I just hung up a picture today that was given to us as a gift that says "Every love story is beautiful....but ours is my favorite." Todd and I have a cool love story--the gushy, gooey story of "fate" and "destiny" that is faith promoting to all the singles out there who are getting a little....well....discouraged. We met online and, after a few long-distance "phone dates," decided to meet. I flew in from an international tour with Stephen Covey the night we determined to go out--it was the only night that would work, given that Todd was flying in from CA and leaving the next day for a family reunion. It happened to be the night of his 15 year class reunion and my LDS mission reunion--both events making us very aware of how single we were and were sure to lend themselves to many a conversation about "who do I know that I could set you up with?" Loathed those. Anyway, we decided that we would actually accompany each other to those events....and pretend that we were engaged. Yes--we faked our engagement on our first date. Talk about the ultimate example of Habit 2 (Stephen was proud).
Make a long story short....our lie that night turned into an eternal truth 9 months later. My job allowed me to fly on a private jet that whisked me in and out of an airport near Todd's house, and on the weeks I wasn't traveling, he made his way to UT to visit me. So we saw each other every week, played like crazy, and fell madly in love....or so we thought.
Fast forward 8 years. We have 3 kids--7. 6, 3--and a puppy. Todd's job is intense, stressful and sometimes consuming. #2 has severe autism and a myriad of other special needs. My once-jet-set lifestyle was traded in for a very home-bound one where any attempt to leave the house is either thwarted by a pooping or tantruming child, or our outings are cut short by one of the afore listed. While daily life does not lack in excitement, it is incredibly challenging, both physically and emotionally, as I am constantly trying to stay ahead of a spastic array of curveballs.
Back to the love story part....so I had an ah-ha moment today, not born of my own genius, but rather that of a friend. He suggested, in essence, that now it's real love. What Todd and I had then was love, the emotion. What we have now is the real deal--love in action--practiced, tested, tried, ripped at, interrupted, but surviving.
The statistic for couples who have a child with special needs is bleak--80% divorce rate. Recently, I could see exactly why. Todd and I have been really struggling individually--he has felt the weight of the world on his shoulders because of pressures at work. The moment he leaves work, he comes home to a wife with expectations and children with blaring needs. Add to that an adventurous spirit and longing for spontaneity and you find a stiffled, unfulfilled human being who cannot escape his life long enough to be himself for a minute. I have felt super lonely as I have struggled to make medical decisions for Matthew, battled with some uber hard behavioral issues and impulsivity, and tried to be a halfway decent Mom for the other two. It left me feeling guilty because I was not doing a great job in any area, overwhelmed which became almost paralyzing because I didn't know what to focus on, and lonely because I didn't feel like anyone could truly relate (and I didn't want to share the burden or complain). Pretty martyer-ish, eh? Net result of all of that was two unhappy people who needed each other desperately, too caught up in their own pile of emotional manure to allow the other to love them. We were coexisting and almost scared to let the other person see our pain because we knew the other was already so burdened. It started to come out sideways which, I'm sure everyone can relate, is not anyone's best angle.
Enter love the verb.....it wasn't that we didn't love (the emotion) each other, but we weren't loving (the verb) each other. Love the emotion is strengthened by love in action. I consciously decided that I needed to start doing things to show love so that I could feel love. So I did....tiny things that were no big deal to him, but by thinking about him and showing love, I started to feel less resentment for what he was distracted by and turned more of my focus to empathizing with him so I could share some of his burden. Vice versa, I felt him start to warm up to me and reach out to take some of mine.
The point I'm making is this--I know that every marriage in the world is hard. The gushy love stuff is great, but family in action is what breeds the lasting love, if we let it. Our love story has only gotten better with time because it is imperfect and stretched. It's the real deal.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
"Waffle!"
I have a girlfriend who called me up one day while she was pregnant with her 3rd baby and, laughing, told me she had just "peed her pants in the middle of the kitchen." Apparently she felt something trickling down her leg and, when she realized she was "leaking" pee, rather than attempting to stop it, she just embraced what was happening and made sure she was standing above a rug that could be washed. I kind of feel a bit like her, on an emotional level right now. I have been "leaking" emotions lately--some of them leaking out sideways in forms I am not proud of (a.k.a. grumpiness, anxiety, numbness, criticism). Rather than continuing to leak, I think I'm going to pray I am standing above a rug that can be washed and just embrace the fact that I would much rather overflow than leak.
Let me explain that last comment. Leaking implies that something is coming out that you are trying to stop…almost like you can't prevent it, usually with negative implications, often repaired in a state of urgency in ways that aren't long-term fixes, sometimes followed by additional leaks that spurt out sideways when you've fixed another. Overflow, on the other hand, implies excess…too much of something that caused it to spill over, usually resolved by just allowing it to flow for awhile until it kind of levels out at full. I am going to choose to just overflow a little today rather than continuing to sprout little leaks. Meaning, this post might include a little bit of emotional spillage.
When I signed up for autism, so to speak--meaning when I realized I had and would be raising a son with special needs into the eternities and chose to embrace everything that comes with that--I don't think I had a clue what that meant on a daily basis. I had no idea that everyday life could be so fraught with obstacles and even the smallest of tasks could/would be so difficult. I don't think I knew that my bad days would stink as badly as they do (antithesis is also true, but honestly, I need to vent for a bit before I will get to that point). I also didn't know that I had a breaking point--that I literally would entertain thoughts of "running away" from my life, escaping everything and trying to find a new one. I didn't know that it could cause me to question even the most concrete aspects of who I thought I was and what i thought I believed. I didn't know what an identity crisis looked like because I thought I knew myself. I certainly believed that I could talk my way out of any bad day/week/ month and positive thinking coupled with sincere prayer would pull me out of the lowest slump. Ignorance = bliss.
Daily life with Matthew has been exceptionally hard lately. Part of the reason for that is because he is literally obsessed with me--cannot not touch me if I am in the same room. Here's an example: he wakes up in the morning and launches his poopy self into my arms yelling "WAFFLE" (translation: love you) and "hug! hug! hug!" He then wraps his cute little leg completely around me and starts to climb up my body (yes, still poopy) until I finally pick him up and squeeze him, telling him how much I love him too. We then go into the bathroom where I do my best to keep my distance from his naked poop-ness as I scrub him down and bathe him. Half the time, i sit him on the potty and squat down in front of him so that I can lean forward and continue to hug him. He sometimes launches off the toilet and literally throws me against the wall in his efforts to get another huge mid-business. After he takes a bath, his wet self again snakes around me and I attempt to pry just one leg off and into his pants at a time. By the end of the dressing session, I am usually wet, sometimes a bit stinky, and out of breath. The day continues in similar fashion with each task we go through having a routine that involves me either embracing or avoiding Matthew and his exhausting, but oh so precious, "waffle" moments. When I attempt to avoid a moment in the name of anything else (a.k.a. when he needs to eat or get on the bus or another child is bleeding in the corner), a large tantrum often ensues and doesn't end until I "hug! hug!" and "waffle" him right back.
I just finished reading a book with a subtitle that resonates with me--"Embracing the Relentless Love of a Special Child." As I've read her journey with her son, Wil (book is called "Wil of God") where she shares parts of her story, aspects of her daily life, and some of her struggles, I've literally wept because it hit so close to home. She beautifully describes a lot of what I have felt and she makes me feel less lonely in this process. There are several things she says in this book that I want to share because they have been incredibly helpful to me these past weeks as I've been really struggling to figure out how to cope with "relentless love." Honestly, when I first read the subtitle, I thought it was a bit crazy because love, relentless or not, is awesome! But relentless means it doesn't sleep or pause, is not easily distracted, and cannot be redirected when necessary. It does not relent, even when you have other children to raise and need it to, if just for a moment, not come at you with full force.
Now, with relentless love and lots and lots of "waffles" come some amazing gifts and opportunities to develop gifts--gifts that are so easy to lose sight of when a poopy body is throwing itself on you and you knock your head against the wall trying to balance yourself in the process. I wanted to share some of what I learned from this book and I think I'll frame her insights in terms of some of the gifts I extrapolated from her story. Please know I write this more for myself than anything--I am absolutely desperate to pull myself out of this mommy-funk and try to "embrace," as she puts it, the unrelenting "love" I feel almost buried by.
The first gift is one of understanding and perspective. At one point, she goes to a Tarot card reader in search of some understanding about what her future will look like as she is trying so hard to come to grips with a reality she never anticipated after her son was diagnosed with autism and a whole slew of other fun things (it's never just one thing with autism--there is almost always a list). I can relate to her desire to read the future so you can plan for it. Well, she caught a glimpse that day of something profound and, I can totally relate to her when she said it was exactly what she needed to sustain her. She is told "He (Wil) is not broken, there is nothing wrong with him. He is perfect, but the world needs your help to see that. So many will see what he lacks and see him as broken and in need of fixing. he is not broken, he is open. What are considered disabilities by some are in fact, special abilities: abilities to see the God in everyone, to love without conditions, to be completely nonjudgmental. He has not lost his direct connection to God that all kids are born with but most lose by three or four. He remembers heaven. He remembers being in the holy presence of God and he will share his memories with you, but you will have to listen."
Her glimpse was a gift to her. I crave those glimpses of my Matthew. I want to know who he is, why he was given this challenge. I feel so deeply that the same is true of my Matthew--though some may see him as broken, he is, instead, open. He doesn't judge or label people--rather, he walks down the isles of an airplane, placing his hand on the shoulder of a stranger, looks at them and says, "waffle" without them having a clue they have just been touched by love. There are moments when I look deeply into his eyes and he smiles at me and I KNOW he has divinity in him.
We all crave a bit of this perspective of our kids--we want to know what the future holds and what they are uniquely chosen to contribute. And we all wish we could see their potential. I believe that, as parents, we are entitled to those glimpses. I'm not suggesting it will come from a Tarot card reader, but I do believe it can come to each of us if we are looking for it. I know for a fact that it isn't just Matthew that has something incredible to offer the world. I often overlook, in my deep quest to recognize what he is capable of and strong desire to not allow his struggles to overshadow his abilities, that I often don't allow my other children to shine--I am quick to criticize them, jump on their faults because I expect more of them, and less likely to praise them for things that they do because I assume they are capable. It is something I know I need to work on.
The next gift is that of saving….let me explain. One day, Todd came home with an epiphany--he said that "Matthew is going to save me from myself." I kind of thought I knew what he meant, but I'm now starting to understand what he meant. Another quote:
"This boy has saved me from myself….Before he was born, I was more concerned about a clean house than a clean heart. I was more caught up in what others thought of me, why they thought it and how I could control all that. I was worried about being like everyone else. Now, I have been freed from being anything but myself and he has forced me to celelbrate all that he is, to see his differences as gifts, not as disabilities."
I wish I could claim that I'm there, but this is something I am learning. Todd and I are forever changed, no doubt, by who Matthew is and the forced focus on what is most important. For example,we cannot be on our phones--Matthew will literally stalk us, screaming incessantly, if he so much as catches a glimpse of an iPhone (not just any phone--has to be a working, fully-funcitioning, iPhone). If we give it to him, he chucks it on the ground. If we keep it from him, he'll climb any counter, open any locked door, or claw his way through any zipper to get his prize. And he won't give up until he has it….at which point he'll chuck it on the ground, scream until you pick it up, and repeat the whole process over again. So we, of necessity, are not on our phones. We aren't calling people, emailing, texting, or distracted by work and other aspects of life. Rather, it is forced focus on what is most important rather than missing stuff because WE are distracted.
Oh how I crave this next gift--that of patience. "When you have a child with significant needs, those needs either make you or break you. They either make you bitter or they make you holy." Lately, I have felt bitter. I have shed tears and held pity parties in my own honor. I have been angry and jealous, frustrated and grumpy, and wanted to throw in the towel as things got worse when I already thought they sucked. I have prayed for patience and been given another trial. But I have realized that patience only comes by having it tried….and I must be getting more patient if the trials of my patience have to be so much more intense now to be considered "trials." Right? I think about the things that used to ruffle me and kind of giggle because I don't even notice those things now--my ability to let things roll off has improved significantly. So I must be making some kind of progress.
The last gift I'm going to mention is that of flexibility. I partially mean being more able to "go with the flow" and "roll with it," whatever "it" looks like (and I'm telling you, we deal with some ugly "it" around here sometimes). But I also mean being more flexible in what our tomorrows look like. The harder Matthew gets, the more frightened I sometimes feel. What if Matthew never talks and I never get to hear him speak a full sentence? He's six and still not potty trained--will he be in a diaper forever? Will he ever be able to live independently? I always thought he'd catch up, but he just seems like he's getting father behind. "There was a time when I really believed Wil would catch up. Developmentally delayed meant just that to me: delayed. I see now that he will never be caught up, and that's okay. He's where he is, and where he is, is perfect. Where he is going will be revealed. All will be well. Not better. Not worse. Just different than planned or hoped for."
When I read that I kind of got mad because I'm not ready to "give up" on Matthew's future yet. BUT I need to be able to embrace whatever it looks like…and be okay. I think part of why life is such a struggle right now is because, though I thought I'd done it once, I'm mourning the death of what I expected. One "mourning" is apparently not all we do as parents. Matthew just turned six and I have been grieving. I have sobbed as I realized what Liam was doing at six and how far off that is for Matthew. What we are celebrating as a victory with Matthew at six, we celebrated with Adi at the age of 22 months. I want him to experience success and feel confident in his own future, but how can I inspire that in him when I am too distracted by my own grief at his present? I need to remember that where he is, is perfect. "There is a fine line between hopefulness and denial and we special needs parents straddle that line at all times. We push, we pull back, we dream, we adjust, we never give up, we surrender. We do all we can and when we can't do anymore, we sit on the couch and re-group until we're ready to go at it again." I am re-grouping so that I can get back to hoping and believing....and embracing where he is.
I watched my Matthew laugh a lot the last few days. I got lots of "waffles" and rough, but sweet hugs. I even had some moments where his almost-always frantic, moving body softly rested….his head laying on my shoulder, his breathing slower, not pulling my hair or "mouthing" (translate: biting) my shoulder. Just resting and "waffling" his Mommy. Those are my moments. I watched him on the airplane in the row behind me with Todd, the two of them giggling, looking deep into each others eyes (a HUGE victory), sharing inside jokes and just having fun. Todd gets his moments. In those moments, it is easy to remember that Matthew is a gift, and he is a teacher.
I realized as I knew I wanted to write this post that, though my story my feel unique to me and the specifics of my experiences might be different than those of other mothers, none of us is totally alone in this process. Every Mom, no matter how angelic her kids, battles her own demons--the demons of doubt, insecurity, loneliness, guilt, fear, blah blah. The list is long and different for each one of us. But each of us is also given gifts from our children which can sustain us even when we are knocked off balance for an extended period of time. I am trying so hard and praying my guts out that I will become all that I am supposed to because of and through the experiences of raising these children. I am in awe that God trusted me enough because really….I'm not that good at all of this! I'm grateful my children are resilient as I mess it up over and over. But I am OH SO GRATEFUL that God chose them--my three extra special, hand-picked-for-our-family, very incredible little ones--to teach me. They might kill me….or they might just give me the gifts that make me into a better woman. Regardless, I am so blessed to be the recipient of their "waffles!"
Let me explain that last comment. Leaking implies that something is coming out that you are trying to stop…almost like you can't prevent it, usually with negative implications, often repaired in a state of urgency in ways that aren't long-term fixes, sometimes followed by additional leaks that spurt out sideways when you've fixed another. Overflow, on the other hand, implies excess…too much of something that caused it to spill over, usually resolved by just allowing it to flow for awhile until it kind of levels out at full. I am going to choose to just overflow a little today rather than continuing to sprout little leaks. Meaning, this post might include a little bit of emotional spillage.
When I signed up for autism, so to speak--meaning when I realized I had and would be raising a son with special needs into the eternities and chose to embrace everything that comes with that--I don't think I had a clue what that meant on a daily basis. I had no idea that everyday life could be so fraught with obstacles and even the smallest of tasks could/would be so difficult. I don't think I knew that my bad days would stink as badly as they do (antithesis is also true, but honestly, I need to vent for a bit before I will get to that point). I also didn't know that I had a breaking point--that I literally would entertain thoughts of "running away" from my life, escaping everything and trying to find a new one. I didn't know that it could cause me to question even the most concrete aspects of who I thought I was and what i thought I believed. I didn't know what an identity crisis looked like because I thought I knew myself. I certainly believed that I could talk my way out of any bad day/week/ month and positive thinking coupled with sincere prayer would pull me out of the lowest slump. Ignorance = bliss.
Daily life with Matthew has been exceptionally hard lately. Part of the reason for that is because he is literally obsessed with me--cannot not touch me if I am in the same room. Here's an example: he wakes up in the morning and launches his poopy self into my arms yelling "WAFFLE" (translation: love you) and "hug! hug! hug!" He then wraps his cute little leg completely around me and starts to climb up my body (yes, still poopy) until I finally pick him up and squeeze him, telling him how much I love him too. We then go into the bathroom where I do my best to keep my distance from his naked poop-ness as I scrub him down and bathe him. Half the time, i sit him on the potty and squat down in front of him so that I can lean forward and continue to hug him. He sometimes launches off the toilet and literally throws me against the wall in his efforts to get another huge mid-business. After he takes a bath, his wet self again snakes around me and I attempt to pry just one leg off and into his pants at a time. By the end of the dressing session, I am usually wet, sometimes a bit stinky, and out of breath. The day continues in similar fashion with each task we go through having a routine that involves me either embracing or avoiding Matthew and his exhausting, but oh so precious, "waffle" moments. When I attempt to avoid a moment in the name of anything else (a.k.a. when he needs to eat or get on the bus or another child is bleeding in the corner), a large tantrum often ensues and doesn't end until I "hug! hug!" and "waffle" him right back.
I just finished reading a book with a subtitle that resonates with me--"Embracing the Relentless Love of a Special Child." As I've read her journey with her son, Wil (book is called "Wil of God") where she shares parts of her story, aspects of her daily life, and some of her struggles, I've literally wept because it hit so close to home. She beautifully describes a lot of what I have felt and she makes me feel less lonely in this process. There are several things she says in this book that I want to share because they have been incredibly helpful to me these past weeks as I've been really struggling to figure out how to cope with "relentless love." Honestly, when I first read the subtitle, I thought it was a bit crazy because love, relentless or not, is awesome! But relentless means it doesn't sleep or pause, is not easily distracted, and cannot be redirected when necessary. It does not relent, even when you have other children to raise and need it to, if just for a moment, not come at you with full force.
Now, with relentless love and lots and lots of "waffles" come some amazing gifts and opportunities to develop gifts--gifts that are so easy to lose sight of when a poopy body is throwing itself on you and you knock your head against the wall trying to balance yourself in the process. I wanted to share some of what I learned from this book and I think I'll frame her insights in terms of some of the gifts I extrapolated from her story. Please know I write this more for myself than anything--I am absolutely desperate to pull myself out of this mommy-funk and try to "embrace," as she puts it, the unrelenting "love" I feel almost buried by.
The first gift is one of understanding and perspective. At one point, she goes to a Tarot card reader in search of some understanding about what her future will look like as she is trying so hard to come to grips with a reality she never anticipated after her son was diagnosed with autism and a whole slew of other fun things (it's never just one thing with autism--there is almost always a list). I can relate to her desire to read the future so you can plan for it. Well, she caught a glimpse that day of something profound and, I can totally relate to her when she said it was exactly what she needed to sustain her. She is told "He (Wil) is not broken, there is nothing wrong with him. He is perfect, but the world needs your help to see that. So many will see what he lacks and see him as broken and in need of fixing. he is not broken, he is open. What are considered disabilities by some are in fact, special abilities: abilities to see the God in everyone, to love without conditions, to be completely nonjudgmental. He has not lost his direct connection to God that all kids are born with but most lose by three or four. He remembers heaven. He remembers being in the holy presence of God and he will share his memories with you, but you will have to listen."
Her glimpse was a gift to her. I crave those glimpses of my Matthew. I want to know who he is, why he was given this challenge. I feel so deeply that the same is true of my Matthew--though some may see him as broken, he is, instead, open. He doesn't judge or label people--rather, he walks down the isles of an airplane, placing his hand on the shoulder of a stranger, looks at them and says, "waffle" without them having a clue they have just been touched by love. There are moments when I look deeply into his eyes and he smiles at me and I KNOW he has divinity in him.
We all crave a bit of this perspective of our kids--we want to know what the future holds and what they are uniquely chosen to contribute. And we all wish we could see their potential. I believe that, as parents, we are entitled to those glimpses. I'm not suggesting it will come from a Tarot card reader, but I do believe it can come to each of us if we are looking for it. I know for a fact that it isn't just Matthew that has something incredible to offer the world. I often overlook, in my deep quest to recognize what he is capable of and strong desire to not allow his struggles to overshadow his abilities, that I often don't allow my other children to shine--I am quick to criticize them, jump on their faults because I expect more of them, and less likely to praise them for things that they do because I assume they are capable. It is something I know I need to work on.
The next gift is that of saving….let me explain. One day, Todd came home with an epiphany--he said that "Matthew is going to save me from myself." I kind of thought I knew what he meant, but I'm now starting to understand what he meant. Another quote:
"This boy has saved me from myself….Before he was born, I was more concerned about a clean house than a clean heart. I was more caught up in what others thought of me, why they thought it and how I could control all that. I was worried about being like everyone else. Now, I have been freed from being anything but myself and he has forced me to celelbrate all that he is, to see his differences as gifts, not as disabilities."
I wish I could claim that I'm there, but this is something I am learning. Todd and I are forever changed, no doubt, by who Matthew is and the forced focus on what is most important. For example,we cannot be on our phones--Matthew will literally stalk us, screaming incessantly, if he so much as catches a glimpse of an iPhone (not just any phone--has to be a working, fully-funcitioning, iPhone). If we give it to him, he chucks it on the ground. If we keep it from him, he'll climb any counter, open any locked door, or claw his way through any zipper to get his prize. And he won't give up until he has it….at which point he'll chuck it on the ground, scream until you pick it up, and repeat the whole process over again. So we, of necessity, are not on our phones. We aren't calling people, emailing, texting, or distracted by work and other aspects of life. Rather, it is forced focus on what is most important rather than missing stuff because WE are distracted.
Oh how I crave this next gift--that of patience. "When you have a child with significant needs, those needs either make you or break you. They either make you bitter or they make you holy." Lately, I have felt bitter. I have shed tears and held pity parties in my own honor. I have been angry and jealous, frustrated and grumpy, and wanted to throw in the towel as things got worse when I already thought they sucked. I have prayed for patience and been given another trial. But I have realized that patience only comes by having it tried….and I must be getting more patient if the trials of my patience have to be so much more intense now to be considered "trials." Right? I think about the things that used to ruffle me and kind of giggle because I don't even notice those things now--my ability to let things roll off has improved significantly. So I must be making some kind of progress.
The last gift I'm going to mention is that of flexibility. I partially mean being more able to "go with the flow" and "roll with it," whatever "it" looks like (and I'm telling you, we deal with some ugly "it" around here sometimes). But I also mean being more flexible in what our tomorrows look like. The harder Matthew gets, the more frightened I sometimes feel. What if Matthew never talks and I never get to hear him speak a full sentence? He's six and still not potty trained--will he be in a diaper forever? Will he ever be able to live independently? I always thought he'd catch up, but he just seems like he's getting father behind. "There was a time when I really believed Wil would catch up. Developmentally delayed meant just that to me: delayed. I see now that he will never be caught up, and that's okay. He's where he is, and where he is, is perfect. Where he is going will be revealed. All will be well. Not better. Not worse. Just different than planned or hoped for."
When I read that I kind of got mad because I'm not ready to "give up" on Matthew's future yet. BUT I need to be able to embrace whatever it looks like…and be okay. I think part of why life is such a struggle right now is because, though I thought I'd done it once, I'm mourning the death of what I expected. One "mourning" is apparently not all we do as parents. Matthew just turned six and I have been grieving. I have sobbed as I realized what Liam was doing at six and how far off that is for Matthew. What we are celebrating as a victory with Matthew at six, we celebrated with Adi at the age of 22 months. I want him to experience success and feel confident in his own future, but how can I inspire that in him when I am too distracted by my own grief at his present? I need to remember that where he is, is perfect. "There is a fine line between hopefulness and denial and we special needs parents straddle that line at all times. We push, we pull back, we dream, we adjust, we never give up, we surrender. We do all we can and when we can't do anymore, we sit on the couch and re-group until we're ready to go at it again." I am re-grouping so that I can get back to hoping and believing....and embracing where he is.
I watched my Matthew laugh a lot the last few days. I got lots of "waffles" and rough, but sweet hugs. I even had some moments where his almost-always frantic, moving body softly rested….his head laying on my shoulder, his breathing slower, not pulling my hair or "mouthing" (translate: biting) my shoulder. Just resting and "waffling" his Mommy. Those are my moments. I watched him on the airplane in the row behind me with Todd, the two of them giggling, looking deep into each others eyes (a HUGE victory), sharing inside jokes and just having fun. Todd gets his moments. In those moments, it is easy to remember that Matthew is a gift, and he is a teacher.
I realized as I knew I wanted to write this post that, though my story my feel unique to me and the specifics of my experiences might be different than those of other mothers, none of us is totally alone in this process. Every Mom, no matter how angelic her kids, battles her own demons--the demons of doubt, insecurity, loneliness, guilt, fear, blah blah. The list is long and different for each one of us. But each of us is also given gifts from our children which can sustain us even when we are knocked off balance for an extended period of time. I am trying so hard and praying my guts out that I will become all that I am supposed to because of and through the experiences of raising these children. I am in awe that God trusted me enough because really….I'm not that good at all of this! I'm grateful my children are resilient as I mess it up over and over. But I am OH SO GRATEFUL that God chose them--my three extra special, hand-picked-for-our-family, very incredible little ones--to teach me. They might kill me….or they might just give me the gifts that make me into a better woman. Regardless, I am so blessed to be the recipient of their "waffles!"
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Looking forward
I am of the firm belief that looking forward moves you
forward while dwelling on the past can paralyze. I had the gift of a weekend away, which gave me a bit of
time to reflect on my life and kind of take inventory. I hate inventory sometimes because it
hurts.
The last several weeks have been exceptionally difficult for
me as I have felt like a failure in every area of my life. Thank goodness for amazing people who
reassure me that I don’t totally suck, but the voices in my head were screaming
otherwise. And while all of this screamed at me, I stared at my three kids, all
with different needs (some louder and more intense than others) and felt almost
immobilized because I was so frustrated by my failings. I realized I needed to get control over
this emotional chaos. That led me
to tighten our schedules, push them harder to get things done, spend more time
frustrated by their resistance….blah blah. A familiar cycle for any parent.
Todd and I spent a night together and I finally just
emotionally vomited. During our talk, he listened so carefully and did not try
to silence the screaming voices.
Rather, he helped me realize something—that I was kind of grieving a
loss. I was grieving because,
after 7 years as a mother in total, I finally realized that I could not be
superwoman or superhuman or fix everything through a little R&I
(resourcefulness and initiative).
Can you believe it took me that long?
I think that, in my life, I have cherished the fact that drive
has helped me to succeed—I could push my body to do hard things, practice
improved my musical abilities, I had a successful and exciting career. I guess the mantra was always “make it
happen” when things got tough. I
will never forget the day that Stephen Covey carefully pulled me aside and
basically attempted to break the news that, once I had kids, such would no
longer be the case. Admittedly,
his “caution” that I needed to let a little bit of that control go when I had a
family fell on deaf, very single ears.
I couldn’t imagine finding a husband at that point, much less birthing
anything. I took his sincere and
sweet message and found a different application—more of a spiritual one—which
served to be a life lesson for me.
But just recently, another life lesson—less spiritual, more practical,
equally impactful—has hit me. I
can’t fix it all, control it all, or manipulate things to ensure they turn out
how I want them to when it comes to my family. All I can do is listen, love, and look forward.
Let me give an example of a failure….my Matthew has been
doing this therapy for ages and we’ve seen incredible results when we are
diligent, but it is something we have to do ourselves. Recently, I have been excusing myself
from doing it in the name of “I want to me his Mom and not his therapist” and
avoiding it because of the fights we sometimes have. Enter guilt because, in my mind, we do the therapy, Matthew
gets better. We don’t, and I’m
failing him. I was missing the
point though….we do the therapy and it is an opportunity for me to connect with
my son. The therapy isn’t the
point—the point is the connection.
As I dodge something that feels difficult, I am missing a big
opportunity. It isn’t about
manipulating the outcome—it is about the relationship with my sweet boy.
Like I mentioned earlier, I had the opportunity to get away for a few days and just be
selfish. Yup. It felt great. Part of that selfish time was time with
just my thoughts. I was walkng
around the streets of New York, exploring with my incredible, kindred friend
and thinking about my life….stepping back and taking the birds eye view of my
world and my life, considering where my current perspective and actions might
lead my family. I started to,
candidly, freak out a little and feel so sad at the things I need to fix. Maybe because the list is a little
longer than I ever thought I would allow it to get, or maybe because my
failings have been staring me square in the face lately, I felt so sad! But the prevailing thought, and this
was so clear to me and literally stopped me dead in my tracks, is the simple
idea that I needed to look forward.
People have the capacity to change….but it isn’t an overnight BAM! I’m
amazing. Rather, each fix is an
evolution. I don’t do well with
evolution, mind you…I like BAM!
My evolution needs to start with a mindset—I cannot
fix/control/manipulate my children.
Motherhood is not about marching your kids through life in a certain
direction and when they stray from what YOU think is the perfect path, beating
them (only figuratively) back in line.
Rather, it is about backing off sometimes. Seems counter-intuitive, but for me, that’s exactly what
needs to happen.
Sometimes when we back off of our ideas of what things need
to look like, we can catch a glimpse of the bigger picture. Too close is the worms-eye view—and
only seeing the “dirt” in front of you is not a fabulous way to live. What I hope the “back off” view will
give me is a better picture of the unique capacities that each of my littles
has—including my loud, rough, but amazing love bug Matthew who I have literally
pushed away in exhaustion lately.
Even writing that has the tears flowing. But it is true…I have pushed each of my littles away a
little as I have been bogged down by my failings and exhausted by the worms-eye
view.
While the birds-eye view was a short-lived luxury, it
helped. I might not be superhuman,
superwoman, or Mother-of-the-year (unless you are using the term sarcastically
in which case it might be appropriate), but I can certainly envision myself
being better than I am today.
Yesterday didn’t erase that opportunity…I have a lot to learn from
yeseterdays .which I am grateful for.
And it is with eyes fixed forward, I commit to back off a little so that
I can better appreciate the masterpiece in front of me.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
The Good in the World
We just took a trip to the happiest place on earth with our little fam. It proved to be just that--we witnessed a side of our son that we didn't know existed. He was talkative, behaved, excited, laughing, connected, and oh so much fun! We loved loving on him and Todd kept saying, "I like him so much!" To us, that's a big deal. We always love him....the "like" part is not always quite as easy, if that makes sense.
Our flights there were great--uneventful equals great. On our drive to the hotel, I had a stroke of genius....I called and requested that they remove the TV's from our room. Matthew is obsessed with buttons and the TV becomes a focal point for him, often to the point of abuse. They, sadly, turned down my request and said they are unable to remove furniture from the room. As I thought more about the idea, I became more convinced it would make a HUGE difference in our trip--every time we were in the room, we'd have to deal with Matthew's obsession, telling him "NO" every five seconds, pulling him off the TV, trying to keep him from pushing it over, trying to threaten him and other such negative parenting strategies. We had already committed to put our phones away, so this would serve as a continuation of our electronics purge. So when we checked in, I asked again....and, perhaps because of my pleading eyes (and batting lashes--JK), they said yes!
Engineering dude arrives at our room and I quickly realize just why they don't want to remove it--it is bolted to the dresser. He gets ready to unscrew it and I almost said to forget it, figuring he can't do THAT much damage, right? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was a naive pipe dream and I let him continue his efforts for a few minutes. I started to feel really guilty, however, when he needed to leave for new tools and came back with the head of engineering to try new strategies to remove the TV from the dresser. It quickly became clear that we were the first people to ever make this request...and I'm sure the last they would acquiesce to. I tried to let them off the hook and explained to the sweet lady who was the head of engineering exactly why we were doing this. She reassured me it was just fine....and made me feel like she sincerely didn't mind. She could tell I felt bad, so she reached over and gave me a big hug before continuing her efforts. We finally decided that removing the entire dresser would be easier--so they did. We then put Matthew down for a nap in his tent (yes, we travel with his full-blown tent and mattress--don't ask me how, but we managed). Well, he wasn't ready and somehow ripped the entire front door of the tent open and climbed out! Todd and I were panicked and flashes of sleepless nights started to bring on serious anxiety. How would we contain our little demonic sleeper (he literally does not relax and settle down if not fully enclosed and contained in his tent) if the entire front of his fabulous dreamland has just been destroyed?! Stroke of inspiration strikes Todd and he goes to find our engineering friend who donates the largest roll of duct tape you have ever seen to our sleeping cause. DAY SAVED! I already loved her for hugging me....now I love her even more.
The next morning, Todd goes out to try to buy some water so we can avoid the $5/bottle fee at the park. He runs into our engineering friend and she says that there really isn't anyplace within walking distance to purchase waters, but that she could get us some from their staff lounge for $1/bottle. Gratefully, Todd gives her a several dollars and she equips us with the max she felt comfortable snagging from their staff lounge. Even more love for this fabulous woman.
After a fantastic day at the park, we come back to our TV-less room and find a CASE of bottled water sitting on the desk from this fine, extra-mile, incredible mind reader of a woman. I'm telling you, she made my day. I feel so grateful that people like lady exist in the world. Though perhaps not a huge deal to her, it was a MAJOR deal to us.
Fast forward through our trip (which, I again have to say, was absolutely incredible and we have decided that we are going to take Matthew back for his birthday so that we can truly celebrate with him--we have finally found what makes him the happiest and it leaves us overjoyed and willing to do it a million more times). We are ready to leave. Packed up, breakfast eaten....and Matthew starts to fall apart at the seams. So does Adi....Liam is still holding it together. Take us to the airport--kids are running absolutely wild. We are those parents that I'm sure everyone was feeling sorry for or judging. Good news is that we didn't feel either one of those things. People were very kind. Just as we are getting ready to board the plane, Matthew starts to throw an EPIC tantrum--one that no amount of one-on-one conversation, try every therapy strategy we know, get down on the floor with him to try to pull him out of it....nothing we are doing seems to be helping him at all. He is screaming, crying, flailing, throwing his body on the ground, etc. Mind you, all of this is happening at the front of the Southwest line as we are standing there preparing for family boarding. So every person in that line is witnessing this little exchange as we try our darndest to help our child get a little control over his emotions. I finally picked him up, looked at everyone staring at us in the line, and said "I promise, he'll be fine once we are on the plane!" I got not a single dirty look back. Some stunned faces, but mostly kind ones. Comments like "we have kids" and other nice reactions followed. I was shocked. So what do I do? I burst into tears. Then I'm totally embarrassed. I think I was completely overwhelmed by the whole situation and so incredibly touched by the compassion of those that had every reason to be a bit crusty that they were about to board a plane with what appeared to be the devil in a child's body. I start walking down the jetway and am trying to hard to get control of my emotions when the kind business traveler behind me says, "you're doing great, Mom." I could hardly turn around to thank him....I tried, but I still couldn't talk through my blubbering. He probably thought I was a crazy lady and ungrateful, but I was so horrified at my own inability to maintain any sort of control over my emotions.
As we boarded, Matthew grabbed some guys phone--literally dove into his lap and down through his legs to try to grab his phone. I grabbed him as fast as I could and quickly tried to explain to the guy what happened (the look on his stunned face was priceless), but as he recovered from the shock of the flying child, he laughed and said it was no big deal at all. Again, I almost re-burst into tears, but managed composure until we got to our seat where I spent the next several minutes trying not to talk to my husband because I was worried it would open up the flood gates all over again.
During the flight, Matthew peed his pants. Completely leaked all over the place. We took him to the back of the plane and changed him, stripping him of his pants and he exited the restroom in a pullup and sweatshirt. The flight attendant laughed with us and chatted it up with Todd who is convinced it is his fault since he took him potty last. Well, our half-naked kid who never poops decides to relieve himself of pent up yuck at 37,000 feet. It was unpleasant to say the least, and I'd be shocked if no one noticed....but no one did anything but smile at us and laugh at the irony of this pantless kid and his Dad (who qualified himself for sainthood by taking his poopy child and inflexible self into a room the size of a coffin for an acrobatic diaper change).
People are good. People can be kind. Those that aren't, I think I will choose to ignore. Those that are, I wish I could somehow express how much it meant to me to be the recipient of some of that kindness. I wanted to run up and find that dude who had said nice stuff to me that I couldn't thank through my "tears with snot" (as a dear friend of mine so affectionately termed a legit cry). I kept trying to figure out how to get him a thank you note or something, but I'm sad to say that I wasn't fast enough on the draw to make that happen before he deplaned. I get it--not everyone will be nice 100% of the time, but if everyone tried--like our engineering friend, or dude in the jetway--then we are one step closer to making this world a better place.
There are days when I look around at the people around me and feel jealous because things, like travel, appear so easy. But I guess that "ease" isn't what shapes us--it isn't what life is all about. We are given what we need to grow. I feel like I did a bit of shrinking today as I didn't handle my children as well as I could have/should have in my exhaustion and impatience, but I did grow in that I learned from the examples of kind people around me who did a little bit to make the world a little better for this mamma.
Our flights there were great--uneventful equals great. On our drive to the hotel, I had a stroke of genius....I called and requested that they remove the TV's from our room. Matthew is obsessed with buttons and the TV becomes a focal point for him, often to the point of abuse. They, sadly, turned down my request and said they are unable to remove furniture from the room. As I thought more about the idea, I became more convinced it would make a HUGE difference in our trip--every time we were in the room, we'd have to deal with Matthew's obsession, telling him "NO" every five seconds, pulling him off the TV, trying to keep him from pushing it over, trying to threaten him and other such negative parenting strategies. We had already committed to put our phones away, so this would serve as a continuation of our electronics purge. So when we checked in, I asked again....and, perhaps because of my pleading eyes (and batting lashes--JK), they said yes!
Engineering dude arrives at our room and I quickly realize just why they don't want to remove it--it is bolted to the dresser. He gets ready to unscrew it and I almost said to forget it, figuring he can't do THAT much damage, right? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was a naive pipe dream and I let him continue his efforts for a few minutes. I started to feel really guilty, however, when he needed to leave for new tools and came back with the head of engineering to try new strategies to remove the TV from the dresser. It quickly became clear that we were the first people to ever make this request...and I'm sure the last they would acquiesce to. I tried to let them off the hook and explained to the sweet lady who was the head of engineering exactly why we were doing this. She reassured me it was just fine....and made me feel like she sincerely didn't mind. She could tell I felt bad, so she reached over and gave me a big hug before continuing her efforts. We finally decided that removing the entire dresser would be easier--so they did. We then put Matthew down for a nap in his tent (yes, we travel with his full-blown tent and mattress--don't ask me how, but we managed). Well, he wasn't ready and somehow ripped the entire front door of the tent open and climbed out! Todd and I were panicked and flashes of sleepless nights started to bring on serious anxiety. How would we contain our little demonic sleeper (he literally does not relax and settle down if not fully enclosed and contained in his tent) if the entire front of his fabulous dreamland has just been destroyed?! Stroke of inspiration strikes Todd and he goes to find our engineering friend who donates the largest roll of duct tape you have ever seen to our sleeping cause. DAY SAVED! I already loved her for hugging me....now I love her even more.
The next morning, Todd goes out to try to buy some water so we can avoid the $5/bottle fee at the park. He runs into our engineering friend and she says that there really isn't anyplace within walking distance to purchase waters, but that she could get us some from their staff lounge for $1/bottle. Gratefully, Todd gives her a several dollars and she equips us with the max she felt comfortable snagging from their staff lounge. Even more love for this fabulous woman.
After a fantastic day at the park, we come back to our TV-less room and find a CASE of bottled water sitting on the desk from this fine, extra-mile, incredible mind reader of a woman. I'm telling you, she made my day. I feel so grateful that people like lady exist in the world. Though perhaps not a huge deal to her, it was a MAJOR deal to us.
Fast forward through our trip (which, I again have to say, was absolutely incredible and we have decided that we are going to take Matthew back for his birthday so that we can truly celebrate with him--we have finally found what makes him the happiest and it leaves us overjoyed and willing to do it a million more times). We are ready to leave. Packed up, breakfast eaten....and Matthew starts to fall apart at the seams. So does Adi....Liam is still holding it together. Take us to the airport--kids are running absolutely wild. We are those parents that I'm sure everyone was feeling sorry for or judging. Good news is that we didn't feel either one of those things. People were very kind. Just as we are getting ready to board the plane, Matthew starts to throw an EPIC tantrum--one that no amount of one-on-one conversation, try every therapy strategy we know, get down on the floor with him to try to pull him out of it....nothing we are doing seems to be helping him at all. He is screaming, crying, flailing, throwing his body on the ground, etc. Mind you, all of this is happening at the front of the Southwest line as we are standing there preparing for family boarding. So every person in that line is witnessing this little exchange as we try our darndest to help our child get a little control over his emotions. I finally picked him up, looked at everyone staring at us in the line, and said "I promise, he'll be fine once we are on the plane!" I got not a single dirty look back. Some stunned faces, but mostly kind ones. Comments like "we have kids" and other nice reactions followed. I was shocked. So what do I do? I burst into tears. Then I'm totally embarrassed. I think I was completely overwhelmed by the whole situation and so incredibly touched by the compassion of those that had every reason to be a bit crusty that they were about to board a plane with what appeared to be the devil in a child's body. I start walking down the jetway and am trying to hard to get control of my emotions when the kind business traveler behind me says, "you're doing great, Mom." I could hardly turn around to thank him....I tried, but I still couldn't talk through my blubbering. He probably thought I was a crazy lady and ungrateful, but I was so horrified at my own inability to maintain any sort of control over my emotions.
As we boarded, Matthew grabbed some guys phone--literally dove into his lap and down through his legs to try to grab his phone. I grabbed him as fast as I could and quickly tried to explain to the guy what happened (the look on his stunned face was priceless), but as he recovered from the shock of the flying child, he laughed and said it was no big deal at all. Again, I almost re-burst into tears, but managed composure until we got to our seat where I spent the next several minutes trying not to talk to my husband because I was worried it would open up the flood gates all over again.
During the flight, Matthew peed his pants. Completely leaked all over the place. We took him to the back of the plane and changed him, stripping him of his pants and he exited the restroom in a pullup and sweatshirt. The flight attendant laughed with us and chatted it up with Todd who is convinced it is his fault since he took him potty last. Well, our half-naked kid who never poops decides to relieve himself of pent up yuck at 37,000 feet. It was unpleasant to say the least, and I'd be shocked if no one noticed....but no one did anything but smile at us and laugh at the irony of this pantless kid and his Dad (who qualified himself for sainthood by taking his poopy child and inflexible self into a room the size of a coffin for an acrobatic diaper change).
People are good. People can be kind. Those that aren't, I think I will choose to ignore. Those that are, I wish I could somehow express how much it meant to me to be the recipient of some of that kindness. I wanted to run up and find that dude who had said nice stuff to me that I couldn't thank through my "tears with snot" (as a dear friend of mine so affectionately termed a legit cry). I kept trying to figure out how to get him a thank you note or something, but I'm sad to say that I wasn't fast enough on the draw to make that happen before he deplaned. I get it--not everyone will be nice 100% of the time, but if everyone tried--like our engineering friend, or dude in the jetway--then we are one step closer to making this world a better place.
There are days when I look around at the people around me and feel jealous because things, like travel, appear so easy. But I guess that "ease" isn't what shapes us--it isn't what life is all about. We are given what we need to grow. I feel like I did a bit of shrinking today as I didn't handle my children as well as I could have/should have in my exhaustion and impatience, but I did grow in that I learned from the examples of kind people around me who did a little bit to make the world a little better for this mamma.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Pity Parties and Prayer
Starting a post is always difficult for me because it is usually born of an emotional experience and I have to figure out a way to put what's in my heart into words. Not the easiest task, but it is cathartic, therapeutic and somehow a relief to me when I do. I'm not sure why. I told Todd that the only times I am capable of actually posting something are the times when I feel "prompted" to do so, and this is one of those :-)
It is also difficult for me to balance sharing deeply personal beliefs about spiritual things knowing that a lot of people who read this won't share those beliefs. I guess my hope is that you can find common ground in what I share, regardless of your religion or spiritual direction, so that the lessons learned are still relatable.
Sooo....about 2 weeks ago Matthew was in a program put on by the children at church. About two months prior to this program, they gave me his part: he was to get up to the microphone (like all the little children have the opportunity to do--they wanted to include him) and say, "I am a child of God." When I got that script, I was determined to help Matthew succeed! I knew he could do this and believed in his ability to learn something new...and I felt like this is something that I could get Divine help to accomplish as well. I mean, it was for church, right?
I started to pray for help (please help Matthew succeed and be able to say this!), practice with him, say the phrase to him as we would go on walks. I wrote his school teacher, the speech therapist at the school, Matthew's ABA peeps, etc. and asked for their expert advice as to how I could teach Matthew a phrase like this. They were all in it--we made visuals to help him learn it, he would practice with me at meals, we put the phrase onto his iPad, my Mom made him flashcards. And he would say it!!!! He started by saying "God" when we would start the phrase. Then it was "child God" and, finally, with the right visuals and prompting, he could say "I Child God."
We took our family up to the church to practice doing it into the microphone so he wouldn't be intimidated day-of. Oh, he loved the microphone and would bolt for it every few minutes, grab it, pull it right up to his lips....and breathe heavily. Panting and thinking he was hilarious. We practiced taking him back to his seat, waiting with him (the whole while he is pointing at the mic and saying "talk! talk!") and then standing up and saying, "I child God." Well, after about 7 times, we were thrilled to get "child God" followed by several seconds of heavy breathing as we would pry him away from the podium. That, to us, was a victory.
He went to a rehearsal and couldn't sit still to save his life, but when his turn came, he said it! And over the course of the next few days, I feel like we had finally mastered the "I" part as well. Man, was I thrilled! I was so ready for this great experience where the congregation would be doing the dance of joy with me and we'd all feel like Matthew had this great victory.
Morning of, I decided I could pray for a miracle--I asked God to please, please help Matthew to get up, say his line without too much distraction of the heavy breathing, and to feel successful. I told Heavenly Father that I usually don't get that specific and ask for exactly how I want something to go because I understand the idea that He has an agenda too and we can't always dictate outcomes, but I wanted this...and it didn't seem like a lofty request, given all of our prep and his current level of ability. But still, I kind of knew I was praying for a miracle.
Matthew was crazy at church that morning and i thought there was NO WAY he was going to sit still during the program, but there was a good chance (because I had faith and had prayed so hard) that Matthew was going to say his line. I walked him up to the stand where he would sit with all of the other children when the time came and handed him off to my fabulous friend who was going to sit with him during the program. When Matthew's turn came, I knew it was going to be awesome and my heart was pounding. He got up.....and breathed (for several seconds), and then clear as day said "child"....and then got distracted by the audience, breathed heavily for a few more seconds, and then was escorted back to his seat. In the middle of the bench where I was sitting, I lost it. My heart was breaking into a thousand pieces because my miracle--the one I had worked so hard for and my baby's opportunity to have a big victory--didn't happen. I started to shake I was sobbing so hard and just put my hair over my face, hunkered down in my seat, and prayed no one would look in my direction and see my shoulders shaking. I have tears rolling down my cheeks as I write this and remember how broken my heart was in that moment. I wanted him to try again, I wanted to force my miracle to happen! And yet, his turn was over and he sat down.
I was so distracted by my own over-reaction (I kept chastising myself in my head for having such a strong reaction) that I didn't even notice another miracle that was taking place. I was busy justifying feeling a bit ticked off that God hadn't answered my prayer. I mean, it wasn't a hard thing, a big deal to Him, but it would have meant SOOOO much to me! Why couldn't I have that little success (and, to convince myself that I wasn't totally selfish in my request, why couldn't Matthew have that victory)? Bigger than the miracle of him saying those words that I know he can say was the miracle of him sitting still for the entire time! Matthew didn't move! He didn't make any distracting noises, try to grab the watch off a neighboring kid (which he did during practice, all the while yelling the word "watch!" because he was so excited about ti). He didn't wriggle out of his seat, ask for potty or water, walk up and down the stairs, yell "talk" and bolt for the microphone...nothing. He sat and looked at the books I had provided him with and talked quietly with my friend, looking at some things she had in her bag as well.
So me and my puffy eyes went through the motions during the rest of church, brushing off the comments of how well Matthew sat and what a great job Liam did because I was still mad I didn't get what I wanted. Candidly, a feeling of "why bother praying" kept playing through my mind and, I'm embarrassed to say, haunted me for the rest of the week because my focus was on what I didn't get, rather than what I did. I even started to feel a bit like my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling and they got shorter and shorter and I would just fall asleep 90% of the time because there wasn't much meaningful chatter going on between God and I at that point.
Then I went to a conference for women this last weekend and heard a talk from a man who had lost his wife (5 months prego), his only daughter, and one of his sons when they were broadsided by a 17 year old drunk driver. He talked about his conversations with God following that experience his perspective on life. One of the things that he related was that he felt like he could pour out his anger, fear, frustration and even process through some of the "losses" that he was feeling at that point....and God would just listen. He wouldn't comfort him....He would just listen. The comfort would come when all of that started to drain from him and he began to, instead, focus on what he still had--what he was grateful for. That included the memory of his wife, the privilege of raising his kids to the point that he had, and the blessing of knowing their souls were safe, if you will. The main point of his message, which is equally profound, was that the peace that came from those reassurances which followed his expressions of gratitude, enabled him to focus instead on the soul that needed help--that of the boy who had hit them...and he went to work helping that boy forgive himself.
The thing that really struck me, however, was that I needed to shift my thinking to focus on what I am grateful for rather than my loss--what i didn't get. I think that in our lives, we have expectations that go unmet ALL the time. I am a total expectations girl--that goes for my relationships with friends and family (my hubby included) as well as my relationship with God. In all of those relationships, however, there are things we don't know or understand and when expectations go unmet, it isn't necessarily because of ill will or malicious intent or anything. Often, it is because of something we don't see or don't know or don't understand. In my situation, there was another miracle that would be more beneficial to every person in that congregation and every other child trying to participate in that program. Matthew didn't steal the show with distraction, but rather, participated to the best of his ability just like everyone else.
So I got my miracle (actual several) after all....it (they) just looked nothing like I expected. My miracle was this: I have more confidence than ever that Matthew can accomplish things that we put our minds to. I also have a new understanding of how prayer works in my life--I need to look for what DID happen (how my prayer WAS answered) rather than dwelling on what I didn't get (be blinded by how I expected that answer to look). And, finally, a renewed desire to focus on and be grateful for the little victories because as I am, my eyes are more open to seeing the miracles.
It is also difficult for me to balance sharing deeply personal beliefs about spiritual things knowing that a lot of people who read this won't share those beliefs. I guess my hope is that you can find common ground in what I share, regardless of your religion or spiritual direction, so that the lessons learned are still relatable.
Sooo....about 2 weeks ago Matthew was in a program put on by the children at church. About two months prior to this program, they gave me his part: he was to get up to the microphone (like all the little children have the opportunity to do--they wanted to include him) and say, "I am a child of God." When I got that script, I was determined to help Matthew succeed! I knew he could do this and believed in his ability to learn something new...and I felt like this is something that I could get Divine help to accomplish as well. I mean, it was for church, right?
I started to pray for help (please help Matthew succeed and be able to say this!), practice with him, say the phrase to him as we would go on walks. I wrote his school teacher, the speech therapist at the school, Matthew's ABA peeps, etc. and asked for their expert advice as to how I could teach Matthew a phrase like this. They were all in it--we made visuals to help him learn it, he would practice with me at meals, we put the phrase onto his iPad, my Mom made him flashcards. And he would say it!!!! He started by saying "God" when we would start the phrase. Then it was "child God" and, finally, with the right visuals and prompting, he could say "I Child God."
We took our family up to the church to practice doing it into the microphone so he wouldn't be intimidated day-of. Oh, he loved the microphone and would bolt for it every few minutes, grab it, pull it right up to his lips....and breathe heavily. Panting and thinking he was hilarious. We practiced taking him back to his seat, waiting with him (the whole while he is pointing at the mic and saying "talk! talk!") and then standing up and saying, "I child God." Well, after about 7 times, we were thrilled to get "child God" followed by several seconds of heavy breathing as we would pry him away from the podium. That, to us, was a victory.
He went to a rehearsal and couldn't sit still to save his life, but when his turn came, he said it! And over the course of the next few days, I feel like we had finally mastered the "I" part as well. Man, was I thrilled! I was so ready for this great experience where the congregation would be doing the dance of joy with me and we'd all feel like Matthew had this great victory.
Morning of, I decided I could pray for a miracle--I asked God to please, please help Matthew to get up, say his line without too much distraction of the heavy breathing, and to feel successful. I told Heavenly Father that I usually don't get that specific and ask for exactly how I want something to go because I understand the idea that He has an agenda too and we can't always dictate outcomes, but I wanted this...and it didn't seem like a lofty request, given all of our prep and his current level of ability. But still, I kind of knew I was praying for a miracle.
Matthew was crazy at church that morning and i thought there was NO WAY he was going to sit still during the program, but there was a good chance (because I had faith and had prayed so hard) that Matthew was going to say his line. I walked him up to the stand where he would sit with all of the other children when the time came and handed him off to my fabulous friend who was going to sit with him during the program. When Matthew's turn came, I knew it was going to be awesome and my heart was pounding. He got up.....and breathed (for several seconds), and then clear as day said "child"....and then got distracted by the audience, breathed heavily for a few more seconds, and then was escorted back to his seat. In the middle of the bench where I was sitting, I lost it. My heart was breaking into a thousand pieces because my miracle--the one I had worked so hard for and my baby's opportunity to have a big victory--didn't happen. I started to shake I was sobbing so hard and just put my hair over my face, hunkered down in my seat, and prayed no one would look in my direction and see my shoulders shaking. I have tears rolling down my cheeks as I write this and remember how broken my heart was in that moment. I wanted him to try again, I wanted to force my miracle to happen! And yet, his turn was over and he sat down.
I was so distracted by my own over-reaction (I kept chastising myself in my head for having such a strong reaction) that I didn't even notice another miracle that was taking place. I was busy justifying feeling a bit ticked off that God hadn't answered my prayer. I mean, it wasn't a hard thing, a big deal to Him, but it would have meant SOOOO much to me! Why couldn't I have that little success (and, to convince myself that I wasn't totally selfish in my request, why couldn't Matthew have that victory)? Bigger than the miracle of him saying those words that I know he can say was the miracle of him sitting still for the entire time! Matthew didn't move! He didn't make any distracting noises, try to grab the watch off a neighboring kid (which he did during practice, all the while yelling the word "watch!" because he was so excited about ti). He didn't wriggle out of his seat, ask for potty or water, walk up and down the stairs, yell "talk" and bolt for the microphone...nothing. He sat and looked at the books I had provided him with and talked quietly with my friend, looking at some things she had in her bag as well.
So me and my puffy eyes went through the motions during the rest of church, brushing off the comments of how well Matthew sat and what a great job Liam did because I was still mad I didn't get what I wanted. Candidly, a feeling of "why bother praying" kept playing through my mind and, I'm embarrassed to say, haunted me for the rest of the week because my focus was on what I didn't get, rather than what I did. I even started to feel a bit like my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling and they got shorter and shorter and I would just fall asleep 90% of the time because there wasn't much meaningful chatter going on between God and I at that point.
Then I went to a conference for women this last weekend and heard a talk from a man who had lost his wife (5 months prego), his only daughter, and one of his sons when they were broadsided by a 17 year old drunk driver. He talked about his conversations with God following that experience his perspective on life. One of the things that he related was that he felt like he could pour out his anger, fear, frustration and even process through some of the "losses" that he was feeling at that point....and God would just listen. He wouldn't comfort him....He would just listen. The comfort would come when all of that started to drain from him and he began to, instead, focus on what he still had--what he was grateful for. That included the memory of his wife, the privilege of raising his kids to the point that he had, and the blessing of knowing their souls were safe, if you will. The main point of his message, which is equally profound, was that the peace that came from those reassurances which followed his expressions of gratitude, enabled him to focus instead on the soul that needed help--that of the boy who had hit them...and he went to work helping that boy forgive himself.
The thing that really struck me, however, was that I needed to shift my thinking to focus on what I am grateful for rather than my loss--what i didn't get. I think that in our lives, we have expectations that go unmet ALL the time. I am a total expectations girl--that goes for my relationships with friends and family (my hubby included) as well as my relationship with God. In all of those relationships, however, there are things we don't know or understand and when expectations go unmet, it isn't necessarily because of ill will or malicious intent or anything. Often, it is because of something we don't see or don't know or don't understand. In my situation, there was another miracle that would be more beneficial to every person in that congregation and every other child trying to participate in that program. Matthew didn't steal the show with distraction, but rather, participated to the best of his ability just like everyone else.
So I got my miracle (actual several) after all....it (they) just looked nothing like I expected. My miracle was this: I have more confidence than ever that Matthew can accomplish things that we put our minds to. I also have a new understanding of how prayer works in my life--I need to look for what DID happen (how my prayer WAS answered) rather than dwelling on what I didn't get (be blinded by how I expected that answer to look). And, finally, a renewed desire to focus on and be grateful for the little victories because as I am, my eyes are more open to seeing the miracles.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Next Time Won't You Sing With Me
Last weekend Todd and I took Matthew to Medford to meet with our friends at the REACH Family Institute. That four hour drive about kills Todd and I....we are "sky trippers" as opposed to road trippers. Talk about wimps. Well, Matthew is quite the little road warrior and did amazingly well on our drive. He has discovered his lungs and, much to our ABSOLUTELY JOY, points to things in his surroundings now and labels them (at top volume....repeatedly...over and over until you acknowledge). So we hear "truck" and "sign" and "house" and "plane" and "car", etc. and are sooo grateful for the indication that his awareness of the world around him is starting to kick in. The best part (and the worst part if you are trying to carry on any semblance of a conversation) is that he is determined to communicate and will literally increase in volume each second you delay sharing his attention to the object he is pointing out. It is so dang cute! And it warms my Mother-heart. When we first started making these trips to Medford, Matthew had, maybe, 15 words and only used a select few spontaneously. This truly represents a miracle.
In our efforts to entertain Matthew, we let him pick a movie. Normally I just show educational stuff in the car--letters, numbers, signing--but we let him watching Mickey Mouse (lasted 4 minutes before he was bored), Toy Story (lasted maybe 15) and a couple of others. Finally, I put the most boring letter video you can imagine in and Matthew was riveted. The most amazing part is this--he started to say EVERY letter before the video would say it!!!! Todd and I were blown away after a, b, and c, but when he fudged for the first time on letter Q, we were jumping for joy! He ended up getting about 24 letters correct! Anyone who has known Matthew for any period of time realizes what an incredible thing this is. We are SO proud.
Now, as great as all of those things are, there is a piece of this puzzle that is falling to place that makes me want to weep with joy. Matthew is starting to really love us. He isn't saying those words yet (but I know they are coming), but he is hugging...and not just little hugs. He turns to me numerous times a day, throws out his arms, and asks for "hug? hug?" And he proceeds to give full-body, wrap-your-legs-around-the-other-person squeezes with a big ol' smile on his cute little face. Some of his hugs are now avoidance hugs--he asks for a hug to get out of doing work or to get closer to my earring that he wants to rip out, or to reach something that is too tall for him, but I vote that those creative, manipulative hugs are an indication of intelligence and resourcefulness.
Todd and I have always loved Matthew. He is our son and we are privileged to have this special spirit entrusted to us. But we now LIKE him as well. "Horrible mother!" you might be thinking in your mind. I promise you that if you were to walk a mile in our shoes over the course of the last few years, you would shed that criticism in favor of compassion. Not that we need pity or anything...just that we have had a bit of a rough year as we have been dealing with phase after blasted phase of behavioral challenges, aggression, biting, impulsivity, total oblivion to others, poop (ah, the poop issues), and other fun adventures. And though some of those things haven't disappeared and are still a daily trial, the rewards are so much richer because Matthew can, through his hugs, tell me he loves me.
I got a note from Matthew's kindergarten teacher today as well...she said this: "Just wanted to let you know that Matthew had such an awesome day! He was using SO MUCH language and putting two words together. When he came into my room he checked scheduled, went straight to circle and said “pick fish, song fish, pick fish.” I reminded him to sit down and he sat and clapped his hands (which right now is his way of raising his hand-working on it to get all the way up in the air) and he was the first to pick his song. He was also making a lot more eye contact and seemed very connected with the daily activities." Luckily, we are seeing lots of the same--rich eye contact, more connection, using multiple words together. I could not me prouder of my little dude!!!
I'm singing with you Matthew!!!!
In our efforts to entertain Matthew, we let him pick a movie. Normally I just show educational stuff in the car--letters, numbers, signing--but we let him watching Mickey Mouse (lasted 4 minutes before he was bored), Toy Story (lasted maybe 15) and a couple of others. Finally, I put the most boring letter video you can imagine in and Matthew was riveted. The most amazing part is this--he started to say EVERY letter before the video would say it!!!! Todd and I were blown away after a, b, and c, but when he fudged for the first time on letter Q, we were jumping for joy! He ended up getting about 24 letters correct! Anyone who has known Matthew for any period of time realizes what an incredible thing this is. We are SO proud.
Now, as great as all of those things are, there is a piece of this puzzle that is falling to place that makes me want to weep with joy. Matthew is starting to really love us. He isn't saying those words yet (but I know they are coming), but he is hugging...and not just little hugs. He turns to me numerous times a day, throws out his arms, and asks for "hug? hug?" And he proceeds to give full-body, wrap-your-legs-around-the-other-person squeezes with a big ol' smile on his cute little face. Some of his hugs are now avoidance hugs--he asks for a hug to get out of doing work or to get closer to my earring that he wants to rip out, or to reach something that is too tall for him, but I vote that those creative, manipulative hugs are an indication of intelligence and resourcefulness.
Todd and I have always loved Matthew. He is our son and we are privileged to have this special spirit entrusted to us. But we now LIKE him as well. "Horrible mother!" you might be thinking in your mind. I promise you that if you were to walk a mile in our shoes over the course of the last few years, you would shed that criticism in favor of compassion. Not that we need pity or anything...just that we have had a bit of a rough year as we have been dealing with phase after blasted phase of behavioral challenges, aggression, biting, impulsivity, total oblivion to others, poop (ah, the poop issues), and other fun adventures. And though some of those things haven't disappeared and are still a daily trial, the rewards are so much richer because Matthew can, through his hugs, tell me he loves me.
I got a note from Matthew's kindergarten teacher today as well...she said this: "Just wanted to let you know that Matthew had such an awesome day! He was using SO MUCH language and putting two words together. When he came into my room he checked scheduled, went straight to circle and said “pick fish, song fish, pick fish.” I reminded him to sit down and he sat and clapped his hands (which right now is his way of raising his hand-working on it to get all the way up in the air) and he was the first to pick his song. He was also making a lot more eye contact and seemed very connected with the daily activities." Luckily, we are seeing lots of the same--rich eye contact, more connection, using multiple words together. I could not me prouder of my little dude!!!
I'm singing with you Matthew!!!!
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Heart on my sleeve
I really want to write about something positive and uplifting, but I feel instead to be completely open about how I'm feeling in hopes that I will appreciate the good days even more as I reflect on the fact that I've come through some pretty tough ones.
Unlike the majority of my hard days, this one has nothing to do with poop. Perhaps I should be relieved, but poop can be cleaned up in a matter of minutes (I've gotten to be pretty efficient--me, a pair of gloves and some Lysol) and I have a feeling this is something I might struggle with off and on for years.
There are a few things I feel that I don't think I should.....or at least wish I didn't. Let me explain.
I feel jealous. Lately I have really struggled as I have looked at the lives of my friends and even other family members and realize what things could be like if Matthew didn't have autism (and the list of other diagnoses). I know that we are blessed by our sweet boy--that he is a gift in our lives....but there are days when I know his gift is to teach me patience and I don't want to learn it. And there are days when I know he was sent to me to teach me not to be critical or judgmental and I just plain don't care. I am SO exhausted by my life and wish I had the option of going places with my three children by myself without running the risk of getting literally stuck somewhere because I am physically incapable of carrying my 50 lb screaming child back to the car when he is overstimulated and loses it. I wish I could get on an airplane and not get physically ill as I anticipate what could happen on the flight...or what will likely happen the first night when he doesn't sleep and keeps everyone up. I envy the families around me that have what I envisioned for my life.
I feel scared. There are days when I literally wake up nervous because I don't know what I'm going to do to keep Matthew "busy" that day. If I don't have every hour scheduled, I get anxious because his unstructured time is literally dangerous...those are the times he gets most out of control. I am afraid that he is my child...and I don't know what to do with him. And if I think about the things I could possibly do with Matthew that might be productive and helpful to him, I have two other children which are likely to sabotage because they are desperate for my attention as well. I am also scared of what I might do when I get frustrated with my kids. I'm scared I will yell more than I should and push the other two away because my discouragement with Matthew sometimes comes out sideways at them.
I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I am constantly making decisions, prioritizing medical and therapeutic care, and receiving information from a thousand well-intending friends and professionals. I am at the point now where I almost don't know what is and isn't working, what we have and haven't tried, what our next step should be and I'm too scared to abandon anything that could possibly be contributing to any of the progress we have seen over the course of the last 9 months. I'm sick of being gluten free, caisen free, worrying about fiber and raw/organic this and that. I'm exhausted at the thought of planning my grocery shopping and knowing that I need to go to three stores to get all of the specialty foods and herbs and supplements that we will need to get through the next week.
I feel less-than. I watch other Mom's who do so much for their children and find such joy in motherhood and feel like I am less than I should be as a mother. Other mom's parent children with special needs and do it with such grace...why can't I?
I feel tired. I think that is the crux of it all because when I am tired, I have a difficult time keeping perspective.
NOW....all of that being said, let me tell you what I believe.
I believe that if I allow myself to become a product of my comparisons, I will never measure up. Our family is not and will never be like other families because our family is special. Imperfect, exciting, challenging, but oh so special.
I believe faith can conquer fear. I have been trying to listen more to what I am supposed to be learning each day because I recognize I don't have all the answers. Rather than live in my fear, I am trying so hard to be full of faith and, though my prayers feel a bit redundant at times ("please give me strength beyond my own so that I don't lose it on my children today"), they aren't bouncing off the ceiling. I am changing as a person because being full of faith requires deep, deep humility and I promise you that I have never felt more humble, more teachable, more open or more desperate.
I believe we can sometimes see simplicity on the far side of complexity. In the midst of my million decisions, there is a simple truth and that is that I'm raising a child of God. He is mine for now and I know that, in the quiet moments when I consider who he is, I can be given glimpses of the divinity that lies within him and realize that he is powerful in his own way...that Matthew has a mission here on this earth and whether he does 8 or 10 hours of ABA or sees a functional neurologist or cranial osteopath, he will still accomplish that mission.
I believe I am more-than enough if I am trying my best. GIving in to less-than will become a self-fulfilling prophecy and I can't afford that.
So though it is OK to feel how I feel and I'd be lying if I said that I can always see what I believe clearly through the density and intensity of some of those feelings. But I guess I still have the responsibility to rise above it. I know that I am surrounded by people who are cheering me on and that, above all the good advice in the world, sustains me on the hardest days. For now, I think I'll just go to bed and hope that my children take mercy on me tomorrow :-)
Unlike the majority of my hard days, this one has nothing to do with poop. Perhaps I should be relieved, but poop can be cleaned up in a matter of minutes (I've gotten to be pretty efficient--me, a pair of gloves and some Lysol) and I have a feeling this is something I might struggle with off and on for years.
There are a few things I feel that I don't think I should.....or at least wish I didn't. Let me explain.
I feel jealous. Lately I have really struggled as I have looked at the lives of my friends and even other family members and realize what things could be like if Matthew didn't have autism (and the list of other diagnoses). I know that we are blessed by our sweet boy--that he is a gift in our lives....but there are days when I know his gift is to teach me patience and I don't want to learn it. And there are days when I know he was sent to me to teach me not to be critical or judgmental and I just plain don't care. I am SO exhausted by my life and wish I had the option of going places with my three children by myself without running the risk of getting literally stuck somewhere because I am physically incapable of carrying my 50 lb screaming child back to the car when he is overstimulated and loses it. I wish I could get on an airplane and not get physically ill as I anticipate what could happen on the flight...or what will likely happen the first night when he doesn't sleep and keeps everyone up. I envy the families around me that have what I envisioned for my life.
I feel scared. There are days when I literally wake up nervous because I don't know what I'm going to do to keep Matthew "busy" that day. If I don't have every hour scheduled, I get anxious because his unstructured time is literally dangerous...those are the times he gets most out of control. I am afraid that he is my child...and I don't know what to do with him. And if I think about the things I could possibly do with Matthew that might be productive and helpful to him, I have two other children which are likely to sabotage because they are desperate for my attention as well. I am also scared of what I might do when I get frustrated with my kids. I'm scared I will yell more than I should and push the other two away because my discouragement with Matthew sometimes comes out sideways at them.
I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I am constantly making decisions, prioritizing medical and therapeutic care, and receiving information from a thousand well-intending friends and professionals. I am at the point now where I almost don't know what is and isn't working, what we have and haven't tried, what our next step should be and I'm too scared to abandon anything that could possibly be contributing to any of the progress we have seen over the course of the last 9 months. I'm sick of being gluten free, caisen free, worrying about fiber and raw/organic this and that. I'm exhausted at the thought of planning my grocery shopping and knowing that I need to go to three stores to get all of the specialty foods and herbs and supplements that we will need to get through the next week.
I feel less-than. I watch other Mom's who do so much for their children and find such joy in motherhood and feel like I am less than I should be as a mother. Other mom's parent children with special needs and do it with such grace...why can't I?
I feel tired. I think that is the crux of it all because when I am tired, I have a difficult time keeping perspective.
NOW....all of that being said, let me tell you what I believe.
I believe that if I allow myself to become a product of my comparisons, I will never measure up. Our family is not and will never be like other families because our family is special. Imperfect, exciting, challenging, but oh so special.
I believe faith can conquer fear. I have been trying to listen more to what I am supposed to be learning each day because I recognize I don't have all the answers. Rather than live in my fear, I am trying so hard to be full of faith and, though my prayers feel a bit redundant at times ("please give me strength beyond my own so that I don't lose it on my children today"), they aren't bouncing off the ceiling. I am changing as a person because being full of faith requires deep, deep humility and I promise you that I have never felt more humble, more teachable, more open or more desperate.
I believe we can sometimes see simplicity on the far side of complexity. In the midst of my million decisions, there is a simple truth and that is that I'm raising a child of God. He is mine for now and I know that, in the quiet moments when I consider who he is, I can be given glimpses of the divinity that lies within him and realize that he is powerful in his own way...that Matthew has a mission here on this earth and whether he does 8 or 10 hours of ABA or sees a functional neurologist or cranial osteopath, he will still accomplish that mission.
I believe I am more-than enough if I am trying my best. GIving in to less-than will become a self-fulfilling prophecy and I can't afford that.
So though it is OK to feel how I feel and I'd be lying if I said that I can always see what I believe clearly through the density and intensity of some of those feelings. But I guess I still have the responsibility to rise above it. I know that I am surrounded by people who are cheering me on and that, above all the good advice in the world, sustains me on the hardest days. For now, I think I'll just go to bed and hope that my children take mercy on me tomorrow :-)
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