It was supposed to be an uneventful morning. It was supposed to be relaxing. But who am I kidding, when is my life ever uneventful? I got the big boys ready and off to school and then it was time to take the littlest one to the library for story time. We are enjoying these quiet times together and exploring what he likes independent of his brothers and their dominating interests. But we didn't just play with the trains and sing songs with Miss Renee. This morning we met Katie and Scotty. We were minding our business when Scotty came over to play with Mikey. He had been reading books with his mom, but decided to get on the floor instead. Mikey didn't want to share, which made Scotty cry and run back to his mom. I thought to myself, there is something going on there, and moments later she confirmed. Scotty was recently diagnosed with a Sensory Processing Disorder and his mom suspects further testing will reveal an Asperger's diagnosis. He just started therapy and there is so much to work on, she said. I nodded sympathetically. I KNOW. And then I said, "My oldest son is on the autism spectrum." Words I used to avoid. Words that brought me to tears every time I said them out loud. But look at me now! Casually telling this stranger about my special child. Because we are part of the same community.
She wanted to talk more. She told me about her family, how they are not supportive, how they undermine her when her son goes there for the weekend. So I told her, "You are the mom. You know your child, you know what he needs. So do it. It is hard, and sometimes it takes a really long time to see any progress from it. But you'll do it." She nodded and said, "I really needed to hear that." Katie, I KNOW. I needed to hear it too. Sometimes I still need to hear it. There are a ton of different ways to parent, to be a good mom, and you need to trust yourself that the way you have chosen is correct. You need to be reminded that your son isn't bad, he's just special. And that means the way you parent him will have to be special. You will do it because it's your job. You will do it because, although this isn't the child you thought you would raise, it's the child that you have, and he's amazing. It gets easier to see the amazing and stop focusing on the problems as you go.
Can I just say how much more desirable it is to be the one saying "It gets better" than to be the one hearing it? This keeps happening to me, these opportunities to meet newly diagnosed kids and their caregivers, and every time it takes me back (almost five years now) to those days of fear. I treated my son's diagnosis like all hard things in my life to that point: I hid. I buried the truth inside and pulled away. Fear and shame have isolated me for so much of my life, and this was no different. I was afraid of what people would say, how they would treat us if they knew. But my silence and my secrets have hurt me deeply. And so finally I took a chance and reached out. It was around this time that I met Mandy, who is not part of the special needs community, but took me under her wing and brought me to a literal Village who accepted my whole family in a way I'd never experienced before. And because of these people teaching me about community, about give and take, about showing up with your mess and letting them wash it clean, about forging a family independent of blood or marriage, I can tell Katie what she needs to hear. I can be the lifeline that I once needed. I can offer camaraderie and turn a library into sacred space.
Glennon Melton of Momastery.com says that we belong to each other. This is true of moms, of special needs families, of PEOPLE. We need each other. We need all of our experiences, we need all of the answers we have found, we need encouragement and support and a thousand times over we need to LOVE. If you are in hiding, COME OUT. We need your story, we need your passion. And we just might hold the keys that will set you free.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
On Scarcity
This morning I was getting the boys ready, just another Wednesday morning. When I went to change Mikey out of his nighttime diaper, I realized we were out of wipes, and he was poopy. So I went to the kitchen and wet a paper towel and on the way back to deal with the poo, I put on my "perspectacles". Because this was just a minor inconvenience. There were more wipes in the car, but I didn't feel like going that far to get them. But beyond that, there are more wipes at the store just minutes from our house, and there is cash in my wallet and money accessible through my debit card to pay for it. This kind of thing happens when life is busy and three active boys make trips to the store hectic and items are forgotten in their wake. We run short of diapers. Again, no big deal. There is usually a stray in the car or under the dresser, or hey, my parents keep some extras at their house just blocks away. Worst case scenario, my kid keeps a mushy diaper on for an additional 15 minutes. For me, this is the tiniest problem, but for many mothers this is a daily stress. They can't afford the diapers or wipes or they can't get to the store because they don't have reliable transportation. A recent article from the LA Times reports that "The study’s four authors ... found that about a third of poor families were not able to provide their babies with adequate numbers of diapers, resulting in increased parental anxiety, stress and negative effects on their babies’ health, with an increase in diaper rashes and urinary tract infections." You guys, this is happening down the street, in our cities, across the world. I have never struggled to diaper my kids. I have never had to sacrifice to keep their little bums clean. At one point, we were hauling three different sizes of mega-box diapers to the car, but we didn't break a sweat.
My "perspectacles" took a trip down memory lane. There was a morning a few years back when I was once again getting my boys ready. (*all these things seem to happen while my husband is at work; why is that?) I opened the cupboards and realized there was only enough cereal and milk to feed the kids, nothing for me. We desperately needed to go to the store, because THREE ACTIVE KIDS, and a few years ago they were even crazier to corral. Literally the only thing left to eat that didn't require at least 45 minutes of prep was a single hot dog. So that was my breakfast. I topped that dog with some mustard and relish and washed it down with a Dr. Pepper. And then we got our shoes on and went to the store, so lunch wouldn't be such a grim affair. You see, this food shortage was due simply to a lack of time, an inability to get to the store earlier. Once again, we had the money available, we had the car to get there, I merely had to navigate the suburban grocery store with my kids. Slightly bigger inconvenience than the wipes, but only slightly. Today, of course, our fridge is so full that I'm struggling to fit the kids' water bottles in there. I'm literally moving things around to try to create space because WE HAVE SO MUCH FOOD. Once again, this is not the case for families right in my area, in my city, in my world. One of every seven people will go to bed hungry tonight, and more than 14% of Americans don't know when they'll eat next. My family doesn't just have their daily bread, we have our weekly bread.
Even after I popped in my contacts, I couldn't shake my "perspectacles". When it was time to go, I grabbed one of the six Bibles laying around my house to take to a church nearby that offers a women's Bible study during the day. I drove my car safely to the location, walked inside with no trouble, and proceeded to be taught and to speak with others about my religious beliefs. Nobody stopped us. Nobody attacked us. No one had to stand guard by the door, there was no secrecy to what we were doing. We were just as free to do something else this morning as we were to gather and read the Bible together. But the thing is, churches get attacked all the time. (Google church bombing. Oh my goodness, there are too many results. Nigeria, Egypt, the US...) People seeking religion, whether it is my Christian faith or something else, are imprisoned and silenced and maimed.
Today I felt gratitude for many things in my life that I usually take for granted. Today I was reminded that there are places and situations drastically different from the ones I find myself in where people are struggling just to get the basics. Today was in many ways just another day for me, but I wonder what is going on in homes and parks and shelters across my city as I sit on the couch and cuddle my kid who just won't go to sleep and type on my computer that I got for free and listen to the air-conditioner run and the gentle snores of the rest of my family. Today needs to count for something. I don't want to go to sleep and forget what I saw through my "perspectacles". I want to DO something with these feelings, but I'm not sure what it will be.
My "perspectacles" took a trip down memory lane. There was a morning a few years back when I was once again getting my boys ready. (*all these things seem to happen while my husband is at work; why is that?) I opened the cupboards and realized there was only enough cereal and milk to feed the kids, nothing for me. We desperately needed to go to the store, because THREE ACTIVE KIDS, and a few years ago they were even crazier to corral. Literally the only thing left to eat that didn't require at least 45 minutes of prep was a single hot dog. So that was my breakfast. I topped that dog with some mustard and relish and washed it down with a Dr. Pepper. And then we got our shoes on and went to the store, so lunch wouldn't be such a grim affair. You see, this food shortage was due simply to a lack of time, an inability to get to the store earlier. Once again, we had the money available, we had the car to get there, I merely had to navigate the suburban grocery store with my kids. Slightly bigger inconvenience than the wipes, but only slightly. Today, of course, our fridge is so full that I'm struggling to fit the kids' water bottles in there. I'm literally moving things around to try to create space because WE HAVE SO MUCH FOOD. Once again, this is not the case for families right in my area, in my city, in my world. One of every seven people will go to bed hungry tonight, and more than 14% of Americans don't know when they'll eat next. My family doesn't just have their daily bread, we have our weekly bread.
Even after I popped in my contacts, I couldn't shake my "perspectacles". When it was time to go, I grabbed one of the six Bibles laying around my house to take to a church nearby that offers a women's Bible study during the day. I drove my car safely to the location, walked inside with no trouble, and proceeded to be taught and to speak with others about my religious beliefs. Nobody stopped us. Nobody attacked us. No one had to stand guard by the door, there was no secrecy to what we were doing. We were just as free to do something else this morning as we were to gather and read the Bible together. But the thing is, churches get attacked all the time. (Google church bombing. Oh my goodness, there are too many results. Nigeria, Egypt, the US...) People seeking religion, whether it is my Christian faith or something else, are imprisoned and silenced and maimed.
Today I felt gratitude for many things in my life that I usually take for granted. Today I was reminded that there are places and situations drastically different from the ones I find myself in where people are struggling just to get the basics. Today was in many ways just another day for me, but I wonder what is going on in homes and parks and shelters across my city as I sit on the couch and cuddle my kid who just won't go to sleep and type on my computer that I got for free and listen to the air-conditioner run and the gentle snores of the rest of my family. Today needs to count for something. I don't want to go to sleep and forget what I saw through my "perspectacles". I want to DO something with these feelings, but I'm not sure what it will be.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Spring
Every year, it's the same. The cold weather comes, and we retreat into our house for several months. When spring arrives, we peel off our coats and boots and venture outside. During the winter, it's not apparent that anything is growing. Nothing seems new. But in spring, it's like everything changes overnight. Not just in nature, but in my kids too. I see it on the playground, as they run and jump and climb further than they were able the previous fall. This year is no exception. After many summers guiding them along the monkey bars, James and Winston conquered them alone this year. Michael is able to go on longer walks without the need for the stroller.
The thing I'm enjoying most, though, is how they play together. It's not easy being the most important person to four different little ones, the one they want to play with, climb on, be entertained by. But in the last month, I've been having a bit of a rest from it. Because we go to the playground, and James pushes his little brother on the swings. I passed out bottles of bubble solution and Winston blew bubbles for Michael and Girl to chase and pop. Even little Michael pushed his sister in a car.
Our hearts go through the seasons too. We begin in spring, fresh and new and gingerly stepping out. We stretch out in the summer sun. For those of you who garden, summer ends with harvest. We produce in this season of joy. And then fall comes. It begins with bright colors and a welcome coolness, but by the end of fall, the ground has become hard and unyielding, the leaves are down and the flowers have lost their petals. Winter begins. It is bleak. There are no colors, only cold that drives us inside and makes us bundle and cover and retreat. Winter in the heart doesn't just last three months. Sometimes it lasts for years. We begin to wonder if all the good is behind us. But the promise of this world is that all winters end, and another spring will come. If you can just bear the winter, you can rejoice at the arrival of spring.
It's not like we spent the winter practicing for spring. I didn't throw a frisbee in the living room with my kids to prepare. But when we ran out the door on the first sunny day, suddenly they were tossing it around like they've been doing it for years. Same with the seasons of the heart. I spent many years lonely and isolated with my babies. I didn't spend that time perfecting my friendship skills (if that's even a thing...). Spring came for me when we joined our Village, and suddenly ladies were popping up like flowers in a garden, and I found myself surrounded by sisters.
Just like my kids show that they aren't little babies anymore by the new skills they've acquired, I have to recognize that I've come a long way since the fall. I can't treat my friendships like a child. We show our growth by how we take care of each other, when we sacrifice and look out for someone beyond ourselves.
* * * * * * * *
I wrote all that as spring dawned this year, as my children were astounding me with their growth and I was reflecting that I had grown quite a bit too. Every spring, I am so energetic and excited. I love to be outside, but not so much in the cold and bitter temperatures of winter, so I spend as much of spring as possible outside to make up for it. And it's a good thing too, since clearing the yard and preparing the garden take intense work. Then summer is busy and fun and it nourishes me just as quickly as it drains me, so that by the end of summer, I'm tired. I'm ready to be done, to sit inside some more, maybe start a crochet project, watch some TV shows. Now is no exception, especially since I've been sick or allergic or something for the past few weeks. I'm tired. I'm ready to gather the harvest and eat the feast and I'm ready for fall.
I was thinking about seasons, the annual calendar seasons, the heart seasons, the life seasons. They all come and last for different amounts of time, but they are so similar in their incarnation. I know that summer is ending in nature, but I think summer might be ending in my heart in some ways too. Our church encourages an "abiding" season in August, a time to rest and recharge. I did that this year, because it was the first time I felt a need to abide. I struggled with the end of our last foster placement. In our home, I had to keep everyone going and keep everyone together through this past year, and I had to pass the baton to my husband. I needed to put down my burdens and let someone else be the strong one for a while.
Part of me struggles to abide, to be still, to rest. I have gone for so long just running, running, taking care of little children and balancing our home life and having actual personal time feels foreign, even selfish. Part of me wants to grab another kid to throw our family back into chaos, because that's what I know. Through reflection and conversation this week, I'm starting to see the fallacy of that mentality. Maybe it's okay to take it easy for a season. Maybe it's okay to nurture the people already in my life without taking on anyone new. But I still feel like that is in the future for us, another child, a larger family. I can't imagine a point in my life when I will stop caring about orphans and foster kids and young people without a family. I look at the elderly couples in my training classes and I see myself in 40 years. Because my job, my career, has become the work of mothering, I don't see retirement as an option. Do we ever stop being mothers? Perhaps it will only be when I must rely on the care of others that I will stop trying to take care of these kids who have become my passion.
The thing I'm enjoying most, though, is how they play together. It's not easy being the most important person to four different little ones, the one they want to play with, climb on, be entertained by. But in the last month, I've been having a bit of a rest from it. Because we go to the playground, and James pushes his little brother on the swings. I passed out bottles of bubble solution and Winston blew bubbles for Michael and Girl to chase and pop. Even little Michael pushed his sister in a car.
Our hearts go through the seasons too. We begin in spring, fresh and new and gingerly stepping out. We stretch out in the summer sun. For those of you who garden, summer ends with harvest. We produce in this season of joy. And then fall comes. It begins with bright colors and a welcome coolness, but by the end of fall, the ground has become hard and unyielding, the leaves are down and the flowers have lost their petals. Winter begins. It is bleak. There are no colors, only cold that drives us inside and makes us bundle and cover and retreat. Winter in the heart doesn't just last three months. Sometimes it lasts for years. We begin to wonder if all the good is behind us. But the promise of this world is that all winters end, and another spring will come. If you can just bear the winter, you can rejoice at the arrival of spring.
It's not like we spent the winter practicing for spring. I didn't throw a frisbee in the living room with my kids to prepare. But when we ran out the door on the first sunny day, suddenly they were tossing it around like they've been doing it for years. Same with the seasons of the heart. I spent many years lonely and isolated with my babies. I didn't spend that time perfecting my friendship skills (if that's even a thing...). Spring came for me when we joined our Village, and suddenly ladies were popping up like flowers in a garden, and I found myself surrounded by sisters.
Just like my kids show that they aren't little babies anymore by the new skills they've acquired, I have to recognize that I've come a long way since the fall. I can't treat my friendships like a child. We show our growth by how we take care of each other, when we sacrifice and look out for someone beyond ourselves.
* * * * * * * *
I wrote all that as spring dawned this year, as my children were astounding me with their growth and I was reflecting that I had grown quite a bit too. Every spring, I am so energetic and excited. I love to be outside, but not so much in the cold and bitter temperatures of winter, so I spend as much of spring as possible outside to make up for it. And it's a good thing too, since clearing the yard and preparing the garden take intense work. Then summer is busy and fun and it nourishes me just as quickly as it drains me, so that by the end of summer, I'm tired. I'm ready to be done, to sit inside some more, maybe start a crochet project, watch some TV shows. Now is no exception, especially since I've been sick or allergic or something for the past few weeks. I'm tired. I'm ready to gather the harvest and eat the feast and I'm ready for fall.
I was thinking about seasons, the annual calendar seasons, the heart seasons, the life seasons. They all come and last for different amounts of time, but they are so similar in their incarnation. I know that summer is ending in nature, but I think summer might be ending in my heart in some ways too. Our church encourages an "abiding" season in August, a time to rest and recharge. I did that this year, because it was the first time I felt a need to abide. I struggled with the end of our last foster placement. In our home, I had to keep everyone going and keep everyone together through this past year, and I had to pass the baton to my husband. I needed to put down my burdens and let someone else be the strong one for a while.
Part of me struggles to abide, to be still, to rest. I have gone for so long just running, running, taking care of little children and balancing our home life and having actual personal time feels foreign, even selfish. Part of me wants to grab another kid to throw our family back into chaos, because that's what I know. Through reflection and conversation this week, I'm starting to see the fallacy of that mentality. Maybe it's okay to take it easy for a season. Maybe it's okay to nurture the people already in my life without taking on anyone new. But I still feel like that is in the future for us, another child, a larger family. I can't imagine a point in my life when I will stop caring about orphans and foster kids and young people without a family. I look at the elderly couples in my training classes and I see myself in 40 years. Because my job, my career, has become the work of mothering, I don't see retirement as an option. Do we ever stop being mothers? Perhaps it will only be when I must rely on the care of others that I will stop trying to take care of these kids who have become my passion.
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