so hard.

one of my most vivid memories of pratt is when he was almost 2.  maybe one and a half years old.  he was sitting on the counter.  right above the utensil drawer.  we had his plate, bowl, cup and utensils out on the counter for dinner.

he reached over, picked them up and named everything on the counter.  then moved on to, sink, towel, stove, banana...

clint and i just looked at each other.  we knew he was young.  and that it was impressive.  but still we thought maybe it was what all 1.5 year olds were doing.

then came the letters, the alphabet, numbers, colors, shapes, etc.  he's never stopped.  he hasn't stopped in 5 years.

he is, hands down, one of the brightest children i know.

i thought it was normal.  and maybe (if i'm being totally honest), i thought it was a wee bit because of me.  because i'm awesome.  i mean, i devote my entire awake time to talking with him.   feeding him.  loving him.  so surely he's awesome because i'm awesome.

rolling your eyes?  i know.  it's gross.  but whatever.  it is what it is.  and as with all things superficial and ridiculous and self centered...it ends bad.  so just wait.

then came max.

who showed me that good sleep couldn't be taught.
and colic wasn't gonna be stopped.
and that you can't force a kid to talk.  even if you withhold his juice because he won't say juice.

no.  max taught me that pratt wasn't a result of me.  or my parenting.  pratt was a result of genetics.  period.  he is who he is.  sure.  i read lots of books.  and we watched videos.  and we talked.  but he's what God meant for him to be.

not because of me.  but more like....in spite of me.  i heard that somewhere.  maybe khalil gibran?  can't remember.

anyway.

max has taught me things i never knew.  not even after one kid.  not even after all i learned from pratt.

max has taught me that good things come to those who wait.  that being first isn't necessary.  and sometimes it's not even fun.  he's reminded me that it's okay to get messy while eating.  that it's okay to open your mouth while it's still full of milk.

he's reminded me that it's good to stop and smell the flowers.  that it's a good thing to celebrate each step.  no matter how small it might look to someone else.

he's reminded me that everyone (even if they don't look it) is fighting some battle.  EVERYONE.

more than anything else, he has taught me patience.

because there isn't anything quite as difficult as listening to a therapist tell you that your baby just "needs more multisensory therapy" while your 5 year old won't stop talking.  won't stop asking questions of you...over the therapist...while you can see out of the corner of your eye, your 2 year old looking at you...quiet as a church mouse.

you want to scream.  and cry.  and throw something.  because you would give anything to just shut the five year old up.  and make the 2 year old scream something.  something like, "i love you mom." or even just "mom".  anything.

and then as quickly as the anger came...you feel guilt.  because what in the world are you mad about?  praise Jesus that the 5 year old is healthy.  and happy and CAN talk.  and the 2 year old, while mostly nonverbal...IS healthy.  and happy.  and it could be different.  and harder.  and it's just not.

and so you sit on that miniature kids couch.  dealing with all this.  wanting to cry. wanting to yell for your mom.  but instead, instead you shake your head.  and say okay.  and act like you're cool.

being a mom is hard.  so damn hard.

pratt.

a few things pratt has said recently.

please keep in mind he is four.  four, people.  four.

"momma.  i know what i want to take for snack.  artichokes.  everyone can have their very own butter dish.  with their own artichoke.  those kids will wov that, momma."

preschool.  he's talking about preschool.

i offered up a biscuit with jelly on it.  and his response:

"no fank you.  i prefer honey."

yes.  prefer.  he's 4.

so dang funny.  so, so funny.