Yin, yang, whatever...
January 2011 is on it's way out. Hooray! And also, well. Not hooray.
Sometimes I look around and am pleasantly surprised that things are moving along at a good clip. And then I just as often have one of those lurching feelings in my gut - the kids are growing so fast. It's hard to imagine, but they'll each be heading out in the next few years, making their very own marks on the big world. As conflicted as I feel about it - excitement for them and their coming achievements/sadness at the anticipation of them heading out and away - how about all those parents not fortunate enough to be so enmeshed with their young kids? Or even teenagers, even with all the angst and eye rolling?
I'm pretty blessed to have been this kind of mom. I hope the kids feel the same (grin). Q's stuff has added a whole other layer of exhaustion, but it's good to know there too that he's making progress and that he's happy. That is such a big deal. And who could ask for more, for any of their kids?
I had planned an early night tonight. Early is defined a little differently here than a lot of places, I think. I was pretty much set to be out well before midnight, but no go. So I'm just going to take a second for a detour, since we're here. I've thought about this lately, based on several experiences with families dealing with developmental disabilities and other special circumstances. I don't know if there's any way to describe how tired I am a lot of the time. Most moms of kids with special health care needs are constantly too close to collapse, and that's even with pretty significant help from a spouse. If I try to describe how tired I am, will everyone I know go on to spend all our (potential) face time, such as it is, watching to see if I'm just too fatigued? If resources of a bazillion different types are stretched thin around here and I give that issue "airtime" how am I helping anything?
For example: We could use a funding resource. Q needs more and more things that aren't covered by insurance. Some of the other kids need things that aren't covered by insurance. I need to set up a trust for Q to help with this, but what about his sibs? (At this point I allow myself a few seconds of a nice internal scream...) And so I will set this up, somehow, and it will happen, and I won't talk too much about it because I am so aware that what we put out there changes everything - how we're thought of by ourselves and others, the opportunities that present themselves, even our body chemistry, etc. The Butterfly Effect: change one small thing, and it's all different. How do we determine where to draw the line with this?
Life here is so incredibly, legitimately good. It is magnificent because we have those "small" things - K, muttering sarcastically, wishing an ancient ruler good luck in his desire to rule the world. S making her pronouncements all the live long day and then leaving love notes after she's thoroughly worn us out. Q cracking us up with his giggles and guffaws while he successfully pushes a light-up toy around. G being so kind with Q that he makes more mamas than just his own cry. Sniff. E, creating culinary delights, organizing everyone and everything, and driving us only the teeniest bit crazy with the current obsession - ancient Greece (we're building temples next week, thanks - the girl is persuasive!).
It is so good that it compels me to make sure that the crazy-difficult and inexplicable bits don't take the day. They can have part of it. I may gritch about chunks of misery, and I certainly do not fault those who have rather more of that going on in their lives than anything else. I'm choosing to lead with the awesome stuff the kids do and the blessings we experience with startling regularity.
But. It doesn't mean that there isn't enormous inner conflict. Or pain. Or even exhaustion. This week we've had all those and vomit, so I think I'm eligible for a door prize, which looks suspiciously like... (drum roll please) more medical appointments in the coming weeks.
And the kids still read, write, do maths, make cool stuff, and amaze me always. Sometimes friends call or drop by (thank you!), and we have that space for revelry, even though there's not much reverie lately. While so much of this picture may not technically be what I signed up for, it is certainly as much as anyone can hope for. Even with the not early nights. Even with disappointment, worry, heartbreak. I am blessed.
I think I'm going to attempt sleep. I was so hoping to be asleep earlier. I will cry if I think about it, so I won't. It was past two before I was out Friday morning, with an early day Friday for Q, and now the kids have rehearsal after church and then an evening gathering for their group, too. Better living through caffeine, people. Come on over, I'll share. After sunrise. Maybe Sunday. Who knows - we can shoot for reverie.
XO.
Sometimes I look around and am pleasantly surprised that things are moving along at a good clip. And then I just as often have one of those lurching feelings in my gut - the kids are growing so fast. It's hard to imagine, but they'll each be heading out in the next few years, making their very own marks on the big world. As conflicted as I feel about it - excitement for them and their coming achievements/sadness at the anticipation of them heading out and away - how about all those parents not fortunate enough to be so enmeshed with their young kids? Or even teenagers, even with all the angst and eye rolling?
I'm pretty blessed to have been this kind of mom. I hope the kids feel the same (grin). Q's stuff has added a whole other layer of exhaustion, but it's good to know there too that he's making progress and that he's happy. That is such a big deal. And who could ask for more, for any of their kids?
I had planned an early night tonight. Early is defined a little differently here than a lot of places, I think. I was pretty much set to be out well before midnight, but no go. So I'm just going to take a second for a detour, since we're here. I've thought about this lately, based on several experiences with families dealing with developmental disabilities and other special circumstances. I don't know if there's any way to describe how tired I am a lot of the time. Most moms of kids with special health care needs are constantly too close to collapse, and that's even with pretty significant help from a spouse. If I try to describe how tired I am, will everyone I know go on to spend all our (potential) face time, such as it is, watching to see if I'm just too fatigued? If resources of a bazillion different types are stretched thin around here and I give that issue "airtime" how am I helping anything?
For example: We could use a funding resource. Q needs more and more things that aren't covered by insurance. Some of the other kids need things that aren't covered by insurance. I need to set up a trust for Q to help with this, but what about his sibs? (At this point I allow myself a few seconds of a nice internal scream...) And so I will set this up, somehow, and it will happen, and I won't talk too much about it because I am so aware that what we put out there changes everything - how we're thought of by ourselves and others, the opportunities that present themselves, even our body chemistry, etc. The Butterfly Effect: change one small thing, and it's all different. How do we determine where to draw the line with this?
Life here is so incredibly, legitimately good. It is magnificent because we have those "small" things - K, muttering sarcastically, wishing an ancient ruler good luck in his desire to rule the world. S making her pronouncements all the live long day and then leaving love notes after she's thoroughly worn us out. Q cracking us up with his giggles and guffaws while he successfully pushes a light-up toy around. G being so kind with Q that he makes more mamas than just his own cry. Sniff. E, creating culinary delights, organizing everyone and everything, and driving us only the teeniest bit crazy with the current obsession - ancient Greece (we're building temples next week, thanks - the girl is persuasive!).
It is so good that it compels me to make sure that the crazy-difficult and inexplicable bits don't take the day. They can have part of it. I may gritch about chunks of misery, and I certainly do not fault those who have rather more of that going on in their lives than anything else. I'm choosing to lead with the awesome stuff the kids do and the blessings we experience with startling regularity.
But. It doesn't mean that there isn't enormous inner conflict. Or pain. Or even exhaustion. This week we've had all those and vomit, so I think I'm eligible for a door prize, which looks suspiciously like... (drum roll please) more medical appointments in the coming weeks.
And the kids still read, write, do maths, make cool stuff, and amaze me always. Sometimes friends call or drop by (thank you!), and we have that space for revelry, even though there's not much reverie lately. While so much of this picture may not technically be what I signed up for, it is certainly as much as anyone can hope for. Even with the not early nights. Even with disappointment, worry, heartbreak. I am blessed.
I think I'm going to attempt sleep. I was so hoping to be asleep earlier. I will cry if I think about it, so I won't. It was past two before I was out Friday morning, with an early day Friday for Q, and now the kids have rehearsal after church and then an evening gathering for their group, too. Better living through caffeine, people. Come on over, I'll share. After sunrise. Maybe Sunday. Who knows - we can shoot for reverie.
XO.
1 comment:
Again, a beautiful post. Thank you for writing.
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