Great Expectations

I felt like a different person last night.  I offered up an invitation on facebook..."Any ladies want to come over and watch Pitch Perfect after 8pm?" and three of them said yes.  The boys went to bed, my husband made popcorn and then disappeared upstairs, and we watched a funny, girly, grown-up movie together in the middle of the week.  One thing I've lost in motherhood is this time to sit and watch together with girlfriends.  The last time I watched a movie with a friend at home was a year ago when I spent the night with my best friend in Columbus, and after karaoke and Taco Bell, we stayed up ridiculously late to watch Bridesmaids.  Before that?  I think I had one kid, and I watched Mad Men at a friend's house.  I miss that friend time.  Because, of course, once the movie ends, the girl talk begins.  We talked about pregnancy and shared belly photos.  I ran upstairs to get my pregnancy album, and then started flipping through James' baby pictures, and then I got lost in memory.  Seven years ago...

A newly pregnant Rachel thought and planned for her future.  She thought about all that she would do with her child, where they would go, who he would become.  The plans for the child were as high and far-reaching as the plans she made for herself.  And then came the day when the doctor sliced her open to bring the baby into the world, and her heart and her mind were ripped open too.  There was nowhere to go in the hazy days of her son's infancy.  Just to the changing table, the bathroom, the couch, and back to bed.  Over and over and over.  And the child she brought home was not the empty vessel she had planned to fill with all her loves and passions; he came fully-formed with a voracious appetite for breast milk and a primitive religion that worships vacuum cleaners.  He didn't want to lay in the air-conditioning and watch Gilmore Girls or sit quietly in his stroller while she browsed at Borders.  He wanted to be outside, on the move, learning about this great world.  And so Rachel took him outside.  They walked around the neighborhood, they explored the flora and fauna in their very own yard.  She found a book about trees so she could say "This is a spruce; feel its soft needles" and "This is a maple; touch its huge leaves".  He learned to roll over on the grass, he played with sticks and pinecones, and as he grew, he chased squirrels in an attempt to befriend them and join their society.  And so it was that the child became the teacher, and the mother became the student.  She learned to see up close what had all been background.  She began taking in the stillness of a summer morning and existing in the simple moments motherhood offered, instead of planning for the future and running off to do.

The son grew older and learned new ways to have fun: video games and cartoons, bowling and swimming.  But he remains a lover of the outdoors, as he spends his days spread on a blanket in the yard, watching the birds that fly from tree to tree, and exploring gardens and parks.  And he was followed by two little brothers who shared his appetite for milk, his reverence for the vacuum, and his need to be outside.  So this morning, when my plan for a morning outing went sour and we returned home to regroup, I found myself once again exploring the yard with my youngest.  It started as him streaking, running through the still-wet grass, free as he has never been before, and delighting in the chance to watch his pee stream forth unchecked by a diaper.  But after a while, I dressed him, and then he took my hand and said, "Walk."  So we made a tour around the front yard, then back past the garage to check on the garden.  We picked flowers and pulled leaves off the tree and he made his own garden.  The big boys were inside with their electronics, but out back we simply delighted in the fresh green space we've been given, the calls of the birds and the swift movements of the squirrels.  I left my phone on the picnic table, because I didn't need to connect with anyone outside of our yard.

Its the biggest lesson the boys have taught me: to be and enjoy, to slow down and look at all the beauty and differences in the world.  To leave deadlines and schedules and expectations behind.

The second son

Just a few weeks old

Last year, I sat at the computer, trying very hard to write a loving blog post about my Winston.  I didn't expect it to be such work, such a challenge, to put together all the good stuff and leave off the bad.  I kept dismissing "He's a terror at bedtime" and "He unspools all the toilet paper when I'm not watching", thinking there had to be something enjoyable about him to share with the world.  And really, what does it say that I found it easier to think of all the things I love about my autistic son, by definition the one who should be difficult, and came up blank for his typical brother?

I'm glad to say this year is different.  I couldn't wait to sit down and put Winston together here.  Part of it is probably the difference between a boy turning 3 and a boy turning 4; there is much more participation and creativity than defiance and destruction.  But I've also given him more attention this year.  I've scheduled out the day so that he gets one-on-one parent time almost every day, and tried to make sure we do the things he likes at least as much as we do what everyone else likes.  I've purposefully scaled back the yelling.  I wish I could say I don't do it at all, but sometimes the evil mommy that lives inside me roars out and still makes tears rolls down those smooth white cheeks.  The good mommy punches her and forces her back into her cell, then scoops up 36 pounds of future man and makes the calming "shhh" noises he likes and wipes the tears.

1 year old summer 2010

A few weeks ago, we were getting ready for bed and Winston asked that I come lay down with him for awhile.  I said ok, although usually it makes him more hyper and he only really starts to settle down for sleep when I leave the room.  But I climbed in his bed and started straightening out the covers.  "This needs to be a bed, not a nest," I said in frustration.  "We are two little birds," came Winston's response.  I cracked up.  Where did that come from?  That wonderful, silly sense of humor?  Why did it take almost four years to notice it was there?

The past several months have given us the opportunity to play games together, starting with Candy Land, which my infinitely more patient husband taught Winston to play.  Then, with basic game-play established, I came in with Chutes and Ladders.  We branched out to Connect four and UNO.  For his birthday, we purchased Hungry Hungry Hippos.  I have to admit, I've been looking forward to this since I became a mom.  Family movie night.  Family game night.  Popcorn.  Candy.  Laughter.  Bonding.  Winning and Losing.  Enjoying my children.

Choking his brother to get some Sprite

Winston also loves racing.  He runs around our yard, challenging each of us to race.  I can only do two before I need a break.  Michael ambles along, outpaced in the first two steps, but determined to follow.  When we met up with friends and had 9 kids playing together, Winston asked that we establish a course, and could the others race him?  So we convinced 6 of them to make a lap around the yard, and the "big" boys (ages 5 and 6) were delighted to come in first and second place.  Winston pounded up behind them, followed by the less agile, shorter-legged competitors.  There was joy on every face as the crossed the finish line (aka, gave me a high five and jumped over a log).  Because of Winston.  I love his initiative.  I love his desire to play with others.

I also love his excitement to eat vegetables.  I have no idea where it came from.  When he sees lettuce, he happily grabs the "trees" and chows down.  It makes me look good, like I'm a mom who serves her children veggies, who maybe even inspired this behavior by eating so healthily while pregnant.  That is so not the case.  If Winston loved to eat bowls of mashed potatoes and Big Macs, then I would say, "Oh, yeah, probably because I ate so many while I was pregnant."  But lettuce?  Carrots?  I have no idea why he likes them.  His brothers certainly don't.  His father grimaces whenever forced to eat them.  His mother smiles and pretends to like the healthy stuff while secretly imagining she is biting into a molten chocolate cake.  If it weren't for Winston, we wouldn't even have that kind of food in the house.  So thank you son, for making us look good and elevating the contents of our fridge a little.

Walking for Autism September 2012

For all the ways he delights and challenges us, for the love he shows his brothers and the unique person he is, for the mind that is as quick as his feet.  For my second son, a huge section of my heart is yours.

Feeling Down while Watching UP

It was the first rainy day of summer break, so we spent it watching movies and playing games.  James requested UP, which we just got from the library yesterday (Oh yes, I'm that together, we picked up a few movies and some new books in time to spend all day inside).  I haven't seen it for awhile, partly because watching it always makes me cry.  It may be the most emotionally charged animated movie ever.  I still remember the first time we watched it, with 3 year old James and baby Winston snuggled on either side of me, buttered popcorn and a quiet family night.  And then...the first twenty minutes.  Tears. 

I see myself in Ellie.  The young girl with crazy hair who maybe talks too much, who dreams of seeing the world and having adventures, who owns a blank scrapbook because she is waiting to fill it.  Then she gets old as life happens, and she never does go to Paradise Falls.  So her husband determines to honor her memory by flying their house to South America and parking it next to the waterfall, just the way she drew it when she was 8.  The movie is almost over when he finds her old scrapbook, assuming its still empty.  But then we all discover that she did in fact fill it in, that her adventures turned out to be living a life that seemed ordinary.  The second time I watched UP, I noticed that Ellie has tape and scissors in her hospital room, just before she hands Carl the scrapbook.  She wanted to finish it before her life ended, to let him know that she was glad at how things had turned out, that he hadn't let her down by never taking her to South America.  I hope my own husband knows this.  That if I die first and he finds my diary from when I was 18, the one that actually has a "10 Year Plan" entered in it, almost none of which I've actually done, that he'll know that my life has been an adventure, way more exciting and worthwhile than anything I dreamed of when I was a teenager.  That I wouldn't trade a single poopy diaper or this lumpy, post-baby body for an exciting job in a big city or a fabulously decorated home that always stays clean.

http://youtu.be/3zfJvTXKdsg

Later, I was struck by the unlikely band of friends that comes together in this movie.  Mr. Fredrickson, the grumpy widower.  Russell, the abandoned boy.  Dug, the dog who just wants a master's love.  And I thought of loneliness, how we can miss all the people around us who are suffering from it.  How the solution is so simple...just walk out your front door, and you will find a little boy in need of a father-figure, an old man who is living with regrets.  We don't need to be perfect or special, just present.  And opening ourselves to others is an adventure all by itself.  When we let people into our lives, even if we do it thinking that we are doing them a big favor, we cannot help but be altered by it.  It will make us see more clearly, teach us the actual, real definition of love.

Grandpa during WW2

 And as if that were not enough, as if watching this movie had not already wrecked me...I found out yesterday that my Grandpa has pancreatic cancer.  My best friend's mother had pancreatic cancer, and she died 10 weeks after her diagnosis.  So what are the chances of an 86 year old man?  I've never been super close with any of my grandparents, and I made my feelings about the elderly clear, but this man has always existed in my life, strong, independent, full of life, and I've gotten used to thinking of him this way.  I realized I almost expected him to just keep going, year after year, not realizing that each year just brought him closer and closer to this point of illness and old age.  I'm not ready to lose him, this man whose birthday is a day before mine, who makes quick jokes and has a beautiful singing voice.  And I wonder about my grandma, with her very loose grip on reality.  What will it mean for her to lose her companion of the last 65 years?  Will she find a new adventure like Carl, or spend the rest of her days waiting to die?

Grandma and Papa

I guess the hardest thing about watching UP is the way it forces me to acknowledge how little I know, how elusive "the answers" really are.  For a completely fantastical movie (1,000 balloons can lift a house and fly it to another continent?), it is such a mirror, a reality check.

A Safe Place

I am 31; she is 11.  Today I picked a ripe strawberry from my garden and gave it to her.  We stood in the yard and talked about her boyfriend of one month, who she doesn't see now that school is out.  The rain clouds rolled in and she headed for home, but not before Mikey ran to her for a hug, and Winston wrapped his arms around her waist.  This is her safe place, where she doesn't get yelled at, doesn't have to clean or get out of the way, where the expectations are to be kind and share. 

Because I remember.  I was once small and weak and therefore vulnerable to a world that eats its young.  I was around enough unsafe adults to appreciate the ones who were considerate and protective.  So this is what I can give to her and the others who are like her.  I am not your parent.  There is just a world of complication in that one word.  I know the expectations and the disappointments that you will cause each other, and you won't get that here.  I'm not a peer, because I can drive and have my own home and don't have to raise my hand to ask questions, but I will be your friend.  I can model for you what it is like to be a good friend, something I was blessed to have from the age of 12 til now.  When I see you smacking that other girl out of frustration, when you argue over what game you are playing and don't talk for a week, you can come to me and talk about it.  I'll be direct and won't tolerate abuse that is verbal or physical, because you're getting older and that becomes less and less okay.  I have these little kids and a million responsibilities, but I'll make time for you and I to do something fun.  We can ride bikes and you can call me slow.  We can play board games and play at the park.  We can hang out while I wash dishes or fold laundry or sit out on warm summer grass.

Because its a hard decade you're entering.  Middle school is just beginning, and friendships become tricky and fickle.  Boys will come and go (I know you think this one is forever, I saw it written on your arm).  There will be days when it seems like no one likes you, and you may even hate yourself a little.  That's why I'm here.  To remind you that you have worth and value, even if no one else seems to see it.  To give you a place to complain or escape.  To look out for you, even if your parents think you can fend for yourself.  Because someone did this for me.  Because someday I hope you'll be happy and independent and successful, and a lonely girl may come across your path, and I hope you'll do it for her.  Because we need each other, we need this protection.

Adoption: Two Mommies

I'll never forget the day Michael called me "mama" for the first time.  We were driving home, he was 8 months old and had been calling Chris "dada" for a few weeks.  Suddenly he cried out, "Mama!", and my heart was his.  It was validation for the months of care I'd been giving him, the absence of the woman who gave birth to him, the title I hoped to legally be given.  He verbalized the bond that had been forming ever since I held his tiny body in that hospital room.  There was so much joy and newfound purpose every time he called out "Mama" and reached for me, that I allowed myself to forget about Her.  Then one day we were looking through his pictures, and he pointed to Her and exclaimed "Mama!"  My heart broke.  "Yes," I told him, "that's your mama."  I felt demoted, and it stung.  Yes, you can call her that, I wanted to say.  But she doesn't wipe your tears, change your diapers, rock you to sleep.  She doesn't feed you or read to you.  I do that.  I'm the Mama. 

They told us to put our feelings aside.  They said you don't matter; the child's safety is what matters.  It was easier said than done.  Because in my mind, there can only be one Mama.  And I want to be it.  I don't want him to call Her mama too.  But I've come to realize lately that he's not thinking in such rigidly defined terms.  He sees two Mamas and two Daddys.  He knows brothers and sisters.  He knows that the people he lives with are the ones to go to with skinned knees and pinched fingers.  But he also realizes that his family extends out our front door and includes a larger group of people who are related in some way, who love him to the best of their abilities.

I keep thinking that I'll have so much to explain to him someday, that this situation is complicated and he'll need to figure it out.  Yet I seem to be the one who is learning, making new realizations about what it means to be a family.  Like understanding that when he calls Her Mama...I don't lose anything.  It doesn't diminish me.  Its a title that can be shared.  I get to be Mom everyday, doing the amazing and the mundane, the gross and the exhilarating.  What I do isn't any greater or less than what She did.  I just picked up where She left off.  And that's why we are both Mama.

Teaching

Its the end of another school year, which means it is time to evaluate, gather information, make important decisions that will affect the years to come.  This year has been so wonderful, my son has made so much progress, but will a different classroom make next year just as wonderful?  Will a new teacher, a new school, completely throw him off and send him into a tailspin of behavior?  Will he lose out on that last available spot?

I went to school like most kids...when I turned 5, my parents signed me up for kindergarten.  The next year I went to first grade, then second, and so on until I graduated high school.  When I became a mother, I figured I would do the same as my own parents had done, and didn't give the school question much thought in the hazy days of breast-feeding and diaper changes.  And then the bottom fell out and my son was diagnosed.  I didn't even know what options there were.  I searched my mind, trying to remember where those special kids were during my own education.  What did they learn?  What were their test scores?  I was always so concerned about who was ahead of me, whose grades were better, who was going to be class valedictorian.  I never thought about who was behind me.

Now I think about it every day.  I'm raising one of those kids who is "behind".  And I am endlessly grateful for the teachers who take the extra time and care that is needed to educate him, and those like him.  The ones who take pride in a student who started the year non-verbal, and is now participating.  The ones who know when to push, and how far to push.  The ones who see the accomplishment in just standing through an entire kindergarten concert.  The ones who are constantly learning and adapting, trying to find the best way to reach every single kid.

Psalms 126 says, "Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy."  I think it means that anything worth doing will be difficult.  There have certainly been many tears throughout the past few years, mothering these small children, figuring out who they are and being astounded at what they are capable of.  Things got pretty biblical during potty training, as I gnashed my teeth and tore my clothes and lay on the bathroom floor in misery.  But my sons use the toilet now, they flush and (sometimes) wipe and wash their hands.  I have faced off with James about writing his letters (and I'm sure his OT has similar battle scars), but now he can do it.  And the craziest thing is, I have no indication of when to push.  When the time is right to start something new.  Just a Mommy-sense that he's ready, and then we go for it.  I used to be afraid of that, scared that I was imposing my own timeline on him.  And that's definitely part of the struggle, not to compare him to others.  But he doesn't belong shoved in a corner, playing with blocks.  He's ready to go forward, ready to read and add and before we know it, conquer quantum physics.(I'm going to have to find someone else to push him there, though, this Mom doesn't understand anything past 8th grade science class)

I didn't expect to have to work so hard so that my son could learn.  I expected to just jump on the parent auto-ramp and cruise through high school.  But I'm holding on to the promise of harvesting with a shout of joy, knowing that all the tears will be worth it someday.

Women of Valor {Eshet Chayil}

Last night I met with a group of ladies at the park.  They were young and beautiful and energetic, and they were there to talk about Women of Valor.  About all the amazing ways that women can be and accomplish and provide, and how the most important thing that makes a woman bold and valorous is in service to God.  I thought about the woman I am...where I have been, where I am going.  Then I thought of all the women I know, mothers and wives and doctors and students and leaders and servers.  I wanted to take a few minutes here to highlight what they mean to me.

Liz...my sister, the lady doctor.  A woman who went through college and med school and now performs surgery with a robot and delivers babies.  Who gives healing and brings new life into the world, who delivers bad news and guides women through some of the most difficult times of their lives.  She shows me how to persevere, to fix on a goal and do whatever it takes to get there.

Mandy...my leader, she's a little like Sauron in Lord of the Rings.  She brings us all together, and, rather than telling us to be just like her because her life is pretty amazing, she encourages us to be the best version of ourselves.  To find our place in the Kingdom and then let our light shine.

Liga...my friend, who has the most tender heart.  She sees people, again and again she impresses me as she looks past the outside and the labels and LOVES.  She makes me want to be a better person, to try to look past what creeps me out or smells bad.  And she's straight up gorgeous.

Melissa...I've loved her for 20 years, because she is the most amazing person I've ever met.  She is gentle and loving and she hurts so easily for others.  All you have to do is look in her beautiful blue eyes, and you can see that she FEELS so much, that she has been through so much already, and yet she keeps going, keeps fighting.

Nicole...the mother who buried her child.  I don't know her very well, but everything that I see, every word I read on her blog leaves me in awe.  She is facing the most difficult process a person could experience, and she is doing it little by little, sharing her grief, facing each day. 

Jackie...the super mom.  She came into my life just as I was having my first baby, and she showed me how to be at home.  She did it so well, having kid after kid, caring for everyone, decorating beautiful cakes for each birthday.  She is one of the strongest women I've known.

Laura...the pastor.  She showed me how a woman can be a leader, a teacher, a person who is looked to and respected.  Jason and Benny and John all saw a leader in me, but Laura was the one who came alongside me and invested in me.  She shared her heart for students with me.  She encouraged me to be bold.

Barb...the mom I never had.  She was the most caring, gentle woman, and I wanted to be her daughter.  I loved sitting with her, listening and talking.  Now that I am like her, a stay-at-home mom of boys, I think about how she managed to be calm and graceful, feminine and strong, and I hope I can be like that someday.

 Jess...the ultimate blogger.  The mom who shows me how to write in a way that comforts, encourages, and most of all, respects people.  She advocates and promotes, she confides and discloses, and it gives me courage and strength to do the same in my own family, my own little community.

These are women of valor...strong, courageous, beautiful.  Different from each other, and yet the same in their example, the life they show the world.  These women make me proud of my gender, help me to hold my head up high.  This is what we are capable of, the many facets of femininity, the nurturers and givers that we were created to be.