Less Than 7 Weeks

I get out of school in less than 7 weeks.

More importantly, the boys get out of school in less than 7 weeks.

I am back to being frustrated with their school. Sigh.

I have yet another IEP meeting on Monday. It's looking like I get to go back and fight. Again. Over the same damn thing.

~~~

This week was Teacher Appreciation Week. The boys made cute little vases and candy flowers to take for theirs. I have to say that it was a challenge for me to be excited to make a gift for the boys to take to their teacher this year.

I am less than fond of her.

Like not fond at all.

There have been a things popping up all year long...and I have the strong feeling she doesn't like one of my kids. You can feel any way you want about the students in your class. Sometimes, there are even kids who are challenging and not your favorite, I suppose.

But you NEVER let them know you don't care for them. And you better make sure the parents don't get that sense. In our case, all of us know. It's obvious she likes one boy; it's even more obvious she doesn't like the other. Sigh.

Anyway, I wouldn't have sent anything to her and feigned forgetfulness, but there are some support teachers who I do like and wanted to acknowledge. So I sucked it up.

Let me tell you, finishing up gifts for a teacher I don't care for while knowing that my own students will likely not even acknowledge T.A. Day for me was like pouring salt on the wound.

The boys were happy. The teacher responded in an appropriate manner. The support teachers were thrilled and made sure we knew it. In the end it was okay.

~~~

We have started our testing at my school. We have blocked four weeks of testing for students. They are going to take somewhere around 10 hours of tests (they are untimed) on the computers and approximately two hours of the standard bubble in tests.

It is ridiculous.

The worst part is that I'll only have a few weeks after testing to finish all that I have to teach. There is not enough time! I always feel the crunch for time at the end of the year, but this time it feels even worse than it has in the past.

~~~

Less than 7 weeks left.

Bring it.

I'm done.

Beach Fun With a Side of Guilt

We did go to the beach this week, and it will go down in the books as a huge success-the boys had a fabulous time.

How could they not?

The weather was beautiful. The water was unusually warm. There were even relatively few people on the beach. You really couldn't get better conditions than what we had.

Jack hit the sand on the beach and bolted for the water. I followed him, letting him run just far enough ahead of me to make him think that he was getting away, but not far enough that I couldn't reach him if I needed. He was in heaven. When we reached the waterline, he immediately plopped himself down in the sand. Within seconds, we both were drenched. Oh how he laughed!

Sh.awn was mister fearless, and I swear if he could have, he would have launched himself into the ocean and swam out to sea. He was living pure joy when that water would splash against his body. When the water would recede, he'd chase it out, making his way farther and farther away from the shore.

Ja.son was more apprehensive. He chose to play in the wet sand at first and would scamper away when the water would get near. His confidence grew as he watched his brothers. I'm sure he figured if they could survive, so could he. Eventually he mustered up enough courage to join his brothers in the water.

So many times I talk myself out of doing things. It's easy to, really, especially when there is the unknown with which to deal. As the boys get bigger, there are more unknowns.

Things are easier in a lot of ways. The boys are so smart and funny. They love doing new things. They get so excited!

But things are more difficult, too. The boys are getting bigger, and the not walking independently is hard. It's hard on my body to lift them and carry them when needed. (Hello, sand. You were quite the challenge for us. My muscles are still protesting all the work they did that day.) Making things accessible for them can take creativity. It always takes planning.

Is.aac and I don't always work well together as a team when we're confronted with unexpected challenges. He stresses. I stress. We bicker.

It's exhausting.

So I talk myself out of things. Make excuses. Put things off.

It's unfair to the boys.

It makes me feel guilty, especially when I see how much fun they have...could have had all along.

Sigh.

Waves and Such

I've reached out to several friends I have in the education world. Although I wouldn't have necessarily thought so at first, I am blessed to know quite a few very knowledgeable people in a wide array of fields, and when asked, they all readily jumped in to help. Mostly that was through giving me information and connecting me to others who may be able to help, but still, I quickly found that I was not exactly alone in this fight to get what I think is best for Sh.awn. People wanted to help any way they could.

 

I am grateful.

 

One of my friends commented that she didn't know how I do it, that her son was upset about going to school and cried in class for a week. She said she almost fell apart with worry and heartache. "This can't be easy for you," she said.

 

It didn't help when that stupid online quiz that asks "What is your parenting style?" told me that I am "Overwhelmed." You ain't kidding, stupid quiz. I am.

 

It is during times like this when I really question how strong I am. Frankly, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. I don't, obviously, but that doesn't mean I don't want to at times.

 

My stomach is in knots, my digestive track may never be the same again, I struggle to shut my mind enough to even sleep at night and there have been some pretty heated conversations between my husband and I over all of this (he didn't know what to do and thought I was overreacting originally), but I am trying to direct my frustration in a way that will get Sh.awn and the rest of us what we need.

 

For me, there is comfort in action. When things are taken completely out of my hands, I struggle. The mere act of sending the boys to school and not having direct contact with that process outside of homework and emails to the teacher has been really hard. But, I try to focus on the fact that even though it may seem otherwise a lot of the time, there are good people out there (of which the teacher is included) who do care about my boys.

 

But this kind of situation reminds me that there are so many other parents who don't know what to do when things like this happen. They don't know they can fight back. They are pressured or intimidated into doing what the district says. It makes me angry to know if the district is willing to do something like this to us, then they are doing this to other kids/families, too.

I can't stop thinking about those other kids...those other families of kids with special needs. What do they do when they meet resistance? I know I can fight for my kids, and I have the expectation that with determination (and probably some sweat and tears) I will ultimately be able to make things better for my boys, maybe not with this issue but definitely overall.

 

As uncomfortable as it is for me to make waves, this is what I need to do to help make things better for my kids. I know that, so I do what needs to be done. But, I guess there is the bigger picture--maybe the other kids in the district need me to stand up when I see something is wrong, too.

~~~

For what it is worth, the first email I sent went largely unanswered. I replied with a much stronger worded email which included the IEP accommodations that this decision blatantly ignores.

I am dealing with the manager of special ed for the district. I also cc'd the superintendent and the associate superintendent (the manager's direct superior). When she replied, the two superintendents were conveniently left off of the reply, suggesting that I may have hit a nerve with her. I, of course, was forced to bring the sups back into the loop with my second email.

In the long run, I may only succeed in making this person sweat (and ultimately changing his IEP so it doesn't happen again). I have a strong sense of urgency...each day there is no resolution, the longer Sh.awn is dealing with this upheaval in his world.

We shall see what round two brings.  

October

Dare I say that things are settling?

In a good way even.

Both the boys are finally doing well in school. My own classes have found their rhythm and are plugging along in a way that makes me feel good. If it weren't for yet another round of the SICK--seriously this is like the 9th cold they've had since school started, and I'd even say that this might be the worst one yet--I'd say that things are going smoothly at home, too.

I should have been starting to relax now that things have found their grooves. For some reason, though, I was in an even higher state of alert than I was at the end of summer.

I didn't want to write. I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to be by myself, and it is taking a LOT of self talk to get out and do what needs to be done. While I am an introvert by nature, I never really had trouble doing things when something came up, so this was different. The way I've been feeling has been really off; I just couldn't understand what my problem was.

Then yesterday, it hit me.

This is the month. I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner.

~~~

Six years ago yesterday, I was admitted to the hospital where I'd spend the next 8 days desperately clinging to the hope I would remain pregnant for a long time to come.

Never once did I think about the calendar or the dates this year. The countdown to the boys' birth, which was always upfront in my mind in past years, never even occurred to me.

Interestingly, although my mind tried to "forget" that time, my body knew. I had a very visceral physical reaction, one that makes me wonder if I'll be okay this time of year ever again.

Will I ever really be able to avoid the punch to the gut this time of year brings? 

Sigh.

~~~

While a lot of that time has slipped into the recesses of my mind (thankfully), there are some things that are still fresh in my memory. I can't tell you any more who the nurses were, but I can tell you what the soap smells like and that it burned my raw and cracked hands every time I used it. I can't tell you about much of the other things I did daily for those 100 days, but I know the exact number of tile squares there are from the hospital door to the first elevator (238). I look at some pictures from that time and don't remember taking them, have no clue the context around what is shown, but it's been six years and I still have occasional moments when I'm haunted by flashes of fear and confusion that time held.

~~~

A week from today the boys will be six. They've been counting down for months; their excitement is almost uncontainable at this point. We have a quiet family celebration planned on Saturday. We're going to the zoo on their actual day. It will be a good weekend, I'm sure.

They're good.

I'm even good...mostly.


There's so much good on which to focus. Really there is. That's what I intend to start doing.

A Moment and A Fear

Today, Sh.awn and I sat on the floor and played with magnetic letters. He would choose one, we'd sing the Letter Factory song, and then put it on the fridge. Every few letters or so, we'd see if we could make words.

He was just sitting there, having the best time. As tedious as the Letter Factory song is for me, I had a lot of fun playing with him and watching him enjoy himself.

Once upon a time, there were so many unknowns about the future Sh.awn would face. He had a massive brain bleed at birth. He had thirteen brain surgeries before he was even two. How would all of that trauma transform his life? Would he sit? Use his arm? Walk? Talk?

Would he be cognitively typical?

I marvel at this kid and all that he has accomplished. Seriously, I am in awe of his determination.

In moments like this today, I have to remind myself that he was fifteen months old before he was able to sit, and even then that was with a whole lot cushioning around him in case he toppled (which he did a lot). His ability to establish a regular four-point position to crawl on his hands and knees didn't come until he was over 2.

And now?

Now I see this charming, funny, amazing kid who knows all of his letter sounds and is starting to string them together to make words. (OMG when he realized he read a real word it was the best look ever on his face. He was amazed!)

He is sitting criss-cross applesauce style in textbook fashion. For those of you who don't know of such things, this is a pretty big deal.

We're just a few days away from the start of Kinder. I can't really wrap my mind around how this milestone will change life as we know it right now. Yet even with my anxiousness, I am excited for them. I have no doubt that they are going to love learning and playing. I am fairly confident they are going to love school. Both of them will. I hope so, at least.

But there are moments when I get overwhelmed with the worry that the world won't see the fantastic kid(s) I see. The fear of sending him(them) out into the cold, hard world almost takes my breath away.

What if he isn't pushed or given high expectations or asked to perform to the best of his abilities?

What if they can't see past the walker and motor issues?

Worse yet, what if he internalizes other people's prejudgment and discrimination and allows them to extinguish his light?

It would kill me to see him hurt like that.

Because this boy?

He has a sparkle that lights up the room.

He has a laugh that will make you smile.

It's my job to make sure he stays that way.

~~~

Make me feel better and tell me you were worried about your kids starting Kinder, too, please. Then I won't feel like such a helicopter parent freak. Ahem.

Sucked Dry

Tomorrow is a rare day off from appointments and/or activity. I am looking forward to it with every inch of my being. It will be a stay in my pajamas all day and eat chocolate at every chance kind of day. (And no, I'm not sharing any.) Brushing my hair is iffy at this point until maybe late afternoon, which I confess would only be so I don't look like deranged housewife over the edge when Is.aac comes home from work.

I am truly spent. Physically. Emotionally.

I'm totally and completely drained, sucked dry of my energy. It has been an emotionally rough couple of weeks.

Sigh.

More School Angst

(Cross posted with the boys' blog for those of you who may read both.)

~~~

The idea of school has started to creep into our daily conversations, and what used to be more of an abstract someday kind of thing has now become a someday soon kind of thing. I think we're all more than a little ... excited nervous sigh ... excitedly nervous about this upcoming transition.

While Sh.awn knows he is going to start school soon, I'm not sure he really cares about the magnitude of this milestone. How can he when he doesn't have anything about which to compare? For him, it seems to all be something to take in stride.

Ja.son, however, has really begun to internalize what school is going to mean to him. Questions like...

"Mom, what if they don't have a cubby for me at kindergarten? That would be a disaster."
 

and...

"But mom, what if they don't like me? What if they think I'm going to destroy the whole school or something?

Are you going to destroy the school?

No, but how do they know that?

Well, you just go in and say, "Hi. I'm Ja.son. Do you want to be friends?"

That's all I have to do?

Yep.

Well, okay then. I'll try."

...make it clear that he has started to think and worry about what the whole school situation will be like. I am trying my best to give him information to comfort and encourage him while at the same time help him talk about these insecurities he has. I do believe he is (they both are) going to love school, which I tell him regularly. I suppose we'll see how well I've done convincing him of that once school starts.

I do have to admit that these conversations are starting to freak me out a little. My ba-hay-bies...are starting school...in 23 days! They were just born yesterday! How can they be old enough for school? One second I'm marveling about how this is possible, when in the next, mama bear rears her head with thoughts about how those kids at school better be nice to my boys. Growl. The second after that I'm right back at "OMG! What am I going to do?! Ba-hay-bies...school...ack!" (I'm pretty sure that's all totally normal parental freak out stuff and not crazy at all. Right? lol)

We've got 23 days until the boys start kinder. I guess it's time for me to figure out what we're going to do for that first day of school. I do know I want to do this project for the boys, but I am at a loss for what else. With Pintrest as my planner, though, the possibilities might be endless. ;)

What did you do for your kids' first day of school?

More

It started off innocently enough. We had just started out on a thirty minute drive on our way to the boys' swimming therapy.

"Mommy, look! That man has canes!"

Sure enough, he did. He's a neighbor, who lives a few streets over from us. We've passed him many times before, but today it finally clicked in his head.

"Why does he have canes?"

I thought about it for a few seconds before I answered simply that it was because he used them to walk.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure why he needs the canes to help him walk, kiddo. I think it's pretty cool that he is walking with them, though. Don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah..." he said. Then he added, "Why do I need a walker to walk?"

There it was.* I don't know why I am always so unprepared for this type of question. It isn't like I shouldn't know they are coming my way. But to be honest, he has never really asked me why he doesn't walk. He doesn't see anything wrong with not walking without his walker, I do know that. For him this is normal even though he knows other kids do walk without walkers. (Hello, he has the constant reminder of Jack to help with that.)

Both boys know they have CP and have a vague sense of what that means. I've told them about being born premature (although Ja.son does NOT like talking about how he was sick and in the hospital for a long time. He wants to talk about his life once he was home) and their rough beginning.

Still neither has ever asked for more about the differences, namely their lack of walking.

The plan has always been to follow their lead on things. We'd wait to really talk about CP and its implications for their lives when they wanted more.

Today was a day for wanting more.

More they got.

I hope I did it justice.

~~~

*Why don't they ask these questions of their father?!

Multiples First

On the Lost and Found today, there was a posting about starting up a Parenting a Special Needs Child After IF room on the Stirrup Queen Blogroll. For all intents and purposes, I suppose that I could belong to the group of those parenting special needs children after infertility. I mean, the boys do have CP.

My boys may have more specialized needs than some other kids their age; those needs aren't what I think of first when I think about them.

Instead I think about my three amazing boys--my twins and singleton. I am a mom of multiples, and while it is much more common now than it was twenty years ago, it is still a unique experience. I carried two babies at the same time, survived my attention and heart being split for months on end between two hospital beds, soothed a child with a foot or elbow because my hands were tied to caring for another, felt the guilt of hearing a child's inconsolable cry because his brother's needs were more immediate, and became a master at juggling the needs of two fairly complicated (at least initially) children. I've worked to find ways to give quality individual time to my boys while at the same time fostered opportunities to do things together as a family.

Having multiples is intertwined with how I came to be a mother. I wouldn't have one without the other.

It's something I would say to someone I just met. "Yes, I do have children. I have five year old twins and a two year old."

After asking more questions, one of which was whether I'd still be listed on the Parenting Multiples board, I decided not to be added to the special needs list because I couldn't be on both.

In my head, I am a multiples mom first.

What Do You Do When You Can't Let It Go?

I started my period today.

I know full well that my body just won't do it on its own, but I still can't let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe I could get pregnant the old fashion way.

I can't help bu think maybe we'd get lucky this one time.

To make matters worse, my stupid brain heart latched on to the coincidence that I had the big O on Valentine's Day and believed---BELIEVED--that it had to be some sign that this was going to be the month. As much as I knew better, I wished that I would be sitting here today with a smile on my face and a positive pee stick in my fist.

Having hope quietly swell to a crest only to have it crash at my feet still makes me sad. And yes, seeing the bright red stain of failure still stings, three boys or not.

~~~

Right now, my refrigerator is fairly empty. I haven't had a chance to go to the grocery store, probably won't be able to until this weekend. Normally it doesn't make much of a difference outside of causing me to be a bit more creative when it comes to cooking. Today, however, an empty refrigerator means that there is nothing covering up the box.

The box that is usually hidden at the back of my produce drawer.

The box that holds a two-thirds full gonal-f pen I last used during the cycle that brought me Jack.

The box that I've been unable to get rid of all after of this time.

I've always known the medication is there, but it honestly never comes to mind unless I see it while stocking or cleaning out the fridge. I look at it wistfully while I push it to the back of the drawer.

Once, I even had it in my hand to go dispose of it. I made it only a few steps before I turned to put it back. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away then any more than I can bring myself to throw it away now.

I can't let that box or that pen, go because I can't let the dream go.

As time passes, I imagine that my hand will be forced soon enough. I mean, we've not used birth control since 2004, and I'll be 41 in a few months. It took seven IVF's to have two successful pregnancies. So in all reality, I know there isn't much chance. We'd need medical intervention to get pregnant, but I can't in good conscious spend that kind of money on another pregnancy attempt when I have the boys to consider.

Sigh.

So what do you do when you can't let the dream go?

I don't know.

Deep Breath

So here it finally is. Registration is tomorrow only a few hours away. How did it get to be nearly 2:00 am?

Bring it, Tomorrow. I am ready. Not looking forward to the blood draw first thing, though, but I've got Jay's prize ready to go. I've prepared him as much as I can for what's to come. All that's left is just to get through it.
Of course, the people at the registration office (Is.aac, too) will probably be all "WTF is wrong with her?" when they see how totally OVER prepared I am, but whatevs. Everyone comes in with all their paperwork copied and paper clipped, right? Lol. This is when my organizational skills will be highlighted for sure!

I struggled with finishing my letters. This will start the ball rolling officially. Here we are about to enter the world of special education, and I am scared. For Christ's sake I am a teacher! I know what I do to honor the individual educational plans of my kids.

So why am I so distrustful of what is about to start? Distrustful of the school district?

I know that not everyone is like me. Not everyone goes into teaching students with the idea that they can learn something. I've heard too many people who feel like some kids just can't learn, and I am sick with the thought that my kids will run across those people--people who won't even try to teach because there is (or soon will be) a label.

Sigh. It is time to take that deep breath and dive in. Wish me luck.

Fitting In

I had a student come talk to me a few days ago. She often stays after school to work on various assignments, plus she likes to talk to me about the drama that her sister creates in her life because I had her sister as a student a few years ago. Her sister had many issues when I had her and the trend is still the same now that she's a junior in high school.

This time I asked her if there was anyone her age at school that she felt she could talk to about all of this. This question was in no way trying to deflect the discussions off of me on to another person but was instead based in my hope that she had a true friend with whom she could relate. My heart broke a little when she said no that nobody really understood her because everyone else was just too normal.

Oh man, could I relate. I'm sure we all could relate at one point in our lives or another.

Too normal. Those words have stuck in my head.

I can see where she would be disinterested in surrounding herself with people who didn't, maybe couldn't even, understand the path she is currently walking. It's painful to watch others enjoy what you so desperately want. It's even more painful to be misunderstood.

I've been there, done that. I did it when I was in the throws of infertility. I did it when I delivered two very early and very sick babies. I am doing it now as we forge our path toward our not as typical normal.

We all need that place to belong, the place where people "get" us.

Being able to feel like I fit in somewhere takes the sting out of all the "normal" around us in our real life. It makes our lives seem less strange, less crazy and, well, less scary. I'm so grateful to the internet for the chance to find others who are taking similar journeys as we are.

I urged my student to keep looking for that someone with whom she could connect. That person is out there right now, looking for her.

~~~

One of my deepest, darkest fears is about my boys and whether or not they will be accepted by their peers and whether they will fit in. As much as I hope that others will see just how fucking AMAZING they are, there will be people who will hurt my beautiful, sweet boys because they are a little different. There will be people who go out of their way to point out those differences and make fun of them. I would give anything to shield them from that kind of pain, and yet I know it will come as a part of their growing up. It will be a part of what makes them who they grow to be. I only hope I can do my part to counter any of those negatives.

Sigh. My heart is already aching, and it hasn't even started.

Okay

On Christmas Eve, I made my first return visit to the NICU since the boys were discharged five years ago.

It's funny that it was so difficult for me to imagine going, especially because I have been back to that hospital several times since then. I even had Jack there for goodness sake. In all of that time, though, I avoided that part of the hospital like the plague.

The anticipation of the visit made my stomach a wreck on the days leading up to the 24th. I wanted to back out so many times, it was ridiculous. But I didn't. I told myself that my desire to avoid that place was the most important reason for me to face my demon head on. It didn't hurt that I had my friend from the preemie board meeting me there to help with my confidence.

The night before, my friend, K, let me know that she had called to tell them to expect us. (As an aside, I still have the NICU number saved in my phone's contact list. It has this way of jolting me when I least expect it, and yet I can't bring myself to delete it.) K told me the names of the nurses who would be there. The names were vaguely familiar, but for the life of me, I couldn't say for sure if they were our nurses. The very people who helped make my boys well enough to come home, people I spent over a hundred days with, seemed to be erased from my memory. (There are a lot of holes in what I remember from that time. Some moments are etched in my brain for eternity, but many of the day to day reality is long gone. It's a strange sensation.)

I felt the same familiar feeling when I got to that turn in the road, the one about five minutes away from the hospital, my last opportunity to turn around before the hospital. I had to wrestle with myself every single time I went there back in those days. Every day I fought the overwhelming urge to turn around and go home. It was at that point that my courage faltered, the facade cracked ever so slightly. Every day I managed to grit my teeth and keep driving.

I wasn't prepared for that particular panic to flood my body last week, but there it was anyway. I guess I should have expected it; I was going back to the place that holds so many terrifying memories, after all. This time, like the others, I kept driving.

I managed to park in the same parking lot, pass through the same halls. I thought about the woman at the front desk who would wave us in after hours and tell us she was praying for our babies. I thought about that creaky elevator that emptied right outside of the NICU...I passed it by. I focused on my feet and willed them to keep walking.

In the end, my anxiety was for naught. When K and I got up to the NICU, it was really too busy for us to actually talk to any of the nurses. (I hate to admit it, but I was so relieved. I'm not sure if I would have handled that well.) One side of the NICU, the level 1 nursery--the place we spent so much time, was closed. The secretary took us over there to drop off our gifts. K had candy for the nurses, some clothing for the babies, and books for both the parents and the babies. I managed to find some gently used picture books to donate.

I also took our Christmas card, thinking that maybe they'd remember us from the picture. In some ways, we still resemble the two shell shocked parents the knew five years ago. In more ways, we are nothing like the people they came to know back then. But, maybe they've wondered about our two little men...us, I don't know. Maybe our card would show them that we are okay. We're happy. We're thriving.

As I awkwardly stood there listening to K and the secretary chat, I looked around at this place that was our home away from home for over 100 days. There was our corner of the room near the window. I looked at the two empty isolettes in our old spots. Memories tugged at the recessives of my mind. I flashed to Jason lying there under his blue billi lights. Heard the swoosh of his vent. I pictured Is.aac changing Sh.awn's preemie diaper. The room was so, so little. No one was in it, and it was still tiny. How had I never noticed that?

It didn't feel that way while we were there, that's for sure. Instead it felt massive. The space mirrored my emotions at that time--it as vast as the pain and guilt in my heart.

I like that the NICU seemed small now.

I went back through my archives when I got home. I read through those months, remembered things I had forgotten. I shook my head at my naivete. I cried over the hurt and fear and anger that oozed from my words. I told the me of five years ago to hold on, it will be okay. She will be okay.

Because it is okay.

More than okay.

Senseless

Like so many around the world, I'm sick over the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. There is simply no reason on Earth for someone to do what that mentally ill young man chose to do to that school. Senseless isn't strong enough of a word.

Another shooting...it’s not something I want to happen anywhere, much less at a school.

When I think about in the role as a teacher, I can imagine what the faculty of that school endured during those terrifying moments. The knowledge that they had to keep themselves focused and in control to maximize any chance of survival. The overwhelming responsibility they felt toward their kids, which overshadowed concern for their own safety.

And I imagine the survivor's guilt they likely feel over the loss of so many. Gone in their minds is the focus on how many were saved. My guess is the memory of what they've seen and all of those lost replaced that the second they left their school. The questions about why they couldn't do more and save those killed is with them at every moment. The continued worry about the children who were saved...

We went through a tiny fraction of what this school experienced. It was enough, though, for me (us at my school) to have a tiny glimmer of understanding of their world right now. If nearly seventy percent of our staff suffered from PTSD because of our shooting, I hate to think about what must lie ahead for that community.

I hope and pray that the community goes above and beyond to get the school staff the emotional support they will need. If nothing else, those involved need a chance to professionally debrief as a group (like all of the first responders will as a part of their job). As much as others try to understand the feelings this staff is going through, no one can truly "get it," which is extremely isolating. Talking with others who experienced the same thing is so validating...

I hope they rely on each other for emotional strength and healing.

~~~

When I think about this even as a parent, I can't breathe. Those little ones were my kids' age. In, had I sent my kids to school this year, what could have been the same grade as my boys.

It shakes me to my core.

It reminds me to make every moment count with my boys.

It makes me want to hole up in our house and never go out into the big, ugly world.

It makes me want to shower them in love and never let them out of my sight.

It makes me my heart ache when I think of those parents who will never, ever be able to hold their beautiful children again. Their grief weighs heavily on all of us.

~~~

When I first heard the news, I was on a bus filled with half of the one hundred and twenty eighth grade students we were taking to the Museum of Tolerance. At that point, I think there was still hope that all the children were okay. I didn't tell them what had happened. I couldn't bring myself to; I wanted to shield them from the it for as long as possible. As it was, they saw a news report on the shooting almost as soon as we entered the museum.

I did text Is.aac several times. We were both speechless about the unfolding information. We told each other we loved each other. We vowed to snuggle our boys when we got home from work.

It's striking that we went to a place focused on hate and intolerance on a day like yesterday. Each exhibit hit us all a little harder, made us just that much more emotional. By the time we came home, we were all physically and emotionally spent.

~~~

There was a moment while we were on our field trip, though, that made me pause. In my mind, it highlighted why we see so many young people doing such horrific things.

One of the exhibits was a diner. The students all entered and sat in front of a jukebox shaped monitor. They were shown a short movie on a given topic and then asked questions about it.

This year, our docent chose the topic of drinking and driving. The short film is a (fictional) news report about a teenage couple on the way home from the prom. They get into a single car accident which kills the male driver. The film jumps to several other news reports spread out over a few weeks. As new details emerge, the viewer starts to get a clearer picture of what happened. The driver was drunk from alcohol the girlfriend bought at a convenience store known to turn its head to underage customers. The driver's mother is also stated as knowing her son had issues with alcohol.

The kids heard all the information from the film clips and were asked to rate the level of personal responsibility each of 4 key players in the drama had on the boy's death: the 17 year old male driver, the 16 year old girlfriend who bought the alcohol, the mother who knew something was up with her son, and the store owner. They were told they could give the same amount of responsibility to all of those involved if they chose, or they could assign different levels of responsibility to each person.

This was where my jaw hit the floor.

The kids, who are all very bright Honors students, assigned the least amount of responsibility to the driver himself. The most responsibility was assigned to the store owner and the mother. In essence, these kids thought that the boy's own actions had little responsibility in his own death and instead assigned blame to the adults.

The docent saw my reaction and said that how my kids responded was very typical of what they see from the kids who come to this exhibit.

The kids were then given more information about the scenario. They were allowed to "ask" questions of the three living characters. (I think they were four question options for each of them.) After the kids gathered more information, they were polled again about the responsibility each player had in the death of the boy.

Again they said the adults were the responsible, not the kids.

I was shocked. I still struggle to wrap my mind around the fact that the boy held little responsibility for his own death in this situation.

But if this kind of thinking is typical, as the docent said it was, then it lends itself to the bigger picture: The kids of this generation are somehow missing the lesson that they are responsible for their own actions, choices, and consequences. Somehow, our kids are getting the sense that they are not responsible for the things they do, the blame falls on the lap of someone.

The more I think about it, the more examples I see. The are the kids who have parents who lie for them so they won't have to serve detentions or get bad grades. There's the kid who plagiarized an entire essay whose father argued that his son should not be suspended because the teacher's parent letter never stated that plagiarism is forbidden. (yes. a parent did argue that.) The parents that continue to shower their children with toys and objects without any regard to whether the children need it/or want it simply to make up for lack of time or parenting.

It's everywhere, this subtle message that this generation don't have to take responsibility for their actions.

It scares the crap out of me.

I have a lot of work ahead of me with this group. Somehow, I need to ensure that these kids learn and take personal responsibility for their actions.

~~~

My goal for today was to do a random act of kindness for someone outside of my circle of friends/family as a rebellion against the evil and hate. Can you imagine if everyone did that and kept doing it?
I don't want to believe that the world is evil. I don't want my boys to grow up to think the world is a horrible place, either. I want to teach them that while bad things happen, there is so much more good. I want them to focus on the helpers, like Mr. Rogers said.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." To this day, especially in times of "disaster," I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.”
― Fred Rogers

17 Days...

On this day, five years ago, Baby A's (Sh.awn's) sack ruptured. I was exactly 26 weeks pregnant.

The countdown to the boys' birth is on...

I'd be lying if I said that wasn't one of the scariest times in my life - a time filled with fear and stress. And while the date doesn't have the same emotional hold on me, I guess it says something that the day itself still stands out on the calendar. I know it's coming, and I most certainly know it's here.

Now, rather than focus on the feelings from then, I focus on the joy those two little men sleeping in the next room bring to our lives.

I marvel in how much they've accomplished in their lives, things that some might have said would never happen.

I revel in pride.

Today I focus on my amazing boys. We may not know what the future holds, but we do know we're going to face it with strength and determination!

In 17 days, my big boys are going to be 5.

Wow.

~~~

Last night, on Parenthood, there was a scene where the entire family was at the baseball field watching one of the boys play ball. The boy sat most of the game in the dugout until the grandfather went to the coach and demanded the boy get to play. The coach relented, allowing the boy to finally be called up to the plate. On the boy's third pitch, he hit the ball and ultimately scored a home run while the entire family cheered him on.

Oh how I cried.

We did baseball when I was a kid. (I was even on a Little League team for first and second grade. That's how into baseball my family was.) My older brothers played until they aged out of the league, my dad was an umpire for the league, and my mom managed the concession stand, so we spent many hours at the field as a family.

I guess that was how I pictured my life would be when I had kids. We'd live at the field during baseball season like my family did when I was little. I'd sit in the stands and cheer my boys on as they raced around the bases. We'd head to the local pizza joint to celebrate with the team after a hard fought win.

Last night, it struck me that we'd not have those kind of family memories.

My heart ached with a crushing intensity, and I cried like a little baby over a silly little dream.

Sigh.

I think I have it all under control (maybe I mostly do?), but there are days when the scab over the loss of what I expected our lives to be is ripped off. It takes a bit of bleeding before I can build the scab up again, I suppose.

~~~

I was still feeling pretty raw when I went to pick up the boys for therapy. There's nothing quite like the assault of reality on already fragile emotions, right?

Imagine my surprise when I discovered the therapists had created a mini baseball game for the boys to play today.

It was all I could do to hold myself together as I watched them hit a ball off a tee and run around the bases.

I still get emotional thinking about it now.

Unknowingly, the boys' therapists gave me the salve for my bleeding heart.

I so needed a reminder that while things may not be the way I pictured them, they are still pretty damn amazing.

I really do have so MUCH to be thankful for in my life.

Always More

It's Saturday afternoon. The boys are all in quiet time (which frankly is no longer quiet exactly and more like time). I'm sitting here enjoying the calm. Man, it's so nice to just be for a bit--to not feel like there are a million things that need to be done right! this! minute!

I long for these moments.

~~~

Earlier, I watched my neighbor herding her two boys into the car for yet another exciting weekend. I had a pang of jealousy as I watched them go.

I don't know how she does it. She's a teacher, too. It's likely she's just as tired as I am by the time the weekend comes, but she is always moving with her brood, always on the go at every opportunity.

They do so much while we are on the other end of the spectrum. Her FB page is filled with descriptions of their escapades. We don't do camping trips or street fairs or other such things. Sometimes it feels like we don't do anything at all. Our wild adventures entail trips to Target, crafts or playing in the backyard.

And while our lives aren't the same by any stretch of the word, I still worry if we are doing enough for our boys. It's harder to get my trio out and about the way she does. At least that's what I tell myself. But on days like this, I'm left wondering if I use that as an excuse to just not do. Why is it so much harder for us? Other people manage to do those things, right? My neighbor certainly does.

I get that "the grass is greener" mentality is always dangerous. I also know that the boys are far from deprived of fun and enriching experiences (hello playing in the mud today!).

Still, I just can't shake the feeling that I should be doing more (always more) to give them the best childhood I can.

I hate that feeling like I haven't done enough, that I am failing them in some way.

I can't let them down again.

Sigh.

A Tiny Glimpse

In the middle of all that laundry, I found my color. I almost didn't notice even.

Where you ask?

In my undies drawer of all places.

I knew I have been replacing all of my tired, old, white undies with new pretty designed ones. (Still cotton because I am not that wild.) With me being so far behind on my washing, I didn't realize just how many I had bought. I fell into a pattern of wash the three pack and then wear. Buy a few more. Repeat. Until whoa. There is color in my drawers.

There is something very telling about that, but I am not even going to go there and try to figure it out.

It made me feel so excited, though, to see the accumulation of color--almost like this was some confirmation that I am not totally lost in a sea of eternal blah. I might be grey on the outside, but on the inside, in the place that's most important, my color lives.


Now I need to learn how to nourish that color until it spreads to the rest of my world.
~~~

I have to do a shout out for my Sh.awn.

Due to lack of time and energy, I am just barely in the midst of potty training him. I admit that I was concerned that he was going to be a tough cookie to crack. He has a hard head and is difficult to sway when he sets his mind on something. (It's a good thing he looks so sweet. Good looks are nature's way to balance out his 'tude and ensure his life.* Ahem.)

Anyway, my boy has been pretty freaking amazing. He has some obstacles that makes things a bit more involved for me, but he is doing so well. He is not quite to completely trained, but he is getting very close.

I am one proud momma. :-)

*And no I wouldn't do anything to him. Good grief.

Enough

Sometimes Often I feel like I am not doing enough for the boys.

I feel guilty, worried that I am not on top of their appointments enough. I keep up on most things, but every once in a while, one slips through and I get that unexpected appointment reminder like I did tonight.

I don't have them exercise enough at home. Is there ever "enough" exercise for a body that is tight?

Or I focus too much on therapy and exercises and don't let them just be kids. There is a fine line before you sap all of the joy out of being a child and you cross over to correcting your child so much they begin to believe that they are not enough as they are and need to be "fixed."

I don't force issues with the therapists to maximize their appointments when we are there. I foolishly allow them to do whatever they want, whether I believe it to be effective or not. I don't call them on their lack of organization and discrepancies between what they say from one appointment to another. For a while, it was enough that I knew what was said and done. I remembered. It didn't matter to me that they couldn't get their act together. I'd learn from what they attempted and do it with the boys later. I realize now that the message my behavior sent was that they didn't need to get their act together.

If I don't state my expectations (even if it could be argued that I shouldn't have to state some of my expectations if people did their jobs), no one ever has to improve to meet them. It is not enough to bitch and complain without proactively trying to make things better.

But the questions that haunt me are how can I balance everything for each of them? Give each what he needs without sacrificing the needs of the others? Is that even possible?

There is so much to think about all the time. These questions are always at the back of my mind.

Is it too much?

Is it not enough?

What is enough and how will I know if I reached it?

I mean, surely if I did more, or at least was better at this parenting thing, we wouldn't continually run into obstacle after obstacle when it comes to their care. I'd be able to bypass all the frustrating phone calls and extra work needed to ensure that they are receiving the care they should.

Sometimes it's enough to remind myself that calling the medical community could easily become a full time job and I would still need to do more. That I have to work for our family's financial stability. That I need to work for my own mental health.

That my boys are happy and smart and THRIVING even if things are not perfect.

But the nagging thoughts remain. They break through to my consciousness, buzzing around in my head like a fly I can't shoo away.

I should be doing more.

More. That slippery quantity that you can never meet.

---

Parenting any child is hard work if it is done well. There is fun and love and guidance you must constantly provide.

It would be easier if I plopped my boys in front of the television and left it at that. And there are the days when that happens to some degree. (I am human!) I try to make my kids' lives richer than that. I try to be mindful of the fact that what I do shapes the people they become. It can be such a heavy responsibility sometimes.

I imagine all mothers worry about these things. While their realities may be different from mine, everyone has her own set of challenges.

I can't believe that I am the only parent to worry about being enough for her kids.

Solar Eclipse

(Cross posted on the boys' blog.)

The excitement for today was a solar eclipse.

We started the adventure with a description of what was happening to the sun; however, I may have traumatized one of my children while I was explaining. It took quite a while before he stopped yelling, "I don't want the moon to block the sun! Make it stop!"

He even made an appeal for Siri's help.

Oopsie.

Anyway, once everyone understood that the world was not going to end when the moon blocked some of the sun, we had some fun.

We held out our hands to look at the crescent shaped shadows on the brick wall.

As we were taking pictures of my hands, I glanced to the left and saw the sun shining through the leaves created the same crescent shaped shadows.

A whole bunch of mini eclipses right on my wall. :-)

The crescents continued to change as it progressed.
I'm such a geek when it comes to this kind of thing.

The last shot before it was over.

It was very cool!

---

We participated in the March for Babies yesterday. I am really glad that I did it. I wrote about it on the boys' blog if you're interested in reading about our big day. :-)

Not the Kind of Parent I Thought I'd Be

Every child grows and learns at his or her own rate. All that really matters is that they learn. I get that, I really do. If I had a conversation with you on this very topic, I'd even give you anecdotes and research confirming the validity of that theory. Shoot, I've lived this idea with the big boys.

And yet, I have to confess that I can't quite break myself from the panic that sets in when Jack doesn't meet a given milestone by a given time. If a baby site (like the bu.mp's month by month emails) says kids at a certain age should be doing xyz, holy hell I work myself up to a frenzy if Jack hasn't yet done whatever it was. Apparently, I am hyper vigilant about milestones this time around.

As much as I try not to, I start to sweat if he is two seconds late on reaching any given achievement. (Except walking. I am not concerned that he doesn't yet walk. Odd, right? You'd think I'd be really anxious about that one, but alas it doesn't phase me at all.) I research online, type in annoying questions such as "my son is only saying momma and dada should I be concerned" or "my child won't wave bye-bye." Most of the time, I can rationalize the answer before I even type in the stupid question, but I just can't seem to stop myself from doing it anyway. Sigh.

This afternoon, I tried calling Jack by his name only to be completely ignored by him. Over and over. Cue freak out. Again.

Back to go.ogle I went. Sigh. Up popped all of kinds of 'warnings for autism' sites, and well...I freaked even more. I even ended up taking a quiz.

In the end, I took him to his room and called his name and he responded appropriately. I was HUGELY relieved. Like almost in tears relieved. I guess trying to test his response to his name while the television is playing Bub.ble Gup.pies might not have been the most accurate of tests. What a surprise that as a male he'll tune the female out if he is absorbed by the television.

Even with all that is going right with our family right now, I can't shake the feeling that the other shoe is about to drop. A shoe that scares me most is one that would land on Jack. It's not because I love him more, because I can honestly say I don't love him more than his brothers. I have a connection and bond to Jack that is unique, just as the connections I have to each of his brothers are unique. None of those connections is greater than the others. None of those connections are any weaker, either. They are different but the same, if that makes sense.

I'm not the kind of parent I thought I'd be. My fear has made me hesitant and unsure at times. I question myself more with Jack than I did with the big boys. With the big boys, I was in survival mode and called getting through the day a success. With Jack, I'm not in survival mode. I can't merely make it through the day and feel like I am doing a good job as a parent. I want to do everything right...make everything go well...and I am incredibly hard on myself when things are not as easy or natural as my head says they should be.

All of this, I suppose, highlights my desperate need for Jack to be that taste of "normalcy" in a world that is often flipped and turned and upside down. (Please understand that I do think of the big boys as "normal," too, but parenting them has been not always been easy or what I'd consider the "norm.") The thought of that "normalcy" being taken away brings a lump to my throat and knocks the air out of me.

I know that it is beyond unfair to him (and his brothers) to place this kind of responsibility on him, but I have. I also know that the whole idea of "normalcy" is a fallacy. What's normal to you, may not be to me and all of that jazz...

But, even though I know all of that, I feel the need for normal all the same.