MOVIE REVIEW: CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION!
We took our kids to see "Despicable Me". It was a great movie: funny, great cinematography, quick wit, adorable. Steve Carrell is the voice of the main character so you know it's good for many belly laughs. However, if you have children that are recently or late in life adopted, this movie may be a trigger.
The story line includes a single man adopting three orphaned girls so he can use them to fulfill his evil plans. The orphanage caretaker is a surly, demanding woman that punishes the children by putting them in "the shame box" During the climatic point of the movie, the evil character-turned good guy sends the girls back to the orphanage (against his wishes, but it's still a disruption). The orphanage caretaker makes the girls sit in the shame box because they're returned! The end is happy and endearing, heart warming, tear jerking, etc. Really, despite the premise, it's super cute. However, it could definitely be a trigger for traumatized children so be careful! I would NOT recommend it for families that have newly adopted children, have severe attachment issues or that have little girls that were abused by a male figure.
which is a large portion of the adoption population but whatever. Disney doesn't ever consider the psychology of these stories and how they'll impact the adoption community, they care only about the revenues.
BOOK REVIEW: BUY IT BUY IT BUY IT
If you haven't purchased Claudia's (Never a Dull Moment) book you need to. It is an excellent account of how they navigated the foster care system and secured permanent placement for their 12 children. It will inspire you do go and do likewise. Plus, the proceeds will help benefit their family. Who doesn't like to help our fellow RAD moms?
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Progress Notes
When we saw the pdoc last Monday, he added a smidge to Sissy's lamictal and told us to stagger when she doses it 50/50 morning/evening. Since this is the week we anticipated her rage, and she has yet to launch the typical diatribe, I think this is a good med mix.
Could it be? After nearly five years of juggling meds, have we finally worked out a cocktail that is keeping Sissy stable? Of course you know, I'm holding my breath and am jumpy, edgy, anxious. I'm so used to the highs and lows, the moodiness followed by rage, the rare pleasant moments that it is really hard to hope that we have made progress finally. And just as Sissy is entering puberty, that is to say, it might be a good med mix for today but toss in estrogen spikes every four weeks and it's anybody's guess.
In other words, Sissy is doing really well and it scares me just as much as it amazes me.
Last night just she and I were in the pool (that is now only 2 feet deep because water keeps pouring over the listing side). We bobbed and talked and giggled and then WHAM, it hit me this is one of those mother/daughter moments I've always dreamed about having with Sissy and I'm having it. RIGHT NOW! Amazing.
This morning she let me do her hair up in a pretty style. She didn't rage. She didn't scream. She didn't mutter that she hated it. She looked in the mirror, asked for one minor adjustment and then left it alone! WHAT!? I made her hair pretty and she didn't RADify it?!? Amazing.
Then as I dropped her off at camp, one of the little girls came up and hugged me. "I guess you're one of Sissy's friends?" I said to her.
She giggled and said, "Yup!"
Sissy has made a friend?!? And this child is friending her back, happily?!? Amazing.
Sissy didn't bad mouth me to this child so this child thought I was safe to hug?!? AMAZING.
amazing, amazing, amazing.
Still, I'm holding my breath. I'm not going to breathe until Sissy makes it through a rage cycle without raging. Then I'll begin to accept that this is possible, that Sissy can actually be working toward healing. That we are on the road to progress. I wonder if this is how Mommy's feel when the doctors tell them their child's cancer is in remission?
Ya'll, no matter what happens with Sissy's progress, this has been a horrible, long, exhausting, difficult, heartbreaking, miserable, life-changing two years of crisis with Sissy. It's going to take us all a long time to recover, for the last ebbs of PTSD to fade away, for our family to settle into what just might be a new norm. But there is hope. Really, there is.
Could it be? After nearly five years of juggling meds, have we finally worked out a cocktail that is keeping Sissy stable? Of course you know, I'm holding my breath and am jumpy, edgy, anxious. I'm so used to the highs and lows, the moodiness followed by rage, the rare pleasant moments that it is really hard to hope that we have made progress finally. And just as Sissy is entering puberty, that is to say, it might be a good med mix for today but toss in estrogen spikes every four weeks and it's anybody's guess.
In other words, Sissy is doing really well and it scares me just as much as it amazes me.
Last night just she and I were in the pool (that is now only 2 feet deep because water keeps pouring over the listing side). We bobbed and talked and giggled and then WHAM, it hit me this is one of those mother/daughter moments I've always dreamed about having with Sissy and I'm having it. RIGHT NOW! Amazing.
This morning she let me do her hair up in a pretty style. She didn't rage. She didn't scream. She didn't mutter that she hated it. She looked in the mirror, asked for one minor adjustment and then left it alone! WHAT!? I made her hair pretty and she didn't RADify it?!? Amazing.
Then as I dropped her off at camp, one of the little girls came up and hugged me. "I guess you're one of Sissy's friends?" I said to her.
She giggled and said, "Yup!"
Sissy has made a friend?!? And this child is friending her back, happily?!? Amazing.
Sissy didn't bad mouth me to this child so this child thought I was safe to hug?!? AMAZING.
amazing, amazing, amazing.
Still, I'm holding my breath. I'm not going to breathe until Sissy makes it through a rage cycle without raging. Then I'll begin to accept that this is possible, that Sissy can actually be working toward healing. That we are on the road to progress. I wonder if this is how Mommy's feel when the doctors tell them their child's cancer is in remission?
Ya'll, no matter what happens with Sissy's progress, this has been a horrible, long, exhausting, difficult, heartbreaking, miserable, life-changing two years of crisis with Sissy. It's going to take us all a long time to recover, for the last ebbs of PTSD to fade away, for our family to settle into what just might be a new norm. But there is hope. Really, there is.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Owning it
Day two of day camp for Sissy, WG is at Grandma's in the country (really, that's what they call her: grandma in the country) and it was just me and AB back to to the "brace place". AB got his fifth pair of ankle-foot orthotics (AFOs) to help deter his toe-walking.
AB's developmental specialist has gone to bat for us, waging war with insurance that would really rather not cough up the $1800 annually for the fitting, new orthoses, socks and shoes. But she has seen patients into adulthood and has been increasingly alarmed and discouraged by the arthritis in the knees, hips and backs of the toe-walkers that didn't stay in orthotics. Not to mention the fact that it would take AB all of twelve months of toe walking before it would begin to shorten his hamstrings and calf muscles to the extent of needing interventions. Serious interventions. Read: surgery.
Thus, as the prescription said, "AFOs articulating plus shoes for prevention, not correction" because the truth is, AB will always toe walk. It's not a CP issue, it's an autistic thing.
AB was excited which means he was all over the map, mood and attention wise. He tends to talk faster with more speech impairments, move quickly and do odd behaviors that he wouldn't do normally (he began loudly demanding that I purchase a colored pencil like the one the tech used to mark the AFOs for sanding). As he was doing his crazy I'm excited, freaked and worried all at once thing, I thought to myself GOSH! He's a lot of work! and then WHAM. It hit me. I took him without Sissy or WG and I was still saying he was work.
I let my mind run with it and I began to realize just how much work Sissy is. She's a lot of work. I didn't know how much she was stealing from me until she wasn't taking it.
She takes a lot.
Oh, and I still have AB, who is tough all by himself.
And WG who just wants to be a normal kid.
Right. It's helpful to stand back and get a clear idea of what I do everyday, to evaluate the situation, sum it up and ACKNOWLEDGE that it's a butt load of work. Own it. Wear it. Digest it. Admit it. Sissy steals from me because she doesn't return anything valuable in the parent-child relationship. AB takes from me because he needs so much. WG replaces a lot of it because it's who she is and since she's not here, I'm realizing just how much she contributes. She's pretty amazing and I need to tell her more often.
I'll take pics of the new AFOs when WG returns. We sent her off with the camera. yes, we only have one camera. Yes, I put it in the care of a six year old.
AB's developmental specialist has gone to bat for us, waging war with insurance that would really rather not cough up the $1800 annually for the fitting, new orthoses, socks and shoes. But she has seen patients into adulthood and has been increasingly alarmed and discouraged by the arthritis in the knees, hips and backs of the toe-walkers that didn't stay in orthotics. Not to mention the fact that it would take AB all of twelve months of toe walking before it would begin to shorten his hamstrings and calf muscles to the extent of needing interventions. Serious interventions. Read: surgery.
Thus, as the prescription said, "AFOs articulating plus shoes for prevention, not correction" because the truth is, AB will always toe walk. It's not a CP issue, it's an autistic thing.
AB was excited which means he was all over the map, mood and attention wise. He tends to talk faster with more speech impairments, move quickly and do odd behaviors that he wouldn't do normally (he began loudly demanding that I purchase a colored pencil like the one the tech used to mark the AFOs for sanding). As he was doing his crazy I'm excited, freaked and worried all at once thing, I thought to myself GOSH! He's a lot of work! and then WHAM. It hit me. I took him without Sissy or WG and I was still saying he was work.
I let my mind run with it and I began to realize just how much work Sissy is. She's a lot of work. I didn't know how much she was stealing from me until she wasn't taking it.
She takes a lot.
Oh, and I still have AB, who is tough all by himself.
And WG who just wants to be a normal kid.
Right. It's helpful to stand back and get a clear idea of what I do everyday, to evaluate the situation, sum it up and ACKNOWLEDGE that it's a butt load of work. Own it. Wear it. Digest it. Admit it. Sissy steals from me because she doesn't return anything valuable in the parent-child relationship. AB takes from me because he needs so much. WG replaces a lot of it because it's who she is and since she's not here, I'm realizing just how much she contributes. She's pretty amazing and I need to tell her more often.
I'll take pics of the new AFOs when WG returns. We sent her off with the camera. yes, we only have one camera. Yes, I put it in the care of a six year old.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I have Cubans in my backyard!
I wrote a post about a month and a half ago reminding Moms to put themselves first, to take care of themselves and to make a list of the top ten things they like to do that's just for them.
Well, I forgot to mention one that I utterly enjoy.
It is my belief that the pair of ruby-throated hummingbirds we had last year has returned. These two seem to be nesting in the same tree. Last year they had two babies that made it to adulthood which was amazingly good fun watching the babies fly to the feeder and back to the nest, getting bigger by the day. These drink from the feeder at the kitchen window so I am greeted every morning and evening while I prepare meals. And occasionally, if I am neglectful and let the feeder get to low, they hover and glare at me from the other side of the glass. Which is hoot!
This year I hung a feeder in the backyard from one of the many pines (another thing the dang trees are good for) and hoped I'd get another pair. But what I hadn't anticipated is that I'd get a different species. I kept looking and saying to myself, my, that female is large and gosh, her coloring is different but it's not a female. In my best estimation and casual research (an hour on the internet and three books later), I believe it to be a male Cuban Emerald. And how can I be so certain?
This morning the kids and I ate breakfast on the back porch because it was so cool. We have an eye-line view of the feeder and while we ate, the chattering and flitting of the dueling hummingbirds began. The conquest was a sip from the feeder. We giggled and oooed and ahhhed over them as they swooped and dived and heckled one another. Finally, one of the birds won the battle and perched on the feeder. This one was taller, stouter with a back that was bronze-gold with black wings that had a blunted end. I about choked on my banana. "A female Cuban! I knew it!!!' And the kids thought I'd gone batty as did the dogs.
The research on the internet shows different colored Cuban females than the texts I've read and technically, we're too far north for Cubans but it's been mighty hot here, so hot my tomato blossoms have been aborting! ugh. The unusual climate patterns we've had the past few years may have driven them further north than they are reported to be seen. It's no uncommon for bird species to adapt quickly (so says the former biology teacher). That said, owing to the fact that I'm no ornithologist, I've only done an amateur review and that this website says Cubans don't live in my state, with trepidation I am happy to report that
I think we might also have a pair of some broad-tailed but they fly so fast it's hard to distinguish them from the ruby-throat and besides, I know I've never seen the female broad-tail.
Still, isn't that fun? Last year we captured some snapshots of the birds at the feeder and when you scroll through the photos quickly, it looks like a stop animation film of the birds in flight. *snicker*
[edit] wow! i went back to the website I listed above and read the FAQ:
Q:
Can I tell how many hummers I have by the amount of syrup they consume?
A: Not precisely, because you can't know what they're eating elsewhere, but you can make a reasonable estimate. One study suggests 1000 birds per gallon consumed daily. Or count the highest number of birds on your feeders at one time, then multiply by 6.
That means, I have somewhere between 12 and 18 hummers coming to my feeders! WOW!
It's the simple pleasures in life. What's yours?
Well, I forgot to mention one that I utterly enjoy.
HUMMINGBIRDS!!!
It is my belief that the pair of ruby-throated hummingbirds we had last year has returned. These two seem to be nesting in the same tree. Last year they had two babies that made it to adulthood which was amazingly good fun watching the babies fly to the feeder and back to the nest, getting bigger by the day. These drink from the feeder at the kitchen window so I am greeted every morning and evening while I prepare meals. And occasionally, if I am neglectful and let the feeder get to low, they hover and glare at me from the other side of the glass. Which is hoot!
This year I hung a feeder in the backyard from one of the many pines (another thing the dang trees are good for) and hoped I'd get another pair. But what I hadn't anticipated is that I'd get a different species. I kept looking and saying to myself, my, that female is large and gosh, her coloring is different but it's not a female. In my best estimation and casual research (an hour on the internet and three books later), I believe it to be a male Cuban Emerald. And how can I be so certain?
This morning the kids and I ate breakfast on the back porch because it was so cool. We have an eye-line view of the feeder and while we ate, the chattering and flitting of the dueling hummingbirds began. The conquest was a sip from the feeder. We giggled and oooed and ahhhed over them as they swooped and dived and heckled one another. Finally, one of the birds won the battle and perched on the feeder. This one was taller, stouter with a back that was bronze-gold with black wings that had a blunted end. I about choked on my banana. "A female Cuban! I knew it!!!' And the kids thought I'd gone batty as did the dogs.
The research on the internet shows different colored Cuban females than the texts I've read and technically, we're too far north for Cubans but it's been mighty hot here, so hot my tomato blossoms have been aborting! ugh. The unusual climate patterns we've had the past few years may have driven them further north than they are reported to be seen. It's no uncommon for bird species to adapt quickly (so says the former biology teacher). That said, owing to the fact that I'm no ornithologist, I've only done an amateur review and that this website says Cubans don't live in my state, with trepidation I am happy to report that
I have Cubans in my backyard!
I think we might also have a pair of some broad-tailed but they fly so fast it's hard to distinguish them from the ruby-throat and besides, I know I've never seen the female broad-tail.
Still, isn't that fun? Last year we captured some snapshots of the birds at the feeder and when you scroll through the photos quickly, it looks like a stop animation film of the birds in flight. *snicker*
[edit] wow! i went back to the website I listed above and read the FAQ:
Q:
Can I tell how many hummers I have by the amount of syrup they consume?
A: Not precisely, because you can't know what they're eating elsewhere, but you can make a reasonable estimate. One study suggests 1000 birds per gallon consumed daily. Or count the highest number of birds on your feeders at one time, then multiply by 6.
That means, I have somewhere between 12 and 18 hummers coming to my feeders! WOW!
It's the simple pleasures in life. What's yours?
Monday, July 5, 2010
Peace in Puzzles
I've stopped being frustrated with my loblolly pines and have decided to put them to good use. Two loads of laundry, one personal and one business (shop towels) can be hung neatly in the summer sun to dry in a third of the time, eliminating heat from the dryer in the 83 degree house despite the AC, all compliments of the 125 feet of line strung among my pines.
Life is going to give us lemons, it's an inevitability. The issue becomes not how to eliminate them but how to manage those lemons. Instead of perceiving their sourness as something to begrudge, it behooves us to uncover the opportunities they might present to us. Will we let the lemons sour us in like kind or will we rise to the occasion and uncover a mystery about them? We might get angry about the way a lemon burns an open wound but we could also be glad it is a natural astringent, killing the bacteria and protecting us from infection.
This quest for peace when life is a puzzle, isn't easy. It requires staying tuned in to the bigger picture while we fuss over the infinite, sometimes microscopic details that become the compilation of the grand design. It demands that we put our whole selves: our desires, our passions, our grief, our pain, our suffering, our love, our joy and our hope, into something other than ourselves. Without a surrendering of all that we are to this puzzling life, we will never find peace in the grand design, we will never look at our mountain of lemons and see a refreshing glass of lemonade on a hot summer's day.
The other difficult lesson on this journey for peace despite the pain, is patience. A beautiful quilt is never finished in short order. The patterns are painstakingly fussed over, the pieces precision cut and sewn together, the quilting done stitch by stitch for hours on end.
thanks Bren, still quilting
After all the labor and love, a finished quilt might still be a ruined quilt. If the process of choosing the fabric: prints, layout, and colors, was not done with patience, if the bigger picture of the finished design was not considered in this process, it will be for naught. The quilt will be a garish blur of mottled colors and shapes, making the viewer nauseated and dizzy. All for the want of patience and an understanding of the grand design.
Some days I just want to scream, I want to gnash my teeth, I want to punch walls and break things. I want to do something physical because inside, I hurt so intensely that words seem ridiculously empty in my attempt to say it. "GOD! This life hurts!" I did all the right things, I was a "good girl" that obeyed and respected and strove for the straight and narrow when I was often surrounded by others that didn't give a rip about right and wrong. I looked up at the wondrous cross and said to myself that I wouldn't let the blood of Christ be shed in vain for me. I vowed that every step I took on this earth would be for His glory. And yet I met the face of pain. All those prosperity teachings and Jabez prayers and ten-fold returns for my faithful tithing? Boy howdy, how I want to punch the crap out of all that nonsense! I just want to make it through another day without crying! I want to go to sleep at night knowing I'm loved more than I'm hated. I want the fruits of the Spirit to be poured out on me with the same measure I pour them out on others. I've had to make peace with the fact that what I want in this life, matters little.
I speak to my readers, my friends, my family. If you are caught up in your pain, if peace is miles away from your grasp, if the puzzle you're trying to assemble seems impossible, then perhaps you have forgotten to look at the complete picture. All the pieces fit together, it just might not be in the way you want it to. It might not even create the picture you think you're working on. Instead of fighting against the inevitable, instead of throwing lemons in anger, pain and despair, find the missed opportunities, dig deeper inside yourself and look harder at the pieces in your hand to find your peace. I'm right with you, sorting through my own pile of pieces, desperately clinging to the peace I've finally found, laughing in joy and sipping my half-full glass of lemonade.
There can be peace in these puzzles, if only you will look for it. I love you.
Life is going to give us lemons, it's an inevitability. The issue becomes not how to eliminate them but how to manage those lemons. Instead of perceiving their sourness as something to begrudge, it behooves us to uncover the opportunities they might present to us. Will we let the lemons sour us in like kind or will we rise to the occasion and uncover a mystery about them? We might get angry about the way a lemon burns an open wound but we could also be glad it is a natural astringent, killing the bacteria and protecting us from infection.
This quest for peace when life is a puzzle, isn't easy. It requires staying tuned in to the bigger picture while we fuss over the infinite, sometimes microscopic details that become the compilation of the grand design. It demands that we put our whole selves: our desires, our passions, our grief, our pain, our suffering, our love, our joy and our hope, into something other than ourselves. Without a surrendering of all that we are to this puzzling life, we will never find peace in the grand design, we will never look at our mountain of lemons and see a refreshing glass of lemonade on a hot summer's day.
The other difficult lesson on this journey for peace despite the pain, is patience. A beautiful quilt is never finished in short order. The patterns are painstakingly fussed over, the pieces precision cut and sewn together, the quilting done stitch by stitch for hours on end.
After all the labor and love, a finished quilt might still be a ruined quilt. If the process of choosing the fabric: prints, layout, and colors, was not done with patience, if the bigger picture of the finished design was not considered in this process, it will be for naught. The quilt will be a garish blur of mottled colors and shapes, making the viewer nauseated and dizzy. All for the want of patience and an understanding of the grand design.
Some days I just want to scream, I want to gnash my teeth, I want to punch walls and break things. I want to do something physical because inside, I hurt so intensely that words seem ridiculously empty in my attempt to say it. "GOD! This life hurts!" I did all the right things, I was a "good girl" that obeyed and respected and strove for the straight and narrow when I was often surrounded by others that didn't give a rip about right and wrong. I looked up at the wondrous cross and said to myself that I wouldn't let the blood of Christ be shed in vain for me. I vowed that every step I took on this earth would be for His glory. And yet I met the face of pain. All those prosperity teachings and Jabez prayers and ten-fold returns for my faithful tithing? Boy howdy, how I want to punch the crap out of all that nonsense! I just want to make it through another day without crying! I want to go to sleep at night knowing I'm loved more than I'm hated. I want the fruits of the Spirit to be poured out on me with the same measure I pour them out on others. I've had to make peace with the fact that what I want in this life, matters little.
I speak to my readers, my friends, my family. If you are caught up in your pain, if peace is miles away from your grasp, if the puzzle you're trying to assemble seems impossible, then perhaps you have forgotten to look at the complete picture. All the pieces fit together, it just might not be in the way you want it to. It might not even create the picture you think you're working on. Instead of fighting against the inevitable, instead of throwing lemons in anger, pain and despair, find the missed opportunities, dig deeper inside yourself and look harder at the pieces in your hand to find your peace. I'm right with you, sorting through my own pile of pieces, desperately clinging to the peace I've finally found, laughing in joy and sipping my half-full glass of lemonade.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
No apologies offered here
Faith Makes things possible said the following in her fourth of July post:
I couldn't say it better so I'm just going to let her say it for me.
We shoot off fireworks in the street of our neighborhood and then invite our other special needs family friends over to join us. We've done this for many years. It's what works for our kids. It means no toilet issues (because gosh, my kids have toilet issues), it means no crowds (because my kids can't do crowds), it means AC and TV is available just by going inside, it means access to food on the kitchen table, it means unlimited beverages with ice, it means no 45 traffic backlogs. It means items of comfort like stuffed toys, bubbles, MP3 players and pillows and blankies. It means no paybacks for the next two days.
All of that translates into: an enjoyable holiday for Mom and Dad that doesn't cost us more than we bargained for.
This is how my family has to celebrate because this is how my family is. Sometimes I miss seeing the big displays. Sometimes I miss being able to do more with more people. I don't miss those things for long, I've learned that this is just as much fun in its own unique way. I won't apologize for it anymore.
We keep our celebrations pretty low key on purpose. Too much action then we get too much aftermath. Those of you with kids who have special needs know what I'm talking about. We learned the hard way. It can take days to recover from a day of too much excitement. I'm all for prevention.
I couldn't say it better so I'm just going to let her say it for me.
We shoot off fireworks in the street of our neighborhood and then invite our other special needs family friends over to join us. We've done this for many years. It's what works for our kids. It means no toilet issues (because gosh, my kids have toilet issues), it means no crowds (because my kids can't do crowds), it means AC and TV is available just by going inside, it means access to food on the kitchen table, it means unlimited beverages with ice, it means no 45 traffic backlogs. It means items of comfort like stuffed toys, bubbles, MP3 players and pillows and blankies. It means no paybacks for the next two days.
All of that translates into: an enjoyable holiday for Mom and Dad that doesn't cost us more than we bargained for.
This is how my family has to celebrate because this is how my family is. Sometimes I miss seeing the big displays. Sometimes I miss being able to do more with more people. I don't miss those things for long, I've learned that this is just as much fun in its own unique way. I won't apologize for it anymore.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Bright, Shining Gift from God
My high school senior yearbook has a section next to the photo that asks, Future plans?. In my obnoxious, naive youth, I wrote "Become a doctor, get married, have lots of little boys and live happily ever after." It's laughable now but at the time, that's really what I wanted, although even then, I knew the "happily ever after" part was absurd. The truly telling part of those plans was the little boys I was pining for. I'm one of five girls, I never wanted to parent estrogen-laden humans because I lived in a cesspool of estrogen my whole childhood. Boys. Lots of them. A baseball team's worth of testosterone. That was what I mostly pinned for.
Oh, but for my polycystic ovaries that won't put out eggs on cue. For all my estrogen, my body never did figure out how to make things work correctly. Alas, a house full of leggy, wrestling, lamp-knocking-over, table-breaking, short-stopping or first-basing, loud, ravenous, XY chromosome-laden humans has never been a reality for me. Truth? I cried when we learned WG was going to be another girl. Sissy was all the girl one lifetime could manage.
Tracing back to Sissy's adoption story, Aspie Boy's story quietly and unexpectedly unfolded. In July 2000, Sissy was 7 months old and living with birthmom, my friend died of breast cancer, my dog died the same week and my OB/GYN called and said that without evasive procedures, pregnancy wouldn't be possible. We got our dog Hope and we tried to pick up the pieces. At the end of that month, I woke up with a start in the middle of the night. There haven't been many times in my faith in which I felt like I was truly hearing the voice of God but this was definitely one of those moments.
"Write this down!" I thought to hear the Spirit say. I scrambled for a pen and paper and immediately, I heard a boy's name. I wrote down the name, vowed to look up the meaning in the morning and went back to sleep.
The next day I looked up the name. It means, "Gift from God". My sister was pregnant at the time so I thought perhaps the name was for her. I picked up the phone to call her and tell her the name but instead of suggesting it for the child she carried, I surprised myself and said, "Please don't use this name if your baby is a boy! I think it's a name I'm supposed to use!" I startled myself as the words came out of my mouth because I knew I wanted to adopt Sissy but at the time, I had no idea that birthmom was four months pregnant.
By December, Sissy was in our home and birthmom had asked us to take her unborn child. She hadn't gone to prenatal appointments so she did not know the sex of the baby, she knew only that she did not want it. In fact, she was painfully blunt about how much she did not want the child she carried. A week after we agreed to adopt that baby too, she had a sonogram and told us it was a boy. Finally. FINALLY! I was going to get a son, a complete surprise, truly a gift from God. The Dad bears a family name, the meaning of which is "bright, shining". A first son should be named after his father, yes? YES! Aspie Boy truly is a Bright, shining Gift from God.
Birthmom couldn't wait for his birth, she was that adamant about not wanting him. She complained and fussed and even tried walking ten miles in freezing weather to make her labor come. Her due date, which was also her birthday, was a full moon. She labored so fast she hardly had time to get to the hospital. At 2 am, our phone rang, his grandmother calling to say he'd been born but all I could hear was the beautiful sound of AB screaming! By the time we got to the hospital later that morning, it was snowing, a rare occurrence for our state. I just considered it one more gift.
AB's adoption was easy in the sense that birthmom waived her rights before she left the hospital. It took all of four months to finalize it. In retrospect, despite the challenges birthmom gave us over the girls' adoptions, I wish she'd been as sorry to part with AB. It pains me that she felt so little connection with him because he is so precious.
Looking back on AB's development, I recognize and readily tell his doctors about his delays that were immediately obvious. But when I was in the moment with him, I was so overjoyed to finally be holding a son, I didn't notice. Pick a developmental problem. AB has it. I remember him being six months old, no longer able to take naps, laying on his back in his crib humming in echolalia fashion to his hands which he waved in front of his face. Dead ringer for autistic behaviors but in that moment as I spied on him to make sure he was safe, all I thought was that's my son! right there, in that crib. Those arms, those legs, that humming is coming from MY son! my little gift from God
At 20 months old when he still wasn't walking, I began to be honest about his impairments. By four, we were headlong in the diagnosis process which came to a conclusion this past spring with the genetics results. It's all white noise to me. None of that changes the fact that he's mine.
He kisses me in funny ways, tackles me with hugs, cries, paces, rocks, stims, talks incessantly in mottled speech, wears ankle foot orthotics for his chronic toe walking, has an IEP but passed all of the CRCT, draws amazing pictures for hours on end, stays awake many nights making up stories or panicking about perceived shadows in the hallway or cockroaches on the floor, and irritatingly recites five word phrases from commercials in the exact tone as the announcer, over and over and over until we beg him to stop. In short, he's perfect.
Right now, my little man is struggling. His moods are all over the map, he's angry one second and in tears the next. He's demanding lots of sensory input. His therapist is unsure what to do as am I. I think Sissy's ongoing crisis is taking its toll on him and I'm powerless to stop it. Last week I went to his room while he slept and I laid down next to him.
I was struck by the truth that my heart aches for him in his despair but not for Sissy. Somehow, in all the nauseating convolutions of RADs, I've put emotional distance between Sissy and I when it comes to her mental illness but not so for AB. Perhaps it's the simple fact that despite his very difficult impairments, he still returns something in the parent-child relationship. With AB, it's a two way street, with Sissy, it's a dead end. I cried. I cried because my little man is struggling so much right now and I don't know how to help him. I cried because he loves unconditionally. I cried because I can't bridge that gap with Sissy. I cried because I feel like a horrible parent for being able to see past AB's impairments to the little boy that loves me but I can't do the same for Sissy. I cried because I don't know how to get there with her. I cried because I don't know if I want to try any more. I cried because it is easy for me to pray and ask God for help for AB but when I pray about Sissy, that's not quite how those prayers go. And I cried because I think it is because of Sissy that my little man hurts so bad.
Next week Sissy will be in day camp and WG will be at grandma's. It's just me and AB all day and on Wednesday we get to pick up his new AFOs. I hope this break from his sisters gets him the respite he desperately needs. I hope the unlimited mom/son time will fill his soul to overflowing. I for one, am filled to overflowing with just ten minutes of his laughter.
What is it about sons that makes the maternal relationship so different? What do they give mothers that daughters can't give? I've never been able to pin it down but my son, my special little man, he just makes my heart burst to overflowing so much that it literally makes my heart ache. Don't get me wrong, his impairments make him very challenging and I lose my cool a lot but mostly, I love my son, my one and only, such an amazing little guy. I can't possibly comprehend why anyone would ever not love him too. He's perfect for the simple fact that he's mine. He likes it when I tell him that I wanted a house full of little boys to love but instead God gave me one little boy that needed all the love of a house full of boys. No matter what he does, no matter what the doctors say, he is and always will be, my bright, shining gift from God.
Wearing a weighted vest to help curb his sensory issues
one of AB's amazing pictures
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