open brings forth open

As opposed to last year when we deliberately avoided all home school groups, I have joined not one but two this year. (And, we put Little B in Awanas where he has already found a new bestest-kind of buddy!)

One group is a co-op style that meets every Friday except for the first Friday of the month (that day is reserved for field trips). The regular Fridays consist of Art, PE, Health, lunch and a social skills group led by an occupational therapist for a fraction of a fraction of the cost of what I'd find anywhere else. So far, we've been once and Miss C is in love with it and Little B will hopefully warm up a bit more to it. Baby J has his own little group to hang out with as well and so far he's okay. There is one lady I'm not real sure of in there, so we'll see. If it goes south, we'll just move on. And I'm good either way. I'll take it for what it is right now.

The other group is a lovely collection of Christian ladies who come together once a month at some one's home for a mom's time - late evening, snacks, fellowship, prayer, and support. Then they get the kids together for a field trip once a month as well. I went to the mom's group for the first time this week, and I knew one person which is very hard for me. The evening's topic was "grumbling and complaining" - each lady was encouraged to bring a tip, book, suggestion, verse, etc, that could be applied to the grumbles and complaints that arise in a home school setting. I had nothing. Nada. My situation goes so far beyond 'grumbling and complaining' that at first I was uncertain I should have even attended.

I arrived a little late, but that was more of a social time, not the group discussion, so what I really missed was filling out a card that told of an "aha moment" in my homeschooling. When my friend handed me a card, I looked at her, stricken, and said, "I don't know that I have one...we haven't even started really. I've done like three days of school so far!" Her response was that maybe that is what I had to share. The cards had been put into a basket and one person drew them out, read them and had everyone see if they could guess who wrote each one. As they went through the basket of cards, I sat pondering what I could say. I finally went last, winging it.

I want to insert here that I've been reading a book called "Shut up about your perfect kid" by Gina Gallagher & Patricia Konjoian. It's written by two sisters who each have a high needs daughter - one with Asperger's and one with bi-polar disorder. But the book is about coping and adjusting and dealing with the struggles that arise - and it references many other special/high needs, not just these two. One of the premises of what they share is how open they are with the struggles they face in handling their children's needs. They discovered that the more open they were, the more open others were in sharing their struggles as well. And the more open everyone was, the less of a stigma and the more manageable each struggle became. I find it very refreshing, and an easy, humorous read. In many ways, I see struggles so much bigger than my own that I feel reassured, too. One of my favorite stories was when one author was in the grocery store, waiting in a long line at the deli, and someone came up announcing loudly, "Hey! Guess what, I'm bipolar!" - she was secure in her struggle because she knew she had support and those who understood. Precious!

So, back to my story. . .as I pondered what to share, I knew I needed to let my guard down, but also preserve the dignity of my son and the fact that we don't fully understand everything going on with him yet. I weighed this with not wanting the other moms to be afraid of letting their kids play with him. I was glad I was able to speak last. I shared openly about why we started homeschooling, that last year was a pretty good year, that we'd barely schooled this year because the summer has been such an intense one and that our grumbling and complaining went beyond the average - that my son needs professional help (a hard thing to 'fess up to in front of 15 women you've never met!). And my aha moment was that I have the space and grace to adjust what I need how I need to meet his needs: be it curriculum or schedule or something else. It was good (and hard - I loathe the center of attention in groups that size, even when I know them....I was flushed from the effort!). I didn't feel criticized. And later, two different moms came up and were open with me - one specifically about a daughter's struggles and the other just saying that it sounded like we could easily get together and discuss our son's needs. I honestly hardly knew how to respond, but saw the opportunity for so much more in the year to come.

Open brings forth open.
In amazing ways.

13

Today marks 13 years with my love.

My husband and I were chatting this morning (on the phone as he drove....a favorite past time of ours), and he commented that he was sorry that our anniversary fell in the midst of such hard times - namely all the 'stuff' that we've been coping with for the past several months. Honestly, our years have never been simple or easy, peppered heavily with his schooling, deaths in the family (when it would rain, it would pour), and most definitely the struggles of our sweet children - the hardest of things to bear.

But I look back and would not trade a single one of those years. I would not trade the tough times, because they made us stronger; I would not trade the sad times for they made us closer; I would not trade the struggles for they made each achievement sweeter.

I commented on something along those lines, though not so explicitly. And he knew what I meant, agreeing. I then thought back 12 years to our first anniversary. I was going through medical treatment for my endometriosis that put me in a drug-induced menopause - I can tell you here and now I would not trade this year for that year ever. He very quickly agreed as I mentioned it (and yes, we know that true menopause is not so many years away, but we'll take it when it comes, and not a day sooner, thankyouverymuch). Besides, 12 years ago we did not have our sweet little people (who, I have begun noticing, do not stay quite so little....) and life is much richer with them.

I may have had a tough summer and be bracing myself for what could lie ahead - there are many unpredictable turns with Little B's issues and Miss C's allergies and a new baby in the mix - but I love that in the midst of these days I am celebrating 13 years of sharing this life with the man I love so much. I am thankful that our anniversary falls in the midst of it all, for it's a wonderful reminder that tough or not, life is still very good. Very good indeed.

booked

Peace has returned to our home for the most part. Little B is far more himself than he has been in a long time, and I am so glad to have him around again. There are definitely some 'moments' still, but much fewer and farther between. I breathe thanks by the moment to my Lord for this. Truly - I do not say this smart-alecky in the least. It is now a temporary, resolvable issue versus an evolvable (no, not a word, but it sounds good) issue that begins upon waking. I can breathe again.

And my iron levels were low, apparently, which no doubt added to the exhaustion I felt, the depression that rose like bile, and my general inablility to get anything done. I had run out of my preferred prenatal vitamins (from a health food store, IN A CAPSULE so I did not have to taste or smell them) and just never got back to said store to replenish (and meat has been less appetizing than usual, which no doubt contributed). When the glucose test came back normal and the hemoglobin was not, I was on the verge of a lecture from the nurse and she was making sure I had a prescription for my vitamins. I really don't get why your vitamins should come from a pharmacy when you're pregnant. Sheesh. Anyway, my wonderful husband picked some up on his way home from work the next day, and I've been a good little pregnant girl about taking them each night. You're welcome.

I still feel so content in the deep places of my heart from my wonderful trip to the beach - and now we're planning a dessert and coffee night hopefully this weekend. Much smaller scale, but how refreshing to at last have some friends who make the time for this - for all of us, not about me per se.

And, and the heels of my trip, my beach-loving husband jumped all over my idea to go as a family if we could find decent rates. So, we're booked. And not just two or even three nights, but four nights away from home for my deserving family. It's been a few years since we took a vacation and the thrill is running high for everyone. We'll be staying beach-front, so no sand in the van (which is even worse than sand in my swimsuit!). Kites, sandcastles, pool, hotel with a kitchenette, sunscreen galore. . .

For the first time, a vacation on the horizon doesn't feel threatening or stressful - because I had my vacation first. Now, I can help the family have a good time. My husband was gracious enough to actually understand that. Good man, that one. He deserves some sand time, that much I know.

the rest of the week

On Sunday evening John came to pick me up from my friend's home. He parked in the cul-de-sac, van loaded with sleeping children (Little B stayed one last night with my parents), and walked down to get me and my things. As we carried my bags and pillows back to the van a couple of minutes later, there was an incredibly foul odor that met us. We had no idea where it came from, but it appeared to blow away with the windows down for a moment. The relief was short-lived however, as it kept returning. . .

Upon arriving home, my hubby took a flashlight out and looked for dead animal remains - that kind of foul! When no evidence was found, he checked all my fluids and discovered I was out of oil. I am overdue for an oil change, but normally that should not empty it out. My poor van is burning oil, though, so that exasperated the situation. Assuming the odor was a lack of oil, he added what he had on hand (enough to bring it to minimum) and went to bed.

The next day, going to hear Bitsy's heartbeat (she has no name yet), the odor was still going strong. A stop at the mechanic made for a longer day than planned, and they were too busy to see us. One of the kind employees checked it out to make sure I was safe to drive, though. He discovered fur under the exhaust. So it WAS a dead animal! Then, they added another quart or so of oil, free of charge. (And, yes, I was thankful for the odor since that's how we discovered we were out oil.)

Monday finished up late after an allergy-safe food stop (specifically, Whole Foods for multiples of things we can't find anywhere else) and meeting my parents to pick up Little B. One car wash later and we were slightly less offended by the odor coming from my engine.

Tuesday was the big day, though. I took Little B to a new, in-between, psychiatrist. His meds have clearly needed some adjusting, but we were on a cancellation list for the doctor on our insurance plan. After consulting with our pediatrician, the new office, and current psychologist, the choice was made to try someone in the old office where his records are current (the previous doctor is no longer there). Could there be any more people involved in this? Yes, actually - I kept it simple for you here.

So, some changes have been made, a new diagnosis given, the old one thrown away, and this mommy's heart is feeling deeply hopeful that what is probably a placebo effect of knowing he's on meds to help things will transition smoothly into a better-functioning little boy. There is still a part of me that isn't totally throwing out the old diagnosis just yet. The new one makes me very sad, but at the same time it fits so well. We'll follow up next week to see how he's doing. When we see the new doctor (that has a co-pay, not full cost out of pocket), it will be interesting to see how her opinions line up with everything else we're hearing. I can tell you this: the right doctor is crucial. No matter the cost.

beach talk

I am back. And have not stopped feeling like the big pink rabbit that calls itself the Energizer Bunny yet. As soon as I got home, the van had problems (literally, on the way home, but that's for another post), doctors appointments were waiting each day and there were plenty of other things to keep me busy - and only right now have I stopped and remembered that I need to tell you of my trip...

My lovely trip started early on Friday morning - as in we loaded up all the kids to take me to my friend's home before 8am. I was jittery and excited and my wonderful husband could barely keep up with my chatter-box jibber-jabber. My oldest spent a long weekend with my parents and my younger two had some glorious Daddy Days that they are still talking about and savoring.

On the 6-ish hour drive to the ocean I talked to my two friends. But not just talked. I mean poured out my heart and soul like purging drugs from one's body. I was headachey and shaky and felt like I was detoxing from the stress of the past months. I had compassionate ears and loving hearts in these two women, both moms of boys about my son's age. And so I poured and poured and poured out. I do not know how they tolerated it. Yes, I listened as well, and it was conversational, but I did a lot LOT of talking. If they were not such precious Godly women who listened so willingly, I'd have felt bad about it. But they at least acted like they wanted to hear what I desperately needed to talk about. I assure you, there is no human counselor or psychologist or other therapist-type who could begin to meet the need they met for me. They had insights that not all peers could offer, as well.

Once we settled into the 20th floor condo overlooking the pristine ocean, I found time alone in my room to lay across my bed - thinking surely I needed a nap. But no slumber would find me. Instead my eyes slowly leaked tears as I was able find words to speak to my Heavenly Father for the first time in weeks. It was not that I'd been angry at Him, or resisting Him, or ignoring Him. Quite the contrary. I needed Him desperately and knew it. I have just not had words that I could utter. I needed the Spirit to intercede for me. My eyes would glaze over when I would open my Bible. My world was so insanely complicated I was lost. I could hear my mom pray on the phone with me and I'd weep in pain for my son's needs and a longing to help him and fix whatever was wrong, but no words could fall from my mouth.

I intended to take my Bible with me on this trip, but I forgot. And honestly, I just loved being still and knowing God in those moments, rather than trying to play catch-up on months of reading. He came to me, He met me, He had been with me all along - which I knew - but I felt His presence so closely it ached.

We ate a ritzy restaurant that first night, created to feel like a balcony setting with outdoor lights and phenomenal food. The kind of place you might see the President at (apparently, he ate there once). And then we sat up very, very late and talked girl talk and laughed ourselves silly before succumbing to the sleep that was grabbing at us.

The next morning, we took our lazy time with breakfast and coffee and getting ready for the beach. Then we sat before the vast ocean, collected shells, talked, avoided jelly-fish, and talked some more (they swam or jogged, I waded in a tiny bit, but I'm not an ocean-lover, just a feet-digging-into-sand-while-watching-the-ocean-lover). We left the chairs and umbrellas while going inside for some lunch then meandered back out when we were ready, doing more of the same. After we'd had our fill, we took our time cleaning up, chatting, and getting ready to head out for souvenirs and dinner (I absolutely had to find fun things for my kids). King Crab was the theme of the night, which had been my pick since I never get crab any more. It takes too long to finish while the kids are sitting by waiting impatiently. Another late night with silly talk and serious talk and droopy eyelids followed.

Sunday morning we slept in (mostly me), cleaned up the condo, had some Starbucks, and did the rest of the souvenir shopping before heading home. Decadent is all I can say. I succeeded in getting the requisite souvenir shirts, sharks tooth/sea shell necklaces, ball cap for the hubby, and some changes-colors-in-the-sunlight fun stuff for the kids (rings, key chains, nail polish). I even saw some amazing prices at the hotels down that same strip and we're going to check the budget to see if we can swing a few day at the beach with the kids soon.

We arrived home drowsy and content - the kids were asleep and I could barely unpack my bag. Another day would have been heavenly, but it was nice be with my husband, kiss my the faces of my sweet kids and sleep in my own bed.

I have felt hopeful this week - crazy busy and longing/looking for the right help for my son, but hopeful for the first time, not just beaten down with endlessly trying. I think we're on the road to some answers, though it will still take a bit of time to be sure it's the right road. In the meantime, I'm ready to keep trying rather than throw in the towel.

all about moi

After reading a friend's post about her in-laws taking her kids for a night, I was pondering how I could get away from MY kids overnight.  Baby J is not quite ready to be left with someone other than us, so it limits the options a lot – and means I can't have a night "alone" with my husband.  I daydreamed for a bit about going away with a friend for a night or two, but promptly dismissed such thoughts because I can't afford a hotel plus food for two or three days.

 
 

A mere few hours later, my waiting room friend and I were chatting on the phone. Her son receives physical and speech therapy several times a week among other routine things as he had a brain tumor that left him with many deficiencies. Beneath the outward disabilities, he is so smart and warm and friendly. It's hard to imagine watching your son deteriorate and then struggle to relearn the very basics in life, but that is exactly what this friend has gone through since we met.  Needless to say, there are plenty of heartaches and pity parties available, and she and I make good sounding boards for each other. On this particular day, she had called to tell me that she wanted to invite me and two other friends to her condo at the beach in Panama City for a weekend away fairly soon.  I could barely contain myself waiting for John to get home and hear his reaction…and had to force myself not to interrupt his work day with it. Once he as home and I spilled my hopefulness onto the table, he promised to find a way to work it out - that I needed to go.  How thankful I am for a husband who sees this need right now!

 
 

So, a week from tomorrow I'm headed to the beach.

Without kids.

For two nights.

With 2 or 3 nice ladies for company.

Costing me only some of my meals and pitching in for gas.

I plan to make some large batches of normaly, yummy, NOT-allergy-friendly cookies to take along and share with everyone.

And there will be plenty for me to overindulge in. Freely.

 

(And I desparately hope nothing messes this up now that I've told people about it….because, well….I WANNA GO!!)

and we're having a . . .

Yesterday marked the halfway point in my pregnancy, though we all know this baby IS showing up before the 40 week mark. So, I suppose I'm beyond the halfway point now. Which works just fine for me. Although someone did think I was 7 months along over the weekend....!

And today was that ultrasound that gives it all away: we're having another girl!