sandman.

the other night i was singing max to sleep.

sandman.

it's a song someone used to sing me when i was little.  her name was joyce.  she was like my grandmother.  my maternal grandmother died when i was really young.  like 3.  my father's mother had alzheimers.  and so my interaction with her was limited.  she moved away and wasn't really ever a consistent and present force in my life.

but joyce was.

she would put spencer and i to sleep and sing that song to us as many times as we wanted.


there is a part in the song that goes, "he'll come down from the sky and put sand in your eyes".  and as you sing this, you run your fingers ever so gently over their closed eyes.  it's so relaxing.  and it always puts the boys to sleep.

so i'm sitting there singing to max..three times.  he's sound asleep.  but as i get up from the bed, he wakes.  opens one eye, and says, "i love you, momma.  thank you.  thank you, momma."

i put my face right next to his as i have done so many times and closed my eyes and just thanked God for him.  for his sweet and gentle spirit.  for the love he has for me.  for his words.  for his quiet.  for everything about him.

when i sat up, he had fallen asleep again.

as i crawled into my bed, it occurred to me that should he ever get away from me, should he ever get lost, he would have no way of communicating who i was.  who he was.  where we lived.  that he has childhood apraxia of speech.

after getting up and checking every window in our house.  making sure they were all locked.  then making sure the alarm was set and all the doors were locked, i seriously contemplated locking the boys in their room.  then of course i feared that someone would break in their windows and kidnap them that way.

it's crazy town over here, y'all.  CRAZY.TOWN.

after talking myself off the ledge, i googled kidnapping stats and did feel better until i realized that i didn't know anyone who had been kidnapped and so i immediately realized that probably meant there was a better shot at it being one of my kids.  i was frantic.  worried.  sick to my stomach.  it was then i remembered maud crawford.   oh yeah.  i DO know someone.  and just like that, i was a bit relieved.

all that to say, i am crazy.

but also, that i need to get him some type of id bracelet.  that he can wear.  all the time.  that will tell people our names and numbers.  and his name.

i have spent the last 20 minutes searching for one.

i've personalized 2 or 3.  but when it comes time to purchase it, i hesitate.  i think that actually purchasing one will jinx something.  cause something to happen.  make something worse.

there are days when i fully accept being the mom of a kid who needs a little extra attention.  a little extra help.  assistance.  the mom who is always hanging back...waiting on him to catch up.  the mom who has to explain to strangers why yes, he's 4 but doesn't sound like a 4 year old.

and then there are days when i just wish normalcy.  days where i'm not speaking for him. days when i'm not prompting him to say hello.  days when i'm not googling id bracelets for my 4 year old.

i've taken lots of deep breaths.  and i've cried lots of tears.

but we are healthy.  and we are happy.  and we are thriving and growing and progressing.  and those are all good things.

if you're struggling today, know you're not alone.  some of us seem to struggle in silence.  and then some of us...our struggle is evident to anyone within a 15 foot proximity.  that is me.  i'm loud and obnoxious.  and i own it.  it's just how i deal.

i think there is beauty in admittance.  i think there is relief and acceptance and growth.  i cannot imagine hiding my heart.  my worries.  my fears.  that doesn't make sense to me.  just as it doesn't make sense to hide my joy.  my happiness.  i would be miserable.  simply miserable.

so.  all that to say,
go teach your kids their names.  and your names.  and your cell numbers.  just in case.