Confessions from the Deepest Part of My Heart

This one has me feeling vulnerable and emotionally naked.  When I first had these thoughts, I blamed myself for being a terrible mother.  My husband reassured me these thoughts are some he's had, and if that makes me a bad mom, we're bad parents together.  One of my best friends reassured me it's normal, and most importantly, it's okay.  If you're not in our situation, you can't possibly understand, so I ask you to please reserve judgement.

So, here goes.

I've done a lot of praying over Baby E's health.  I just want him to be healthy.  Whatever else is thrown at us, just let him be healthy.  Let him be happy.  I think those are pretty normal parent prayers.  There are things we would never want our children to suffer with or from, things that we would rather pray them around than pray them through.

And, this weekend, I prayed: Let Baby E be neurotypical.  Please, no more ASD.

Genetically speaking, it's a legitimate concern in our family.  However, my prayer has given me a heaviness to my heart and my shoulders.

Not because I can't handle it.  Not because I don't want it.  Not because I don't love Noah just the way he is.

Because I want Avery to be able to experience what it's like to play with a brother, to really, actually engage and be engaged with a brother who plays intentionally, and plays with him.

There are times my mommy heart soars, and other times it just sinks and shatters.  Watching my boys play in the snow this weekend was one of those sinking and shattering moments.  Noah is the child who goes outside to escape, think, and engage in a fantasy world while he indulges in his own version of stimming.  Avery is the child who goes outside to yell, run, carry on, play, climb, race--you get the idea. Avery wanted so badly to play with Noah, to interact, to throw snowballs, to build a snowman, to be pulled in a sled, and to just have fun with his brother.  He did not want us to do it, he wanted his brother.  Noah wanted to nothing of it, wanting (needing?) instead to only do his pacing and circles he does in the backyard.

I hate admitting all of this because I feel as though I'm down on my own child. I feel as though I'm asking something of him which he is not capable, and for all of my "embrace your weird" talk, I feel as though I'm asking him to be normal.  For Noah, this IS normal.  Noah is who he is, and I love him just the way he is.

But my heart broke, watching Avery repeatedly try to engage Noah, beg Noah, just want to interact with Noah.  Noah is not being mean or cold, yet Avery does not entirely understand Noah's ways.  Avery does not know any different; he does not know that his brother is different or whatever label you want to use--all he knows is Noah is his brother, and he desperately wants to engage with his brother.  He so looks up to Noah.  As their mom though, I selfishly want Avery to be able to experience what it's like to have a brother who will look up to him, who will want to play with him.

Another thing I worry about is Avery being caught in the middle, and having to care, or at least look after, two brothers.  There is already a very good chance, that even as capable as Noah is, we will have to set up some sort of trust in order for him to care for himself--and when we are gone, it will be up to Avery, nine years younger, to oversee that and look after his brother.

I want Avery to be able to experience life with a neurotypical brother, and not have to be the caretaker for all of them.

In the deepest part of my heart, this is one of the reasons why I pray E will be neurotypical.

Doing Something for Me

I recently made a very frightening, anxiety inducing, life altering decision:  I'm going back to school. Yes, that's right.  I've decided it's time to finish my degree.  I'm changing schools, and changing course a bit, based on where God has led me throughout my life and where I think He's got me headed.  It's interesting.

I wouldn't have done this without Shawn pushing me, without God pushing me, and honestly--without our church.  Shawn has been fantastic about it.  He decided to finish school himself last year, and since then, has become my biggest advocate.  He's always been my champion, but he's really been encouraging me (shoving me forward out of my comfort zone) to do this for myself.  I filled out the application last August, but let it go.  I just wasn't sure, and it was kind of an impulse thing.  I picked up the application, and next thing I knew, Shawn put a pen in my hand and was spelling out the information to his dumbstruck wife.  After that, I kind of sort of ignored the phone calls and emails from the school.  I had gotten as far as the application, but the rest--well, that was a challenge.  I have this habit of bulling forward with excitement over something new, then coming up short when I realize it might be more than I anticipated. It was exciting to fill out the application, but I was comfortable leaving it at that for the time being.  Anything else was too intimidating.  Each time the Caller ID would announce the college's number, Shawn would yell, "God is calling!  You better answer that!"  It got to the point at which even the boys were yelling, "Mom!  Would you please answer God!"

Then Shawn and I began a class through our church back in January... A class to help us identify our spiritual gifts and identify some possible future paths.  The first night of our class, our pastor told us it's been a life changing class for many in our church.  Some people have changed jobs and careers, others have gone back to school... Wait, what?  I heard my husband snort, sitting next to me, give me the hairy eyeball and whisper, "Are you gonna answer God NOW????"

I couldn't ignore it any longer.  Even though I tried.  And I tried really, really hard.  Trust me. I figured the deeper I buried my head in the sand, the more I could just ignore God's call.  I've considered going back to school before, but I worried about the financial strain on our family, as well as the physical strain on all of us.  I didn't see it in the cards for me, not any time soon.  Sure, it would be nice, but not entirely practical. Besides, I'm a SAHM--and I just signed on for at least another 18 years.  When am I going to have the chance to use such an expensive education? It felt selfish.  Last Wednesday morning, I received an email: "Here are the transcripts you ordered."  I didn't order any transcripts.  What transcripts?  I saw the twinkle in Shawn's eyes and realized he'd sent me 'flowers;' knowing I was dragging my own feet, he ordered my transcripts for me.

Today, it became official.  I am officially a transfer student at Liberty University, majoring in Crisis Management and minoring in Homeland Security (which is really just a fancy way of saying Disaster Response/Management).  I chose not to finish at my old school, as well as choosing a different major for several reasons: I'm at a different place in my life, with different views of the world, and different needs.  My faith is more important to me now, and that's the path I want to follow.  It would be cheaper, easier and faster to finish my original degree at my original school--but it's not what I need or what I want now.

The encouragement and support I've received from my family and friends has been overwhelming.  The hug Avery gave me, and the high five from Noah, both of them telling me they're proud of me, my husband and friends telling me they're proud of me, it's been worth it.  Just getting this far has been worth it already.

I feel totally crazy though--with a newborn?  Going back to school?  In the middle of breastfeeding,  sleepless nights, packing lunches, carpooling, goodnight prayers, school volunteering and everything else being a mother entails?  I'm going back to school?  NOW????

Yes, NOW.  I realized I need to do this for myself.  I doubt it will be easy, but it IS doable.  I need something to call my own, something to do to take care of myself.  I need something to battle the inevitable postpartum depression, when I all I do is baby babble.  I lost myself, and my way, in a very big, dangerous way, with our first two boys.  I need something that will anchor me, and help me keep a grip a reality.  I do believe this is it.  I'm scared, I'm excited, but I'm looking forward to the challenge.  This will be good.

Explaining God to a Five Year Old

I love being able to talk with my children about God.  Noah and I have some truly deep discussions, and I can't express how much I enjoy that time with him.  Our discussions with Avery are a bit different, but I do love them just the same.

Both boys are incredibly passionate, and compassionate.  Noah recently recommitted his life to Jesus, and I just beam.  I cried when he told us, and when he got home from that amazing weekend, I couldn't stop holding him.  The excitement in his face, the light in his eyes, the bounce in his step, it was all just so incredible! He himself was even moved to tears.  While I'm filled with pride, this was not anything I can take credit for as his parent--this was all God.

Avery's passion is a bit different than Noah's.  Avery has more of a southern baptist preacher approach: "AYE AMMMM PRRRRAAAAAAISING GEEEEEZUS!"  I frequently have to remind myself not to laugh, to only smile inwardly, because this is serious business to him.  It's hilarious and cute, but very serious.  

He takes prayer very seriously, knowing it is the answer to most things in our home.  When one of us isn't feeling well, he prays.  When his best friend's dog was sick, he prayed.  This week, when he saw a 'missing dog' poster (we still haven't figured out how he knew the content of the poster, it's not something we've talked about with him), he has been praying nightly for the dog and his family, telling me he's going to keep praying until God tells him the dog is home.  He is passionate in his prayer, and committed.  He's done this all on his own.  At night, he reminds us that Pastor G wants us to "pray out loud with the volume we sing with."  And then he does it.

Now that Avery is getting older, able to have more in-depth discussions, and retaining what he's learning in Sunday school, our talks have gotten deeper.  

We've explained that God is everywhere, He is always with us, and He never leaves us.  We've talked about how much He loves us, how He made us just right, just the way we are.  We talk about "being Jesus" to other people.  He takes his lovies to church with us, announcing, "Pete the Cat needs Jesus, too!"

Shawn and I think we're nailing it, congratulating ourselves on doing a pretty good job...  And then this happened....

Avery has been dealing with fear since his surgery, so we've approached it from our Christian views.  We've given him Isaiah 41:10.  We've been praying with him, anointing him (or annoying him, depending on which one of us you ask), and just having general talks.  One night, particularly fearful, he told us he was certain there was someone in his room with him.  We reassured him that he was the only one in his room, with the minor exception of when we checked on him.  A few nights later, having forgotten that episode, we were going through our usual bedtime checklist: Mom and Dad are in the next room, we just prayed, your music is on, you've got your oil on your forehead, and always remember, God is right here with you.  

"He's in my room?"

Yes, He's always with us, wherever we go, wherever we are.

"I TOLD YOU THERE WAS SOMEONE IN MY ROOM!"

Crap.

Beauty

Recently, I've been asked "What makes you feel beautiful?"

That's a tough one for me.  It really is.  I did not grow up feeling beautiful, nor did I hear that I was on a regular basis.  I still don't share photos of my childhood because of how I felt about myself then.  I was really quite ugly.  I had a horrible haircut, and I remember hearing people tell my mother, on more than one occasion, "Your son has amazing eyes." I've always compared myself to others, and come up short against them.  I've never been able to be kind to myself.  Beautiful was the last thing I was.

For me, there's a difference between 'pretty' and 'beauty.' A person can be pretty in a certain outfit, with the right make-up--the 'right' accessories.  Beauty, I do believe, is something that a person feels about oneself.  It's something that shines from within, and shows on the outside.  'Pretty' is skin deep, whereas 'beauty' is something incredibly more.

There are times I've felt pretty.  I love getting dressed up for a date with my husband.  I love it when my make-up looks just right.  I love having just the right outfit. I seldom feel pretty every day, and when I do, it's a fleeting moment.

Still, I've struggled with my own beauty.  My husband reminds me I'm beautiful, and I rebuff him.  Someone tells me I have a beautiful heart, and I counter it with an insult aimed at myself.  Any compliments, my usual response is self-deprecating humor.

So, when this question was posed to me recently, I struggled for a bit.  And then I realized, there are ways I feel beautiful now.  You've come a loonnnnng way, baby.....

For me, beauty is, first and foremost, finding my worth from my Father.  HE says I'm beautiful.  HE says I am fearfully and wonderfully made--by HIM.  HE says I'm worthy, forgiven and loved.  I am treasured, chosen, and, did I mention--LOVED.  Wow.

I feel beautiful right now.  Being pregnant, there is just something to it.  But it's not so much how I look, it's how I feel.  I'm happy, content, and I feel healthy.  That is beauty.

Beauty is learning to embrace my age, and the gray hair and wrinkles that are coming with it.  It is catching my husband smiling at me, just gazing, me asking "What?" and him replying, "I just like to look at you."  Beauty is treasuring my children, and embracing my role as their mom.  Beauty is loving where I am in life, and accepting where God has placed me.  Beauty is having fun, enjoying friendships and family, and laughing like I've never laughed before.  It is finding joy in the things I'm able to do for others. It treasuring what I've been given, and treating myself with the same kindness I extend to others.  Beauty is loving the body I'm in, and telling myself every day, "You're worth it."

So, am I beautiful?  You betcha sweet bum I am.  And you are too.

Breaking Mommy

As you know from some of my previous posts, I firmly believe in supporting each other as moms, within our mommy community.  Encouragement, hugs and unconditional, non-judgmental support.  It's vital.  One of the most important things I've ever heard as a mom has been, "Don't worry, it happened to me too."

So, I'm here to confess--Avery broke me yesterday.  It happened.  And if your kids break you, it's okay.  It happens.

Our day began at 5:30 am, when Avery, excited to have had a friend spend the night, and eager to begin their full day, woke the entire house up.... And then refused to go back to bed.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I pointed out that he was being rude and inconsiderate to his friend (and us...).  I tried bribing him.  Then I started yelling.  In front of his friend.  Who was just as tired as the rest of us.  JUST.  GO.  BACK.  TO.  BED.  For the love of God, child, PLEASE.  Did I mention the little boys had been up until 9:30 the night before?  Did I mention that Avery goes from 0-1000 in the time it takes him to reach his bedroom door from his bed when he wakes up?  He is the sort of child who falls asleep mid-sentence, and wakes up finishing that sentence.

I had not slept well.  When Avery woke up, I was still trying to get back to sleep after my brain woke up at 2. I was so tired I couldn't regroup.  I could not get it together.  I parked the two littles in front of the tv, served them breakfast, then tried to keep my eyes open long enough to drink my caffeine free, sugar free hot drink, praying for a placebo effect.

Avery's friend was exhausted.  This is a little boy who likes his sleep.  He needs his sleep.  Don't get me wrong--Avery needs his sleep as well, but he just doesn't seem to believe in such a thing.  His friend and I were just about done with the day by noon.  Sadly, it will probably be a while before his friend wants to spend time with us again.

Avery was obviously tired as well, but throughout the day, it came out in attitude and bad behavior.  He continually gave me angry eyes, he scowled at me, refused to listen, and continued on doing his own thing, just flat out refusing to follow direction.  Nothing worked, and I reached the point at which I was beyond trying.  He wore me down, and he broke me. The day only got worse, until I finally snapped.  In public.  In front of strangers.  In front of Avery's friend.  I spanked my child and yelled.  While we were eating ice cream, in what was supposed to be a celebration for Noah's orchestral accomplishments that day.

Needless to say, not my finest moment.

But here's my point--I felt severely judged by the other people surrounding us.  I could feel their eyes, and in my head, I heard the whispers:  What a terrible mother.  He's just acting like a five year old.  Why can't she get him under control?  She SPANKED her child.  What they thought they were seeing was a mother overreacting and unleashing unholy hell on her child.  What they didn't see was the entire 11 hours before that, which built up to that point.

I used to be one of those judgy people.  I was the one whispering and staring, horrified by the parent's behavior toward the child.  Then I had children of my own.  And I realized--what we usually see in public is the result of a build up.  It is not always just an automatic, immediate response.  These are parents driven to their breaking point, for whatever reason, by whatever cause.  They've been worn down.

Was I wrong?  Absolutely. Did I apologize to my child?  Yes. And I hugged him, reminding him that I do love him. Does that make what I did okay?  Nope.  It was not Avery's fault I couldn't sleep that night, and it was even less his fault that I lacked self control and could not turn the day around. I was not disciplining my child.  I was lashing out in frustration and anger. Are those parents we judge, who lose it in public, wrong?  That part isn't any of my business (let's just remember there is a difference between abuse and a build-up related temporary snap), and it's not yours either.  Instead of judging those parents, offer a smile, a pat on the arm, and a kind word or two.  I've been there.  My kid broke me, too.

Our kids have bad days, and we have bad days.  Sometimes they happen on the same day. Don't forget that.  Be kind.  You never know what battles those parents are facing.

And if you are the one snapping?  I promise to not judge you.  Tomorrow is a new day.