Parenthood 101: Acceptance

Tomorrow morning, I am taking Jaron to the Rehab Center.
He has been diagnosed with Sensory Integration issues by his pediatrician and will be getting evaluated for further course of therapy.
I don't quite know how that translates exactly into real-life, but I do know after working with preschool aged children for the last few years that we are dealing with an exceptional child in Jaron. Try as we might, it is apparent that Chris and I could use a few pointers on parenting him. So we are looking at this as an opportunity for growth.

It has been a road fraught with both inexplicable joy and trial to be Jaron's parents.
We have loved and corrected, wrestled with him and wrestled with how to parent him.

He knows he is different. Sometimes he is able to celebrate the wonderful qualities that set him apart, and we celebrate them along with him.
Other days, the isolation those 'differences' bring is a pang, straight to the very core of who he is.

As his parents, knowing full well that there are many, many good days sprinkled with some not-so-good days, Chris and I have long sought what help, if any, we should afford him.

At the persistent urging of the entire faculty at our school, Chris and I decided to entertain the possibilities that therapy brings. The doc agreed that this was a journey we should take. One that could greatly benefit our son.

I spoke with Jaron tonight, to prepare him for the unknowns that lie ahead for him tomorrow.
He has never adapted very well to change, a part of having sensory integration issues.
He asked me questions about the new place he is going tomorrow. I tried my best to answer him, but I've never done this either. I didn't know how to answer all of his questions.

I stressed that we all have trouble knowing exactly how to cope with some things. How to 'be' in certain situations - especially new situations. I told him that we were going to make some new friends tomorrow who would help us, give us the tools we need to be the best Jaron and Mommy we could be.
He said, "so that my friends will like me better?"
I winced, "No. So that you stay YOU. Completely you, but the best YOU you can be."

I don't think I know what to expect. I am not sure how to tell him what to expect.
At the end of all this, I want Jaron to feel completely accepted and acceptable.
That is the goal. To equip him for life. Success in school, in jobs, in relationships, in whatever.

I guess I am concerned that the things that make him different, perhaps a touch more difficult to parent/teach at times, will be perceived by him as things that make him unacceptable or less worthy of our love and acceptance.

He is exactly the kid I would have ordered from a catalog if I had been given the chance. I cannot imagine life without his quirky little self.
He needs to know - believe - that wherever he is, whatever he does, he adds so much to the world just by being in it.
His value is without price. His contribution: incalculable. His acceptance: unconditional.

It can be so hard to feel like you've done the right thing in trying to help a child by seeking help from therapists, but if you don't do everything you can to set them up for success, have you done enough? There's a thin, thin line. I want to have stood on the right side of that line when this is all over.

Goose Egg and Gash.

I wish you could have seen the way Jaron leapt from the fireplace, zoomed across the living room, and torpedoed into the air head-first toward the couch cushions.
His only miscalculation? How high to jump.
He waaaay overshot his mark, missed the couch entirely, and hit the wall above the couch headlong with the full force of his body behind him.

The resulting lump was incredible. It looked like a volcano science project when the vinegar gets poured in with the baking soda. POW! Instantly huge.
At one point, Chris said, "Man, you got a goose egg the size of a, well, goose egg."

We iced it and the swelling subsided a tad. But if ever, at any point, during the day he over-exerted himself by doing anything other than sitting and watching tv, it would re-swell. We're talking Biblical proportions.

You already must know what keeping a boy like mine still and calm all day long is like...

I felt like a broken record. Every few minutes I reminded him, "Let's try to stay calm, remember?"
While inside, my heart was racing, terrified that his lump would grow beyond epic. It was so, so huge!

Around 6pm, I could no longer scare him into submission (Calmness). He was taunted one too many times by his little sister. She has this way of sashaying past him and acting coy that the boy simply cannot resist.

The race was on... until she got to her bedroom, turned to see him coming, and slammed the door. On his head.

The resulting gash was incredible.
It was so deep it looked more like a dent in a vehicle than in a human head. No blood at first. Just a kind of eerie gray color with a deep groove. Then it all came rushing out. EWWWW!

Luckily, (I guess it was lucky anyway) it was on the side of his head previously unaffected by the goose egg.

I got all frustrated with him and said, "See? When you get all crazy and start acting wild, this is what happens..."
He was still crying from the pain. I was being critical of his impulsiveness.
I was exasperated. I didn't give him the warmth and comfort he needed. He was hurt and already regretted the decision to take his sister's bait.
I immediately wished I could have been a lot more nurturing. A lot more like my Heavenly Father who never kicks me while I'm down.

So I grabbed my very last ice pack and lovingly doctored his new gash.
I kissed him and held him tight, at a loss for words.
It stung my heart. Too often I fail at this monumental task of motherhood, especially with regard to my son.

Later in the car, he said, "I have decided to forgive myself."
I said, "What did you have to forgive yourself for baby?"
He said, "For actin' all wild and getting myself hurt."

I told him I was sorry for snapping at him and asked him to forgive me.

What's a mom to do with a kid like him?
He's priceless and passionate.
Full of energy and life.
Introspective and impulsive.
Brilliant and all-boy.
He makes me smile everyday. The inside kind of smile - where you know you must be doing something right to have such a great kid.
The very next moment, I want to wring his neck!

He's my baby.
But he's also becoming so big, so fast.
A Kindergartener in just a few more days.

I am terribly proud of him.
Even when I am not terribly proud of the way I mother him.

Webkinz

Mom Alert:

Someone has developed a technique of sucking every brain cell out of a parent's head while adding beau coups of chores to their day.
It's called Webkinz and once a child gets one, the parents are doomed.

If you don't know what I am talking about, here's what they are:
It's an evil force that parades around like a cute little cuddly stuffed animal. Similar to Beanie Babies, only way softer. And for good measure, the mark of the beast, or Webkinz "W" is on their paw, so it's officially a Webkin.
In my childhood, stuffed animals served ONE purpose: to collect dust. But in this day and age, they have concocted a far more time-consuming role for stuffed animals.

The Webkin is given a SECRET CODE. And you are encouraged to go to a special website and adopt your Webkin. But that's only the start.
You, as the good parent, spend an hour and a half reading over the site making sure it's safe. You register the pet (keeping in mind it is and only ever will be a STUFFED ANIMAL!!)
You print out all the special secret information they give you such as passwords and codes.

You breathe a sigh of relief that this drudgery is finally over when lo and behold you realize the fun has just begun. Your child is now interested in becoming a responsible parent. As a responsible parent yourself, you'd be hornswaggled if you didn't support their newfound interest in responsible parenthood. So you engage in navigating this far-too-complicated-for-small-children website whilst reading your child every word, so they can be a part of the whole thing; after all, they did just adopt a 'real' stuffed animal.

You earn money to clothe, bathe, and entertain the Webkin. You buy it a bed, a toilet, and other Stuffed Animal essentials. It just goes on and on. Then its hungry again. You get my drift?

See? Masquerading as an innocent stuffed animal, but I warn you, it's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Err.. Webkinz clothing.

Either way, this lengthy gripe session was all to prepare you for the most horrible confession of all.
I spent hours last night online trying to earn Webkinz money so I wouldn't have to spend so much time today trying to.

Sheesh!

Tonight's gift

I usually tell made-up bedtime stories each night. The kids enjoy it and it keeps my brain from stagnating. (Some might have comments there.)
Anyway, Avery especially has giggled and smiled during my ridiculous made-up story time with her. Lately, she has been asking if she could tell me a story instead.

So here's tonight's story:

"Once upon a time, (they must all begin this way) there was a princess named Avery.
She did wear a princess nightgown like this one (pointing to her tummy).
She did climb up a very tall tree, but she didn't climb down.
She did jump a huge jump out of that tree and did not get bloods. Amen."

I love that girl!

Super sore throat

There are few things that can stop me in my tracks quite as quickly as a sore throat.

Bummer.

Combat Boots

I feel like I'm in the midst of an all-out assault. Jobs, relationships, raising my kids, finances, worthiness, it goes on and on.
The stupid devil isn't gonna win though.

I hate conflict.
For someone who hates conflict as much as I do, why then am I here?

I want it all to be over.

Peace, please, peace.

I guess if it has to be this way, it is better to defend every angle at once, rather than drawing it out for a long period of time isolating one area at a time.

So from all sides it comes. And comes. And comes.

Probably the lesson I should learn from all this is that the battle isn't mine.
And I know that.

It's hard to believe that the battle isn't waged against your flesh and blood when you're the one getting punched in the face.

I should probably duck.

The battle is the Lord's.

I never liked combat boots much anyway.

Sherlock Holmes

I was able to trace by some pretty incredible sleuthing that the gentleman who was hired for the job I applied for is not certified to teach music in the state of Texas.

He is certified as an EC-4 Generalist and has taught 1st Grade previous to this upcoming school year.

I needed that job.

God will take care of us. That goes without saying.

But what they did was not only discriminatory, but illegal.

I am certified to teach EC-12 music.
If there is a certified applicant, you cannot legally hire someone who isn't.


Oy!

here's to you.

for anyone who ever felt like they still wanted to home school their children by the middle of August...

for anyone who truly enjoys eating 'kid food' (read: chicken nuggets and EZ Mac) at every meal...

for you, if the thought of eating McDonald's ever again appeals to you...

furthermore, if you regularly succumb to your children's appeals to go 'inside' McDonald's and Play... (Although, I might suggest a cleaner location to allow them to slosh around in - like the DUMP.) :)

If you can still smile when your children ask to do arts and crafts in the kitchen while you prepare a meal - even though every nook and cranny in your home is crammed to overflowing with meaningful 'artwork'...

for anyone, and I do mean anyone, who is not greedily anticipating the re-emergence of order in your household that the beginning of the school year brings because you cannot imagine what your days could possibly be filled with, if not absolute devotion to your children's needs...

If any of the aforementioned describes YOU,

Here's to you:

First Thing Every Morning

Some people check on their kids.
Some workout.
Me?
I check the job listings for every ISD within driving range from here.

I'm just sayin'...

I'm so boring.

I want to blog. Really. I do.
I just don't have anything constructive to say.

I could tell you that I've been cooking meals. Real meals. But that might cause your head to explode.

I have Half-painted the outside entrance to our house - but that was weeks ago - and I haven't picked up the paint brush to finish yet.

Today is a weird day. All of my teacher friends are going to work today. I was planning on being at work today. I'm not.

It's almost 11 am and I am about to go into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee.

There is a word to describe my slothfulness. Slothfulness.

See? I'm boring...