Catch My Cares

We frequently listen to 'Jesus music' in our home (when we aren't indoctrinating our children in 80's hair bands...).  It's usually on in the kitchen and in the car.  Avery loves to sing along, and I love hearing him praise our Father.  Frequently, if I change the station, he will ask me to change it back, telling me, "We need more Jesus, Mom!"  Indeed.

The other day he was singing one of his favorite songs, "Cast My Cares," but he was singing "Catch my cares." As the song ended, Avery lowered his head, raised his hands, and whispered an exuberant, "A-MEN."

The song states, "I will cast my cares on You."  I tried correcting Avery when he was finished, but he wasn't having it.

"No, Mom.  It's definitely 'catch my cares.'  See, I throw my cares at God and He catches them for me.  Then He takes care of them."

How can I argue with that?  Clearly, the band is wrong here, and Avery is correct. God does indeed catch our cares.  All we have to do is let go of them.

Sing on, dear boy.  Sing on.

Baby Drool and Car Pools

Please don't misunderstand this post.  I'm incredibly grateful I get to be home with my kids.  I know how blessed we are that Shawn's income allows us this luxury with very few sacrifices.  And yes, I understand it is a luxury, because I know there are plenty of parents who would rather be home, but don't have the option to make that choice.  It's very rewarding, and I'm glad to do it.

There are times though, it can get a little tedious. Car pools, drool, diapers, temper tantrums, play dates, sports and school--there's only so much I can talk to others about it before even I start yawning.  I'm grateful for the moms group I'm part of, but again--there's only so much we can talk about some times.

When Avery was a toddler, there were things I wanted to do to expand my own world. It felt as though everyone but me was out getting a life.  Every opportunity was met with a road block of one kind or another, however.  I lashed out, became resentful towards Shawn and the kids, and couldn't understand why God kept saying "no."  I couldn't see past the present, to the possibility He had something greater in mind.  Because I was so busy yelling, I couldn't hear Him telling me to be patient.

Flash forward another year or two, and after some serious soul searching, I realized motherhood is where I belong.  This is my here and now, and that's what God was telling me.  Those other endeavors would've taken me away from my children and the attention they need.

Then, my time came.... God did indeed have something better in mind for me.

Last year I was given the opportunity to go back to school through an online program.  This allows me the time I need with my family, the ability to schedule my own work, and enrich myself while still being a full time mom.

That was a long way to get my point.  Last month I saw my doctor about my worsening depression and anxiety.  Together, we made a list of my top stressors, both positive and negative, along with what can go and what couldn't, what I needed to change/add (helloooooo diet and exercise), what I could control and what I needed to let go of because it is beyond my control.  At the top of my stressor list was school, but it was also at the top of the list of things that I need to keep in my life.  At times, it can be stressful.  Three weeks ago when I lost a research paper I'd been working on for several weeks, I wanted to throw in the towel.  After all, it will be years before I finish this degree, and even longer before I'm able to use it professionally, so what's the point?  The point is--I need to do this.  This is for me.  Just me.  Sure, I want my kids to see the value of continued education, I want them to see my value beyond just being their mom, blah blah blah--but when I get down to it, I'm selfish.  I'm doing this for myself because I need to.  I like being able to have something (valuable) to discuss at dinner besides how many times Ezra pooped, and what I saw on social media.

I love my children more than life itself.  They are my gifts and I wouldn't trade this life for anything.  But school?  School is about loving myself.

Autism as a Character

Sesame Street announced today they will have soon have a character with autism joining their cast.  Elmo will be the one explaining that character's behaviors and characteristics, explaining the whys and wherefores of the character's autism to the audience.  *Insert Elmo's voice: "This is called stimming.  And now she's arranging her toys according to color, size and type, rather than actually playing with them age appropriately, and now she's having a meltdown because the tag on her shirt is rubbing annoyingly against her skin."*  Ummm, why can't the character explain these things herself?

I have mixed feelings.  I want to applaud their efforts, but I am hesitant. I've seen other tv shows attempt to address the autism issue, usually with one of two extremes--the character is either a savant (which realistically accounts for very little of the autism population), or the character is basically an undisciplined brat with a side order of a few behaviors attributed to autism.  Both give wholly unrealistic views of life with autism.  Based on those two stereotypes, Noah should be an astute student of everything while throwing massive temper tantrums as he straightens grocery store shelves alphabetically.    

We also live in a day and age in which the media, thanks to recent events in the news, mistakingly portrays autism as a mental disorder.  Based on the actions of a few, the media seems to portray all people with autism as angry, gun-weilding maniacs seeking revenge on the general population for not letting them play in all the reindeer games.

Have you met Noah?  He's nothing like any of that.

So, yes, I'm hesitant to rejoice over Sesame Street's newest character. I'm worried this will backfire. Are the producers and writers being genuine in their efforts, or is this merely an attempt to hop on the PC bandwagon? I'm concerned it will make an even bigger deal out of differences some kids, and parents, just want left alone. In calling attention to it, they are making neon billboards out of our children, rather than  allowing them to just be kids. I want to know who they are consulting to make sure they get things correct, and won't misinform the public, adding to the ignorance.  Will they stress that autism is a spectrum, so that just like neurotypicals, no two people with autism are the same, and that not all people will necessarily have the character's behaviors? Will they concentrate on the character's personality and non-autism traits, or will this character be known only for her autism traits--is she an individual or merely a diagnosis?  Will the character portray the true intelligence of a person with autism, whether that person is verbal or non verbal?  Will the character be allowed to use her diagnosis as an excuse? Will this just be another tactless attempt that only results in portraying people with autism as angry, mentally unstable individuals pitching temper tantrums when they don't get their way?  As Noah's mom, my concerns are legitimate.  I need to know they will do autism, and my child, justice.  These are real people we're talking about, not just a tv show character.

I do agree there needs to be more acceptance and knowledge of autism, but it needs to be done in a positive, well informed light.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  Noah has fought long and hard to just be Noah.  He doesn't want to be known as "that kid with autism."  He's so much more.  We've worked hard to raise him with the "We all have differences, it just so happens that mine has a name, no big deal" mentality.  He's worked hard to come to terms with his diagnosis and not let it get in the way of living his life.  Noah has learned to incorporate it into his every day life, and just accept this is how God made him.  God will use this, and we know there's a reason for it.

Sesame Street, I have to be honest.  I do not see this as a positive.  I do not see this as a move forward for autism.  As Noah's mom, I have to evaluate every aspect, and having done that, I do not see this as a successful step forward for the autism cause.  For the sake of our children, I do hope you will prove me wrong.

Life and Loss

Today is Ezra's six month birthday.  A dear friend reminded me that a year ago today was when we announced our pregnancy with Ezra, defying medical science, and proclaiming God's goodness.  Today also happens to be Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  The irony does not escape me.  It seems incongruous to be celebrating the life of one child while remembering the life of another.

Our Grace would be ten years old now.  She was wanted, she is still loved.  We did not get to hold her, I never got to feel her move within me, but she is missed every day.  She is still our child, she will always be a part of our family.  I cling to the knowledge that I will get to hold her one day, that I will meet her in heaven.  It is a comfort that our earthly losses have been her heavenly gains.

I hate when people ask me about my children, I don't count her in casual conversation.  I want to avoid the awkwardness, and the pity from the other person.  She still matters.  The only time I mention her is when someone asks if we're ever going to try for a girl.  I use my answer to shut them up, and hopefully make them think twice before they ask that sort of question of the next person.  Miscarriage and child loss are not something that come up in every day discussion; those of us in this population typically hide it, as though it's something to be ashamed of.  I get frustrated with people who refer to my loss as only that of a pregnancy.  Grace was a human being, a child of God, formed within me.  She may not have taken her first breath outside of my body, but she was still a person.  She had a heartbeat.  We lost a child, not a pregnancy.  We lost a future, we lost opportunities and we lost memories.

Several years ago I learned the term "rainbow baby."  This refers to the baby you have after the loss of a child, the rainbow after the storm of loss.  A reminder of God's promise.

We are blessed to have two rainbow babies.  After loss, illness and infertility, we were able to have Avery and Ezra.  There are many who aren't that blessed, and this is not something I take lightly.  I delight in all three of my boys, knowing each one is a miracle in his own way.

I will admit Shawn and I treated Avery's and Ezra's pregnancies, births and first few months differently than Noah's.  With Noah, we went by the book.  Everything was by the book--feedings, naps, bedtimes, discipline, schedules and routines.  We were more lax with Avery, and we've been the same with Ezra.  When you lose a child, the next one(s) are different.  It's not that you don't love your first one less, you do, in fact understand how precious that life is as well--if not for having him when we did, we may not have been able to have him.  However, you do see life differently, you're looking through different lenses, the lenses of loss.  You understand how fragile life is, and treat it with the kid gloves it deserves.  I've been lectured by well meaning, loving friends about allowing Ezra to nap in my arms, about holding him as much as I do.  I've tried to explain that I don't want to let him go, that, on some level, I can't.  If I let go, that's when the what ifs begin.  That's when the fear creeps in.

My heart aches for the moms and dads who have lost more than we have.  There have been times I did not think I could bear the pain, and times I've railed against the unfairness of it.  I can't even begin to imagine what those parents go through.

We are survivors.  We take it one day at a time.  There are times the grief can still overwhelm us, even years later.  Through this grief, however, I am grateful for the lessons Grace has taught me, even in her absence.  Because of her, I appreciate Noah, Avery and Ezra even more every day.  I am grateful for the time I have with them, and I do cherish them.  Because of Grace, I know who is important.

"A person's a person no matter how small," --Dr Seuss.

Parenthood is Scary

We had a stark reminder last week that no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, we cannot guarantee the safety and security of our children.  It is completely out of our hands, whether they are under our roof, at school, in the car, or out with friends.  It's a horrifying revelation.  These are our children, and we're supposed to be able to protect them at all costs. We promise them from the moment of conception that we will never let anything bad happen to them.  Reality can be a real jerk sometimes.  You realize just how tenuous life is.

In the blink of an eye, our lives could've changed drastically.

There was a situation at Noah's school that caused the police and administration to put the school on lockdown.  Information was limited, and I'm not sure I would've known anything if Noah hadn't texted me.  We did not begin receiving information from the police and school until the situation was resolved.  I'm grateful it was resolved safely, but those few hours in between Noah's first text and the phone call from the school were terrifying, to say the least.  

I prayed, and I prayed hard. I had to actively push back against the what ifs and the thoughts of news stories from other similar situations, about the parents who wait for that last bus that never comes, for their child who doesn't come home.  I held it together, and did not cry until after we got Noah's "It's over, please come get me" text.  At a time when we should've leaned on each other, I lashed out at Shawn. I told Noah that if it came to it, hide.  Find a safe place and stay there.  Just hide.  Shawn told him to protect himself and his friends.  I want my child alive and safe, not a martyred hero.  We just kept telling him that we love him.  When I tell you it was a terrifying experience, I'm not exaggerating or overdramatizing.  I was terrified.   As a mom, there's no other word for it.  I was helpless and everything was completely beyond my control.  I could not do anything to keep my child safe.  I could pray, and I had to leave the rest up to God.  I had to trust God, the police and the school administration and staff.

When I went to pick Noah up, I, along with other panicked and anxious parents, were met by police guarding the doors, armed with assault rifles and wearing body army.  These were the very same doors I had dropped him off at less than 4 hours before.  These were the doors where I had prayed for his day.  The doors I watched him walk through to make sure he went into school safely, realizing he's a high schooler and I really don't have to do that anymore.  We were met by another police officer taking the names of our children, releasing just a few at a time from the gym where they had them all corralled for safety.  I prayed with another mom, a complete stranger, and we held hands until our boys came out.  

I can't even begin to describe the fear I felt that day.  I can't begin to describe the relief I felt when I saw Noah and was able to hug him.  I held on to him and I did not want to let go.  I can't begin to properly express my gratitude for the police, teachers, staff and administration, our friends who prayed and stayed in touch with us, for the technology that allowed us to stay in contact with our son. I am grateful Shawn was working from home that day, I'm grateful I had Ezra to snuggle, and I'm beyond grateful for a Father who loves Noah more than I ever can.

I know the police and administration are receiving a lot of criticism right now for the way they handled that day.  I only have gratitude. They did their jobs. They kept our children safe.  They reacted to a credible threat, and kept the kids safe.  I got to tuck all three of my kids into bed that night, and that's what matters most.  At the end of the day, we all had our children back, safe and sound.

Birth Order

Psychology has a lot to say about birth order.  Here in our family, we have some words of wisdom, as well.

The Practice First Child:
"So they just let us drive away from the hospital with him?  Just like that?  Are they sure?  Are we sure????"
What were they thinking???

The Second Middle Child:
"Sure, we made some mistakes with the first one, but we're going to fix those with this one!"
And make plenty of new mistakes......

The Third Last Child:
"Shouldn't we have this figured out by now?????"
We fully admit we're flying by the seat of our pants at this point.

I think our children prove we're clueless.  We are filled with love for them, but completely clueless.

Domestic Violence Awareness Month

I'm pretty sure everyone is on top of the fact that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  You can't scroll through social media, read the news, watch tv or walk down the street without being encouraged to feel your boobies.

But did you know that October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month?  And yet, no one talks about it.  There aren't any signs, memes or commercials encouraging you to seek help, to notice the signs your friend, family member, student or acquaintance is being abused.  No one wants to talk about it, especially if it's happening to them.  Pictures of boobies in public are now widely accepted, but no one wants to see the emotional and physical bruises of abuse plastered about.

This awareness is near and dear to the heart of my family.  I write this blog every March on the anniversary, and again every October, in memory of my mother in law, and I will continue to do so.  My husband lost his mother to domestic violence 18 years ago, and I can tell you, the pain never really goes away.  Her three sons lost their mom, and her mother faced what no parent should ever have to do--burying her child.  Her sisters and brother lost their oldest sibling.  My mother in law did not get to see her boys get married, she did not get to meet my sisters in law, and our children were robbed of their grandmother.  They will never know her hugs, her love, her laughter, or the stories about their dads that only she knew.  I was blessed to have known her before her death, so I do have a few things I can tell my children.  She was precious, she mattered, she was loved.  Sadly, in this case, she was not the only victim, but those left behind have suffered long as well.  Shawn and his brothers have made good lives for themselves and their families, but I don't know that they will ever be able to 'move on.'

Instead of having my mother in law in our lives, we lived with the ever present specter of the man who committed the crime.  Once he was released from prison, we constantly felt the need to look over our shoulders, to keep tabs on our children, to guard our privacy and information. Schools and teachers were notified and supplied with recent photos of him.  My husband and his brothers armed themselves in order to protect their families, if it ever came to that. We heard only rumors of his whereabouts.  We lived in fear and paranoia.

This October, we breathe a little easier, and we are at ease to live our lives as we always should have been.  The specter is gone in death, and our lives have begun to retain a bit of normalcy.

I would beg you, if you are suffering at the hands of someone else, please, PLEASE, tell someone.  Leave now.  Don't look back.  I can assure you that you are not the only victim, especially if you have children.  Please seek help.  You are strong, you are worth it, you are a child of God who does not deserve to be treated in such a way.  You deserve to be genuinely, unconditionally loved and treasured. There is help, there are people who care, people who have traveled the path before you, and will not only point the way, but hold your hand along the way.  You can do this.

If you suspect someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, or if you suspect someone you know is an abuser, please speak up in love.  Please reach out to that person.  You could be the lifeline, the encouragement, the peace that person needs.  If you don't know how to proceed, contact your local non emergency police number, a shelter, a counselor or the National Domestic Violence Hotline for help.

You matter.  You are precious.

NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE: 

1-800-799-7233

Different, not Broken or Sick

Last week my mommy hackles were raised. I went right into Mama Bear mode, do not pass go.

While reading an article about a couple with autism who were getting married, I came across the sentence that the entire wedding party "identified as being on the autism spectrum."  Excuse me? Identified? The journalist's choice of words left me flabbergasted, frustrated and angry.  I have fought for my child and for acceptance of him and of autism.  For this journalist to minimalize everything my child has been through and how he has succeeded, well, I may have had flames shooting out of my ears.  My immediate reaction was that one does not identify as being on the spectrum, one is diagnosed.   Autism is not a lifestyle, it is a not a choice.  Autism is a neurological disorder, diagnosed only by professionals.  By referring to it as an identity, the journalist implied that one chooses autism, and she seriously misled any already uninformed readers of the life altering reality of being on the spectrum.  To identify is to say, "I am autism," whereas to be diagnosed is to say, "I have autism, but I am so much more."  As Noah's mom, what I interpreted as sheer ignorance left me stunned.

Later, I asked Noah about it. I didn't share my initial outrage, because I wanted to know how he felt about the journalist's choice of words--and he surprised me.  His explanation even made sense to me.  Noah said that by identifying as being on the spectrum, he's chosen to accept and embrace who he is with autism as a part of him.  He didn't think the journalist's statement at all implies that one chooses to have autism. He understands he's more than autism, but autism is a part of what makes him Noah.  We both laughed when he said, "I didn't choose the autism life.  The autism life chose me!"  Noah then  mused that maybe by changing the phraseology used, but saying one identifies rather than one is diagnosed, we can even change how the world sees those with autism, and we can normalize it. Noah also said that to be diagnosed feels as though he's been told something is wrong with him, when he knows there isn't.  He's not sick, he's not broken, he's just different, and he's exactly how God created him to be.  He reminded me of the relief he felt to have a name for it when he was first diagnosed, what a relief it was to find out he's not just "out there weird, but there's a reason for my weird, and I'm okay with that.  This is just how I do life."

God says a child shall lead, and in my house, that happens to be true many times.  How did I get such a smart kid?