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I can't mom this week.

Seriously, we're all down with about 4387593 different viruses and bacteria.  Six ear infections, three strep throats, three upper respiratory infections, one bronchitis, five fevers, three bad tummies.... And a partridge in a pear tree.  Ugh.  This has really knocked us all on our bums.  If you're looking for someone to blame for the zombie apocalypse, it probably started with us.  You're welcome.

We've all been home allllllll weeeeeeeeek.  It has not stopped.  We can't function.  We can't get ahead. And just when I thought Avery was clear, I sent him back to school today... And he came home with a fever and chills.  Are you even kidding me????  Noah made a valiant effort to shower for school this morning, then I found him on the floor in the hallway after trying to crawl his way back to his bed.  The rest of us are doing about the same.

I've tried to keep up.  I'm the mom, after all.  Things still need to be done--people need to eat, no matter how sick they are, laundry has to be done (sheets have to be sanitized....), my schoolwork has to be submitted, issues have to be resolved--I still have to wife, mom, student, and Amy.  I've lacked a lot of patience with other people outside my home, though, which is where my frustration has come out.  I was ready to start giving life advice in the pediatrician's office ("Please, for the love of God, STOP.  HAVING.  CHILDREN."), and I took a hard line on crime in my prosecutorial practicums (Death penalty for minor traffic violations?  YES.).  I really shouldn't be peopling this week.  Just now I was trying to help Avery with his math and couldn't figure out if 56 is an odd number or even number.  Yes, I'm serious.  Yes, I had to Google it.  My brain has officially shut down.

I'm grateful for the friends who listen to me, and the ones who keep me going with their senses of humor.  Thank you Jesus for great friends.

So how do we--MOMS--do it?  I know I'm not alone in this.  Yes, Shawn helps.... But I won't talk about that. *ahem*  I know I'm not the only mom schlepping her way through her own vomit and bronchitis, eyes bleary from lack of sleep, ears ringing from the baby who won't stop crying, getting sicker while trying to get everyone else better.  We don't necessarily get the break that everyone else gets when they fall sick.  How do we decide what to let go of, and what absolutely has to be done?  Where do we draw the line, and decide that we're worth taking care of too, and make our families pay attention to our needs?

You know, I always try to end my posts with something positive.  I'm struggling to come up with this one.  We're all miserable, my house is a disaster, we've got cabin fever--we're hot messes.  We've been able to spend some time together as a family, though.  I think that's about the best I can do!  I won't tell you this has brought us closer, but I do know this whole mess will make us more grateful for the outside world when we finally make it back there!

I'm gonna go lick a can of Lysol now.

Split the V, Dot the I and Rock that C-T-O-R-Y

I declared a victory the other day.

 I've been filling camp forms out for Noah for over six years.  And for that time, I've always included his diagnoses in the "need to know" section.  I've written explanations, I've included doctor's notes, I've met with the camp leaders and chaperones.  I just wanted them to understand my child. I just wanted them to give my kid a chance. I just wanted my kid to have a good time at camp like all the  'normal' kids.

This year, I didn't write a thing.  I filled out the permission forms for his necessary meds, but I left the "need to know" section completely blank.  We're good.  Noah's coping so well, most people don't even recognize his differences come with diagnoses.  He's learned how to handle his symptoms, he knows what he needs to do to be okay.  No one needs to know this time. To them, he will be just another typical, quirky, awkward teenage boy.

This is my prayer.  I know there are so many parents who long to be at the place we're at in Noah's life.  They long for one word out of their child; I get not just entire conversations, but emotions and feelings with them.  There are parents who rely on respite care, who would give anything to be able to send their child to camp, who would give anything to be able to safely send their child just to school, or a friend's house for a playdate.  They would give anything to be able to take their child to the grocery store and not have to deal with the stares of the misunderstanding, ignorant and uneducated.

My prayer is they will experience the same joy we have.  These hard working, dedicated parents and children deserve the same grace, mercy and blessings we've received.

These parents and children deserve VICTORY, too.

What a Year it's Been

Ezra turned one last Friday.  This mama is adjusting... Slowly.  I looked at him this morning, all grown up in his 24 month t-shirt, ransacking my bathroom, and wondered where my baby has gone.  Then he snuggled into my arms to rock before his nap, and with contentment, I thought, "There he is!"

It's been a wild year.  We had a baby, bought a new home and moved (with a newborn), lost three of Shawn's relatives, the older boys changed schools, I'm working more with the church, Shawn and I are both back in school--and the changes continue.  That's life, I suppose.  It's just how it goes.  You never really know if you're doing it 'right' until one chapter ends and the next one begins. Sometimes, we never know. We learn to roll with it, and we keep going.

But I'm digressing.  Hey, isn't that what I do best?

Yes, Ezra is now a, well, he's a --okay, I'll just say it.  He's a toddler. *sad face bawling emoji*  I really have to wonder where the last 12 months went.  Much like my pregnancy with him, it's just flown by.  I have all these big questions for myself--did I enjoy his infancy enough?  Have I held him enough, cherished this special time with him enough?  I don't want to miss a moment, and I want to enjoy every bit of it.  I know there are parts I already miss, and I know how much my heart aches at times, so I'm just enjoying being Mommy.  Unless God has some major shake up plans He hasn't told us about yet, I know this is the end of an era for us. It's a decision Shawn and I made together, taking in account my health, our three boys and our capabilities.  We've been blessed far beyond measure, and we know that.  We've been given more than others can only pray for. Physically, I'm there--I know Ezra is the last.  Emotionally, I'm not quite there yet.  So, I'm just soaking up every bit of this right now while I can.  There are moments I watch Ezra and I hold him, taking my mental photographs, thinking, "Please, just let this last a little while longer."  When he settles onto my chest at night before bed, that's my zen time.  My shoulders relax, my soul rests, and it's just a blessed time for both of us.

It's fun watching Ezra's little personality emerge.  We still have no clue how we discovered this, but he LOVES Taylor Swift.  We can play any other music or video around the house, and he ignores it.  The second he hears an opening riff to one of her songs though, he comes charging.  He will do anything for Taylor Swift, and her music soothes him.  We're pretty sure he's her number one fan. It's downright hilarious!
He loves to harass the kitties (Wilbur gets credit for being the most patient, Jethro just antagonizes him, and Max usually stays hidden) and he meows to them, and Lilly has a sweet relationship with her youngest boy.  She is still pretty clueless as to using gentle manners, but she does love playing with him.
He's very opinionated about many things--usually standing on his tippy toes and shrieking at us to let us know--and we're seeing some strong willed tendencies....  Sigh.
His favorites toys are his older brothers, of course.  Noah is patient with him and they spend a lot of time together.  Avery does his best, but he is only 6, and his place as baby was usurped by Ezra.  Right now Ezra is practicing his R's a lot, so he constantly sounds like a happy little pirate; he also says "Hi Dad" (okay, so it's probably babble, but it certainly sounds like it!), and I'm finally hearing some "MA!" Ezra is definitely his mommy's boy, but when Daddy comes home, make way!  He's cruising and so very ready to walk, if he just had the confidence to let go!  He did take a step on his own the other day, but rather discovering newfound freedom, he scared himself.  Most importantly, he's happy.  He's such a happy little boy and knows he is loved.  I love watching him interact with people, making them smile, babbling away, giggling and laughing.  He's so very expressive, talking with his hands as if he's pontificating at times!   I know every parent just knows their child is a gift to the world, so I'll just say it--(all three of my boys) Ezra is a gift to the world.  He is God's gift and blessing to me, and now I get to raise him to be so in the world.


I'm eternally grateful for this chance to be Ezra's mom--this chance that medical science swore I wouldn't have.  What's that I always say? Oh yeah, medical science can SUCK IT.  Ezra already has such an amazing testimony, his healed heart and life itself are testimonies to God's love, grace, mercy and faithfulness.  Ezra is a fulfillment of God's promises. I know raising him will get more difficult as he gets older, and it's easy to be grateful when things are easy, but I will always be grateful.  It's a good life.  Scratch that--it's a GREAT life.

Raising the Strong Willed Child

Avery is my strong willed child.  Okay, that might be an understatement. As a toddler, that was actually the book he chucked at me one morning; out of alllllll the books he had to choose from the bookcase, it was Dobson's The Strong Willed Child.  Hit me right in the face with it. I probably should've taken that as a sign.  We frequently knock heads on many (okay, all) subjects, and he gives us a lot of push back. A LOT.  Even as I remind myself it does no good to argue with a six year old, I often realize several minutes later that I am Still.  Arguing.  With.  A.  Six.  Year.  Old.  I have my way of doing things and how I think things should be done, and he regularly tells me what he thinks of my ways.  I may occasionally say a few things back... But never actually to him... Of course... ("JERK.  What Honey?  No, no, Mommy said JOKE.  I heard a funny joke today and was reminding myself to tell you about it...").

Parenting Avery requires a certain finesse.  Sometimes I possess that finesse, other times I'd rather possess a boot to his rear end.  Just keeping it real.

Avery was such an easy going infant and toddler.  Somewhere along the way, as his own big personality has developed, he's become defiant, strong willed and obstinate. Avery marches to the beat of his own drum, and gives zero cares when it comes to the opinions of others. When he's good, he is the world's sweetest little boy.  He's snuggly and cuddly and cute and loving and funny.  When he's in a mood--well, hell hath no fury.  We can watch it happen, there's a shadow that crosses his face, and then the smirk, and it begins.  Take cover.  He does not like rules, and he bucks every system he runs into--yet he's the child who needs rules and structure the most.  Avery identifies better with the villains in his stories rather than the heroes; he's not rescuing anyone, he's the one wreaking havoc.  For all of our efforts and talk of not allowing Middle Child Syndrome to happen to Avery, it happened.  Go ahead, laugh.  He is caught in between two brothers who are breezing through milestones right now.  He has an older brother he longs to keep up with, only to be told he's not old enough, not big enough, not this enough, not that enough.  I'm sure that he often feels as though he isn't enough.  He has a younger brother he's too old to identify with, yet longs for the kind of involved attention his brother needs.

My biggest fear (okay, one of many) in raising him is that he will be the child who is glossed over and forgotten or ignored, the child who is left to his own devices because of his attitude and behavior.  Sometimes, it's easier to not interact with him, knowing what comes next.  I know this personally, so I cannot blame his coaches and teachers; watching them try to engage him, and how he treats them, I cannot blame them when they move on to another child who is more interested and easier to interact with. There are many times I've done that very thing myself.  Many times I feel guilty that Avery's behavior is taking away from those other children.  Oftentimes, his behavior goes beyond rude to just plain abusive, both physically and verbally.  It takes a special person to try, try again with kids like Avery.  It takes a special person to say that my kid matters and deserves the same effort the other children receive.  I know it's hard though, and it's a lot to expect of other people.  There are activities we've forgone, family events we've packed in, just because it was easier than dealing with this behavior.  I worry that if it's this bad now when he's six, what will it be like when he's a teenager if I don't get a handle on this now?  I'm afraid that people won't get to know the good side to Avery, his positive attributes, because all they ever experience are the ugly parts.  Having watched this with our older siblings, Shawn and I know where this road leads if we don't successfully intervene now.  Our child deserves better.  If I can just hang on for the ride, I know this can, and will, end up being his most positive personality characteristic (it's already his strongest....).

This is where the finesse comes in.  Avery requires kid gloves and handling. What works one day, may not work the next day--and often, what works one minute won't work the next! Often, even praising him backfires tremendously.  We celebrate many of the little accomplishments with Avery, and party over the big ones.  Shawn and I have to tap each other frequently, taking breaks.  How do I raise him so these personality traits of his become his biggest strengths?  How do I raise him while resisting the temptation to tame him?   I wish I had the answers, but the truth is, I'm learning as I go.  I have to broaden my views and open my mind to his way of doing things, choose my battles (I lose a lot of battles in the effort to win the war), let go of a lot, and regroup constantly.  I quiz my middle child-friends and friends with strong willed children all the time, and I take the advice that works best for Avery.  I do a lot of reading, and even more fervent praying.  I know God has plans for Avery; I know He plans to use this part of Avery's personality for His own good, otherwise He wouldn't have given it to him.  I know I have to trust in God constantly and completely while raising Avery. I have to look to God as my example and role model in parenting.  There is a lot of grace, mercy, patience and discipline in raising Avery.  I'm the one who has to keep a straight head and turn things around when they start going south.  When God gave me Avery's verse when I was pregnant with him ("For this child, I prayed"), I could not fathom at the time just how applicable it would be throughout his life.  It's ironic when Noah reminds me, "Mom, you used to despair over me, remember that?  You worried about me so much.  And I turned out pretty good.  Avery will too."

I love this little boy, I prayed for him for many years when we were told he'd never be a possibility and now I finally have him.  I will not give up on him.   He exhausts me, but I will not give up on him.  He deserves my best.

Those Shoes Were Made For Throwing Away

Marriage is funny sometimes.  As husbands and wives, we take on many roles in each other's lives.

One of my roles as Shawn's wife is making sure he has nice clothes for work.  He hates shopping quite possibly more than he hates butternut squash, so I do that for him.  Just between you and me, he doesn't have much fashion sense, either.  I also routinely go through his closet, weeding out the too-old stuff, the hole-y stuff, the stuff I wonder why I ever bought in the first place.

Sometimes he notices when things are removed or replaced, and sometimes I hear him yell, "HONEY!  Where is my SUPER SUIT,"   a la The Incredibles.  He thinks he's funny.

A few weeks ago I noticed some major wear and tear on his old dress shoes, which quite possibly outdated Noah.  I replaced them, hoping he wouldn't notice.  Oh, he noticed.  Knowing my husband as I do, I did not just merely throw the old ones away in our trash can.  No, he would've gone diving for them.  I'm not kidding.  Instead, I took the old ones out on my errands with me that day and threw them away in different dumpsters around town.  I'm not kidding.  They were far beyond donatable, and if I'd had the forethought, I might've cut them in different pieces before throwing them away.

Needless to say, I have not lived this down.  His co-workers have had a good laugh, after noticing his stocking-ed feet in the comfort of his office. The kids have jokingly hid the clothing and shoes which they hold dear, and I've found little notes attached to other things, "Please don't throw me away in the PetsMart dumpster!"  But, as Shawn puts on his new shoes each morning, good-naturedly grumbling about meddling wives and old, comfortable shoes, I'm glad he knows I love him.

That's marriage, and that's love.

Watch out bub, those boots are next.....

I See You, and Thank You

When I introduced myself to someone this morning, he asked me what I do.  "I'm just a stay at home mom."  Most people reply with some version of "Wow, I'm sorry," or "Oh."  This gentleman thanked me.  He acknowledged that I probably work harder than anyone else in the room. Then he thanked me for what I've chosen to do for my children, and what I'm contributing to our world.

So, I want to thank all of you today.  Thank you, all of you moms and dads.  I SEE YOU.  I know how hard you work.  I know it's not easy, but I know we would all agree it's worth it.  When you're schlepping through vomit, doing the 49th load of laundry because somehow, mysteriously, child #2's undies didn't make it into the first 48 loads, chauffeuring your taxi cab through the drive thru on your way to the next activity; your late nights and early mornings, your crazy days and lazy days--you're worth it, and your children are worth it.  I see you.  Your work is hard, and it is worthy.  You, as YOU, add value to our world, but you, through your work with your children, are adding so much value too.

Keep soaking up those hugs and kisses and snuggles.  Keep doing the hard drudge work.  Keep being the good mom and dad you are.

I see you.  Thank you.

Identity Crisis?

The past few weeks have been a little hard on this mama.  Ezra is turning 1 on Friday, and Noah came home recently with a potentially life-changing bombshell concerning his future.  I've really been struggling with both of these, and it finally hit me today, what I've been experiencing.  Thank goodness for very patient friends who put up with my nonsense, and only nod their heads when they get the "I FIGURED IT OUT" texts from me.

It's an identity crisis of sorts.  That's what I'm feeling.

This last, final first with Ezra (and the many more last firsts to follow), and Noah's ability to not only make, but act upon, adult decisions have left me wondering--what's next?  What do I do if I'm not a mom--when my boys don't need me anymore?

Sure, yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll always be a mom.  Once a mom, always a mom, right?  I'll always be their mom.  But what about when I'm not momming on a daily basis anymore?  What about when they don't need me to mom them?  I will always need them, but will they always need me?

*The irony here, is that two years ago, even a year ago, we still weren't sure what the future would hold for Noah.  Would he be able to move out and live on his own?  Would he be able to attend college and hold down a job?  Would we have to provide back up plans or fail safes, or even a full ride?*

And yes, for now, for quite a while still, I have Avery and Ezra (and I'm beginning to see yet another reason why God spaced their ages out so much.... Can you imagine how much messier I would be if I had all three of them hitting milestones at the same time?  Leaving the nest at the same time???  YIKES.), but I'm losing Noah.  It's a slow, gradual process, but it's happening.  There will be a time in the future when a wife will (rightfully) take my place, when I can't be there for every milestone, when I shouldn't be there for every milestone and moment.  It won't be my turn anymore, and I have to let go.  I have to find a way to be okay with it.  It's the inevitable, bittersweet part to parenting.

I'm sure, that to some of you, this seems silly.  I've still got many years with Avery and Ezra, and I have a few left with Noah.  I'm panicking over nothing, right?  Sit back and enjoy the ride while it lasts, right?  Yes, yes, yes.  I will....  and in the back of my mind, I will continue to panic.  Just a little.

This is a hard, crappy realization.  Sure, I want my kids to be happy, successful adults--but do they have to leave me behind to do it (kidding!)?  I knew it would happen, but geez, I have to be honest--I think maybe I was hoping it wouldn't!  Or that it would feel like it's happening so fast.  I know my ultimate goal in motherhood is to send them on their way when it's time--but does it have to be time already?

Alrighty, someone please pass the tissues to this messy mama!

They Are My Why

Let's be honest--motherhood is hard.  We've all heard the cutesy little sayings about being paid in kisses and hugs, nothing ever comes close, and so on.  It's true though, there is absolutely no other job, or career, quite like it.  Absolutely nothing compares--good days, bad days, so-so days--there is no other job that even comes close to motherhood.  It really, really is just so worth it.

There are days I want nothing more out of life than to be a mom forever.  It's a good life, a great life, a life I begged and pleaded for, prayed for and tried to bargain with God for.  My children are my reason for existing.  They make me a better person.

Then there are the other days....  Do you think if I snuck off to a hotel for a night or two they'd notice?????

Here's the thing though--I wouldn't last two nights. I would be bored on my skull after a few hours.  I wouldn't know what to do without the quiet and chaos.  In the moments I do make an escape, I find that I can't wait to be back home with my boys.

They are my why.

Noah, Avery and Ezra deserve everything I can give them. They deserve the best of me.  They deserve to know they are safe, loved, comforted and protected.  There are plenty of children who need these things and don't ever receive them--abused and neglected children, abandoned children, unloved and unwanted children--sadly, I can't change that for them.  I can't physically affect their lives.  And let me tell you, it hurts my heart more than I could ever describe.  I can, however, physically affect the lives of my own children.

This is my promise to them:  I will come, no matter what, no matter where, whenever you need me.  If a lecture and punishment are warranted, I will wait until we are both clearheaded enough to talk about it.  I will encourage you, cheer you on, reassure you and listen to you.  I will teach you, and I will allow you to teach me.  I will pray over you and for you.  I will embarrass you, and I will love you even more when humor me.  I will hold you, rock you, comfort you--and yes, I will discipline you.  Why?  Because I love you. Because you are my gifts from God, and in turn, my gifts to the world.  Because you deserve my best.  Because I can do this for you, because I want to. Because at the end of the day, I get to be your mom, I get to do these things for you, and I love you more than you can fathom.

Love Languages

Avery's love language is stuffed animals--lovies.  He can sniff out a stuffed animal buried 5000 feet under the ocean, over 20000 miles away.  I'm not kidding.  The kid has a problem.  When he finds one in a store he just has to have, citing it's many pros, it's hard to tell him no.  It is guaranteed that if you have one in your possession, it will find its way to Avery's bed.  We hung a hammock for his many lovies, but they continue to be scattered all over the floor and in his bed.  Some nights I have no idea how there's enough room for him to be comfortable, but he makes it work.

If he shares his lovies with you, especially his beloved puppy ear, it's a pretty big deal.

Much to Avery's delight, as we've cleaned out the old house and organized our new home, we've uncovered countless stuffed animals from my childhood, and a few of Noah's old ones I had tucked away.  He is in heaven, carting them off to his bedroom to introduce them to the rest of his gang, giving them names, and placing them around his room, deciding who gets the honor of sleeping in his bed, and who is relegated to the hammock.

Last night, he very generously offered to share a stuffed animal with each of us.  Noah and Shawn declined, until I texted them both reminding them that this is his love language.  "TAKE A STUFFED ANIMAL."  Oh.  I asked Avery to choose one for me, then asked why he chose that one.  "Well, because it's ugly and kind of scary and I really don't like that one."

Oh.

So much for love languages.  Kids, man.

I'm Sorry (A Letter to the Forgotten Ones)

Dearest Child,
I'm so sorry for what you were put through, for how you suffered.  I'm sorry.  My apology is empty and rings hollow.  It is too little, too late.  My apology is not what you needed, but it is all I can offer.  If I had known you, I promise you that I would've done more to help you.  Instead, you died and suffered alone, never knowing the love a child should know from his mommy.  You were hurt, ridiculed, laughed at, neglected, abused, humiliated, starved, and ruined by the very hands that should have loved you and protected you.  I'm sorry no one ever stood up for you and protected you, I'm sorry you fell through the cracks.  The system failed you.  I'm sorry.

You are the reason I read the news when others warn me not to.  Your story deserves to be heard.  You deserve to have your name said with love.  Your soul deserves prayer, and your tragedy deserves tears shed.  You deserved so much more in life, and I'm sorry this is all I can give you now.

You are one of the reasons my own children get extra hugs, the reason I hold them a little closer and a little longer.  As if, somehow, but loving them more, I can reset the deficit created by what you lost.  I know that's not possible, but that is still my thought process.  My promise to my own children, that I will protect them, love them and provide for them, that they will always know security and safety.

You are one of the reasons I pray for the other forgotten children.  I pray they will not fall through the cracks, I pray mightily for them, that they will have someone stand beside them, stand up for them and say NO MORE.  I pray that blind eyes will not be turned, justice will be served, and hope restored.

You, dear child, deserved the best out of life.  Instead, you were handed the worst.  My head echoes with what your last moments must have been like, my imagination going to dark places I wouldn't wish on anyone.  My last prayer for you, my knowledge for you, is that you now rest with the Father--a Father who loves you more than you could ever possibly fathom.  I will not forget you, I will remember your name, and I will love in your precious memory.

Rest easy now, Love.

Parenthood: Life Unscripted

I'm a planner.  I'm a prepper.  I don't like surprises. I like to know what to expect.  I don't do well when things don't go according to plan--my plan.  My education in parenthood, and the unplanned, unscripted life of parenthood, began almost sixteen years ago when I found out I was pregnant with Noah.  I quickly learned that nothing goes according to plan, starting right there with conception.  

We all have big ideas, big plans, big dreams for our children.  We envision the paths we'd like them to take.  We want better for our child than what we had.  With that first blue line, we start making plans.  Sometimes, before that baby is even more than a twinkle in his daddy's eye, we're making plans and dreaming dreams. Perhaps the blue line was unexpected, and the dreaming and planning begin there.

And, then we meet our child... Our child with his own dreams, his own plans, his own ideas--and, his own opinions.  His own way of doing things.  His own life to live.  He arrives with his own personality, and his own version of your genetics.  He is his own person, and not always the way we had imagined.  We realign our own visions for this child so that ours match his.

This is, of course, our goal as parents, as bittersweet as it may be: To raise them well, and release them into the world when it's time, whether it's according to our plans, their plans, or a combination of both.  As they grow and mature, it no longer becomes our job to say no to something or to sway their decisions, but instead to guide them, and trust them to make the adult decisions we've raised them to make.  The lengthening of the apron strings is a painful process, sometimes more for us than for them. We coach them, cheer them, support them and love them through milestone after milestone.  One day, they're infants, then we blink and they're headed out the door to start the next chapter of their lives.  How does that happen?  Where does the time go? It's a difficult, shocking moment when we realize the child we've raised is no longer such a child, and is becoming capable of making such adult decisions.

This is part of the unscripted life of parenthood.  Our kids don't always go according to plan, and that's okay. Their plans don't always go according to our plans either, and that's okay too.  What matters, in the end, is that they know they are loved, and we know they are free to do what we've been preparing them for all along, no matter what that may be.

Hope, Faith and Acceptance

When Noah was born, autism came barreling into our family like a Mack truck.  We didn't realize it at the time, and it took us until he was nine to agree to have him diagnosed.  As someone who had worked with children with severe autism, I thought I knew what autism looked like, and this did not look like the autism I knew.  I fought it as long as I could, but I knew there were differences about my child that only autism could explain.  As parents, it was the most difficult thing we've been through with him.  We were originally denied services because it was decided his need was not great enough, and I had to fight.  Even though we finally received those services, we did not see much improvement.  Noah wasn't interested enough, and wasn't willing to do the work.  I will never be able to fully describe the gratitude I still feel for the equine therapy center we eventually found, for the instructors, the horses and the setting.  We saw dramatic improvements almost immediately, and we knew it was God-given.  Our church at the time was supportive, and we were able to see why God had moved us there; several other families there had kids 'like' Noah, and they lovingly guided us through the process, held my hand, listened, hugged and helped me remember to laugh.  When we realized we couldn't cope with day to day "Noah-ness" and homeschool him at the same time, we were blessed with a truly amazing fifth grade teacher upon re-enrolling him in public school.  I will never forget the kindness we encountered during those first two years as we struggled to find a place in this world for our child.  We struggled with making him conform to society versus making society accept him as he was.  We knew he needed to learn it's okay to be Noah, as God made him, but how?  In all honesty, the original specialists did not give us much hope.  In fact, those were almost their exact words, "He's on the mild end of things, but don't get your hopes up.  He will need lifetime care, be unable to hold down jobs for long, or do more than menial work."  They called it a lifetime disability.  That declaration rang in my ears for weeks.  When I think about it now, I laugh.

Obviously, they hadn't heard of our mighty God, who does have the last word, indeed.

Even though Noah heard the doctor's proclamation, I think in many ways he was relieved.  My guilt kicked into overtime and I began wondering how long he'd worried what was wrong with him and why he wasn't like other kids.  We did our best to stress that nothing was wrong with him, his brain just works differently.  I also worked hard to find new doctors, doctors who would speak life to my child, and not set up road blocks.  Once we did that (and found Miss Jen, Miss Christina, Justin and Molly!), things began turning around.

If you have the pleasure of knowing Noah now, much of what I could tell you about those years would surprise you.  You wouldn't recognize him as the same kid.  He's grown so much, overcome so much, matured, and just accepted who he is.  He's learned to love himself, embrace his life with autism and be proud of how God made him.  Noah knows this is part of God's plan for him, something bigger than him, and he has fully taken responsibility for it.  Over the years, he's taken a positive attitude about it.  It's not a burden, it's not a disability, it's just part of life.  As Noah has said, "Everyone has their differences.  Mine just happens to have a name."  He's very nonchalant about it, and talks about his diagnosis quite openly.  I'm proud of the friends he's made as well; explaining one of his behaviors to them one day by telling them about his diagnosis, they shrugged their shoulders and said, "So?"  I'm so grateful he gets to be Noah with them, and they accept him as he is, in all of his quirky, goofy awkwardness.  Recently in church, he openly declared his autism a gift and nothing less before God and everyone, choosing to do so on his own, with his own handwritten signs during a testimony.  Brave.

As Noah's mom, my goal is no longer so much awareness as it is acceptance.  I do not feel that my child needs a cure, but I do know there are many parents of children with autism who feel differently. I fully respect them and understand it.  I do not feel that my child needs to be able to conform to society, become 'normal' or risk being shut away because he functions differently than the majority of the world's population.  Noah was never meant to fit in, he's always been meant to stand out.  I've had the blessing of finally being able to hug my child, and of hearing him speak my name in the same sentence as "I love you."  Many parents do not have this luxury.   Yes, it's a luxury, and it's something I do not take for granted.  For those parents, and for those just beginning their journey down this road, I want Noah's story to be one of hope.

This has been a long road.  It's not always been easy, especially in the beginning.  I was angry, I yelled and screamed at God.  I hated autism.  I grew bitter.  Now, I know that Noah would not be Noah without it.  In many ways, I'm even grateful for it.  I know that on the days it was hard, frustrating and maddening for me, it was even more so for Noah.  He endured bullying and teasing, and was easily taken advantage of.  But, I see who he is now, and I'm proud of him for not allowing any of that to make him bitter, only better.

Noah is my hero.  His courage, bravery, wit and sense of humor have made this journey half of what it's been.  He continuously teaches me something new about overcoming obstacles and taking pride in how God made us, about being the kind of parent my children need me to be, and about myself.  Through Noah's journey, we've all found out what we're made of, and we've learned it will be okay.  I'm not the hero, and I always correct people when they tell me that.  Being Noah's mom was not the struggle; being Noah, in the beginning, was the struggle.  I'm not special because I'm his mom, or because of what I "put up with," as some people have said.  I get to be his mom, and I have the privilege of watching him become his true self.