Sunday, September 3, 2017

a Sunday as a special needs mom

"Mom, during pickup time, G was trying to get up to come to the door and some kid called him a slowpoke. I told him not to be mean, but I really wanted to slap him for saying that."

This prompted a discussion we seem to be having more and more these days. Earlier this week it was an older lady at the YMCA commenting about G's walking. Today it was a kid in church calling names. Of course, I commend my oldest for not responding with slapping. We talk about why we get angry when people say things about Bug and the reasons why they may say it and why we should think before we speak. It is easy to be the calm and collected mama on the ride home from church. It is not easy when I finally sneak away to the shower and cry my eyes out so my boys don't hear.

Bubby didn't know the name or even a good description of the boy who said the mean thing today, which honestly is probably a good thing since I volunteer now in there. And it isn't anything about this church or the teachers in there that caused this to happen. When we were at our Missouri church a child said in Bug's face right in front of me during Awana games, "Haha! You are slow!" To which I calmly but directly told the child that he was being unkind.

I think the thing that undid me this evening was the fact that this will happen more and more in the years ahead. Not necessarily at church, but at co-ops or playgrounds or birthday parties or story times. We pick on others to make ourselves feel better. Not just kids, adults, too. I know I have been guilty of this, and being on the mama side of it makes me realize just how horrible it is.

We are still settling in here.  The kids here don't know Bug. We haven't found our mama-hen-peer for Sunday school that we had a couple of previously. There isn't Art Inspired Academy where Bug is around kids who are more like him than not, who don't care that he doesn't run and can't hold a crayon well. The parents we know here we don't know well enough yet, and so they probably haven't had the "here's how to be a friend with someone with cerebral palsy and autism" talk yet. So in many ways I am starting from square one with educating and advocating and such.

I mentioned to the other volunteer in nursery with me today about Bug's noises sometimes in church. "Well at a Reformed church those noises really shouldn't bother other people since they are coming from a covenant child. Those are covenant cries and noises." I'm not Presbyterian enough yet to completely grasp everything about covenant children, but the encouragement helped me this morning and again now as I have dried my tears. Bug is a child of God that we have promised to raise in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and therefore, church should be a place for him to be accepted and included. And he has been both at our Missouri church and our Arizona church. We have been blessed by pastors and elders who have been nothing but supportive and helpful.  But now some of the work and prayers begin again in making church a home be a more complete reality for my child.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

The hardest part

The hardest part of moving across the country hasn't been adjustments that I have personally had to make. Those have honestly been relatively easy and painless. The hardest part for me has been watching my kids adjust to leaving behind all that was familiar. Bug left behind his beloved Art Inspired friends and teachers. Bubby left behind a handful of best buddies he saw twice a week. I hear homesickness in Bubby's prayer requests, the questions they both ask, and the way Bug mentions Miss Jamie and Mr. Richard at least twice a week. I think if I had known how hard this aspect of moving would be, I would not have wanted to move. It would have given me huge reservations. So I guess it is a good thing that I didn't know. I suppose that made it a little act of faith, but it also just feels difficult lately.

I am a worrier and an over-analyzer. I worry because I know how I felt when I moved to Yuma after college - it was the first time in my life that I didn't have close friends near me. I had always had a small group of close friends, and even thinking about those Yuma years now causes me to tense up and tear up a bit. The homesickness was heavy - not for my hometown but for friendship and familiarity. I had it my first few years when we moved back to Springfield, too. The wanting to be  known. The desire for inside jokes and people who know your backstory and your baggage and love you any way. I'm sure that need looks a little different for my boys, but the essence of it is the same. Bubby needs someone who understands his mixture of goofiness and seriousness,  Bug needs a friend or two who can engage even with his physical and social differences.

I would give up all of the friends I have just for my boys to have some, just for them to feel at home here. But it doesn't work that way, so we wait. We wait and pray and have faith that God is even using this season of homesickness for their good and His glory. And we remember that this longing to feel at home is a reminder that there is a better home awaiting us one day. I hope I continue to point my boys to Christ during this, to the friend who sticks closer than a brother, to the one preparing a place for us in heaven. I pray that the broken parts of their hearts are mended in a way that makes them stronger, yet more sensitive, than they might have been otherwise.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

To Bugaboo, who is almost six and a half

Dear Bug,
You have been six for almost half a year now, and here I am finally writing your letter. I was late with your brother's letter, too, so I hope you will forgive my procrastination and delay.
(photo credit for this one - Sarah Bottarel Photography)




In a couple of days, you will finish kindergarten. It was a fast year and a slow year, an easy year and a hard year, and I wonder what you have learned while also marveling at what you have accomplished. Letters and sounds have always been your thing. I remember being in an IEP meeting when you were not quite four and telling the-powers-that-be that you knew all your letters and their sounds. They replied that you didn't need to know that yet, instead of seeing the beauty of the fact that you did know them. You know many beautiful things in your own mysterious way of learning and showing what you know, and I am thankful to be the one who daily gets to witness that. You can read short words, and you love your favorite stories. This year you returned often to your old favorite, Blueberries for Sal, and you also love poetry and Beatrix Potter, and of course, Pete the Cat. You have branched out from your favorite Veggie Tales characters and now also enjoy Buck Denver, Sid the Science Kid, Daniel Tiger, and Super Why.



You have handled our move and transition to Arizona much better than we thought you might, much better than your mom. You miss your art and music classes and your friends there. We have had a break from therapies as we settle in, but you have not regressed. Your endurance is getting better on walks, and you have also met a very important milestone this year. You enjoy our trips to the pool, and you love bossing Scout around. One of the phrases I hear you often say is, "I do it. I do it myself." Little by little you are taking steps to independence, and it is a joy to watch. You are a joy to watch grow up. We love you just the way you are, and we are so thankful that you are the six year old in our family right now.



Love,
Mommy

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Root Canals and the Desire To Settle

Two months in and we are settling a bit. The Hubs started his NP job last week, which thus far has consisted of training and shadowing. We are adjusting to having him work an 8-5 job for the first time in a long time. As someone who craves stability, I find this a beautiful adjustment.

In the in between time of his temporary job and the start of his NP job, I found myself needing a root canal. I was in sudden and excruciating pain. We were new in town and lacking dental insurance, so it was pretty much the perfect time for hundreds of dollars of dental work. And I had forgotten what a process a root canal is, so now with The Hubs working a regular job, I had to find someone to watch my kids so I could get a crown. I have cried a few times in recent days over this. First, when a lifelong family friend offered to drive a few hours to watch my kids. Then I cried when I realized how much I miss my Missouri friends. There are at least half a dozen people I could have called to watch the boys for me for an afternoon. Not having made those kinds of friends yet made me want to cry in the bathroom with the door closed more than once.  And it wasn't just tears from missing my friends, but for having to be so needy right away, asking for help and advice and recommendations.  I don't want to be needy. I want to have it all together. But I don't. I am new in town and in need.

I don't know how people survive without the local church. I don't say that judgmentally, but it has been such a lifeline for me that I cannot fathom being able to be new without a resource of community and friendship. We are pretty sure we have found our church home. We were invited to Easter dinner. I was given some ideas for babysitters. I have a place to go a couple of weeks to study and to laugh and to start making some friends. And so we are slowing starting to settle in here.

It doesn't feel like home yet. I miss the comfort zone of the last four years of Sundays and Wednesdays and other days, too. I still spend time each week saying our names, our previous locations, and our kids' ages to people we meet. But I'm starting to get to spend a few minutes each week discussing This Is Us and where to buy shoes for seven year old boys and why I love homeschooling and why Romans 3 is powerful and amazing. It doesn't feel like home yet, but it feels like it has potential to feel like home. And that potential keeps me hanging on through stressful dental appointments and keeps me hoping that we will find our place here pretty soon.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Homesickness

I awkwardly hugged someone I didn't know tonight. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a physical touch person. I snuggle my kids, but I am not a natural hugger.  Yet tonight I accidentally went in for a hug instead of a handshake when I met my new BSF discussion group leader. I don't know if it is because she is from the Quad Cities, or I miss being part of BSF so much or that I haven't been around very many people in the last month but I cannot believe I hugged.

Right now it is 10:30 PM. The sliding door to our patio is open, and the smell of tree blossoms in the desert are wafting in, telling me that spring in the desert is the best thing ever. It really is beautiful here. There are mountains and sunshine and cacti and ninety degree days in March. It feels like a place I want to make home. But I miss my friends.

I miss chatting before service or Puggles class. I miss occasionally meeting a friend for coffee or discussing an interesting topic in Sunday school. I miss not having to say my kids' names and ages or trying to explain the special needs of our family. I miss knowing people and I miss being known.

We have been visiting various churches, which feels very American when I think about it too long. Is the preaching solid? Is the music okay? Is there anything at all for our kids yet is it a church that will not just entertain our kids? Is it close enough? Is it not too big not too small? It begins to feel a bit like shopping or like a scene from Goldilocks and the Three Bears. I don't want to shop for a church. I just want to go and know others and be known and hear the Gospel.

We may have found a home church. It still feels a little early to know for sure, especially since it will be another denomination change for our family. But I want to stop shopping and settle. There's a comfort I already feel on Sunday mornings there, just three visits in. When I take the bread and the cup each week, I am comforted by the familiar, by the knowing, by the being known. When the Scripture is read, when the hymns are sung, when the benediction is given, I lose my homesickness for ninety minutes. And isn't that the purpose of it all? To point us home?

Thursday, February 9, 2017

goodbyes

Tonight I sat with a dozen friends around chips and queso and good conversation. I wanted to say more than I said out loud, but I think they all know I am a writer, not a speaker. But if I could have made a speech, I would have said this.

Around this table is just four years or less of friendship with each of you, but it feels like more. We have been each other's kids AWANA's teachers. You have seen me cry in Sunday school classes (in th cry room of course) or in Bible studies. We have shared snacks and stories on break during VBS weeks. Some of us have studied 1 Peter and travelled to Indianapolis together. We have prayed for one another, in person or via the internet. You have cheered for my kids and those of you further along in faith have mentored me, even informally. You have shown me the beauty in complementarianism and I have almost converted enough to adopt that label for myself. You  have shown me what life looks like at different phases of the journey. You have encouraged me after each diagnosis for Grady, you have worn green for CP and blue for autism. You have made me feel included from our first Wednesday night at Boulevard.

I tell everyone I wish I could take my church to Arizona. We are not a perfect bunch, but you have taught me what gospel-centered friendships look like. It wasn't from a step-by-step manual, but it was true friendship, mostly among introverts and a few extraverts. When you have asked how I am doing, you have taken the time to listen to my answer. You have helped your children to understand mine, and that has been one of the greatest gifts. One of the hardest parts of leaving is knowing my kids won't be in Bible quiz or youth group or on mission trips with yours. Thank you for being families that my family wants to be around each week.

I don't know how to end this. I am terrible with writing conclusions, and I am terrible with goodbyes. If it were the nineties, I would start singing, "And a friend's a friend forever..." but it is 2017, so I won't. Thank you for investing in me and in my family. The Lord has used the four years at Boulevard to heal a lot of my old church wounds, and you all have been part of that healing. Please come visit us in Tucson. We don't have an Andy's, but we do have an In-n-Out.

Love always,
Amanda

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Home

Home.

The word stirs up so many memories and emotions.

It was my childhood in a quiet cul-de-sac. A dollhouse in the basement, a place for kickball games on the street, a room which held hopes and dreams and dozens of journals over a decade. It was my mom sacrificing so much to keep the house, when my dad walked out, to keep the thing that provided us stability and security. It was also this summer, as my children rode big wheels on the same pavement where I once rollerbladed for hours with my friends.

It was the four year temporary residence of Walther Second South, with its mint green rooms and bathrooms for four girls to share daily. It was late night conversations in hallways lined with painted trees while Sara Groves CDs played in the background. It was dialing FIXR and yelling, "Man in the floor!" and walking back from the caf with ice cream cones.

It was an apartment in the desert, to live in all by myself. Single for the first eighteen months and newly married for the last six. It never really felt like home while I was there, but once we moved away I missed the frequent trips for burritos and the free cable.

And for almost twelve years it was the small house on the north side of town. It was learning how to be married and how to fight fair. It was setting the security alarm every night. The dogs we owned ran freely in the fenced in backyard. It was the place to which I brought home my babies, and also the place where I did not come home with a baby. It was never enough closet space but always enough bathrooms to clean, and it was a place of reconciliation and disappointment and hope and frustration.

Now we are in a temporary place - not quite what we thought for many reasons. It is more  space than any family needs. There are pleasant fields with cows nearby that I love to watch, but the bathrooms are cold and the cleaning never seems to end. I don't feel settled here because that was never the purpose of this location for us.

In a few weeks we will be gone and starting somewhere new. Though we know where we are going, we don't have an exact address or date yet. So here I am, the one who craves stability and security, and I am having to rest on the hope that we will get there when we get there, that home is where the heart is, and a few other cliches, too. I do not do well with resting or cliches.

I am wanting to stay in the familiar, among the friends who have seen me ugly cry in small group settings, who witnessed and affirmed C's baptism, who know what G needs in VBS each summer. and yet I am longing to leave - to say the goodbyes as if ripping off that painful bandaid, and to begin a new life in a new place in a new home.

So that is my word. Home.

Perhaps in 2017 I will better understand what it means to me.