Explaining Things, Thinking Them Through

There's a lot on my mind.  It needs to get out, or I'll never get past this.

Our nation is mourning the loss of 28 lives, 20 of them children under the age of 7.  This is hardly something any of us can explain or even begin to comprehend.  We are lifting these families up in prayer, holding our own families a little tighter, all of us eager for the answer to one question:  WHY?

I'm not sure we'll get that answer.  At least, not one that satisfies any of us.  How could it?  The inexplicable, every parent's worst nightmare, has happened, in one single breath.  It is possible this is something we won't ever understand or receive answers to.

I do know that this is not a time for platforms or debates on gun control, or even mental health care. This is not a time for guessing or pointing fingers, or spreading hypotheses and unconfirmed diagnoses.   We all need something, someone, to blame, but this is not the time.  These were lives, loved ones, human beings--children--not political forums.  Some will argue with me, if not now, when?  I don't know, but I do know now is not the time.  Now is the time to mourn, to allow for prayer, healing and blessings.  Then we celebrate the lives lost, and honor them properly.

As a mom, I still continue to weep openly for the loss these other parents are feeling.  It is incomprehensible to me.  I can't even begin to imagine what life would be like without my children. I don't want to imagine life without them. This is how the reality has hit us, me and my two closest friends: reading through the names, there was a Benjamin, a Noah, and an Emilee.  My heart hurts in ways I never knew possible--it physically hurts.

Avery was with me Friday and he sat snuggled in my lap all afternoon, but I waited all day, impatiently, for Noah to arrive home.  It took everything I had to not run up to his school and pick him up early.  It took everything I had to not run up our street to grab him up in a hug the second his bus pulled up.  When I saw him coming down our driveway though, I ran out of our front door and grabbed him up, crying openly and gratefully for the safety of my own child.  I explained to him a little bit of what had happened, and just told him I was glad he was safe.  Shawn and I had already agreed we'd talk with him further after Avery went to bed, and hopefully, after we'd learned more.  As the day wore on, I watched my kids closely, just grateful they were within reach and there for me to hug and smother with love.

That evening after Avery went to bed, we sat down with Noah in his bed.  Many of the things we talked about with him were the same things other parents were discussing with their kids that night.  Things we shouldn't have to talk about with our kids, but in our society, they've become topics we have to address.  Things like, if you hear something that sounds like a gun, it probably is, get down and stay safe; if you hear someone at school threaten violence, even if you think they might be joking, notify an adult immediately and allow the adults to make that sort of decision; if you see someone at school who doesn't look like he/she belongs there, tell an adult immediately.  It boggles a parent's mind to have to talk about these things, to have to say "Stay safe today, I love you" as our children leave for school, a place they should naturally be safe.  Something else we addressed with Noah was personal responsibility and self control; how something might seem like a good idea at the time, but you always have to think of the long term consequences.  It is never okay to hurt someone else.  Accountability, self control and responsibility are not options for Noah, they are MUSTS. We also talked with Noah about the tragedy itself, how we need to pray for the families, that there aren't any answers or reasons why; we kept the details simple and short.  I found myself thinking this was a conversation I shouldn't have to have with my child, but there were we.

And, true to form, this is where my post takes a turn.  This is where it becomes about my family.

Because of many of the rumors going through the media, Shawn and I couldn't be sure what Noah would hear when he returned to school today, so we felt we needed to address those with him also, for his sake.  There are many rumors circulating that this man had a personality disorder and learning disabilities, that he may have had Asperger's Syndrome, OCD and ADHD (several news outlets have even incorrectly identified AS, OCD and ADHD as learning disorders and disabilities).  The media have described him as mentally ill.  He was described by family friends and acquaintances as brilliant yet shy, genius-level yet solitary and closed off.  The media have pointed their fingers at these descriptions and possibilities, saying, "There's your answer, folks.  That's why he did it."  We have yet to hear a physician confirm any of this, yet to hear an actual diagnosis from the police investigators, but the media are running wild with it.  Without facts, without anyone coming forward telling us for certain these were this man's diagnoses, these friends, acquaintances, family members, teachers, reporters and so-called experts are engaging in pure speculation and gossip, all in the name of being part of the spotlight, and trying to answer the unanswerable. In trying to answer the unanswerable, they are inadvertently providing excuses for this man's actions, and in some ways, any future actions someone else might take.

This truly has my Mommy Hackles up.  I'm feeling extra protective of Noah right now, as his mom I'm feeling more defensive than I have in a long time, ready to pounce on the first person who looks at my son cross-eyed.  These are all words and phrases that have been used to describe my son by one person or another.  Noah does have Asperger's, OCD and ADHD.  Noah is highly intelligent, he's socially awkward, he can be solitary, there are times he can be a bit of an odd duck.  He has also been diagnosed with depression and anxiety.  Noah receives medication and counseling, and his needs are more than taken care of.  My son is not a bad person, nor do any of these diagnoses make him so.  My child is not mentally disturbed, he is not learning disabled, he is not disordered or diseased or ill.  Noah is not bad.  This man was bad. He made truly awful, bad, tragic choices.  If, in fact he did have one or any of these diagnoses, they were not what made him bad, they did not make him make these choices, they did not lead him to murder 20 children, 6 adults, his mother, and himself.  What it comes down to for me is teaching our children personal responsibility, self control and rules.  It is not about providing excuses for one's behavior.

These are the things we covered with Noah.  We've never allowed Noah to use his diagnoses as excuses for not being able to do something.  It might take him a different way, or a little longer than others, but he can do just about everything anyone else can do.  We've made it clear to Noah that in a court of law, and in life in general, he would be/is held to the same accountability as everyone else, and it's something we continue to reiterate with him due to his lack of inner filters.  My child is capable.  My son is compassionate, he's loving, he's funny, and there are some things that can only be attributed to Asperger's that are my favorite things about him.  We stressed to Noah that he is not bad, we talked about the rumors being circulated in the media, things he might hear at school, things he might be told by others.  We talked with him about choices, about the difference between being good and being bad, and how his diagnoses have nothing to do with any of that.  We are very upset, very concerned, very disturbed by how Autism and Asperger's are now being perceived by the media, we are discouraged by how this could affect Noah's view of himself, upset that others who are just as ignorant will feed off this media coverage and see something in Noah that isn't there.  Again, as we were talking to Noah about all of this, I found myself thinking....  "I shouldn't have to have this kind of conversation with my child."  But there we were.

My prayers are for our entire nation, for the families immediately affected by this tragedy, for the first responders, for the entire Newtown community.  My prayers are for a better understanding throughout our world of Autism and Asperger's Syndrome.  My prayers are for healing and hope, peace and strength.

At the end of the day, I am grateful for the safety of my children, and I'm grateful for them--chaos, craziness, Asperger's, toddlerhood, and all.  I am grateful to live life in left field.

My Grown Up Christmas List

Shawn knows my heart.  He (usually) does his best to protect it.  Several months ago, I heavily petitioned him for a little girl through Compassion International.  Her name is Anastasya, and she's beautiful.  I've never met her, but I love her and care for her as if she were my own.  I pray for this precious little girl, I pray for her parents, and I'm grateful for the blessings in our lives that we are able to share with them.  Shawn set her up through the year in our name, but when it came time for her birthday, we weren't able to contribute the way we wanted to.  The deadline for Christmas gift donations rolled around shortly after that, and it didn't look as though we'd make it.  I have had tremendous guilt over this; when we committed to Anastasya, I really wanted to be able to support her and celebrate with her properly.  When we couldn't, it just really hurt.

This season has been difficult for me for several reasons, and my depression has worsened to a great degree.  Our marriage has been rocky for the past several months, and life has been far from easy around here.  I have not looked forward to Christmas, and quite honestly, I could've done without celebrating it at all.  It just doesn't feel right this year.  I had a difficult time buying presents for the boys, and it wasn't until Shawn insisted we go out that it finally got done.  I'm one of those people who typically has these sorts of things done by November, and I normally find great joy in buying gifts for others.  Shawn has asked for gift ideas for myself, and I haven't been able to give him any.  I just don't have the joy in me this year.  I know he's upset because he hasn't known what to give me and is feeling empty handed.  I've explained to him that with the depression as bad as it's gotten, gifts really won't make much sense, or even make much of a dent in my Christmas this year.  I know that's hard for some people to understand, but that's just how it is.  It's difficult to explain that the only way Christmas would be the way I need it to be is for my best friend's world to be righted, for my extended family to be "normal" (ha!) and functional, for life to just be easy to live--pain free, full of answers, forgiveness, communication, and other "grown up" things.  Santa just can't deliver those.

Today we got a letter from Compassion.  It was a receipt for Anastasya's Christmas gift, something my husband took care of because he knew how much it means to me that she has a good Christmas, because he understands how important and special this precious little girl is to me.  It is meaningful to him because it's meaningful to me, knowing that Anastasya is taken care of....  And it's by far one of the best grown up Christmas presents I could ever hope to receive.  

My Christmas is complete.  That's all I needed.

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

"'I must do something' always solves more problems than 'Something must be done.'"--Anonymous

My husband is always telling me I don't have to save the world, but sometimes it seems as though the world--or at least parts of it--shows up on my doorstep.  I don't want to ever be the person who says, "I thought someone else was going to help."  It's not my style.  No, I don't have to save the world, but I am called to help the ones who cross my path.

By now you've read enough of my posts to know that I'm a "pets are people, too" kind of person.  I'm a pet parent, not a pet owner.  My pets will never be as important to me as my boys are, but they come in close.  They are living, breathing creatures and deserve the best life I can give them.  After all, I'm the one who brought them in to my home.  Just like my boys, these creatures are gifts to me, brought into my life for my happiness, for me to care for, love and cherish.  I baby these animals, I spoil them, I lavish them with treats, with love, with homemade food, with beds and warmth and shelter.  I've often joked that if I believed in reincarnation, I'd want to come back as one of my cats.  

So, it deeply upsets me when I see animals mistreated, when I see them abandoned, unloved, unwanted, hungry, and left to their own defenses.  We--society--have domesticated these animals, so it is up to us to provide for them.  Unfortunately, not everyone thinks the way I do.  We have two kitties in our home that were strays in our neighborhood, one of them in the middle of a very cold winter.  Very often in our neighborhood we see dogs wandering loose without collars, most of them aggressive, untrained and unloved.  I see my neighbors yelling at their pets, hitting them, leaving them outside without proper shelter and water on hot days, and generally mistreating these pets they claim to have wanted and brought into their homes.  It hurts my heart and quite honestly, makes me angry.  It annoys me when people make a commitment to a pet, then fall short of that commitment out of laziness.  Once they realize the pet is more work than they realized, but they aren't willing to try to give it a better life, so the dog is relegated to the backyard, or the cat is left to its own devices.  If you can't keep a plant alive, if you don't have the time to devote to watering that on a regular basis, then you shouldn't have pets (or children, for that matter).

Friday afternoon, we had a two little visitors--two sweet little cocker spaniel mixes.  I watched as they wandered our court for a bit, waiting to see if they went home with any of our neighbors' guests, waiting to see if any of our neighbors came looking for them--just waiting to see what happened.  After an hour, and after one of our neighbors screamed at them and hit them, I'd kind of had enough.  Ready to do something about it, I realized they'd wandered into our driveway and just sat down to watch while Noah played basketball.  They had that "Yep, this is the house!  The sign on the overpass said a nice woman lives in the blue house!" look on their faces (my friend Sharon jokes that when Jethro escapes, it's to paint a sign on the overpass about the kind pet lady in the blue house...  It's right next to her graffiti about my gravy from a jar on Thanksgiving...).  They immediately took to Noah, tolerated Avery, but were very wary of myself and Shawn.  Unfortunately, Lilly didn't like them on her property and actually broke through the storm door to get out of the house.  A chase ensued (in true Furr Family fashion, of course---Noah in the lead, Shawn in bare feet and literally pulling pants on as he ran to catch up, and me bringing up the rear in my stocking feet, trying to keep an eye on Avery, who was still on the porch), Lilly was almost hit by a car (she now wears the perimeter collar of shame), and all 3 dogs ended up back at our house safely.  Lilly went in her crate inside the house, and the other two (No Noah, we're NOT naming them!) went in the garage.  I knew it had to be done, so I called animal control.  Because the dogs were eager to follow Noah around, he fed them, gave them water, and spread towels out on the garage floor so they could lay down and wouldn't be cold.  I wanted to hug the deputy who recognizing Noah's attachment to the dogs and theirs to him, employed his help in getting them in her truck.

That's not the end of the story.  I feel invested in these little guys.  They ended up in our care for a reason.  They need someone to care about them and to fight for them.  They deserve an advocate.  They were kind to my children, even loving. Their fur was in very poor shape, they were very hungry and thirsty, they did not have collars or microchips and posters have not been posted about missing dogs in our neighborhood.  I've been calling the shelter to stay updated on them, and no one has claimed them.  Honestly, with the kind of shape they were in, and how they'd been treated based on their behavior, I'm not sure I want their owners to claim them.  Is it okay to admit that?  Everyone, even a dog, deserves to be missed, wanted and loved.  From what I've been told, the dogs are not adjusting well to the shelter, and haven't been very nice to or trusting of the volunteers.  Their quarantine ends on Friday, and then the "decision" about their futures with the shelter will be made.  The people at our local are very devoted to their jobs, and love animals very much, but with overflow being a problem, sadly, there is only so much they can do.  

Instead of just hoping for the best, I'm not giving up.  I'm calling foster and rescue groups, counting on one of them to come through for these sweet little guys.  They, like everyone else, deserve to have someone fight for them.  No, I don't have to save the world, just certain parts of it.

I think the little gold one was smiling while he sat next to Noah.  He wouldn't leave Noah's side.

Back Off, She's My SISTER!

Just because of personal history, I kind of do a little panic thing when I hear sirens if I don't know where all my people are, or if I hear about an accident that has occurred nearby one of them.  It just scares me, and I worry until I hear back from all of them.

Yesterday I was on my way home with my boys when I heard on the radio about an accident near my friend Mandy's office.  Because I'm me, I panicked.  I worried.  I lead-footed it the rest of the way home so I could check on her.

I'm very grateful to say she's fine, and perfectly safe.

But this brought the three of us--myself, Mandy, and Sharon--to a realization.  We aren't just friends, we're sisters.  We realized--and agreed--that God forbid something were to happen, nothing would stop us from announcing ourselves to emergency personnel as family.  As sisters.

We are family.  And we're just good together.

F-A-M-I-L-Y

Four Years Ago Today...

Here's a sweet little memory...

Four years ago today, Election Day 2008, I took Noah to Chik-Fil-A for lunch after I voted.  Halfway through lunch, I threw it up.  Realizing there was a pattern developing, I briefly allowed myself to entertain the possibility that I did not have the flu, that I might finally be pregnant, but I did not dare say it out loud yet.

A few days later, Shawn dared to whisper the same possibility out loud.

And the following week, we had conclusive evidence that the possibility was more than that.  We were finally pregnant.

And so began the story of Avery.

*Side note, just for giggles:  When I told the boys this story last night, I explained to Avery that it was the first hint that he was finally in my tummy.  When I got to the "throwing up" part, he exclaimed, "You frew me up in Chik FiwA?"  Gotta come up with a better way of explaining these things to a 3 year old.... 

That Darn Cat

One of my cats is 17 years old.  Sophie has always been the princess of the group, earning her stripes early on when I was still in college (she was the only roommate I could tolerate).  She has been shoved aside on her pedestal numerous times, first by Shawn, then our children, two other kitties, and two dogs.  I call her The Princess because she came from a breeder, and has always had that "nose in the air" attitude.  Her ousting has not been her choice, and each time someone new has moved in, she's been loud about her displeasure.

Over the past year she's stopped taking care of herself, and her beautiful long fur has become a tangled, knotted mess several times.  The first few times, Shawn and I carefully cut the knots away.  As the knots grew worse and her fur more tangled however, it became obvious that scissors were no longer going to solve the problem.

I looked into having her professionally groomed, but when the bill is almost quadruple what the cat weighs because they have to sedate her, Shawn and I thought, "GAME ON!"  We high-fived each other and agreed we were totally up to the challenge of shaving a 17 year old grumpy kitty.

The first time didn't go so badly.  We wrapped her up tightly in a towel and got to work.  Sure, it didn't look professional, but at least she didn't have knots anymore!  Not to mention she really didn't have much fur left and her head looked like it was floating in space.....

Last night, we got the clippers out again--and Sophie got the teeth out.  She bit me so badly that Shawn had to pry her jaw off my finger.  When I sent a picture of it to my friend Mandy this morning (who is a very smart doctor of nursing!), she replied with, "Go to the doctor.  NOW."  Really?  Over a cat bite?  Nahhhh.  But, Mandy doesn't panic, and she doesn't usually tell people to get to the doctor right away, so I kind of had to give her recommendation and panic attack some weight.  It turned into quite a hassle because my doctor is full for the rest of the week (Already?  Really?), and I had to locate an urgent care facility that accepts our insurance.  I was finally able to find one, and the looks on the nurse's and doctor's faces when I told my story was priceless.  The nurse, I'm quite sure, felt more sorry for Sophie than for me; because it is an animal bite, it has to be reported to the authorities, but she kept saying to the doctor, "Come on.  She's 17!  And she just didn't want to be groomed!  And her name is Sophie, that sounds like a sweet innocent kitty!" Cracked me up more than just a little.  Now I've had a tetanus shot, I have 2 antibiotics and a follow up for Thursday, and I have a very swollen, gross-looking, sore and stiff finger.  I think maybe next time I'll just pay to have my cat sedated and professionally groomed.

Here is Sophie's #catshaming entry:

The princess has tumbled off her pedestal.

Acts of Service vs. Acts of Love

Maybe you don't see the difference, but to me, there is a difference between an act of service and an act of love.  Sometimes they merge, but many times they are two very distinct works.  Then there are the times when acts of service become more like, well, acts of duty.  It's possible that is the distinction I'm trying to make.

For me, my acts of love center around food.  Cooking and baking are my gift (my friend Kelly calls me a "feeder"), and I love being able to share that with others.  It's not only what I want to do, it's what I'm called to do.  God provides the food and the people, and I just help Him make it happen.  *"Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in it's various forms.  If anyone speaks, they should so as one who speaks the very words of God.  If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God maybe praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever.  Amen."  1 Peter 4: 10-11*  Take my work at the center, for example.  Even if I weren't thanked on a regular basis (which is not the reason I do my work there--Jesus has called me to be His hands and feet), the actions of the people I have the blessing of being able to serve tell me how much I am needed there.  And not to sound arrogant, but I don't think just any person would do.  The way my friend "R" smiles as I serve her favorite tea and toast her bagel just right--that's love.  I love her smile, I love the joy on her face when I've fixed her Lady Grey just right, I love that she feels my love in that one simple act.  And I love being able to do that for her.  When my friend "C" stops by and wants just a cup of my best coffee, a slice of whatever I've baked just for them, and stories about her two favorite Furr children--it warms my heart.  And my dear Mr P, where would I be without him?  The day he came by when Pastor B wasn't there for visitation, and Mr P said he came by just to see me?  Wow (because really, I love this dear man, and that was a huge step for him)!  I am honored to be a part of their lives, and I am blessed by all they share with me.   I often find myself thanking them for allowing me to serve them, and for allowing me into their lives.  I have learned so much from my guests (and not just these three), and they all have such places in my heart.  No kidding, I would clean the toilets at the center for my guests--for all of our clients.  I even take out the trash.  And I don't complain about any of it either.  When the rest of their lives are in upheaval from grief, loss, loneliness or whatever  happens to be going on, our clients can be assured the center will be in order.  They know the coffee will be brewing, the food will be served with love and the tea, should they want it, will be hot.  They know the conversation will be lively, the tissues free-flowing, and the hugs earnest, long and meaningful.  Our hugs and smiles convey things that words simply cannot.  When I leave, I have a tremendous gratefulness in my heart for these people that I simply cannot describe.  Everything I do, I do out of a love, out of a gratefulness for their lives, and out of an honor to be able to serve them, and serving my Father at the same time.

Notice I used the word serve several times?  That's because working at the center is not only an act of love, but it's an act of service to my God.  It is something He has called me to do.  It's how I praise Him, how I show Him how thankful I am for what He has created and blessed me with.  *"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him... Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." Colossians 3:17, 23* He 'rewards' (strictly for lack of a better word) me by bringing His people to me, and just when it looks as though the food might run out, He does His fishes and loaves thing, and there's always plenty to go around.  I will make the distinction here though--my service at the center is not out of a begrudging duty.  It is, in a way, out of a duty to my God, but never out of a begrudging duty.

Another act of love, and of non-begrudging duty/service, is feeding my friends, their kids, and anyone else who comes my way in need of a hot, cooked-with-love meal.  Two of my favorite people to feed are Sharon's boys.  Last night was creamy chicken with rice soup; one boy ate 3 bowls, the other ate 4.  I also served some fresh french bread I'd just made, and you'd have thought it was gold.  They polished off an entire loaf by themselves!  I love to watch them eat, I really do.  They're good for my self esteem.  I served chocolate chip cookies for dessert (I found brown sugar!) and I warmed up plate, after plate, after plate of cookies.  It made me grin like a fool that I could feed these kids like this. When I told Sharon (and texted her a picture of the near-empty bag of cookies that had been full) about this, she said "YOU WARMED THEM UP????  THEY ARE SO SPOILED!"  Someday I'll make a terrific grandmother....  Again, watching them inhale my food conveys things that words simply cannot.  Sharon's boys are always polite, always remember their manners, but watching them enjoy my food conveys more than words ever could.  And when Sharon texts me that my food feeds her soul?  My heart sings.

One other job I have at the center is providing bread and dessert for our monthly pastoral luncheons.  This has become something I enjoy doing, again, because I love the smiles on the pastors' faces as they eat.  During my first luncheon, as one of our pastors took a bite of my bread, he closed his eyes, asked everyone to be quiet for just a minute, and slowly chewed.  When he was finished with his first bite, he declared there is nothing better than fresh baked bread, and it had been a long time since he'd had any (yes, he got his very own loaf the next month).  Another month I made a from-scratch cake with homemade frosting.  One pastor asked if the cake was from scratch, and another playfully smacked his shoulder, saying, "Amy made it!  Of course it is!"  I love how much joy my food brings.  The pastors are able to move on with their business and not worry about their meal, or a place to meet, because of the center, and the food Sue, Joan and I provide for them.  

I do a lot of baking and cooking for families in need, usually families in the midst of grief and loss.  No, my food will not bring back their loved ones.  But what it does do is convey that they are loved and cared for, whether I know them or not.  For just one night, it's one less thing they need to worry about.  They are in no shape to convey a thank you or a smile, and most of the time I just leave it on their doorsteps.  Most of them I will never meet or hear from, some of them I continue to follow from afar when their stories have especially touched me, but it's not about being thanked or meeting them.  It's about doing what I can to make their lives a little warmer.   It's about being Jesus to them.

When I saw our mail carrier out delivering mail during Hurricane Sandy, I knew she deserved more than a paycheck.  This woman needed love!  In the form of bread, of course.  The next day I left a loaf of banana bread in my mailbox with a thank you note for her dedication.  Yes, delivering mail is her job, but you know what?  She could've called in sick, or with any other excuse, but she didn't.  She left the sweetest thank you note for us, signed by all the workers from our post office.  My bread may have made her day, but she will never know how much her note meant to me.

I also love feeding my grandmother.  Her face, the sounds she makes as she eats and enjoys my food, it says it all, even as she's talking about my "exquisite meals."  It was the same with feeding my grandfather.  The week he died, I took some of my lasagna in to him, and his joy is something I will hold in my heart forever.  He was sick, and I knew at the time he couldn't fully enjoy it, nor could he eat as much as he normally would've (the man could clear a casserole pan!), but just being able to take that to him was what I selfishly needed to be able to do for him.

When we give, we receive back tenfold.  We are blessed in our giving, but that is still not why I do it.  Again, I do it because it's what God has asked me to do.  As a Believer, it's what I'm called to do to share Christ with others, to encourage them, and to bless them.  *Therefore, if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind.  Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit.  Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others." Philippians 2:1-4*

The question for all of the above, of course, is: Would is be more difficult to serve if they were less grateful?  I'm sure it would be, yes.  BUT, it's what my Father has called me to do.  He's called me to obedience.

Which leads me to the other side of service and obedience.... So, now the hard part--the service that is out of "because I have to," less out of anything else:  My family.  Lately, serving my family is just that:  service.  It's a duty, it's a job.  Yep, we're going back to "woe is me, I feel taken for granted."  It's hard to serve my family.  I take my job as a mother and provider very seriously.  I make an effort to provide good, wholesome, and tasty meals my family will appreciate.  I used to find such joy in experimenting, trying new things, serving them and making nice meals.  Not so much lately.  My husband watches his waistband, so to watch him weigh, measure and carefully dole out the meals I work hard to prepare, or when he says he can't eat a particular item or meal because of the content,  it hurts my feelings.  When my kids whine "We're having that again?" or "I don't like that!" it hurts my feelings. The one night out of many when dinner actually comes out of a box and Noah sighs, "Oh good, finally, a good meal we can all agree on," usually sends me from the dinner table straight to bed in tears.  Those are the nights I've run out strength to fight, I'm hurting more than usual from everything I do (for them), and I just can't take what they think are jokes or even compliments. When Shawn came home last night and saw "just" the chocolate chip cookies for dessert (FYI, I seldom serve an actual dessert around here unless it's a holiday, special occasion or we have guests, so chocolate chip cookies should've been a huge treat to him) and said something about hoping we'd have something yummy like the chocolate meringue cookies with chocolate ganache since Jake and Ben were here, it hurt my feelings (especially after watching him carefully measure out his soup).  He thinks he's joking, calls me oversensitive when I become upset and doesn't understand why I'm hurt, but it really stings.  When one of them drops something on the floor, or their mess is left in the kitchen (my workspace) with the attitude of "Oh, the maid we don't have, otherwise known as MOM, will pick it up," it stings.  I deserve better.  I am better.  I deserve the respect of having them understand that they need to clean up my workspace when they're finished (after all, I don't mess up their rooms while they're at school), or pick up their other messes. Being a SAHM is a very thankless job much of the time (I've determined most people don't see it as a job because it doesn't come with a paycheck, but let's be real--it's a career), but it doesn't have to be all of the time.  Would it be easier if they were more grateful?  Absolutely.  Does it mean I have to be an less obedient to God, as He's called me to this life?  Nope.  I used to try hard to thank Shawn for the hard work he does for our family, but I've kind of lost of a lot of passion in that, and a lot of things, towards my family, over the past several months.  It's difficult to keep banging my head against the same cabinet door when I continually receive the same results.  Many of the things I do around here I used to do out of love, because I wanted to.  Now, I do them because I have to and because no one else will.  Now, I do it out of duty.

Do I need to grow up and get over this, understanding this is just the life of a SAHM and housewife?  No, I don't think so.  Well, maybe a little.  I don't believe I need to settle for the same dysfunctional and miserable life that made my mother cold and bitter, though.  I believe there is something better around the corner for all four of us.  Some of their attitude, I've created myself by enabling them.  Yes, I absolutely need to make changes in my own attitude, but I do believe it's a two-way street.  They need to see what I do, and be grateful for that.  They also need to do some of these things on their own, and when they don't like it, just be quiet about it.  For my part, I need to return to doing things with love.  I need to return to treating my family with the respect they deserve, treating them as I treat my guests at the center, as I treat my friends and their children, as I treat others I feed and love.  God has called me to motherhood, to be His hands and feet to these children and my husband, and that is part of my act of service to my Father.  I need to do it because I want to, not begrudgingly.  Because with my family, I'm forgetting the most important rule of all, *"Let all that you do be done in love." 1 Corinthians 16:14*

PUSH THE PANIC BUTTON!

With Sandy rolling through, I've kept myself busy baking.  Bread, bread and MORE bread.  Rosemary bread, pumpkin swirl bread, honey wheat bread, banana bread, white bread, french bread....  I've have some stuffed in the freezer for later and for Christmas gifts, my family went through 3 loaves as Sandy worked her way through our state, and have started on loaves 4 and 5, and I've given away 3 more loaves.  Oh!  And I made some kick-butt creamy chicken rice soup Monday night to go with some of this bread!

It's hard to believe I have any baking supplies left, but I do!

My niece has always said the only thing that can make her feel better are my chocolate chip cookies.  I love my niece as one of my own.  She fractured her wrist the first day of the storm, so what's a favorite Mamie to do?  Bake cookies, duh.

As it turns out, the only ingredient I don't have is brown sugar.  I'm out, completely.  I have bags of everything else, but somehow I have completely run out of brown sugar.

When I texted this to Sharon, she texted back, "PUSH THE PANIC BUTTON!"

Oh my gosh, right?????

I'm so glad someone in this small world is on the same wavelength as me.

Consider the button pushed.

Padding My *ahem* Resume

Yesterday I did something crazy, just because I have a computer with internet access on it.  I looked at job postings.  For FEMA and the Red Cross.  And they weren't desk jobs I was looking for, they were field positions.

Turns out, according to them, I'm really not currently qualified.  I don't carry degrees, qualifications or certifications in marketing, communications, strategic planning, negotiations, emergency preparedness or emergency/disaster response.  It seems that being a mom for twelve years, and a preschool teacher for three years before that, even though in many ways it can be a lot like being a drill sergeant in the Army, doesn't really qualify you for much.

Hmmm...

That got me thinking.  How on earth is it that motherhood and teaching wildlife--I mean, preschool--haven't prepared me for a field job in disaster response???  Seriously?

So, here's my resume, according to me, myself and I...  Forget the degrees, I have the qualifications and experience!

Marketing:
"Vegetables are prettier than candy.  Chocolate is a very boring, brown color.  When food is prettier, it always tastes better.  That's a known fact!"
"Don't you think the violin would be a nicer instrument to learn how to play rather than the drums?  The violin is just nicer looking, you look nicer playing it, you'd look more sophisticated and educated, too!"  Not to mention the violin is quieter than the drums...
$7 for bread at Great Harvest?  Shoooooot, Noah's Boy Scout Troop is selling mine for $5, and it tastes better than Great Harvest's!

Communications:
"Because I'm the MOM and I said so!"
"Dear God, grant me patience NOW!  Please?"
"Hi, this is Noah's mom.  Yes, hi.  Nice to meet you too.  Yes, I heard what he said, and I'm really, really sorry about that.  Please accept my apologies and know that it won't happen again."
"Yes, hi, this is Avery's mom.  Hi, yes, it's nice to speak with you too, I know you've been trying to get in touch with me.  Yes, I heard what he did, and I just wanted to let you know it won't happen again."
Shawn says I wouldn't even need a megaphone...
I can round up children from the other side of the county just with the sound of my voice.

Strategic Planning:
We all know what will happen if you don't take that extra diaper and change of clothes with you for that five minute run to the store....
I have coordinated surprise parties without giving away the surprise (I think that qualifies under Communications, and possibly Marketing, as well).
I can get myself, Shawn, Noah, Avery, the dog and three cats to 8 different places all at the same time.
I can coordinate a holiday meal, and four people (including two children), to all be ready and at the table at the same time, while the food is still hot.
In a single day, I can get four loaves of bread, two batches of cookies, enough dinner to feed three families, food for my work, snack for preschool, and treats for Shawn's office churned out of my kitchen.
Now, if that isn't strategic planning....

Negotiations:
"Eat you vegetables or I'm taking your Ironman costume away."
"I will give you two cookies from my Oreo stash if you clean your room."
"Don't kill your brother/the cat/the dog and I won't kill you!"

Emergency Preparedness:
Do you have any idea how many band aids I found in my purse the other day????
Also, here is where we go back to the extra diaper and change of clothes in the Strategic Planning section...
"Please change your underwear this morning, comb your hair and brush your teeth.  You never know what the day will bring."

Emergency/Disaster Response:
I can reach the ER in five minutes flat (normally a 20 minute drive).
I can coordinate 3 moms, 1 husband/dad, and 7 kids all to the same location when one of us needs the other ones  (I think that goes along with Strategic Planning).

I also have experience in conflict resolution (don't kill your brother!), and I've navigated combat zones (I've camped with teenagers WHILE pregnant, and, let's face it--my own house is a combat zone most days).  But what about multi-tasking, you ask?  Well, I have plunged an overflowing toilet while washing paint out of my hair over a sink and trying to keep the dog and toddler out of the entire mess.  I have re-buried the family dog (while trying to keep the puppy from "helping") after Avery decided he wanted Gretta back, and the new puppy decided to help him dig her up.  I have packed four people for a 672 mile emergency trip in less than 30 minutes while under emotional duress.  And on a daily basis, I juggle two kids, a puppy, three cats, 1 husband, and household duties and maternal responsibilities.  Of course, that doesn't count all the unexpected things that pop up throughout the day needing my attention.

At this point, I think I'm more than over-qualified.

Aaaaaanddd... My go-bag is already packed!  These qualifications look great to me.  I'm not really sure how they'd look on paper to the people doing the hiring, but maybe they'd at least get a good laugh.


Hmph.  Well, maybe the Army needs a new drill sergeant...

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

It's no secret how disillusioned I've become with motherhood and wifehood recently.  I'm feeling taken for granted, used up, worn out and tired of putting up with it--and then I feel guilty for feeling this way. After all, isn't this the mother's lot in life?  We do and do and do for others, always putting our family's needs before our own, and when there's nothing left for ourselves, oh well!  That's just how it is.  This is the fate to which we are resigned.  Mothers, by nature, are supposed to be givers, never takers.  We're expected to be selfless and nurturing.

Sometimes, I really think I wasn't cut out for this. 

The truth is, I don't know that I can do it anymore--I don't know that I want to do it anymore.  I told a friend yesterday that I can totally see myself moving to a farm in Wyoming or Montana and being a farmhand for the rest of my life, or becoming part of some hippie colony and changing my name to Runs From Responsibilities.  Running away from my family.  Letting Shawn do things on his own, instead of coming out from behind his computer long enough to yell at the kids to listen to their mother, then retreating back to his hidey hole, or coming out just as all hell is breaking loose to save the day, instead of helping before it gets to that point.  Would he notice I'm gone when the kids don't respond to his plea to listen to their mother?  I told my friend it's probably a good thing I don't have a place to go because most likely, I would've left.  There's that thought needling in the back of my brain: Do I owe it to them to try to keep things together when I feel like I'm the only one trying, or do I owe it to myself to move on and make it about myself for a change?  And what exactly does "move on" mean?  My body and my emotions cannot handle this roller coaster ride anymore.  I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one trying.  Lately I'm wondering how much longer I'm willing to put up with this.

For the past 12 years, my world has centered around my family.  It has centered around being sick, and it has centered around doing for others.  I have felt stalled each time I've attempted to pursue something for myself.  In one way or another, I've felt punished each time I've done something for myself. I have felt guilty when doing things for myself, whether it be a pedicure (which translates to a desperately needed time of relaxation away from my family, not just wanting pretty toes), desperately needed new clothing, or trying to take up a hobby, because it takes away from what my family needs or wants.  Then I feel selfish for wanting or needing something that is just mine, for needing some time away, for wanting things to be a group effort.  But you know what?  I need something just for me.  And I need to give up the guilt.  For once, Shawn needs to have to deal with the kids, the messy house (and not leave that mess, and make more, for me to deal with when I get home), and everything that goes with it.  Shawn has a job, and several hobbies that take him outside of the house.  He has short term and long term goals.  He has plenty of chances to "get away," even when he is already away on a daily basis, yet I am here, day in and day out.  No matter where I go, the kids are pretty much always with me.  I always have one or both of them, or I have to hurry through what I'm doing to pick them up, be back for them, or do something for them.  I'm the one being screamed at, dealing with the whining, the daily discipline, the enforcement of chores and rules, and the rest of the mess.  Lately, there's very little joy in any of it.

I have seriously considered getting a job, and nixed that idea.  It would only create more stress, because the only thing that would change is that I would have a paying job to contend with along with all of my household tasks.  It would only be more work for me, nothing would change for anyone else. I would have more responsibilities, and even less time for myself.  I've thought about extending my volunteer hours at the center, but honestly, I'm feeling hypocritical for the time I'm already there.  I love my work there, but it's often exhausting.  Having to be 'on,' and it's not about me (which is rightly how it should be).  I need something for me.

Last weekend, I was sort of presented with an opportunity.  It's so far out of my box it's not even in the same neighborhood.  And I've done nothing but talk myself out of it ever since.  It was two-fold: disaster response with a government-funded group, and SAR training for myself and my dog, which we would use within the disaster response group, and the group we train with.  I already have some disaster response certifications, but I've never been able to deploy.  This group is strictly in-state, and while it's volunteer, all training, certification, and travel expenses are covered.  There is monthly training, along with 2 weekends a year at any one of three local military bases.  There aren't any physical requirements; basically, if you're willing, they'll find a way for you to be able.  For the first few minutes, I was really excited about it.  Then I remembered the house I'd come home to, the mess, having to set things up in order to be able to do what I want to do--everything that would have to happen so I can pursue this, is it worth it?  Most likely not.  And what about my physical limitations that are becoming well, more limiting?  Over the past week my right side has become noticeably weaker and more tired.  Could I really keep up with disaster response and SAR?  And for heaven's sake, I don't even know how to read a map.  And if Lilly and I aren't approved for SAR training, what would I have to offer this group?  I've been a mother for 12 years.  Sure, I can cook, but is that really what I want to be doing in my off time?  And eventually, if I ever break through this funk, what about the guilt and fear I'd eventually feel when leaving my family during disasters and emergencies?  I've talked myself out of it, not because I'm afraid of failure, but because I know history repeats itself.  Like I said, I was really excited at first, but then reality hit me like a fist in the gut.

I don't know if anything will come out of this, but I do know that things need to change, and I can't do it on my own.  I need to do something for myself that doesn't involve my family, and gets me away from them.  They need time away from me in order to learn how to appreciate what I do for them, and at some point, learn how to appreciate what I've sacrificed of myself for them.  I can't keep banging my head against the same wall.  It's starting to hurt.

Sarah Laughed

Life in the Furr house has been a bit um, full of well--lots of things--lately.  And few of them good.  It's been kind of a rough ride.

I'm not even sure how or why it started, but suddenly my world just kind of started closing in last week.  Big things hit, and then I found myself crying because the resolution on my ancient laptop did something on its own (or with the help of a cat) and I couldn't figure out how to fix it (isn't that why I married 24 hour tech support???  So he can fix it?).  After that, it all went downhill even faster.  I'm not sure why it is that I can seemingly handle a few fastballs, then the dumbest curveball (my computer's resolution, either a quirk, or courtesy of my cat's overweight bum) is what sends me toppling over the edge.  I allow myself to become the devil's playground, and man, does he have a field day with me.

The fastballs...  I have a dear friend I love so much.  I have watched over the past several years as she has engaged in self destructive behavior, and every time she calls, I go running.  She called last week.  I tossed everything at Shawn as he tossed my purse to me on my way out the door, both of us questioning if the police should be called this time, and it struck me...  I'm enabling her.  I'm no longer part of the solution, I'm part of her problem.  That took the wind out of my sails, and when I got there, I know my attitude wasn't what she wanted or expected from me.  I came home and cried for everything I can't do for her, for everything she won't do to help herself and has done to destroy herself, and the position she's put me in.  I've realized I need to take a step back, not just for her, but for myself and my family.  I know that she will see this as abandonment, and I'm even angry at her for not being healthy enough to recognize that I'm stepping back because I love her, before I help her do more damage.  It's time for tough love, and she's going to hate me for it.  After a very enlightening session with my mentor, who lovingly yet firmly helps me come to these conclusions myself, I know it's best.

There are things that happened between myself and my mother this summer that I am still trying to comprehend.  I won't go into them here, partially because, well, I'm still processing the events two months later.  It's fed a lot into some of my other issues, and has left me reeling.  I do not pretend to understand her or her actions.  She scared me, and she scared my kids.  Until she gets help, I cannot allow her to be a part of their lives, so she has chosen to not be a part of our lives at all.  Even though I know that is her decision, and I need to move on, she is my mother and I will always yearn for the acceptance she is not capable of giving me.  It's very sad.

My niece recently had a baby, and she's doing her best to be a good mom to this beautiful little girl.  My great niece was unexpected, but my niece loves her daughter and wants to right all the wrongs.  She is making a genuine effort and I'm so proud of her.  I remember what I needed when Noah was unexpected, and what my family was unable to provide to myself and Shawn (emotionally), and I want to make sure my two beautiful girls get what they need and deserve.  I am angry at my sister for the way she has always put herself and her Whim of the Week above her children, and I am even angrier at the way she is now treating her granddaughter.  They deserve better, as do all of my sister's children.  My other niece is having many difficult medical issues, and my heart aches for the heartache she is suffering.  My instinct is to run to her and cover her in love, but she has stated she needs her space.  I know I need to respect that.  It's very difficult to watch my girls hurt.  They've always deserved better.  I don't have a magic wand to make the bad stuff good, and at times it's overwhelming to know what they've been through, and what they are going through now.

Every now and then, I become utterly overwhelmed by Noah.  I know that doesn't sound fair, but being his mom can be difficult at times.  It's truly a grief process--realizing that as much as he has going for him, and as much as life has to offer him, there are still things that life can't or won't do for him.  Does that make sense?  When you have a child with special needs, you have to grieve the things that will never be, and I don't think I've fully accepted it, even now.  I cannot accept that this is "all" life has for my son.  I fear for him, and sometimes, I even fear of him.  There is much turmoil in my heart and in my brain over my career as his mom, over his life path, and where this path takes our family on a daily basis.  Some days I just want to curl up in a ball and say, "No, I'm not going to do it today.  You can't make me."  Whether I like it or not, Asperger's is a part of our lives.  I can't ignore it, I can't deny it, I can't wave a magic wand...  Nor can I pray it away.  I love my son very much, but I do not love Asperger's, and I do not always know how to embrace it as a part of our daily lives.  Sadly, as a result, that often means I do not know how to embrace Noah.  I talked a lot of this out with an older friend of mine who survived raising teen daughters as a single mother.  My dear Rochelle never judges me, but she supports me, encourages me, cheers me on and listens.  Also, a friend from church visited.  She understands much of what goes through my head, and today I was so grateful for her mere presence I knew if I spoke I'd cry.  Again, no judgement, just understanding.

Topping things off is my health.  I have had flare upon flare upon flare.  My pain has been off the charts, and I haven't really had a break from it. A kind of quick lesson--a CPK, Creatine Kinase, is a muscle enzyme that can be measured in your blood.  They can break it down to specific organs, and even an enzyme coming from your brain.  If your blood is overloaded, most likely you have a muscle that has been damaged and being repaired by your body.  The high end of normal is 175.  My latest test showed my CPK to be 3245.  No, my computer didn't stutter, and yes, the lab ran it several times (Shawn said even after repeating the test, and recalibrating their machine, the lab still probably dumped the machine just to be on the safe side).  This is actually a "normal" number for me, even though it's obviously showing the signs of disease.  My doctor asked if I wanted the numbers for my heart, liver and kidney enzymes (also too high), and I laughed because I figured I'd cry at that point if I didn't.  My doctor wants to throw more meds at me, and wants a 4th muscle biopsy.  When I asked why he felt these were the best options, he shrugged his shoulders in a "heck if I know" gesture.  If he could've given me a different answer, I'd consider them.  I've known for a while that it's time for a new approach, and probably new -ologists.  I just don't know where, or how, to start.  We've been to NIH, we've been to Hopkins.  We've seen some of the best doctors and gotten nowhere.  I've even prayed for a diagnosis of Lupus, MS or even cancer, because then at least we'd have a definitive answer and treatment options.  Nine years ago, when all of this started, my doctors gave me two diagnoses, but I've never completely fit one of them.  It was just more or less a diagnosis of elimination.  I'm very frustrated, angry, discouraged, annoyed, frightened--you name it.  The other thing is, we've been fighting this for nine years--how much more time, effort and money do we want to waste on this, especially when we aren't feeling heard?  Much like with Asperger's, I want to rail at my silent illnesses that they need to leave.  I do not want to accept what they bring to our lives, I do not want to accept this is as what life has to offer me.

And underneath all of this....  The baby factor.  Shawn and I have been contemplating and praying about another child for the past year.  Just when we felt we had an answer, yes, all hell broke loose.  We already love this child so very much, and we love Noah and Avery very much.  Our love and concern for the children we already have is what has cooled our heels over a third child.  How fair would it be for any of them?  With so many questions about my health, and taking the chance of having a second child on the spectrum, would it really be wise to have another child?  On the other hand, with both of us approaching 40, and knowing how long it would take for me to get to a point where I can back off my meds, then actually do it, before we could even start trying for another child, Shawn and I feel as though we're running out of time.  Our other question is, why would God give us such a love, such a desire for this child, only to shut us down?

All of this has added up to a lot of stress, sleeplessness and just plain frustration for me.  I am weary, exhausted, depressed, angry.  I haven't been able to get through an hour without tears for one reason or another.

Now I guess it's pretty obvious why I cried over my computer's resolution.

My best friends have been trying to help me through this.  Both have been heavy-handed with the tough love, which has been necessary.  They love us, and they're concerned about us.  I need help.  Our family needs help.  Sharon has been loud about reminding me that God has not abandoned me or my family.  She has been loud about reminding me that God has made us all in His image, that He already knows my anger, my frustration and my depression.   She has been loud about reminding me that GOD is my Truth, not my father, nor my mother.  She has been loud about reminding me of all the blessings I do have, and all the things that do go right in my life.  She has begged me to not give up on God, and to not give up hope.  Then Sharon reminded me about Sarah.  Sarah prayed and prayed to God for a child.  It wasn't until she was in her 90's that God finally granted her prayer, and gave her a son.  And Sarah laughed.

....And Other Times We Don't

*I hesitated in posting this.  I'm sure there will be some shocked readers with plenty of opinions about me, and assumptions will be made.  Fine.  This is me being honest.  I don't sugar-coat things, I don't "blow sunshine."  I'm the one with the courage--or just plain stupidity--to say what's really in my head.  For the record, I would never voice any of this to Noah or Avery.*

When people learn that your child has special needs, they automatically think you must be a martyr or a saint.  Your world revolves around your child!  You must be the most charitable mom ever!  Oh, I bet you just love children!  Surely, your heart is bursting with love!  You are so strong!  You must be special for God to have chosen you to be his mom!  There's a reason for everything!

The truth is, none of that is really true.  I am neither a saint, nor a martyr.  Yes, my world revolves around my child, but that's because it has to.   I am not God's gift to motherhood or children.  I will never be strong enough to move mountains, or, as it is on some days, even my children.  There are days, unfortunately, that my heart isn't exactly overflowing.  I am tired.  I am weary.  I am sad.  I long for whatever qualifies as normal.  I long for Noah to "get" it, for it all to finally just click, even when I am told it may never do just that, which, quite frankly, I've grown tired of hearing.  I go to bed at night feeling much like Bill Murray's character in Groundhog Day, knowing tomorrow will just be a repeat of today.  And the next person who tells me how special I am, or there's a reason for everything, runs the risk of getting smacked.  Seriously.

As Christians, we learn that God never gives us more than we can handle.  We learn that in order to grow, He bends us, but promises to never  break us.  Okay, so I'm a little tired of hearing those platitudes, too.  Lately, I have never felt more broken.  I want to scream at God that I can't handle anymore, and He's wrong to think that I can.  Something needs to change, something's got to give.

I've tried making this work as our normal.  Because, well, let's face it--normal is what you make it, right?  But when special plans go awry and Avery doesn't understand why (something he's been looking forward to all week), or when all Avery wants is his brother's attention and can't quite catch it, it's frustrating, not just for him, but for me too.  Realizing that your 3 year old's reasoning skills, decision-making skills, gross-and-fine-motor skills, and various other skills are light years ahead of your 11 year old's is just plain disheartening; disheartening, but also a sad relief to realize that Avery does not have Noah's differences.  Watching Noah's interactions with his peers and realizing just how far behind he is socially and emotionally is disappointing.  Knowing that for most kids, it's just a matter of "you can do whatever you put your mind to," but your own child doesn't have the follow through or anything else that it takes, even when you've repeatedly tried teaching it to him, is frustrating.  I've left schools, meetings and numerous other social activities in tears for him.  When you put off having an already much-loved third child because your fear of having a second child on the spectrum outweighs the simple joy of just having a child, it's frightening, and sad.  I have such a desire for Avery to be able to experience a "normal" sibling relationship, but my fear is that he would instead be stuck in between two ASD siblings, never being able to understand, experience and cultivate a two-way relationship with Noah and Child #3.  It's frustrating to watch Avery desperately try to gain Noah's attention, and to repeatedly have to say, "Noah, please answer your brother," or "Noah, Avery is talking to you," or "Noah, Avery wants to play with you."  I already worry about Avery being the proverbial forgotten child, and I wonder how fair all of this is to him.  And, while I'm being honest, the truth to this is also that I don't think I have what it takes to raise another ASD child.  I'm quite certain that if it didn't break me, it would definitely break our marriage.

There are days I get tired of making the effort, but I have to because he's my son.  What kind of mother would I be if I didn't?  I've tried embracing his differences.  There's a lot Mommy Guilt associated with raising Noah; 1, his needs are 'few' (but entirely overwhelming at times), and he's very close to the "neurotypical" end of the spectrum, and 2, I only have 2 children to contend with.  I should be able to handle this!  I think to myself, "Surely there is someone out there who could do a better job than I am."  Heck, my mother's even told me she could do it better (because she did such a great job with me and my sister)!  Literally, ever since Noah was born, I've seen other mothers with their sons and wondered what it was they were doing so right that I'm always doing so wrong.  I even remember one time when Noah was an infant, we were in the grocery store and he just would not stop crying (which was par for the course with him).  An older woman came over and took him from me, saying, "Oh, you're doing it all wrong, here, let me show you."  Just kind of confirmed what I'd already been thinking.  Noah and I have always struggled. It's difficult when there's no affection returned, no eye contact made, no "Thank you Mom," or any sort of acknowledgement of my existence or all that I do.  Sadly, I've come to dread the arrival of the school bus in the afternoons because it means an increase in my stress, an increase an Avery's stress, and a general increase in the chaos that is our life.  Fighting for Noah when it has put my marriage and our finances on the line has exhausted me to the point that I don't know how much fight I have left. I've carted him off to this counselor and that counselor, waited for this phone call, prayed over that medicine bottle, met with these people, arranged for this special treatment....  And in the end, I've realized that I can't do it for him.  He has to want to do it, he has to actively participate and want to improve our family relationships, he has to want to make it click, and until he does, I'm blue in the face for no reason.

It's tiresome.  It gets old.  I seldom have a moment to myself.  I am weary.  I am battle-worn.  I am sad.  I am barely hanging on.  The progress seldom outweighs the regress, and the stand-stillness.  I want to do right by both children, and I am torn.

Gee, I don't sound so much like a saint anymore, do I?

I love Noah, but I will never be a saint.  I am merely a mother trying to survive raising her son.

*A bit of advice....  At times, we moms feel secluded, and different because our kids are different.  Please don't offer platitudes, please don't offer advice.  Instead, offer a hug.  Ask how you can help, offer to help, offer a play date for the siblings.  Tell us we're doing a great job, even if we really aren't.  Lift us up.  Noah's needs are 'few' but overwhelming at times, and I only have two children....  Imagine for a minute a mom with a child with more needs than Noah, and more children than I have.*

Every Now and Then, We Get it Right

Noah has never done anything "by the book."  While not having the typical toddler meltdowns, and not doing the typical toddler things made him the "easier" one in some ways then, there are times that not even the books about Aspy kids have made raising him any easier now.  Noah lives life to his own tune, not really following any guidelines written that are supposed to make parenting well, um, easier.

And Avery....  Where do I start?!?  Avery was the one who threw Dr. Dobson's The Strong-Willed Child at us as soon as he could crawl!  Still, for the most part, Avery does most things "by the book."  Does that make parenting him easier?  Nope, not really!

BUT, there are times as parents that our children teach us maybe we aren't doing such a bad job after all.  Maybe we're getting through to them after all.

Noah has been showing some maturity and responsibility recently....  All on his own.  He's been taking on a few of his chores without being asked, and even some that aren't his chores.  Shawn does his best to get up with the kids in the morning so I can sleep in just a little bit more, and Noah has been taking the trash out when he leaves for the bus stop, and he's memorized the trash days, so he takes the trash can to the end of the driveway on without being asked also.  Noah is getting up on his own, getting his morning routine going, and taking care of most of his morning tasks, trying to make things easier on his dad (and in turn, me).  He's been practicing his violin without being reminded, and, even better, he's been remembering his morning meds without being reminded.  I can't tell you how proud I am of him.  Now, this isn't to say we don't still have hiccups (ohhhh, we still have hiccups....  He is almost 12, after all!), but I'm really concentrating on the positives with him.  School is continuing to go well, and he was just inducted into the Trojan Pride Club due to his accomplishments!  I have prayed for this maturity for so long, and I'll continue to pray for more maturity (!), but seeing this growth in Noah gives me hope, and as his mom, it makes me beam.  I know it's not me, I know it's between him and God.  We still don't have the relationship I crave, but we're working on it.  I recognize that he's trying to be more affectionate with me, that he's saying thank you more, that we're both making more of an effort with each other.  Again, I know it's God.  He's working hard with both of us.

Avery is my little sweetheart (not that Noah isn't, but these things that come out of my 3 year old's mouth, whew!).  God is busy at work on his little heart!  The other morning, after our walk with Lilly, he looked over at our neighbor's house and said, "Mommy, we need to go say good morning to Miss Pat."  Miss Pat is our older, widowed neighbor, who we love and adore very much.  He even wanted to take some of our fresh baked muffins to her (don't worry, we did).  That touched my heart so much.  It means that what I've been saying to him about caring about others, being nice to others, loving others, and doing nice things for others is getting through to his little heart.  It also appears that Gretta's death had more of an impact on him that he realized.  For one, after Lilly stomped on a cricket on our front path and killed it last week, Avery had a fit.  I was getting ready to brush it to the side with my foot when Avery started yelling that we had to put it in a box.  Gretta lives in a box in the ground now, we told her she died, so after I explained to him that the cricket had died, it only made sense to him that the cricket would also live in a box in the ground.  So, yes, the cricket went in a box, and the box went in the ground.  Several days later, while they were playing,  Avery asked Shawn if he ever misses Gretta, and if missing her ever makes him sad.  Shawn said he does miss her, and it does make him very sad, then asked Avery the same questions.  Avery answered yes, and said said he also misses Evan--his imaginary friend--but that Gretta needs him more, so that she isn't lonely.  And come to think of it, we haven't heard much from Evan since Gretta died.  My sweet boy.

These are my kids.  Shawn and I don't always get it right.  In fact, I daresay nine times out of ten we don't.  But every now and then we do.  Still, we aren't doing this on our own, and we aren't in this fight for our children alone either.  Not only do we have God, but we have their villages.  And I'm grateful for all the help we can get.

"Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it." Proverbs 22:6

Sometimes Medicine Comes with a Tail and Four Paws

I'll be honest, I've never been a dog person.  We had a dog growing up, but he and I really didn't like each other.  He was my sister's dog, and that was all there was to it.  I don't remember Scally having a whole lot of personality.  I remember his hot dog breath breathing down my neck on long car trips, I remember him snipping at me as he grew older, and I don't really remember many fond moments with him.  I actually remember being afraid of most dogs growing up.  I've always been more of a cat purrson.

Gretta and Lilly have changed all that (don't worry kitties, Mommy is still a cat purrson too).  Gretta had, and Lilly has, so much personality.  At times, it's easy to forget they are dogs!   Many times, I expected Gretta to verbalize the wisdom that showed in her old eyes, and sometimes, I expect the same from Lilly.  How is it that the oldest and youngest of us seem to be the wisest?  How is it that we lose that wisdom in between childhood and old age?  Whoops, now I'm getting off track--sorry!

Gretta was Noah's dog, but Lilly--she's become mine.  And I really do love this dog.  She's become one of the best things to happen to me.

Gretta joined our family because I insisted that Noah, like all boys, needed a dog.  Shawn was resistant at first, having had--and lost--a childhood dog of his own.  I was persistent, and we soon found the perfect dog for Noah.  Having a dog would teach him responsibility, about loyalty and love, she'd be the friend he'd always have, and there would be so many other great things about the two of them romping through life together.  I was right.  They quickly became inseparable, and she truly loved her boy with all her heart.

Lilly joined our family because I knew she would be the healing balm for our grief wounds when Gretta died. This time when I insisted, Shawn was fully on board, and I didn't have to do any arm twisting.  Again, I was right.  Lilly settled right in with our family without missing a single step, and we haven't once regretted our decision to adopt her.

Life with Lilly has taken a little turn, though.  I really wanted her to be Avery's dog; I recognized that Noah would be busy growing out of us and home over the next several years, and even leaving home, which meant that Avery would be left here with Lilly. And, Noah had already had Gretta.  So, while I had hoped she would attach herself to the boys and become the family's dog, she has attached herself right to my left hip instead.  She still loves the boys and Shawn, and is eager to play with anyone who has a toy in his hand, but I'm the one she centers her life around.  I don't know if it's selfish of me, or just happenstance because I'm the one who is home with her all day, but I'm grateful for her just the same.

I've never been a morning person (I'm still not), but because this puppy needs several walks a day, I drag my sore, tired and weary butt out of bed at the crack of dawn each morning in order to get a walk in before my day gets started.  I love watching her enjoy our early morning walks; her plumed, curled tail flops back and forth as she trots joyously, her nose is lifted to sniff the fresh air, and I swear she smiles.  She barks her morning greetings to the other neighborhood dogs, jumps with excitement (and sometimes tries to chase) when she sees the children gathering at their bus stops, and "talks" to me constantly, chattering in her little doggie language.  After morning chores, during which she follows me throughout the house, sits at my feet, hugs my legs and gives me someone to talk to, we go for another walk.  Then it's errands and picking up Avery, and later, another walk to pick Noah up from the bus stop.

Lilly doesn't like being left alone (she eats everything she can find to show me her displeasure), so I think I'm going to have to start crating her.  I feel like I'm letting her down, especially after everything she's done for me.

Lilly gives me someone to talk to during the day, just as Gretta did.  Sure, the kitties are here, but they're off doing their own things, seldom around for conversation.  This dog makes me laugh--the way she jumps into the picture window when she hears the garage door go up, and I can tell her tail is wagging as fast as it can by the way her head and body are shaking, because she's so excited I'm home, then she jumps to greet me when I walk through the door, wrapping her front paws around my waist in a hug.  It cracks me up to watch her trying to herd the boys in the backyard, and the more boys, the more fun she has!  She gets very frustrated when they all head in opposite directions after she has them where she wants them!  She makes me laugh when she drops a toy in my lap, or at my feet, or brings it to me and keeps it in her mouth, demanding a session of Keep Away instead of Fetch. I love the way she launches herself at me when I'm sitting on the couch and she comes in from playing out back with the boys (her new role in their play is Dr Doom), landing square in my lap; how she lands her kisses all over my face with excitement that I'm finally awake in the morning; the way she sneaks into bed with me, or onto the couch (the two places she's banned from), until Shawn comes to join me.  If she's not settled next to me on the furniture she's not allowed on, she settled at (or on) my feet, or on the floor near my head at bedtime.  She's a fabulous, goofy dog, a terrific addition to our family.  I love her puppy-ness, her happiness, her pure excitement with life.  I'm learning so much from her, and she just makes me happy. She makes me feel unconditionally loved and accepted.  I am missed when I am gone, and greeted wildly when I return.  In her eyes, I can do no wrong.  Everyone should be so loved.

I have to tell you, if it weren't for Lilly, I wouldn't have started this new, much-needed walking routine. My body balks at any kind of exercise and work--not because I'm lazy, but because of my illnesses.  Lilly has been better for me than anything my doctors have prescribed over the last 9 years.  I loved Gretta too, but most days neither of us were inclined to take a walk.  Most days, we sat around comparing our hip pain!  Lilly doesn't understand when Mommy hurts, or when Mommy's body doesn't want to work.  This puppy has more energy than Noah and Avery combined (well, almost....), and the only way to get that energy out is to work it out.  She needs play, she needs exercise, and she needs lots of it!  I'm not exactly walking at a great pace, or even going much further than is necessary for Lilly, but I'm doing it, and to me, that's the important thing.  I'm even looking into running agility with her, or trying to find a way for her to do herding trials, both of which she'd love.  I would never have actively sought out a dog for these sorts of activities (that was my sister's thing), but this is where we've found ourselves!

Now, after I say this, this post will self-destruct.  And we'll never speak of it again, okay?  Because I wouldn't ever want to be caught admitting that exercise might be good for me!  Got that?!?!  But getting out early with Lilly has begun to set my day off right.  I've had a little more energy in the morning, I've felt a little better, and my mood has been a little better.

Medicine doesn't always come in a bottle.  Sometimes it has a tail and four paws, and a goofy, ear-to-ear grin.

Putting Things in Perspective--and Keeping Them There

Our little community has suffered several tragic blows this week.  Earlier in the week, there was another bad car accident involving more high school students; one young man did not survive, his sister was severely injured, and another young man has to live with the choices he made.  Lives changed forever.  My heart aches for their parents, their families, their friends, and the young man who was driving.  Awful.  Still reeling from that blow, we awoke this morning to learn a young girl we rallied around lost her fight with cancer during the night.  This dear child inspired our entire community with her perseverance, her will to fight, and the challenge she gave cancer.  She was amazing in life, and her legacy will live on long after her.

We are mourning, we are praying for the families involved, we are reaching out to love one another.

As always though, there are still those who choose to mumble and grumble.  Negative FB posts abound, pity parties are thrown, nasty things are said...  And we forget.  About perspective.  About the grand scheme of things.  We forget about the blessings we experience each day, beginning with being able to get out of bed and take a deep breath.  We forget about what we do have, forgetting about what others really don't have.

We take things for granted, we take our friends and families for granted, we take our children and our gifts for granted.  We forget to stop and simply enjoy the sunshine on our faces.  We hurry, we rush, we stumble through life wondering what the big deal is.  Everyone experiences a bad day at some point in their lives, but the truth is, it's what we do with that experience, and how we handle it.  We have the choice to mope, or move on--and in moving on, reaching our hands and hearts out to others in need.

I've been concentrating on the gifts I've been granted by my Father, really trying to be grateful for every day I've given, for everything in my life.  I don't want life to pass me by, and I don't want these children to have died in vain.  I want to take lessons from the way Sydney lived--the way she fought to live--and I want to mark the lessons made by the experiences of others.

Sunday night, Noah and I had words, but seeing him get off the bus Monday afternoon, intact, safe--I felt that hiccuppy feeling in my chest and I had to hold back sobs.  I was so grateful to see him, and we're both trying to do better.  Unlike another mom that afternoon, my son came home, and I was able to hug him.  That afternoon, I hugged Noah for all the moms who weren't able to hold their sons.  I was up until 3 this morning with a coughing, asthmatic Avery, but I was able to comfort him, and make him better.  I sang to him and read to him for all the moms who are no longer able to sing and read to their babies. And today, we just snuggled and played.  I'm so grateful for these chances to be their mom.  I'm grateful for the way they bless me, how they touch my life and make it better, even when they frustrate me.  I love these boys.

These are chances we are given.  We get to do these things.  Don't miss out.  Don't let life pass you by.  Don't blow it.  Enjoy every minute of it.  Soak it up.  Live fully, and gratefully.  Go hug your babies, and don't forget to tell your husband how much you love him, and how much you appreciate all that he does for his family.  Give that friend you've been thinking about that long overdue call and just listen.  Put your big girl panties on and keep life in perspective.