I have a small glimpse of what she did for me and am now only beginning to understand what it means to be christened mother.  And when the days come that seem to rip at the seams of my flesh, and when my children have days that are seemingly awful, and when I think that this mother-thing is not for me, because I don't have any answers anymore, and when the sticker chart, positive incentives, dicipline and re-teaching has all failed, I will  (try to) raise my hands to the sky and thank the Lord God Almighty that He has given me this grand opportunity to minister to the needs of these hopeful little beings, to hear them out when nobody else will understand, to speak words of life into their little ears, to spur them on to kindness.  Today I will hope with them when all seems riddled with fear, tainted with bitter words, or when lips are mute, legs are unstable, when hands can't form signs, or when hearts can't bend toward love.  

I don't know if I can do it but today I feel inspired.  It's my day of birth, after all. 

Yesterday, we spent the afternoon in Cape Charles and dined at the Shanty. It was a sweet and welcomed Mother's Day/birthday gift.   VERY Miraculously, all three of my kids sat  angelically in their best post-beach state sipping water and basking in the ocean breeze while listening to cool indie-jazz music. June has been doing this funny thing where she sits behind us and moves our arms to what she wants...kind of like we are her robot...or servant. For a child who hasn't communicated much to us in five years, we have been off-our-rocker intrigued and equally excited!
In this case, she wanted ice:

 Sunshine, communication and giggles.  These are good gifts.

Happy birthday to me!