Grace upon Grace

I got home from work and started to cook dinner.  The inevitable question came from Seth:  "Can we play Wii?"

 

I have a love/hate relationship with screen time.

 

Since it had been a few days, I relented. 

 

As I stood in the kitchen, listening to Seth and Zechariah shriek with delight as they conquered Mario Brothers, I suddenly heard, "OH, JESUS."

 

I nearly broke my pan.

 

Now, let's pause for a moment and acknowledge that I over-reacted here.  I own it.  I did.  But if there is any word/phrase/reaction that makes my skin twist up into knots, it's this one right here.  JESUS. 

 

I ordered the boys to pause the game.  I told Zechariah to go to his room and get his Bible out.  I screamed to anyone who would listen how WRONG and gross and ugly that was.  Gah.  I completely freaked out.

 

So I kept cooking and Seth kept playing -- now with Leah.

 

After cooler heads prevailed, I went up to Zechariah's room where I found him dutifully reading his Bible.  I sat on the bed across from him, now totally calm.  I explained why saying "Jesus" or "Jesus Christ" is so offensive to me and to God.  We talked about how it is similar to saying, "Oh my God" which was a previous lesson in our home.  I told him it scared me when he said it.  I also said that I understood that his friends say it, but that we are not going to do/say everything our friends do.

 

Once I finally took a breath, Zechariah burst into tears.  We spent the next 5 minutes huddled up on my lap, working through all the feelings about what he said and my {awesome} reaction to it.

 

And then we moved on.  We cleaned his gecko cage and went downstairs to finish dinner.

 

At least four hours later, the *event* securely behind me, I was putting the kids to bed.  When I jumped in Zechariah's bed to snuggle him, without missing a beat he said to me, "Mom?  I'm sorry I said that thing."

 

I almost vomited.  This dear, sweet, sensitive, wise and mature beyond understanding child had been thinking about this for hours.  And then he was brave enough to apologize to me.  I took a deep breath and told him I knew he was sorry.  I told him I was so proud of him and how much Jesus (and I) love his tender, precious heart.

 

Zechariah is such a gift to me and my other babies.  Lord, thank you for trusting me with him.

In Jesus' name.... 

I see you . . . now

I am the mother of a child with special needs. There. I said it. His name is Seth. When you meet Seth, what you see is a pretty darn cute five-year old boy who wears glasses. If you didn't know, you might assume that like many school-aged children, he is far-sighted and got put into glasses in advance of starting school. Not so.

Instead, my little man has the following list of needs:
Hypo-plastic optic nerves
Septo-optic dysplasia
Prone to seizures
Malformation of his left (or right) cortex in his brain
Global developmental delays
Legally blind (severely near-sighted)
Being monitored for precocious puberty
Strabismus
Nystagmus
New-found obsessive compulsive behaviors
Sensory Processing Disorder
And possibly on the spectrum . . . the Asperger's side of the spectrum

All of this drives us to
Occupational therapy (three times a week privately, and two times a week at school)
Physical therapy
Speech therapy
Neurologists
Endocrinologists
Ophthalmologists
Optometrists
And, as my friend Jenny says, the hippie doctor

No, I'm not hoping you will feel sorry for me, and certainly not for him {although, we'll take your prayers}. I'm sharing this because it has changed the way I look at parenting, at other children, and, in particular, at children who have special needs and the parents who love them.

I've already confessed to being a control freak, and I stand by that admission. My learnings now, however, are about being a control freak when you cannot. Because you probably know something that I am still learning: You cannot control your children, especially those children with special needs. Duh . . . .

The harder things get with my "healthy infant" adoption (yea, that's Seth), the more my eyes have opened to the families, and mothers in particular, who are struggling with children who are different. Some of these needs are obvious from looking at a child or after a brief interaction. But many, many others are things we cannot see and would not know absent someone telling you. That's where my child falls.

While his glasses (at a young age) are a give-away to some educators or medical professionals, most people don't know upon laying eyes on him that Seth has what I affectionately call "issues." And yet, he does.

Here's an example of a very common exchange in our house. This morning, Seth melted down because I refused to allow him to take a paper airplane to school:

It's a toy. We do not take toys to school and you know that.

"It's not a toy," he retorts, "It's paper." {commence epic FIT}

And so the perseverations go. {I fully expect that we will still be discussing this injustice when I get home today...}

Here's another: I took Seth to see his OT recently. When we arrived, there were a lot of children in the waiting room. Seth walked in, grabbed an available toy, and positioned himself tightly underneath the chairs in the waiting room. On the floor. Awesome. When Miss Mary came out, my head was about to pop off as I pointed her to Seth's hiding spot. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mary said, as she pulled me aside:

"This environment is completely overwhelming to Seth. There are many people and lots of loud noises. Of course he is hiding. Let him be. And in the future, wait for me in this quiet room."

See there? Me. Learning.

At school, for the first forever week or two, Seth insisted on sitting on the "S" on the circle rug . . . even to the point of pushing others off of it or standing and pacing when he could not. When I'm rational, I get this. He is trying to control something . . . anything . . . in an otherwise very out of control environment, for him.

But I am not often rational when it comes to my kids (aarugh?!?!?)

Or there are the loud noises that Seth makes whenever he is meeting someone new or has to go to a new, different, exciting, location. LOUD. Meaningless. Annoying. Embarrassing.

All of this and a million other examples led me to seek help. A few weeks ago when I was on the brink of total and complete destruction a breakdown, Seth and I visited his pediatrician to discuss the very bad behavior transition to school . . . and terrible parenting . . . of my newest elementary student. Here's the nugget I got from that one:

"MOM. When children are stressed, anxious, over-whelmed, over-burdened and just plan max'd out, do you think they come to you and say, 'Hi, Mom. I'm stressed. I need help.' Um, no. They go off the freakin' reservation! {okay, maybe those were MY words} This is not about you. This is SETH, crying out for a break and for HELP."

And just like that, I was back to not being the worst mother in the history of the world. {At least for that day}

These days at church, Seth has a dedicated volunteer assigned to him.  Did you hear that?  Dedicated volunteer.  How completely mortifying humiliating amazing and humbling is that? Yes, I'm thankful.  We needed it.  {Otherwise, I was resigning from church and maybe life}

So, parents of special needs children? I see you. I know you. I "know" without you telling me {now, finally}. I see your child raging on the airplane. I watch your child spin at the park. I see your embarrassed face in the restaurant. I know your broken heart. I sense your desperation. I know your need for respite. I experience your exhaustion. I am walking this road with you. Lord forgive me for not knowing or understanding until I lived it.

And for the record, I wouldn't change it for the world.

Do you see them?

“Mom! Mom! MOM! Look what I made! Look what I can do!! Look at my drawing!!! Mom, MOM, MOM!!!! Looooookkkk at meeeeee!!!!!!!!” I look; I study; I love.

I see them as I hurriedly race up the stairs from the train to my office. The elderly couple, going down the stairs . . . during rush hour. They are clinging to a suitcase between them, trying to navigate stairs while hanging onto the wheels…. I see them. He whispers, “Help.” I don’t.

I’m on the street now, the wind cutting my skin despite the calendar screaming that it’s late spring. I throw my hood over my head and notice the people around me. Jaws set; faces stern; many hurting. Do you see them? I hurry along.

There she is again. A woman struggling to walk, to get across the street before the aggressive Chicago traffic fills the lanes. Again, he whispers, “Help.” Again, I don’t stop.

She’s playful and needy. She wants me to chase her. Her mom is there too . . . at the park . . . busy talking to grown-ups. “Chase ME!” she shrieks. And so I do, while I’m chasing my three. A moment of playfulness with a stranger. I see her.

He’s angry. Upset by a late train or the treatment of a police officer. That’s all I can make out as I rush by him. The officer is listening; remaining calm. He apologizes. The man is not interested. He needs to be heard. The officer sees him.

He’s new to America – confused and afraid. He knows our governments don’t like each other, his old and his new, but he doesn’t know why. No one sees him. He becomes angry because no one will listen to his hurt. His pain. We don’t see him. So he hurts people. Now we see him.

The service was terrible – worst in a long time. We were disappointed, but maintained our cool. My brother handled the message delivery. The manager heard and responded. He saw us. We might return.

We are waiting on the exit ramp of a highway. He hobbles toward us, using crutches. He needs something, anything. I yell at Julie to grab some money; I grab mine. We give him what amounts to less than $10. But this time He whispered, I listened, and I saw him.

I’ve been struck, over the last week, by how important it is for my children to be seen. For me to engage them. To look at their {crazy} creations. And ooh and aah over them. To hug them and listen to them. But not far behind that revelation has been conviction about when I fail to see.

There is so much heartache and pain in this world and I wonder…. How badly do the ones who hurt long to be seen? Who will look at them? Who will see them? REALLY see them? What a different world this might be if we all took more time to see and hear one another. To stop and notice the good things our children are doing. To play with the needy child at the playground. And, for me, to start listening to that still-small-voice whispering, prodding me to “Help,” because nothing else is really all that important. “Stop rushing,” the Holy Spirit begs. “Slow down. Be still. See people. Really see them.”

And so, I see.

Good Decisions

I recently instituted a "Good Choice Jar" for the kids after a suggestion from my girlie Carolyn.  Seth and Leah both have one.  Cool, right?

The idea is that each time he or she makes a good choice, they get a fuzzy ball to put inside.  When it's full, they have earned a surprise!  In Seth's case, it's the pirate ship he has been wanting for a while.  For Leah?  Well, a doll, of course.  She couldn't possibly have enough of those...

I like the jar because it rewards good behavior.  And we talk about it, a lot.  Seth declares, "I want to make good decisions!" at the top of his lungs only 38 times a day.  (sigh)  But on my run today (insert giggling here), I started to think about sin and then my kiddos and raising them to do right, respect their mama, make good choices, and be believers.  Hmmmm.....

The decision jar -- at least as it is used in this house -- doesn't quite get at that.  Sin is the wrong choice, but it is also the good choice that was left undone.  Sharing when we didn't want to.  Hugging when someone is sad.  Caring when you were too busy to care.

So as I jogged along, I got to thinking about how I'm doing at those things.

I didn't like that "discussion."

Impatient much?

Check.

Yelling?

Yep, that too.

Distracted by things that just don't matter?

Ding.

Prioritizing wrong things?

Hallo!

Angering your kiddos?

Even that, on the bad days.

When I'm messing up DAILY on these things, how can I possibly think my children are going to get it right?  And yet, somehow the good is sinking in.

Just this morning, Seth was lecturing me on Leah's hair. 

(Note that there is no "doing it right" for Leah. Hair = disaster)

"Mom, be more gentle." 

"Go slowly!"

"Let me do it."

"She's crying!!!"

I love Seth's heart for his sister (who he rarely calls Leah, but rather "My Baby Sister.")

Then there is Leah.  I picked her up from school today.  We had about 20 minutes until Seth was ready so we played at the park.  When it was time, we got in the car to go.  As we neared Seth's school, Leah was busy chattering away about how I picked her up instead of Debbie (their nanny) and then she proclaimed:

"Mommy, we go pick up MY Seth Cameron?"

Ahhh, yes lovie.  We are picking up your Seth Cameron.

What does all this mean?

I'm not sure, but I think it means I need to be a better parent.  Or a different one.  I want to teach my children not only what is wrong but kindness, gentleness, self-control, patience, love.....

Maybe I need a good decision jar.

And no.  I'm not kidding.