Texting the Easter Bunny

We had a low key Easter this year. I realized the day before that I had neglected to purchase an egg dying kit, so Nick and I went shopping to get one. An hour and three stores later, we came home empty handed. So, we just used food coloring, and were pleasantly surprised to find that food coloring works much better than those silly kits. So now I don't have to worry about wasting that money every year. The night before, we put together the Easter baskets, filled the plastic eggs and ventured out in the cold night to hide them all. The next morning Elijah was up at 6:30, Nick at 7:00. So much for sleeping in. After the baskets, the second thing Nick noticed was the plate of eggs we had colored the day before, and he was rather distressed that the Easter bunny hadn't hidden them. I suggested that EB had hidden eggs with candy in them, but Nick was INSISTENT that EB is supposed to hide the eggs we left out as well, and he recounted with great clarity how EB had hidden all the dyed eggs in the living room and playroom the last time he was here . . . two years ago. (Last year we were out of town staying at a hotel on Easter Sunday). His memory scares me sometimes. We had in fact hidden the eggs in the house that year because it had been raining. So, we distracted him from his dismay with the egg hunt in the backyard, with a visit from Grammy & Papa, with a movie in the afternoon. And when it was time to get ready for a bath, Nick says "But Mom, the Easter Bunny hasn't come back to hide the eggs yet! When is he coming?" He was fairly upset about it at this point. This is part of living with Aspergers - routine and structure are of the utmost importance - any deviance from the expectation is met with great consternation. Thank God for modern technology. I said "I'll text the Easter Bunny right now, and I'm sure he'll come while you take your bath." So I sent a text message, and I let Nick see me type and send it (to my girlfriend), and he was quite relieved. Robert managed to corral all three of them in the bath, and closed to door while I made quick work of hiding the colored eggs around the living room and playroom. My very confused girlfriend called me just as I was going into the bathroom to signal Robert, so I enthusiastically greeted her with "Hello Easter Bunny! You did? Oh thank you Easter Bunny!" So the boys got out, got on their PJs and came out for one last egg hunt. Nick was so happy and excited. I just love seeing the look on his face at times like that. At his age, so many children have figured out the myths of Easter Bunny and Santa. Not Nick. He still believes wholeheartedly. I am hopeful he will hold on to that innocence for a couple more years, because it is such a wondrous thing to see, when children light up over their belief in the impossible. It's the very foundation of faith - believing without a doubt that which you cannot see. I hope that they never let go of that ability to believe - in anything.

Here are some pictures from the first egghunt:

Welcome to Holland

The following poem was sent to me, by a few people, when we first got the diagnosis on our Peanut. I have since shared it with others going through the same heartbreak. If you have a child with special needs, I'm sure you know this piece well. If you don't, and you haven't had the pleasure of reading it yet, I hope you enjoy it. It was written by Emily Perl Kingsley, a mother to a child with Down Syndrome.

I am often asked to describe the experience
of raising a child with a disability --
to try to help people who have not shared
that unique experience to understand it,
to imagine how it would feel: It's like this...

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning
a fabulous vacation trip -- to Italy.
You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans.
The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice.
You learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives.
You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands.
The stewardess comes in and says, 'Welcome to Holland.'

'Holland?!?' you say. 'What do you mean, Holland?
I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy.
All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy.'

But there's been a change in the flight plan.
They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible,
disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease.
It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy different guide books.
And you must learn a whole new language.
And you will meet a whole new group of people
you would never have met.

It's just a different place.
It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy.
But after you have been there for a while and catch your breath,
you look around....and you begin to notice
that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips.
Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...
and they're all bragging about the wonderful time they had there.
And for the rest of your life, you will say
"Yes, that is where I was supposed to go.
That is what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever go away...
because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss.

But...
if you spend your life mourning the fact
that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free
to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...
about Holland.

I'm Just Like You

I am the mother of three boys. Though I think my boys to be remarkable, all for their own unique reasons, I don’t think I am a particularly remarkable mom. I have good days and bad days. Some days I think do a great job, others I am not a good mom at all. I think that makes me fairly typical. My kids, on the other hand, they are not typical. My oldest has Asperger’s, not something that is immediately apparent just by looking at him. My middle son has Down Syndrome, which is immediately apparent. My youngest, so far only has a serious case of bad-attitude-itis, earning him the nickname Diva, but he does show some of the sensory “quirks” his oldest brother had as a toddler, so the jury is out on whether he falls into the neurotypical camp or not. Having two kids who are different than the standard “norm” certainly presents some challenges that other parents don’t have to face, and we have been though our share of tears and frustration. But at the end of the day, we are just like any other parent. We are proud of our kids’ accomplishments, we hurt when our kids hurt, we get frustrated when their behavior challenges us. So it always catches me off guard, and makes me feel terribly uncomfortable when friends or acquaintances tell me what a great mom I am, or how special I am. They seem to believe that because I have been thrown a few curveballs in having to deal with “special needs” that I am somehow a superior parent. I’m not. Most of the time, I feel wholly inadequate to the task, and think God made a huge mistake by entrusting their care to me. So when people feel like heaping me with praise, I feel like a complete fraud. The truth is, I’m not doing anything that any other mom wouldn’t do. I did not volunteer for this job, it was given to me. So, like any mom would, when illness or emergency or other challenges come, I steel myself, and care for my kids. We all do what we have to in order to keep our kids safe and healthy and happy. My situation may require a bit more energy, and sometimes greater emotional resolve, but I know any other mom would also find the strength they need, if they were in my shoes. It’s what moms do. My kids are special, in many ways and for many reasons. I’m just a mom who loves them more than life itself. Just like most moms.

What is so Wrong About Reverend Wright?

I admit, when I first heard the snippets of sermon that have caused such outrage this last week, I too was taken aback, and greatly disappointed that Senator Obama held someone like this in such high esteem. I certainly wasn’t going to defend Mr. Wright, though I wanted to defend the Senator. So, I did what any political junkie would do, and I looked into it, and read as much as I could to find out what this Reverend and his views were all about. And the more I read, and the more I dug, the more I came to realize, the outrage isn’t in what this man said, it is in the meaning being assigned to his words by outsiders who don’t want to hear the truth of his message.

The totality of Wright’s sermons, indeed of his life’s work, has been to bring positive change into the lives of those in his community. His theology is one of social justice. The words at issue, though angry, are not false in taking our nation to task for its failures. The very foundation of social justice theology, as I have come to understand it, is not to take for granted that we are blessed as a nation by God for our greatness, but to hold the nation accountable for its faults and prod it to work harder to earn God’s blessings through greater works. When Wright chastises America for its social failings, he is upholding a long tradition in social justice theology, a tradition upheld by Frederick Douglass and Martin Luther King, Jr. Those who would argue that Wright is the opposite of everything MLK stood for should go back and read King’s speech from April 1967 – an admonishment of our government and our policies of war in Vietnam. Replace Vietnam with Iraq, and imagine Wright speaking that sermon today. I’m sure the outcry would be immense.

And what of his comments about AIDS. Certainly on their surface, they seem absurd, and it would be easy to write him of as a crazy America hater for believing them, when again, they are taken without context. Consider then that for forty years, our government did indeed conduct a heinous medical experiment on black men in this country, an experiment that led to unimaginable suffering by these men, and their wives and children. The Tuskegee Experiment continued until the early seventies before it was finally exposed and brought to an end. It was less than ten years after the end of the Tuskegee Experiment that AIDS raised its insidious head. With that heinous experiment so recent in our history, is it not then reasonable that some would cast a suspicious eye toward our government? Had I been old enough to understand, I would have thought it possible that my government was involved. Had I been raised with Mr. Wright’s generation, I would have thought it not just possible, but probable.

Actions speak louder than words. We have been exposed to a handful of sound bites, which people are willing to use to condemn a man, and label him hateful and unpatriotic, but his actions do not support that assumption. Over his forty year career, Reverend Wright, and his congregation have brought enormous positive change to their community. Action speak louder than words. Look not to the pieces of words, but to the works they support. For all the anger and offense of those incomplete pieces of his sermons, the effects are something to be praised, not condemned.

So what about Senator Obama? I admit I did not vote for him in the Primary. But after this week of outcry and accusation, and after looking for and reading more of what his pastor preaches and what he has done, I can say I unequivocally will vote for him in November. This firestorm, and his response, has convinced me that this is the kind of leader this nation desperately needs. Barack Obama is the antithesis to everything we have grown accustomed to in a government. We have lived with dishonesty, corruption, division, secrecy and abuse. Here is this man who is open, honest, and forthright. He has responded to all of this with uncommon grace, intelligence and honesty. Policy differences aside, everyone can see this is a man of character, integrity and true moral fiber. His opponents fear that and they have done their best to damage his character, because policy differences alone won't defeat him. What this nation needs is a leader who will bring respect and dignity back to our government. His opponents see that and fear it, so they tear him down, label him a racist and an America hater. America haters don't subject themselves to scrutiny in order to run for President. America Haters mail bombs and blow up federal buildings. There is nothing in Senator Obama’s life that justifies the labels being cast upon him. Not one word he has uttered, nor words he has written, not an action in his life invites the disparagement. He lives the social justice theology which his pastor preaches. This is the kind of leader I want to have representing me and carrying our country.

The Smile

I’m standing in the kitchen with my husband at midnight, when I hear the telltale shuffle of feet in the hallway. In comes Gabriel, my sweet little peanut, all bleary eyed, looking for someone to cuddle. So I scoop him up, he wraps his arms around my neck and I carry him back to bed. “Do you want mommy to cuddle?” I ask, knowing he does, but wanting to hear that innocent soft “Yethhh.” So I lay down with him in his bed. We face each other, I lay on my right side, he on his left. I wrap my arm over him, and facing me he puts his palms together and tucks them under his cheek. We look at each other and he gives me that huge grin of his, the smile that could power a city. Gabriel has THE most charming, engaging, heartmelting smile. It is his biggest defense when he knows he’s been mischievous. His teacher often laments that Gabriel is hard to discipline because he is SO charming and he knows exactly how and when to wield that smile.

Gabriel is four years old now, in preschool, and still adjusting to life as a middle child. His baby brother, Elijah, is almost a year old, and despite the (now mutual) jealousy, they are starting to get along. Gabriel has even begun to show affection toward the Mommy-stealer!

I can’t believe how much Gabriel has grown since he was a toddler. He started walking just before he turned three. At almost the exact same time, we discovered he loved to dance. Pregnant with Elijah, I was miserable and sick, and not a very attentive mother. So I put movies on for Nick and Gabe whilst I languished on the couch. After a couple of weeks, I grew rather weary of all things Disney, and forced the kids to watch something I liked, and I chose “Singing in the Rain” with Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds. Gabriel LOVED it! He was absolutely enthralled with all the music and dancing! He very quickly began imitating the dancing, especially the “Make ‘em Laugh” routine by with Donald O’Connor and Moses Supposes His Toeses are Roses! He must have watched that movie a hundred times over the next couple of months. We eventually moved on to Wiggles, and he quickly memorized all of their dances, and would do them when we played the music CDs! So, after Elijah was born, when Gabe was about three and a half, we enrolled him in dance class. He takes tap and ballet, and he is an absolute star in the making. He had his first recital and he was the only one who didn’t forget the steps, or get stage fright. The music started and he just started dancing! At his second recital, he didn’t miss a step, despite a too-large top hat falling down over his face, forcing him to essentially dance blind. At the end of the dance, he rightfully took the biggest bow! He has such a passion for dancing. I pray he never lets that go.

At the moment, Gabriel’s biggest challenge is his language development. He loves to talk and tell us stories, but he cannot quite form the words just yet. He does have a vocabulary of about 50 words, but they are words only his father and I understand. Box is “bothh”, Fries are “whiiithhh” Please is “weeth” I just know that when the words do come, he will be a great storyteller. He is so animated and excited when talking to us. He has the BEST facial expressions, especially when he’s looking at us like we’re dense. My favorite, of course, is the smile. Always, the smile.

More about my Peanut

Another piece I wrote some time ago.

Gabriel is now 3 ½ years old. The first thing most people notice about Gabriel is his vibrant smile and enormous laugh. He has a great joy within him that people find irresistible. Of course, most people aren’t around long enough to see his other side, the stubborn, determined side that can frustrate the most patient among us. His determination is both a strength and a weakness. It serves him well when pursuing his favorite activities, but it can hold him back when he refuses to attempt a new task, or frustrate mommy when he won’t put on his pajamas.

Gabriel has boundless energy. He loves to run and dance. Whether dancing along to Gene Kelly in “Singing in the Rain” or dancing along to Wiggles music, Gabriel is constantly in motion. He loves to jump and tap and twirl to the rhythms of music. He will even dance to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, or sometimes to no music at all! Gabriel has loved music from very early on, quickly realizing where the CD player was and how to manipulate buttons to turn it on and increase the volume. Before he could stand or walk, he would sit and bounce his torso and sway back and forth to music! We recently enrolled him in a toddler tap/ballet class and he is having a great time. He stays focused and learns the routines very quickly. We are so excited to see his first recital!

Along with his love of music, Gabriel has a love for art and painting. The opposite of his big brother in many ways, Gabriel is our creative, artistic child. He enjoys creating and exploring different media for creation – and mess making! One of his favorite activities is when I line the hallway walls and floor with butcher paper and let them have at it with markers and crayons!

During his quiet times, Gabriel is a cuddly, very affectionate little boy. He loves to cuddle and read books with Daddy. His affection is not limited to family members. He shows great love for everyone, from the teachers and therapists, to neighbors and friends. He definitely is not a shy boy.

While Gabriel has not developed many words, he is an excellent communicator, and is able to make his wishes known quite easily. He learns signs readily and uses them with ease. He will come and take you by the hand and lead you to the bookcase, or the refrigerator, or the door, to let you know where he wants to go and what he wants to do.

Gabriel is in preschool and LOVES being in school. He loves to learn and enjoys being a part of the busy classroom atmosphere. We are very proud of all the progress he has made in school.

Gabriel just recently became a big brother. He has alternated between great affection and burning jealousy, which he expresses through monster tantrums. He knows he’s not the baby anymore and he is not happy about that. Fortunately for baby, he is affectionate most of the time.

When I look at my three little boys, I have for each of them the same exact dreams. I want them to grow up knowing truly, in their hearts, that they are greatly loved and deeply cherished. I want them to grow up to be independent, caring, altruistic and loving. I want them to find loving wives, and I want them to choose as their professions that thing for which they feel a great passion. These things are possible for all of them. When others look at my boys, they may notice my middle son is not like the other two, but I know that when it comes to the things that matter most in this life, my three sons are exactly the same.

The Gift of Gabriel

This is a piece I wrote a few years ago, about my son, which I originally published on Epinions. I like to write about him every once in awhile, mostly for myself, but sometimes to encourage others. My Peanut, as like to call him, is an amazing human being, and I love to show him off and share him every chance I get. This is the first piece I ever wrote about him.

The Gift of Gabriel: Learning Our Son Has Down Syndrome and How He Enriches our Lives

“I’m sorry. Your baby has Down Syndrome.” That’s how she said it. The genetic counselor called to give us the results of the amniocentesis, and I could tell by the sound of her voice, before she even said the words. The thing is I knew before she even called. Call it instinct, or Mother’s Intuition, but I had that voice in my heart, though I had been suppressing for weeks. As soon as I got the AFP results back, I felt it. My son would have Down syndrome. Even so, there is no way to prepare oneself for the confirmation of one’s worst fears. We had been plucked off our well groomed, well lit life path and plopped down into utter darkness, not knowing when the light would shine again and what path would be there when it did.

Grief and Guilt

Grief is the first, and most understandable reaction to such news. My dad, the eternal optimist, couldn’t understand all my tears. He’d immediately logged on and downloaded as much info as he could about DS as soon as we shared the news. From his perspective, we were way over-reacting. I could only explain it as feeling we had lost a child, something my dad knows. Yes, we were still having our son, but all the dreams and plans we had for him and our family were now gone, replaced with uncertainty and fear. As with any grief process, we needed time to process through it. Compounding those feelings, however, were the huge pangs of guilt I felt. At the time, my firstborn son, Nicholas, was only 17 months old. He would be less than 2 years old when his brother joined him, and his well-protected world would be forever changed. I felt as though I had let him down. He wouldn’t be getting the brother I thought he should have, and would want. Now, I worried if he’d be able to play with his brother at all. I worried about him being teased at school for having a brother who was different. I worried that his adult life would be shaped by the responsibility of having to care for an adult baby brother.

But I Don’t Want to be Chosen

As the news of the diagnosis spread, our dearest friends were so wonderfully supportive. We received continuous phone messages, and cards. Mostly, they simply said they loved us and were praying for us and were there if and when we wanted to talk. Some, particularly my mother, wanted to help us try to develop a better understanding, and offered us a simple explanation in the form of “God Chose you to be the mother of this special baby.” I hate to say it, but that really didn’t help. I didn’t want to be chosen. I wanted a “normal” healthy baby. At work, my colleagues were unanimous in the opinion that if there were anyone who had to be given this special child to raise, I was the logical choice. As a teacher, I was the “go-to girl” at my grade level for mainstreaming special needs students. I’d volunteer to integrate them when others would hesitate. Not trying to toot my own horn, but I think (and I believe my former colleagues would agree) I had a gift for teaching the special needs kids. Inevitably, they become my favorites, the ones to whom I become the most attached. I didn’t just enjoy teaching them. I loved them. So it came as no surprise to my colleagues that God would choose me for the task of raising a special needs child. At the time, that was little comfort to me.

A Glimmer of Light

Nicholas, through all of this, was basically unfazed, although a bit perplexed by all the crying. He’d never seen either of his parents cry, and now we were in tears near daily. His response, however, was the beginning of our healing. One afternoon, my husband and I slipped into the bedroom for a cry, leaving Nick to play with his toys. He noticed our absence right away and came toddling in to look for us. He saw us standing there crying, then turned and walked out. A minute later, he returned with one of his favorite toys in his hand being offered up to us. That’s where our healing began, in the tiny hands of our 18-month old. He saw we were unhappy and wanted to make us feel better. Even at that tender age, he cared about the feelings of others, and tried to do something about it. I knew then that God HAD chosen not only me, but also my family, to love and care for this special child. Nicholas was going to be the perfect big brother for our new son. I started looking forward to their meeting.

What’s in a Name?

As we began to emerge from the darkness, we set about looking for the perfect name. With both boys, I gave my husband charge of the first name (although I reserved veto rights) and I chose the middle names, always from someone in my family who was important to me. When Nicholas was born, I chose for his middle name the middle name of my youngest brother, who died when I was eight. My husband didn’t want to use his first name out of respect to my parents. He chose Nicholas without much thought. It was a name we both like and so that’s what he chose. For this child, however, he spent a great deal of time looking through the baby name book, searching for a name whose meaning spoke to him. One afternoon, after a couple of weeks worth of searching, we were all relaxing on the bed, Nicholas and I playing while my husband flipped through the book. Without saying anything, he put the book down and started to cry, leaning over on my lap for some comfort. Nicholas immediately climbed on him to hug him. Quietly, he told me he found the name, and handed the book to me, pointing to the name. “Gabriel: Meaning – Hero of God” and the name of my own baby brother.

My parents gave us their blessing, I gave Gabriel the middle name George after my grandfather, and we set about preparing ourselves for his arrival. I won’t lie and say it suddenly got any easier. It didn’t. But giving him his name made it more real, more personal. We weren’t just having a baby; we were having Gabriel, a person. The roller coaster ride continued, but the ups and downs became less severe as time went by.

Educating Ourselves while Dealing with the Uneducated

We didn’t exactly dive right into research. We had to weed through many emotions before we were emotionally capable of reading about all the risks that come with Down syndrome. We started slowly as we got closer to the due date. We were fortunate to be under the care of a wonderful perinatologist who was as adept at calming parents and talking to them sensitively as he was at medical procedure. The genetic counselor was also helpful and a wealth of information. The most difficult part for me wasn’t learning about my son’s condition, as much as dealing with people who didn’t bother learning about my son’s condition. As I mentioned before, the first thing my father did when we broke the news was to get on the internet and download as much info he could find. The very next day he handed me several pages of stuff he had printed out for me and assured me it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be. Sadly, not everyone around us was so resourceful. I will never forget the day I was asked, “Have you used up your extra chromosomes on this baby? If you have any more will they be okay?” I was so dumbfounded by the query, I hardly knew what to do. If I hadn’t been merging onto a freeway at that exact moment, I may very well have slapped the person. I remained calm, however, and responded simply with “Since this has happened once, the risk goes up for it to happen again” and left it at that. As soon as I was out of the company of that person, however, I cried, and continued to cry, off and on, for 2 days. This was near the end of the pregnancy, so this person, a family member, had known for several months at this point, and I was hurt and upset on more than one level. First, the insinuation that I had somehow caused this, that it was my fault that Gabriel had Down syndrome. Second, that this person had known for months and hadn’t bothered to so much as check out a book from the library or do a Google search on basic High School biology. I had too much to deal with. I didn’t have time to educate the masses.

Anticipation, Elation and . . . Crash

As we neared the due date I became anxious for the birth. Though we had done research and were prepared for the various medical risks coming our way, I was still praying the same prayer every night: “Dear God, Please grant us a miracle and heal our son.” I can say now I got half of my request. The rigors of being pregnant while tending to the needs of a 21-month old were really wearing on me and I was more than ready for Gabriel to arrive. Five weeks before the due date, the perinatologist told us Gabriel was still breech and suggested we talk with the OB about monitoring him carefully. At 36 weeks, (4 weeks before due date) he still hadn’t turned, and our OB scheduled a version, a procedure where they manually push the baby around. We came in at 37 weeks, 2 days and the OB successfully flipped him around. Four days later, my water broke, and Gabriel George was born exactly 2 weeks early weighing a healthy 7 pounds even. He cried a beautiful cry, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief! (Nicholas had been born with the cord around his neck and was rushed away because he wasn’t breathing). They handed me our son and I got to look into those dark gray eyes. He was beautiful! We were so excited that he was here and we loved him so much! It was a wonderful birth. Then, they wheeled him away. They told me that his oxygen was a little low, they were going to go get it back up and they’d be back soon. After 20 minutes, my husband came back and said it would be a little bit longer and he went back to be with our son. Eventually I was wheeled from the delivery room to my own private room, where I waited. At noon, they said it would be another half an hour. Then my husband came back again. Our son was being transferred to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, or NICU. Then he left again. My son was born at nine in the morning. I didn’t get to see him again until after 4pm. As happens with roughly fifty percent of all babies with Down syndrome, our son was born with heart defects. Four of them, to be exact. He spent 10 days in the NICU, then went home with oxygen tanks, for another ten days. Those first days were hell. Leaving the hospital without the baby to which you’ve given birth is a heartbreaking experience. At the same time, Nicholas began to feel the effects of his parents disappearing to the hospital everyday, and started to scream and cry every time we left him with my parents, a place he usually preferred. I felt like I had let down (and was losing) both my sons.

A New Path Revealed

Fastforward to the present: Despite a rocky beginning, Gabriel is now thriving. He is 2 ½ years old and has a very determined personality, along with a golden smile and the best laugh I have ever heard! He had open-heart surgery at 7 months old to repair his heart, and it’s as good as new now. I asked the cardiologist at his follow up “I just need to know, when he’s big enough, can he ride Space Mountain at Disneyland?” He assured me that my son could ride roller coasters, just like any other kid. He is now on the edge of toddlerhood. He can stand up by himself and walk using a reverse walker, or just holding our hands. He communicates using some words and a lot of sign language. He ADORES his big brother and Nicholas adores him right back. They kiss and cuddle and wrestle with each other everyday. Nick is his biggest influence and motivator. The love between them is enough to bring tears to your eyes. We can see the path now. It’s not the same one as before, but that’s okay. We can see up ahead there will be some rocky patches, and a few potholes, but along the way, the colors are more vibrant, the aromas sweeter. It’s a lovely path, and I’m glad I’m travelling it.

What Have I Learned?

Gabriel has brought us more than joy. He has made us better parents. He has truly taught me the difference between big things and little things. Very few people, in my encounters, REALLY understand that. Too many people waste their energy getting angry over the little things when the fact of the matter is, there is very little in this life worth getting angry over. I don’t care if you cut in front of me in the grocery store, or your car door hits mine in the parking lot. I have my sons. They are healthy and thriving, and nothing else matters. As a parent, Gabriel has made me more patient. The stages of development last longer for him, so I can’t get frustrated or impatient just because he doesn’t master the use of a spoon as quickly as I want. If I am to help him and support him, I have to sit back and allow him to learn and explore and discover at his pace. This, in turn, makes me more patient with Nicholas, and a happier parent all around. I can savor the kind of things that would drive most other parents crazy. A while ago, Nicholas got into his paints while I was in the shower. He covered his hands in paint and made handprints on the entryway wall and bathroom door. Rather than yell, or punish, I calmly reminded him that paint is for paper, and put the paints up. Then I got the camera and took pictures of his handprints. It was a big deal to me that he did that. Until recently, he couldn’t stand having his hands dirty or wet. He hated sand and mud and dirt, or even food, on his hands. Now he’s moved beyond that, and I am proud. I don’t think I would have been able to appreciate that milestone if it hadn’t been for Gabriel. As he grows, he will no doubt continue to teach us. His presence in this world will teach all who know him how to understand, accept and love those who are different. Nicholas will learn about compassion without even realizing it. As for Gabriel’s own milestones, well, he will hit them all, in his own time. Instead of worrying about what he’s not doing at a certain age, I appreciate that I have been given the one thing that I know every mother wishes – that our babies could stay babies just a little while longer. Mine has, and I’m loving every minute of it.

About Me

I am a soon-to-be-Forty year old wife, mother, student, teacher, friend. I have three amazing boys, to whom I affectionately refer as my "Wild Things." My life has not taken the path I had planned, and I have learned over the years, that my plans really don't matter. What matters is taking what life give me and embracing all of the complexities and joys and pandemonium that make life worth living. My life is chaotic and messy and wonderful, and I wouldn't change a thing about it. I am passionate about many things. I am a political junkie, I love to debate. I am somewhat technologically-challenged, so we'll have to see how this blogging adventure turns out. I have kids with special needs who bring me great joy and great challenge, and the singularly most amazing husband. I have yet to figure out what I did to deserve any of them. So, that's me, in a nutshell. I hope you enjoy my blog.