dear jesus.

tonight max is sleeping in the top bunk for the first time.

his prayer was, "dear jesus, thank you for pratt.  amen".

i just never want to forget that.

yet.

i reminded her that yet is a really important word. 

a word often forgotten.
often left out of my internal worries.

this isn't my original thought.  it is glennon's.  as in momastery.

but it got me thinking.

YET.

it's so big.  it's such a big deal.

i was cooking in our church kitchen this morning.  we are serving lasagna and green beans unbundled and the pioneer woman's cheesy garlic bread for dinner.  i was up doing the beans and bread.  getting them prepped for the oven at 4.

i was standing there, with my pandora radio blasting third day, when it hit me.

many moons ago, probably no one would have thought that i'd be in a church kitchen cooking.  rocking out to christian music.

i was the girl who turned down wednesday night church because it was the SAME NIGHT AS BEVERLY HILLS 90210.

i mean, who expected me to miss the drama that was brenda and dylan?!  not me.  i would be tuning in week by week to see what was gonna happen next.  i had a pillow case with dylan's face on it.  who needed jesus when i had 90210.

are you dying?

yeah.  me too.  so are my parents.

but that's real life.

and real life is just ugly and embarrassing and horrible sometimes.

yet.

there's that word again.

i wasn't there yet in high school.
i wasn't there yet in college.

but i was on my way.

i was being molded into the person i sort of am today.
and the person that i want to be tomorrow.

i've often thought about how some of the wisest people i know are so much older than me.  what's that about?  does it take years?  experience?  tragedy?  pain?  loss?  love?

what is it?  and how do i live it...but also survive it?

sometimes i find myself driving down the interstate (i do that A LOT) realizing this just can't be my life.  i can't have two beautiful, healthy children. who love me.  who like me.  who want to be with me.   a husband who has always put me first.  a man whose goodness knows no bounds.  a family who is perfect in all ways.  friends who are probably the best i could ever ask for.

how can this be my life?
how can i be this lucky?

it's then i feel my throat tighten and i realize it's only a matter of time before something happens.

that something that throws me off track.  and hinders my ability to get to where i want to be.  my ability to understand what this life is really about.  because as that song says, "cause what if your blessings come through rain drops?"

i mean, what if.

what if getting there is all about rain drops.  and tears.

i know.
i know that it is.

but i still want it.

i still want to wake in the morning and thank God for this life.
for this hectic, crazy life.

i want to be content.
i want to to want nothing else.
i want to be good.
and kind.

and i want my boys to grow up and think, "one day, i'll be like my mom."

isn't that what we all want?
we want good for our kids.  happiness.

we want to give our children enough to do something...NOT enough to do nothing.

and so i'll be here.  working on the yet.
taking baby steps.
which sometimes feel like i'm not moving at all.

feel free to join me.

when we feel known...

i'm a procrastinator.
i'm terrified of making my way through a crowd of strangers to find someone i know.
i'm disorganized 6 out of 10 times.
i'm always misplacing my keys, bills, important papers for the boys.
i don't always respond to text messages.
i don't ever delete emails.

these are all things i'm not good at.  things that i constantly work on, but it seems no matter how many resolutions i make...no matter how many times i make check lists, i still haven't mastered these things.

and i probably never will.

and so in those moments when i fail.  in those moments when these things prove to be true...so damn true, i ache.  and i find that i don't like myself.

and i remember so many things.

i remember leaning against the wall in the science hallway.  in my high school building.  i remember standing there.  in my cheer uniform.  i remember a boy...a year younger than me, walking towards me.  he looked at me, smiled...laughed and said, "hey ham hock legs.  whatcha waiting on?"

i go back to the girl i was in college.  dating the guys who only cared for themselves.

i can close my eyes and see the shell of the person...of the young girl i used to be.

and i'm heartbroken for her.

for the girl who never could stand up for herself. the girl who spent her life making sure others were happy.  never questioning why she wasn't.

in those moments when i fail, i remember that girl.  i'm taken back there.  to her.  to the tiny person who no longer exists.  (praise the LORD).

she no longer exists for many reasons.

annie downs said it best with, "when we feel known, it changes who we are."

yes.  one million times yes.

when we feel known.
when we feel validated.
when we feel loved.
when we feel appreciated, admired.
when we have strength.

this didn't happen for me until i was an adult.  i can actually pinpoint the exact moment i felt known.  it has grown over the course of the last few years.

but the spark occurred as i was driving over the arkansas river in 2008.  it was about a week after i found out i was pregnant with pratt.

and it hit me.

i was married.  to this man.  who loved me for me.  who wanted to have a family with me.  who wanted to take care of me and this baby.

he didn't love me because....he loved me although.
and that, my friends, was a first for me.

ever since pratt was in my belly, i have desired a life of happiness for him.  i wanted him to be smart. to be successful.  to be kind.  to be funny.  all the things we want for our children.

last night, at his first parent teacher conference, i was told so many things about him.  things i had prayed for him.  at the end of the conference, i was leaving when the teacher made the comment that he was "such a protector of others".  that he protected them. made sure everything was right and fair and okay.

as i walked out of the building, tears burned my eyes because i realized that what i always wanted for him, he is that child.  he does those things.  he lives that life.

when i texted my parents and my sister, my father's response was, "i know he is only 6 years old and he has a lifetime ahead of him, but i don't know if it is possible to receive a greater compliment."

i agree.  wholeheartedly.

knowing he is helping others to feel known, warms this momma's heart.
knowing he is validating feelings.  loving others.  making hurts better.

well, it just goes to show that our kids really do come through us.  they are not of us.  because i have never been this strong.

if you're young and struggling and reading this, know life does get better.  surround yourself with those who help you feel known.

distance yourself from those who press their identity on you.  those who want to mold you into what they think you are.  run from those people.  they are harmful and will make life harder than it should be.

and if you've found someone who makes you feel known, go hug them.  and thank them.  because i can't think of anything to be more thankful for.

xxoo.

stop.

today when max got in the car (he's walked to the car and put inside by one of his teachers), miss katina said, "max, when one of your friends is bothering you...remember, you say, stop".  and she motioned with her hands the sign for stop.  at least, i assume that's what it was.  it was a flat palm and the other hand was straight.  i'm sure that's what it was.  the sign for stop.

so he did it.  looked right at her and said and signed, "stop".

it's been at the back of my mind all day.

as we drove off i asked him what happened.  and then quickly (as i always do) followed up with, "was someone mean to you, max?"

it has to be a yes or no question.

yes, he said.

he also said a name.  but i couldn't figure it out.  i guessed but i guessed wrong because he said, "no momma" and then repeated the name to me.

still, nothing.  immediately i regretted not knowing all the kids in his class.  because that was the end of our conversation.  i quickly reiterated that he could and should sign and say stop anytime he felt uncomfortable.

on we drove.  to pick up pratt.

a little while later i got a call from an occupational therapist at access.  telling me that max had qualified for OT.  he qualified in several areas.  areas of weakness.

she also wanted me to know where he had done well. areas of strength.  and for a split second, i was so proud of him.

it has bothered me all day.
until you've had this happen, you have no idea how damn exhausting it is to hear where your kid is weak.  where he needs work.  where he needs therapy.  where he could do better.

i want, more than anything, for him to live a normal life.
i want him to be happy.  and strong.  and healthy.
and i want him to run and jump and play with friends on the playground.

i want him to tell secrets.
i want him to tell jokes.
i want him to giggle.

i want him to play hide and seek.
i want him to be able to count to 10.

i want him to be able to tell me what show he wants to watch.
what he wants for dinner.
what he wants to drink.
where he wants to go.
what he wants to wear.

i want him to tell me no.  and yes.
i want him to yell at pratt.
i want him to say a nightly prayer.

i want so much for him.

mostly, i just want him to be happy.

i wasn't here at bedtime, so clint put them down.
max wanted to sleep in the bunkbeds, so clint allowed it.

i went in to check on him and found this...

isn't that the most precious thing you've ever seen?

as i look at it, i can't help but wonder what he's dreaming about.

is he dreaming of olaf?  and anna?
is he dreaming of pratt and fishing?

what about running and skipping and flying kites?
sitting in pop pop's lap.
hugging me as tight as he can.
is he dreaming about sonic ice cream.
or target popcorn.

in his dreams, can he speak like his friends?

will i ever know?  will he ever be able to tell me?

yes.  i know the answer is yes.
but sometimes it feels like life is dragging on.  and while everyone else is moving forward, max and i are stuck.  in sinking sand.

my children are my whole life.  i don't have a real job.  i don't have anything else to worry about.  so i worry about them.  mostly, i worry about that 3 year old.

so if you could, say a prayer for me.  and for that little boy.  and for all the little boys and girls who are dealing with apraxia too.  it's so hard, y'all.

life can just be so hard.  so do me a solid.

teach your kids that we don't all look alike.
we don't all sound alike.
we don't all act alike.

that's part of the beauty of God's creation.
we are all different.

and because of this, it's important to be kind to everyone.  thanks, friends.

xxoo.

dear pratt.

my dearest pratt,

this weekend you turned six.

six years old.  i don't even know.  the high was 74 degrees.  and that's perfect.  because the day i took you home from the hospital...the high was about the same.  it was a beautiful, cool, sunny and windy day.

i've told you many a time that i didn't know how to be a mom.

but six years later, i know exactly how it's done.

it's done with love.
and forgiveness.
with laughter.
and tears.

it's done with patience.
courage.
compassion.

it takes sleep.
and worry.

it takes depression medicine.
and wine.
counting to ten.
counting to twenty.
and when that doesn't work...it takes crying in the shower.
and sonic.  lots of sonic.

it takes friends.
and a daddy.
and grandparents.
and a village to bring food.  to babysit.  to discipline.

the past five years have been the best of my life.  hands down.

nothing compares to this life i have with you and daddy and max.  there are times when i just start crying counting my blessings.  not because i'm sad, but because i am overwhelmed with gladness.  because i am overwhelmed with blessing.  because i, IN NO WAY, deserve what i have here.

i am humbled by our friends.  i am humbled by those that love us.

i need you to know that they love you.  and i worry that you're so much like me...that there will be a time in your life where you question what you're here for.  if you're like me, you will question your worth.  you will question your thoughts.  and your heart.  and your goodness.

let me say something here.

there is no reason to question that.  

i'm not just saying that because i'm your mom.  i'm saying it because i'm smart.  and i know you.  and i know who you are.  i know that no one is perfect.  but i know that you try.  i know that you love with all your heart.

i know that your eyes water when you see or hear something sad.  or something emotionally moving.  you have done this since you were 4.  your emotional intelligence is remarkable.

and because of this, you will love more deeply than the average bear.  you'll also hurt way worse.  you'll cry more.  but you'll laugh more too.  your highs will be higher...and your lows will be lower.  but in the end, when you're 100, i think you'll look back and smile.  and realize that you wouldn't have had it any other way.

i cannot imagine having lived the last three years of life without you.  there is a reason God sent you first.

you are the best big brother i know.  i wish i could be as good of a big sister to sugar as you are to max.  you're that good.

three nights before your birthday, as i was putting you to bed, you called me back over to you.  and you said,

hey momma.  i know you worry about max.  but i want you to know that i take care of him.  like last night at church, i told everyone that he was only 3.  and that he couldn't say words like i could.  so they had to be careful with him.  and they had to be patient.  and that if he got hurt, he would just cry and not be able to tell them what was wrong.  but they could come get me and i could fix it.  

a lot of this cannot be taught.  it's innate, i think.  sure.  we've worked on being kind.  and helpful.  and brave.  we've talked about max and his apraxia.  and we've discussed what a big brother does.  what a friend does.

but your little heart...your little mind takes it so much further.

you are a special child, my pratt.

there was poet by the name of khalil gibran and he said this about children....

your children are not your children. they are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself.  they come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.  

you may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts.  you may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.  

you may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.  for life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.  

all that to say that i want you to be sure of yourself. i want you to be happy.  and kind.  i want you to be patient.

i want you to be better than me and daddy.  i want you to do more.  love more.  wish more.  travel more.  laugh more.  hug more.

all things more.

do not try to be like me.  or daddy.  or anyone else for that matter.
just find you.  know who you are.  know what you like.  what you don't like.
know what makes you happy.  and what keeps you from that.
know you.

i'm not totally sure how to do this.  but i know it involves an insane amount of patience.  and courage.  and a quietness about yourself.  about your soul.  about your life.

and prayer.
pray.  and thank God for your blessings.  and for your trials.  because it is through those, that you will really know who you are.

and my sweet boy, you are off to a great start.

i love you, my little 6 year old.

xoxo,
momma.

show and tell.

often i hear what other people are worried about and i can't help but roll my eyes.

i'm ashamed i do this.  but i do it so often you wouldn't realize i was ashamed of it.  you'd think i would spend more time working on it.  but it's so hard.

because my main worry is max.

he's been my main worry for over a year now.

i worry about the normal stuff too.  like pratt.  and clint.  and my parents.  i worry about my sister.  i worry about life.

but mostly, i worry about max.  and about him talking.  or him not talking.

while he's making strides...huge strides, he still doesn't sound like the "typical" 3 year old.

and so this morning, when i got this email...i fell into tears.

a few things.

one.  sure i'll send the pictures.  and i'll work on everything with max.  i'll even attach a post it with the names of everyone so that his teachers will know what he's saying.

two. i KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that he is in the BEST place for him.  i know that his teachers will encourage him to talk.  i know that his classmates won't wonder why he can't speak as clearly as they can.  i know that not a single child will make fun of him.

and three.  i know that it WILL be fun for him.  he actually will be so proud to stand and show his pictures.

but until you've stood in my shoes...until you've been the mom with the child that doesn't "look like/sound like/act like" the other "typical" kids, you don't understand.

and so i get it.

but let me beg something of you.

teach your children to be kind.

my second worry is about when max starts kindergarten.  i don't worry about pratt making new friends. i don't worry about him in the cafeteria.  i don't worry about him on the playground.  he is capable and sure of himself and he is just fine.  will he eventually have his feelings hurt?  YES.  but pratt fits in well with other kids.  he looks like, sounds like, acts like the majority of the children he's in school with.

i hate apraxia.  i hate that we have to deal with this.  i hate this is what my baby has been given.  i would do anything to take it on for him.  i would give anything to fight this battle for him.

but i can't.  and it's such a helpless, lousy feeling.

i know there will be a day when max gets up with a picture...and can tell story after story about his life. and his family and his pets.  but that day isn't monday, september 8th.

i pray it is soon.  and i pray he remains happy and carefree.

say a prayer for all those dealing with their own issues this morning.

and recognize that maybe your own problems are minuscule compared to others.
i'll do the same.

update to this post, 12:55 pm.

i just received this text from max's therapist, ashley.

there are just no words.  if you zoom in, you can see that she's even included pictures as to how his mouth should look when he says the words.

i just, i don't know.  ashley will never know what this means to me.  she will only understand how i feel when she has children of her own one day.  i'll be there to shower her with gifts and to hold the baby while she sleeps and showers and shops and anything else she might want to do.

because she loves my max.  and as my friend marietta said, "she's got a good heart.  she's not only doing what she is supposed to, but she cares.".

she absolutely does.

so ashley, i love you.  and i'm so blessed to call you our friend and our speech therapist.

worry.

yesterday on our way home from school, pratt informed me that he didn't miss me at all.  that he was okay without me.  and that school was awesome.  and wonderful.  and the best place ever.  and that he loved it.

so i said, "good.  this is such a relief for me, p.  does this mean i can stop worrying about you now?"

he said, "what?  mom.  why are you worried?"

i explained, as best i could, that i have worried about him since he was in my belly.

"since i was a sprankle seed", he asked.

i think he meant either a sprinkle or a sesame seed.  i don't know.  but yes, i told him.  i had.  i have always worried about him.

as my head hit my pillow last night, i commented to clint that i was emotionally exhausted.  his response, "what for"?!

what for.

what for.  oh hell.  i don't know.  BECAUSE MY CHILDREN STARTED FULL TIME SCHOOL THIS YEAR AND I'M LEFT AT HOME WITH NO-ONE AND I MISS THEM ALL THE DAY.  THE WHOLE ENTIRE DAY I MISS THEM.

anyways.

this morning it hit me. i really don't have to worry about pratt.

he's got this.  he has taken his lunch.  and the past two days, he's eaten in the cafeteria all by himself.  he got his napkin.  his knife.  his fork.  his spoon.  his milk.  he's done it all.  he walks to his class alone.  he waits on the church van.  he might as well have turned 18.

he is 5.  and he is a kindergartener.

and while it's so hard to let go of him, i realize that this school thing...it's teaching him life.

he's learning that he's not the center of attention.
he's learning that he must take turns.
that rules exist and he must follow them.
he's learning that he's okay without me.
he's learning to introduce himself.
to make new friends.
to potty (AND WIPE) alone.
he's learning to trust other people.


he will see that the relatively easy life he lives is not standard for everyone.
he will learn that not everyone is kind.
that not everyone makes good choices.
that he will have his feelings hurt.
and that he will have to get past it.  move forward.  keep trucking.

clint watched a documentary about fred rogers not too long ago.  mr. rogers was big on teaching children that even though we may not always see the good in people, it always exists.  the good is always there.  sometimes it's buried so deeply, it has to be unearthed.  uncovered.  discovered.  and sometimes that discovery takes time.

he's been relaying that information to pratt.  there is a kid in the class who has gotten in trouble for hitting.  and so i told pratt to just stay away.

his response: maybe i should give him a few chances, mom.

i didn't know if i should cry or vomit.  if i should hug him and tell him yes.  or shake him and tell him no.

he's 5.  and even at 25, my main concern will be his well being. and because of this, i have an incredible drive to protect him.

but i can't do that forever.

pratt was born with an emotional intelligence that i almost can't begin to describe unless you've seen it in action.

can he be a little turd?  sure.  he's 5.  so can i.  and i'm 35.

but his ability to walk in someone else's shoes is remarkable.  he had a nervous breakdown when he heard clint had to do the ALS cold water challenge.  cried.  hard.  worried about clint's well-being.

this kind of thing cannot be taught.  it might be fostered by those around him.  but it wasn't taught.  it was innate.

he was like this at birth.

and so while it will bring great joy to those he will love and help and fight for, there is no doubt it will also bring sadness to him as he realizes the ways of the world.  as he figures out just how mistreated certain people are.  just how unfair life can be for some of us.

and for that, i worry.

but i'll put that off for right now.

and i'll just revel in knowing he's growing and blossoming into the little boy he's supposed to be.

so blessed to be his mommy.