Thank Your Spouse

I hate traffic.  And when I say 'traffic,' I'm talking about the rare 2-3 instances a week I have to deal with a 30-40 minute drive in moderately heavy everyone-needs-to-get-to-where-they're-going-before-everyone-else traffic, while Captain Motormouth talks about everything and anything in the back seat, and Admiral Backseat Driver analyzes anything and everything from the front seat, all of it making my head spin.  I fume at the texters, the fiddlers, the not-paying-attentioners, all putting my children at risk because their secondary task is more important than their primary task, which is driving.

Then there's my husband.  He drives 5 times a week, 1 1/2-2 hours to and from work, in heavy kill-or-be-killed traffic.  He expertly (I say 'expertly' because he makes it home alive and in one piece every night) maneuvers around the texters, the fiddlers, the ones with better things to do than drive, carefully making his way to work, or home to us.  At the end of his drive, the last thing he wants to do at night is take over for me, breaking up fights, putting Avery through the bath, and getting the boys through their bedtime routines; he does not want to head back in the direction he just came from to take Noah to Scouts, hang out in town until it's time to pick Noah up from practice, or go to Bible study so that he doesn't get home until 9 pm--but that's what he does. And he does it for us.  Because he loves us.  What I can do for him is have dinner on the table, and his soda in my hand when he walks through the door (don't worry, I draw the line at a smoking jacket and slippers....).  I can greet him with love, enthusiasm and a grateful heart.  He comes home tired and worn out, but he still has a smile for us.

Traffic makes me all the more grateful for my husband. It reminds me to be patient with him, and of all the things he does so I don't have to.  It reminds me that I get to stay home with our kids, which is something we decided is important to our family.  Traffic makes me grateful for all he does for our family, and everything he sacrifices.  I really don't know how he does it.  Four hours on the road each day means four hours lost with our kids, it means time lost for us as a couple, and as a family.  It means his stress level goes up, along with his frustration and blood pressure.  His health takes a huge hit.

Don't forget to thank your spouse.  Tell him or her why you're grateful for all they do, and remind them daily you are thankful just because they're who they are.

Thankfulness.... In 90 Seconds or Less

Shawn and I have been asked to share our testimony concerning infertility with our church as part of the November sermon series on thankfulness.  The catch?  We have to sum up 10 years of angst in 90 seconds or less.  What WHAT???  Don't they know me?  Please tell me they really meant 90 minutes...  Oh heck, just let me do the whole sermon series!

I asked a friend today if I can just say, "God is amazing, medical science can suck it."  Can I say "suck it" in church?

I really don't even know where to start.  I thought maybe if I sat down and started this post, divine inspiration will strike.  Or, maybe somewhere in this post, Shawn and I will find the testimony God wants us to give.

Don't misunderstand me, I know my testimony.  Shawn and I know ours.  What I'm getting hung up on is the 90 second part--what is the most important part of our testimony? What, out of this entire mess, do others need to hear the most?

We've seen my lab results. I've had countless tests, and we've seen the results over and over and over.  We've heard the damning words from my doctors, over and over and over. This past May, my latest work up showed I had no discernible female hormones at all.  My thyroid and adrenal levels were in the dumpster.  My endocrine system was so incredibly out of whack, my doctor wasn't even sure if we could fix it well enough for me to function, and certainly not well enough for me to conceive.  On paper, we never should've been able to conceive.  Between illness and the medications necessary, my body was just destroyed. When my doctors told us there was no way we would have another child after Noah, I believed them.  Things looked even more dire after Avery.  Medical science cannot explain our children.

I can.

Here's the other thing I'm getting hung up on--the whole thankfulness thing.  It's taken us a while to get to this point--maybe me more than Shawn.  I've journeyed through some massive bitterness to get to the point where I woke up and realized I already had Noah, and then when we had Avery--we already had two incredible kids, and there I was, bitter because God wouldn't give us a third child, in my time frame?  Bitter because God wasn't doing things my way, so I what I heard was, "NO!" rather than, "Not yet."  The death my doctors spoke to us sent me into a tailspin that lasted years, and I couldn't hear anything other than their words.  I couldn't hear anything other than my own anger.  I couldn't hear the life God was so desperately trying to speak to me.

I feel like a hypocrite telling people I was thankful through the entire ordeal.  It won't ring true to anyone's ears.  I know that I can't start there.  I have to start at the beginning with the tears, the devastation and the anger.

The truth is, Shawn has been more trusting and faithful through all of this than I have.  When I wanted to give up, when I yelled about my stupid body, when I was angry, when I screamed and cried about the injustice of it all--Shawn was the rational one.  He would reply, "Doctors are stupid.  God is good.  Trust Him."  He would remind me that we don't know what God can do, but we do know He is the great healer, that nothing is impossible for Him.  Shawn loved me through it, and in that, I hit my breakthrough and started to trust more, to believe more, to know more.

So, why am I thankful?  I'm thankful to have a Father and a husband who never give up on me.  I'm thankful to have the blessing of two amazing boys, and another child on the way.  I'm grateful for these people in my life I never thought I would have.  I'm grateful for the problems we have, that other people would love to have.  I know how 'lucky' we are, and I try to not take that for granted.  I'm even thankful that I know everything that can go wrong, because those trials are what make me appreciate what I do have as much as I do.

It's Not What I Expected... and I'm Glad

I had the tv on this morning, just noise in the background while I took care of some chores.  I wasn't paying much attention, but something caught my ear and made my head whip around.  I actually rewound the movie to be sure I heard it correctly.

One of the characters was confronting her estranged mother after years of not speaking.  The mother bitterly replied, "Motherhood is not what I expected, and you kids weren't exactly easy."  The mother then continued to blame the adult daughters for everything that she felt had gone wrong with her life.

I've heard this before, and not from a movie.  Maybe not in so many words, or so succinctly, but there it was.

So, here's the thing--motherhood is certainly not what I expected either.  From day one, it has not been the romanticized version I had built up in my head.  I can tell you that I never expected my children to have such varying age ranges, I did not expect to have boys, I did not expect to be raising a child on the spectrum, and, at one point, I didn't even expect to have more than one child.  I also did not expect the many daily rewards, the hugs, and feelings of self worth, the pride and love that make my heart swell until I'm in tears.  While it may not be the romanticized version I dreamed of, it's certainly not the absolute worst, dysfunctional movie version either!

Are my kids easy?  Oh, heck no!  There are days I might trade that for a little bit less exhaustion, but it certainly would be boring if my kids were easy!  There are good days, and that's what we concentrate on.  There are also the days I realize that it's me, not my children, who is the difficult one, and those are some pretty serious lightbulb moments.  When things are going sideways, it's my attitude that counts.  It is up to me to keep things in perspective, and remind myself that I am the adult.

Is anything ever what we expect?  If everything always went as we expect, where would be the joys, the surprises, the spontaneity, the fun (the need for God, prayer and friendship...)? What would be the point to a scripted life? There are challenges in everything, but we work through them.  And then we embrace them, for they are what make us who we are.  There is also joy to be found in everything!  Those challenges and joys are how we grow, and how we learn.  If we don't do so, we become stagnant and bitter.  And at the end of the day, we agree, this life is not what we expected, but it sure is worth it.

I don't want to be the mother lamenting to her adult children about what horrible people they are, or blaming them for things beyond their control.  I want my children to know they are loved and cherished. Even more importantly, they need to know they are liked and wanted, and to know that it is an honor and a blessing to be able to raise them.  I want them to know that I need them just as much as they need me, if not more.  Being their mom is not what I expected, and I'm happy with that.

When You See It

Noah is quickly approaching 14 (how does this happen???).  I have to remind myself daily, and sometimes hourly, that he is not like 'most' kids his age.  Aside from his diagnoses, there are many other differences also, many of them I can easily embrace, sometimes easier than I can embrace the differences associated with his diagnoses.  I remember the things I was doing at 14, the things I was responsible for, and I wonder if, how and when we will reach that point with Noah.  I positively hate allowing his diagnoses to be used as crutches or excuses, but if I'm being honest with myself...  Well, anyway.  As a parent in general, I hate excuses.  As Noah's parent in particular, I hate hearing, "Noah isn't like other kids..."  I try to teach my kids personal responsibility, and to own their actions, behaviors and decisions--and consequences--no matter the road blocks.

Noah is a very capable child.  He really is.  However, he is also the teenage boy who consistently forgets deodorant and zipping his fly.  He is often too lazy to tie his shoelaces, and he is King of the Half-Finished Chore.  'Sloppy' is his preferred style, no matter what I encourage him to choose when we shop (our latest excursion found us in trendy mall shops, me begging him to pick something out, ANYTHING!), often choosing whatever is easiest to throw on in the morning without much (any) planning or thought. He would often rather take the easy way out, than put forth the extra effort and feel the success that comes with hard work.  I am often in his face about the deodorant and other things, lamenting "How can you forget such important things?"  It hit me--he has never remembered such things, so chances are better than good he may not ever.  Even with signs hanging in various key places around the house, things are forgotten.  Even with chores and tasks spelled out, step by step, never changing, posted where he can see them as he does them--yep, they still don't get done.  We try to drive home the point of doing a job right the first time, taking pride in hard work and being pleased with a job well done--but I'm certain we sound like the teacher from Charlie Brown.  "Wah wah wah wahhhhhhh."  There are days we are knee deep in teenage attitude; then there are other days when I catch a glimpse of the young man and gentleman he is becoming.  He stands nearly eye to eye with me now, but the times we see eye to eye are becoming fewer and farther between.  Welcome to the bipolar years....

Shawn and I talk a lot about things we want to be able to allow Noah to do, but we just don't see the maturity necessary for such activities.  We worry that Avery will be able to accomplish these things before Noah, and how we will handle that.  Sometimes, we worry we are concentrating on the wrong things--okay, so he stinks and is only half dressed, but look at the initiative he took with XYZ.  Maybe we are looking for maturity in all the wrong places.  Maybe, if we give him the opportunities, the maturity will come.

This is life with Noah.  Much of it, as with any child, is two steps forward, four steps back.  And you start over the next day.  For me, I have to work hard on acceptance and just loving him where he is.  I work hard to mold him into the man I know he can be, and I'm hard on him because I know he is capable of so much more.  I know he is better than how he sometimes behaves.  I know it is in him.  He reminds me a lot of myself, and sometimes that makes things harder in raising him, but it also helps me remember what he needs from me as his mom--as well as what he doesn't need from me.

And lately--I've discovered, it really is in him.  He can do this.  Even better, he's discovering it's within him, himself.  I'm watching prayers being answered right before my eyes.

Back in August, he began running.  Our routine has become that I drive up to his school for his backpack and violin, we swap out sneakers, and he runs home (the first week I strategically followed him, hazard lights blinking obnoxiously).  Shawn helped him map out a better, longer course, so he is running 1.6 miles daily, sometimes more if he runs in PE at school.  Shawn has been challenging him, showing him proper form, really working with him--and we realized Noah is challenging himself, all on his own.  He has trained on his own in the rain and wind, in the cold and in the heat, head up and determined. We found a 5k for him to train for, and he ran that in September with a time of 32:31.  Noah ran his second race today, shaving almost 8 minutes off his first time, coming in SECOND OVERALL at 24:25!  Standing by the finish line, I watched the first runner cross, heard them yell "Second runner," and thought, "Oh, it couldn't be Noah and Shawn yet, but it will be soon"--and realized it was my son turning the corner!  I couldn't believe it, there I was, crying, screaming his name and jumping up and down, cheering him through!  The look on Noah's face said it all, and I can't remember a time when I've been more proud of him.  For him to see his hard work, determination and dedication pay off--absolutely priceless.  We found two more timed races in November and December for him, and he will have the charity race for his riding therapy center in March.  Today, he won first place for his age group, and second place overall.  For him to see this today, to accomplish this--wow!

I will be honest with you here--even more pleasing to me, was seeing Noah go back to the finish line and cheer the other runners through, and meeting Avery at the end of his 1 mile run to cheer his little brother through.  He jumped and shouted for the younger children, showing himself to be a good sport and possibly even a good leader.  Possibly, some of those talks we have about setting the example and being a good role model, and how younger children look up to older children, are getting through!  Also, a young man from the high school Noah will attend next year, a cross country runner who placed fifth, came over to congratulate Noah and talk to him about joining when he gets there.  That was truly a God moment, as Shawn and I have been dropping major hints and getting nowhere... After all, we are just the stupid parents!  But now a peer has said, "Hey, great job, you should really do this!" *thumbs up*

As a congratulatory gift, Shawn gave Noah a GPS watch we've been saving aside, and helped him get set up on with a running app Shawn and his co-workers use.  He's also been promised a PS4 for Christmas for breaking the 30 minute time...  I hung his medal and certificate on his brag wall, up there with his horse ribbons and trophies.  We want him to see how proud we are of him, and take pride in all of this himself.

In addition to running, getting straight A's in school and keeping up with Boy Scouts, Noah has continued working with the sound/audio and worship team at church.  I'm completely amazed by how quickly he learned, and how well he does with it.  His mentor will soon be leaving the sound team, and that leaves Noah to step up and become an even more major component to the team.  I beam, I really do!  The adults on both teams have really accepted him as one of their own, treating him less as a child and more like a peer.  They've really given him free reign, and listen to what he has to say, often taking his advice. Noah's mentor has expressed great confidence in him, even telling me that if he were still working gigs, he wouldn't hesitate to hire Noah. I always marvel at how comfortable he is on the stage, before, during and after the service, and moving with such quiet stealth (usually he and I are the ones walking around with TP stuck to our shoes, knocking things over when we're trying to be quiet), knowing exactly what needs to be done.  In the sound booth, he's in his own element. The things the members of both teams speak into his life, and all that is happening there!  I'm sure I'm not even fully aware of even half of what goes on.  Two weeks ago, I noticed Noah took his violin with him to practice, but I didn't know if they would give him the chance to play with them, or how that would work.   I didn't say much, because I really didn't want to get his hopes up, but I also did not want to crush his spirit. I did let him know how much I admired him for stepping out, for putting himself out there like that.  I should've known better!  When we picked him up, what I saw left me crying and speechless--my boy was playing with the worship band, and keeping up.  Oh my goodness!  He said he had a little trouble at first, but once one of the band members showed him how to convert the chords to notes, he got it (just like that!).  Last week, he took both his guitar (which he has started teaching himself) and his violin; he filled in for one of the other guitar players, and even played both instruments in one song.  I'm blown away!!!

Oh, and he's researching and rebuilding a 1970-77 era console radio/record player/cassette player we found at a thrift store for $20.....

Much of being a mom is reminding yourself that, in reality, they are only in each stage for a little while, even when it seems like an eternity.  Embrace your child, and understand the nuances of each stage.  They WILL come out of it, and as long as we continue to guide them, they will come out of these trials and stages with flying colors.  To see your child succeed, and concentrate on those successes, rather than the things he forgets, half accomplishes, or won't do it all--that's the important thing.  And just let go of the other crap.  And pray.  Pray a lot. Daily reminding myself that yes, Noah IS ONLY 13--and not just on the spectrum, and not just a boy.  He's 13.  He's only 13.  And man, he is blowing it away.

Sign me--Proud Mama.

Adventures in Pregnancy

I was going to title this one "Thank God for Zofran"--but let's start with some other news, first!

We have a due date!  May 6!  Seeing our little Lochemet swimming around and waving to us was definitely right up there in the land of miraculous and amazing.  Wow!  We could see the heartbeat, but that little baby was so busy showing off her dancing skills (or his football skills?) that we couldn't hear it!  Definitely a huge relief, a major stress off our shoulders, and just plain bliss.  Shawn recorded the ultrasound so the boys could see it (Avery is very eager to hear the heartbeat), and we couldn't stop watching it the rest of the day.  Eating lunch--we watched it (and shared it with our waitress!).  Walking through Target--we watched it.   Sitting in the passenger seat while Shawn drove home-I watched it. Tears flowed heavily and gratefully.  I'm still so amazed!!!

As for the "adventure" part to pregnancy--I have yet to really return to the land of the living.  I'm exhausted, more so than I was with either boy at this point, my palms have itched so bad I've considered just amputating them (that is apparently a symptom of surges of estrogen)--and, if you want details, I haven't stopped puking.  Sooooo pleasant.  I haven't dared venture further than the mile it takes me to pick the boys up from their schools.  We've made it to church, but not without a few sprints to the bathroom (I did finally make it through an entire message this past Sunday!  Woo!  I have to wonder what on earth the usher I always pass must think though--has he figured it out, or is he shaking his head that I haven't figured out partying on Saturday nights just isn't worth it, and he's just glad I'm in church?).  When I have had to venture out, I'm certain I've seen the inside of every toilet within a 45 mile radius.  I've thrown up in the parking lots of both schools, in the field at Noah's riding center, at Bible study, Walmart--you name it.   I was mildly nauseous for a short time with the boys, but this is an entirely different ball game here.  It got so bad that my OB sent us to the ER the other night for fluids and Zofran.  My head was killing me, I had bad muscle cramps, hadn't kept anything down in several days, and I was just plain dehydrated.  The nurses and PA were excellent, and I really did receive good, gentle, caring, well, care!  I have Zofran here at the house now, and life is slowly returning to what qualifies as normal (I ate two whole meals yesterday!)!  Shawn has been great through all of this--picking up where I need to leave off, making sure the boys are fed, helping out, and perhaps most importantly--retaining a sense of humor and making me laugh.

The thing is, the nausea and vomiting have been my reassurance in all of this.  Yeah, it sucks--but at least I've known everything is okay (i.e., I'm still pregnant).  Even the itchy hands have been mildly funny.  Trust is something that is difficult for me, even with my faith.  I wonder how I will calm my fears in between the nausea stopping, and being able to feel Lochemet move.  (Yes, I know the answer to that....)

We certainly have a lot of stories already to tell Lochemet, and as I told Shawn--maybe she (he....?) is getting all of this out of her system now, and the teenage years will be a breeze!  Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh....

Arriving in Spring 2015

There is a very important update on our family to share with all of you....






















Avery: "I'm going to be a big brother!"
Noah: "I wanted a horse."
Lilly: "If Lochemet is a girl, I don't have to wear dresses anymore!"

Yes!  We are having a baby!  Go ahead, squeal--we did!  I stared at the word "pregnant" on that stick for several minutes, shaking, crying and laughing, before I could form the words to tell Shawn.  Finally, I settled for shoving it in his face and pointing!  We are still in "Wow, is this real?" land.  To have prayed for a child for so long, to have so many doubts, to have so many discouraging words spoken to us by doctors--yes, this is REAL.  God given and blessed, this baby is real.  Praise God, and hallelujah sing!

We have chosen the name "Lochemet" until we know the baby's gender.  In giving our child a name, we can avoid words like "it" and "the baby."  We chose Lochemet because it means fighter in Hebrew.  I'm quite certain the name is relatively self explanatory, especially if you've read past posts.

We are truly overwhelmed by God's grace and overwhelmed with joy.  We are filled with intense gratitude.  We were told we would not have this chance again, and well, here we are!  Noah and Avery are happy and excited; Avery talks to his baby (sister, he's insistent....) and sings to Lochemet.  It is the dearest thing!

Avery is very curious, wanting to know how our baby is growing, and what it's like "in there." He also wants to know when his little sister (I told you, he's VERY insistent!) is going to stop making Mommy so sick!  Bedtime stories seem to be more enjoyable for Avery, as he now has the big brother responsibility of choosing a book for both of them.

We do ask for prayer.  We have not yet had a sonogram to confirm the due date (that is in 10 very long days).  I keep telling myself I will be able to relax and feel better once I see our baby's heartbeat on that screen.  We've had blood work to confirm that everything is progressing as it should, but I have not yet relaxed.  Even with news this joyous, and God's reassurances, I have not been able to give up the fear and anxiety that plague me.  When you finally receive something you have wanted so badly, something you have prayed for so hard and so long, there is an intense fear of losing it.  This child has been loved for so long, there are many great plans our Father has for her (alright, or him...), and I can't wait to tell Lochemet all about it.  There are times I already do.

""For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.""  Jeremiah 29:11

In Defense of Perfectly Capable Husbands (and Dads)... Including My Own....

I'm noticing a shift in a trend. Not an immediate shift, but one that has happened over the past decade or more.  I don't know if I'm just more sensitive, and therefore more aware, or if maybe it's always been this way--but Hollywood and the like seem to be shifting from portraying women as bumbling, incompetent fools (thank you, Lucy and Ethel... personally, I never found that show anything other than insulting.  Yeah, go ahead, call me a fun killer.  I've been called worse.) to portraying all men as such.  I don't understand the trend.  It's insulting, quite honestly.  What's the deal here?

One movie in particular has recently drawn my ire (and sparked this blog post....).  While most of the themes were spot on, and it was a good movie, the underlying theme seemed to focus on how incompetent the husbands were.  They couldn't figure out what to pack in the diaper bag, or how to use a wipe.  Scenes showed three fathers outnumbered by children who ran amok, with the wives envisioning two of them wrapped together with duct tape, while another hid behind a counter with his eyes closed.  Seriously?  Part of me wanted to yell, "Oh for crying out loud, MAN UP!"  I'm not entirely sure if I would've been yelling at the characters, or the writers, directors and producers, though.  I realized yelling at the movie probably wasn't a good idea though, as I was at our pastor's house watching it with his wife and other church women who are still getting to know me....

In this day and age, we have dads leading sporting events, coaching teams, leading Scouts and other various groups, attending school events, taking a day off to chaperone field trips or volunteer in their  child's classroom. We have single dads with full custody of their children.  Annnnddd... get this.... there are even dads who stay at home, or work from home, not because they are simply out of work, or have to, buuutttttt.....  because they want to!  *Gasp*  There is an entirely new generation of hands-on dads who are embracing their role.  It's another trend I'm noticing, because honestly, I can't name one husband among my friends who fits the Hollywood stereotype of 'bumbling idiot.'  These are the men who notice when something needs be cleaned, when the milk is running low, when a child's fingernails need clipping--and they take care of it themselves, even if their wife is a stay at home. These are the men who don't divvy up "women's work" and "men's work."  It's all for one, and one for all.  And God bless them!

And please note, I'm not addressing deadbeat divorced husbands and fathers, or even married deadbeats (that's another entire blog I really don't have the Xanax for), I'm talking about the husbands who are truly hands-on.  The dads who are in the trenches, right alongside their wives, and yes, in some cases, their ex-wives.  These are the good guys.

Maybe I'm spoiled, or perhaps my husband really is part of a minority, but I do not see incompetence when I watch him with our children.  He does not shy away from the responsibility of raising our boys, he meets it head on.  He picks up where I need to leave off, most of the time without me having to even ask.

Whatever the case is--I'm grateful.  I know how lucky and blessed I am to have the husband I have.  I know I am spoiled, and I am loved.  And because of who Shawn is as a dad, our kids know they are too.