Mama Moments

I try really hard to never take J and L to the grocery or Walmart if I can at all help it. In the event I have to, it is imperative to take at least one big sister. However, recent events have made that impossible, so I took J and L to the mall, then to Target, and finally to Sam's. This would be a nightmare under the best of circumstances, but on we went. First L has a tsunami flood out of her diaper in Sam's so we park the cart, grab an outfit, pay for it at the check out and then go change her. We go back to the cart. L was so upset in Target that I held her and pushed the cart at the same time. She decided to throw a similar fit in Sam's, but I could not push this large cart and carry her. I also could not put the things on the checkout counter and you know how helpful Sam's employees are. She resorts to her best tactic of banging her head sharply on the cart handle. In desperation, I ask J to put his arm there while I get the heaviest items. He dutifully does, even as L begins to pinch the fire out of him. He cried, but he never moved his arm. He is an awesome brother. Then he put his sweet hands on either side of her head and turned her towards him and calmly said, "Look at me. Are you listening? We don't do that." Be still my heart.

Brian Update

For those of you whom still haven't heard.... Brian has a partially torn ACL, partially torn PCL, meniscus torn on both sides and an assortment of other knee issues. We will hear next week what the surgery/recovery plan will be. In the mean time he is trying to reduce swelling. As I can't keep him off his feet instead of going full steam, just on crutches, I am hoping vacation next week will help. No guilt for sitting in front of the TV or at the pool with his leg propped up. Please keep praying for us. Luckily for us, as Brian pointed out, his love language is gifts of service. I guess that means our marriage will come out of this stronger. Either that, or he will figure out he really needed to add nursing degree to that original list of 5 things he wanted in a wife!

Southern Living Homes or An otherwise lame attempt to explain why my house is always trashed

I really love descriptive writing of first impressions or first arrivals. Anne's first glimpse of Green Gables, Laura's description of the surveyor's house and pantry, and my favorite, Harry's arrival at the Burrow. Harry grew up in a home where everything was perfect, all the time. The Burrow stands in stark contrast. It is a little run down, the yard needs some work, there are boots piled at the doorstep. The house has a cluttered feel. Ron is a little embarrassed, but Harry sees and feels the love and comfort of a family that is actually busy about living life and caring for each other.

I think I love this because despite my continued hopes, I am still a terrible housekeeper. I did not grow up in a world of what I call Southern Living homes. The magazine of the same name regularly came to our house and as I got a little older, I studied the pictures from time to time. I didn't think anybody really lived like this, anymore than I thought most people looked like the models on the covers of fashion magazines. Don't get me wrong, the people I lived with and visited didn't live in squalor, there homes just looked, well, lived in. There was usually laundry waiting to be folded somewhere. Most of us had very small laundry rooms so that meant laundry was on a couch or a chair. Canning jars or other things were always on the kitchen counter and if they taught like my mom and my friends mom did, there was a makeshift teachers workroom somewhere in the house. No one extra came to clean or was ever even discussed. The closest we ever came to this was Senior "Slave" Days at my mom's school, where for a donation to the senior trip, some students came to your house and did odd jobs. I realize I was a kid, but I don't remember feeling constantly bothered by this or feeling like we being judged for our lack of perfect homes.

Enter 2009. Lots of people around me have Southern Living homes. They are not only perfectly decorated, but always kept clean and presentable. I hear people joke about mess etc to such a point that I live in fear that someone will come to the door uninvited. I apologize for the state of our house constantly and never feel like it is enough. Lets be honest, to some people it won't be. But ....life is about choices.

I spend a lot of time with L, but even without that, our house would still have plenty of issues. I don't want to stop creative ideas and thinking so the girls' rooms are a little bit of a blank canvas. They change bedspreads as their moods and interests change. They have cheap posters and personal artwork all over the walls. They build lego every things all over the place and J runs train track in constantly changing patterns. L needs toys visible and low so she can get to them. We cook and eat multiple times a day. We do projects. They cut up boxes for clubs and mailboxes. H needs a personal supply of tape. I grow things in the kitchen. We recycle. We compost. We let the whole thing go and read for hours or Brian and I just spend time together talking about nothing in general. We dance in the kitchen on the sticky floor. I look at the to do list and make cookies instead.

And then.... I feel guilty and horrible and frustrated and like a very bad mom and make everybody miserable as we try to get things done. Plain and simply, I don't want to live in a Southern Living home. Let me just admit to all that I can't keep house, don't expect it if you come by and keep all judgements to your self. L may have made a mess in the above picture, but she picked up the cups herself and tilted the cups over her head. A wrist action we have worked on forever. Nothing inspires like dirt. Let's see those perfect homes do that!

Taking Care of Daddy

Daddy had a little accident this week. A large tail gate from a metal wagon came down on his head and knee. He has stitches in his head and Mama shaved off some of his hair! His knee is very swollen and he can't stand up without crutches. The doctor will tell us next week what will have to be done to his knee. Mama says you can tell how much he hurts because he put himself to bed when we got back from the emergency room and she didn't even have to yell at him. I can't help Daddy much, but at least I don't jump on the bed like my partner J does and I don't try to drive trucks around the crutches. I decided the best thing for me to do was curl up beside Daddy and just snuggle him.

Translations

Last weekend H played in an all day tournament in Bowling Green. This was the first time we took the wheelchair out of our very familiar territory. I probably should have seen it coming, but I was a little unprepared for the comments etc that this little contraption brought. As soon as I lifted it out of the van, heads began to turn. We saw and heard lots of things so here is what was actually said, and my rough translation.

As B and I walked in, a coach from another team offered L candy. Translation: I can't believe I just yelled at my perfectly healthy child for missing a ball when this small tyke can't even walk. At least this small token makes me feel better. (Of course B wondered what kind of weirdo this was and wanted to make sure the package was wrapped and had not been tampered with. Actually this happened several times)

How old is she? Translation: What's wrong with her?

What a pretty girl. Translation: I realize that I have been staring at you. Obviously the deformed ear, the extreme stiffness, the chunks of missing hair and unfocused eyes mean something is wrong but hopefully this will excuse my rudeness.

Me-"If you want to go on to that field, push yourself." Imagine the vicious stares. Translation: How can you talk like that to this poor invalid child.

I personally find children much easier to deal with. They say "What's wrong with her?" Translation: I really want to be informed- what's wrong with her. Then I can answer his or her question without any pretenses. Children also accept the answers and go on in a way adults can't seem to do.

The amazing thing about wheelchairs or challenges like CP or Down's syndrome or anything else is that how you see them is nothing but perspective. The man who says "Look at that poor little thing." as we walk by doesn't realize that quite the contrary, this wheel chair empowers her and gives L control she could never otherwise have. The fact that I can fuss at her to move herself is a statement on how far she has come. No one would have looked at me funny for making H carry her own bag or J walk on his own feet. One of the things I love most about our trips to Vandy for therapy are the others in the waiting room. All of these children have unique special needs. As L gets mad when she can't make a turn and I am not helping, no one gives a sympathetic look, instead, they say " You can do that" or to me "Don't let her give up now". People share your delight with the arrival of new equipment. Equipment is power and freedom. Wrestling that spoon means self feeding is even on the radar. Spewing the drink out all over me is irritating, but drinking from a straw is a priceless skill -never under estimate the freedom a child drinking from a straw gives you. You may see a mess, but I see a child who can get a drink in the school cafeteria.

L has some really rough days and we pray for healing, strength and patience on a moment by moment basis, but I am also very thankful for the strides she has made and the opportunities we have been given. Nothing is "wrong" and she isn't "a poor little thing." She is a fabulous little girl with a lot harder climb than you or I. She is a spitfire rebel determined to do things her way. She is power. If you doubt that , let her take a bite of you. We all have bruises and scars that prove it. She may not be as verbal as we like, but those closest to her know the translation "I WILL BE HEARD!"