Thursday, January 17, 2013

Mommy Proof #22: When there is something that needs to be said, say it.

Dear son of mine,

I see you struggling. I recognize that you are trying. I know that you wish you could be finished your homework. I can tell you are frustrated. No, my dear, you are not stupid. You are not dumb. Those are not words that should be in your vocabulary. I know these things. Let me tell you why...

Stupid people accept when someone tells them that there is a limitation and they don't try to surpass that limitation. They believe that when someone tells them they are dumb, that they are. But you don't do that, my dear, you don't believe that. Do you? Dumb people do not think for themselves. You do. Dumb people follow the crowd. Some people will hear the term "developmentally delayed" and they may use that as an excuse to call you dumb. They may try to act as if you can't learn. Don't be one of those people.  You laugh it off. You show them what you can do, because you are just that awesome. The letters they diagnosed you with are just that...letters. Those  letters, APD, do not have to define you.  APD does not know you as I do. Those letters cover a huge array of things, not all of which describe some of the troubles you  have. You are much bigger than those letters. You are my SON.

APD has never made me laugh. It made me weep. It temporarily cut down my excitement in the future. It made me question what joy was left for your life. But not my SON, unlike APD, you dried my tears. You awakened the next morning full of excitement for school, for the day, for life. You taught me how to enjoy life. APD made me wonder if you would ever do what other kids your age can do. But not you, not my SON, you made me see that you could do what they could do...and more. I showed you how to tie your shoe, just once, and you did it. You repeated what I said and did it step by step. You showed me that you could do it and you would learn to do it. APD kept me up at night pondering what the next step should be. But not my SON, you woke up the next morning and asked me to help you write your letters, then you copied them. Even though it was hard, you tried, you succeeded, and you hugged me tight when you did. You are awesome. You are amazing. You make me laugh. You teach me every day. You taught me how to hope. APD has nothing on you, my SON.

Love,

MOM

Dear teachers, doctors, therapists....to whom it may concern,

I am sure you came across my son's records, IEP, previous doctor's notes, vague diagnosis, and other information that is needed to help my son. I know that you, too, have marveled at how his mind works and how is brain makes connections. There is just something I need you to remember. He is, first and foremost, a little boy. My little boy. There are very few things you can tell me about him that I do not already know. Please, don't pacify me and tell me he can be helped. I know that. For years, I begged someone to listen. I pleaded for anyone to see what I saw. Instead, I want you to tell me how to help him. 

I am amazed that he writes his letters and words upside down and backwards. Sometimes, I wonder just what the world looks like to him. When he climbs onto the playground equipment and hangs upside down, is the world suddenly right side up? Is that the moment when everything is clear to him? Is that the second that he understands? Is that why he runs, flips, and jumps to every destination? Is he just trying to keep up with what it feels like the world is throwing at him with each step he takes? There are questions that I wonder if I will ever have answered.

I am tired of acronyms. These letters mean nothing to me: APD, IUGR, IEP, ETC I don't see those letters when I look at him. I just see my SON. Remember when you speak to me, please, that I am not only his advocate. I am his mother. Clinically, you can throw all of the diagnoses, treatments, and information that you can find, but all I really want to hear is a success story, a guarantee, and a cure. I want my baby to be okay. To be just fine. To catch up. To thrive. To learn. To succeed. Remember when you are speaking of APD and figuring out just how his little brain works, that the child in the charts is still my son. Not a case number, but my baby. Take the time out to get to know him. Forget the information, the professional assessments, you will learn more by talking to him and getting to know who he is and the way he reasons. Take note of how he holds his pencil. Mark it down that when he is really trying, he chews on his tongue. Look into his eyes when he gets something wrong. You will see that he has already realized it wasn't quite right, but that he did try. If you look close enough, you may even see the hesitation in the point of his pencil. You may see him instinctively try to guide his pencil in the direction that he should be copying his letters, but, more than that, I want you to see that he is trying. Because he is smart. Because he won't give up. Because the only way you can help him, is if you believe in him too....

Sincerely,

his MOM




(APD is Auditory Processing Disorder. Ever heard of it? Neither have I.)

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Mommy Proof #21: There are certain times, that I am certain, that I should NOT be a mother...

There are some women who claim that they LOVE being a mother. All. The. Time. They love when their child wakes them up in the middle of the night. They love when that same child then proceeds to cover them in that night's regurgitated dinner. They love cleaning the child, themselves, carpet, sheets, comforter, mattress, tub, toilet, and the rest of the bathroom in the dead of the night. They love when they repeat the cleaning three minutes later....8 minutes after that....12 minutes after that....5 minutes after that....and repeat, clean, and rinse for the rest of the night and following day. The problem is that I am not that mother. At. All.

I get frustrated. I get upset. I get annoyed. I get irritated. I get mad. I get stressed. It is usually the worst during a certain time of the month. No, it is definitely worst during a certain time of the month. PMS is the most evil natural occurrence in a woman's life. It is not helping that hormonally my uterus is asking why there isn't a fertilized egg in there. It proceeds to rid itself of that emptiness with an emotional fury that destroys everything in it's path. I went two glorious years with no visits from that evil wench. But when she came back unannounced, she came back with a vengeance. During that week, I am not fit for mothering and nurturing. I muster up the strength to laugh at their jokes and listen to their stories. I muster up the courage to wake up in the morning and begin the day with an upbeat spirit. I learn to paste a fake smile on my face that can be ready at any moment in response of one of their jokes.

During that time, I am oddly jealous of any women I see on TV, in person, in general. I get very annoyed that they can go on with their days and not look like they are on the edge of madness. I am annoyed if they have found the time to file their nails. Yes, I notice those things. Then, like clockwork, I feel better. I wake up three days later and greet the sunlight with a grin and a prayer. I smile when I am awakened in the middle of the night by one of my children. When that same child proceeds to cover me in last night's partially digested meal, I resist the urge to gag with them. I lovingly pick them up and clean them up. I hold them close until they fall asleep. Then, I clean the carpet, sheets, comforter, mattress, tub, toilet, the rest of the bathroom, and myself in the dead of the night.

In the meantime, I pray that their childhood illnesses synchronize watches with the rest of the month... O_o

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

MOMMY PROOF #20: IF EVER YOU ARE AFRAID OR HURT OR UPSET, JUST REMEMBER THE WAY YOU FEEL WHEN I HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS.

As much as I wanted to keep my children free from the burden of scary news, I knew that I would have to let them know more than I wanted them to know about the tragedy that occurred at Sandy Hook Elementary School. And tell them I did, in a long run on sentence like the one I prior to this one. I made a vow to myself: Only tell them the information they are able to handle emotionally.  I didn't want to tell them anything. But we live in a day and age of breaking news breaking before it is a complete story.

As the news trickled in through pictures of family members in complete despair and incomplete details, I knew that this would forever alter how I felt as my children were in school. I will never look at their teachers quite the same way. Their teachers are an extension of myself. They are not just their teachers. They are their cheerleaders, counselors, protectors. When they are in their care, I would love to believe that they love them as we do, even for just that time. That if ever there is an emergency, our children's safety is their main concern. I am uncomfortably content with that knowledge.

There are times when you will not be able to explain why the actions of others, why this world is the way it is, or if it will ever make sense. The truth is that, at times, it won't make any sense. Some times the world is scary, but I don't want that to be their focus. So whenever there is a time that they are hurt or scared, it will be okay. It is okay to tell Mrs. H., Mrs. B., or Mrs. G. Principal P. is there just for you. They are extensions of me and Daddy. You are never alone. I may not always physically be there, But I made a vow to them that day:

1. I will always be thinking about them.
2. I will always love them.
3. I will always come for them.

.....No matter what, whether they are scared or in trouble or having a horrible day, I will always be there. I will always send them off with a hug and kiss. It won't matter if we are running later than late or we had a bad morning. I told them, "If ever you are afraid or hurt or upset, just remember the way you feel when I hold you in my arms." That is my Mommy Proof #20. For them that was enough to conquer their fears. It was just enough to help them sleep peacefully. Me on the other hand,.......



In loving memory of the Sandy Hook victims.



Monday, January 7, 2013

I Have Always Wanted to Use the Word "Gizmo"....

Mommy Proof #19: Technology is the devil.

I don't know my children anymore. Four years ago, I bought my precious angels a hand held educational video game. I live five hours from my parents and I was hoping I could keep them occupied in the car. It worked! The only problem is it worked too well. Every time I turned around, I was buying and replacing batteries. We were on a search for games. I was telling them to take a break. I was encouraging them to read a book and color a picture....not a screen.

Eventually, I hid them. Both of their games were hidden in a place that sometimes I couldn't remember. I also hid their cartridges. Out of sight. Out of mind. And it worked. I would "find" them whenever we went to a trip that took longer than two hours. Then, we purchased a vehicle with a DVD player. It was heavenly on the road trips to my parents. The kids sat contently watching a screen until the closing credits. Then, we would be shocked into reality. "MOM!!!!!!" "THE MOVIE IS OVER!!!!!" "MOM!!!!! I want to watch (insert whatever popular children's movie)." It went from that to them picking a out movie for a 8 minute trip to the grocery store....and back. I put a stop to it! I took the DVDs out of the SUV. I stocked the SUV with books and small toys. I would calmly respond to request for a movie, with read this book or play with that toy.

Then, they got older and a WII entered my home. Well, at least they were active. Right? It was fine for a while. Until one of them got the hang of the game before  the other did. Then, two could play better than the other. Then, we needed another controller. Who gets to play first? Who gets to choose the game? Then, that got old and they discovered my NINTENDO DS.....and adopted it as their own. And the baby grew up. And he needed a game. So I got him one, then they wanted to play it. Then, he didn't have a game again. Then, the DS broke after someone dropped it on the ground. THAT WAS IT! I decided that day, I would not be buying another electronic device again. I am tired of touch screens and graphics. I am tired of hearing "bleep bloop bloppity boop." We live in an era of smart phones, laptops, tablets, and e-readers. There is literally an App for finding apps. I don't want my children to turn a page by flicking their finger across a screen. I want them to have to turn on the flashlight under the covers to sneak and read the pages. I don't want them to have to charge their gadget or gizmo to get lost in reading.


So why did I just buy them each a gadget, device, and gizmo? O_o