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.

success.

endings make me sentimental.

beginnings do too.

if i'm honest, i would probably admit that i'm sentimental ninety percent of the time.  of any time.  at any point, i'm minutes away from crying.  they could be happy tears.  or they could be total ugly cry, break down, i'm not gonna make it tears.

and so the beginning of this school year has me thinking.  and i spend a lot of time in the car.  and that's my thinking time.

and so i've been thinking about max.

and about how far he's come in a year.

my daddy commented on how confident he seemed in the back to school picture i took of he and pratt yesterday.

this morning clint sent me the picture he took of max a year ago...on his first day of school.

and it's incredible.

he was a baby.

he was unsure.  and nervous.  and so scared.

and then today...today he is the new kid.  this confident, strong willed kid.

max has done so much for me. he's taught me more in his 4 years of life than i have honestly learned in the 32 years before his birth.

this isn't new.  i tell people this all the time.  you've probably been on the receiving end of it.  he's taught me to slow down.  to be quiet and listen.  to do things in new ways.  he's taught me to take deep breaths.  to pray before my feet touch the floor in the morning.  to trust in my gut...in my intuition.

most of all though, he's taught me to re-evaluate my definition of success.

prior to him, my success as a parent was dependent upon a few things.  like...

did they get a job?
did they get married?
did they have kids?
do they have a bank account?
a savings account?
an emergency account?

all the first world things we worry about.

max changed all that.

he came in...in a storm of colic and screaming and cries...and he flipped my whole world upside down.

all that is great, yeah.  and that is expected of some, probably even most of us.  right?  yes.  i mean, if left on my own, i'd be at my parent's house.  but i married a man who, i don't even know.  he's the best.  and so i don't worry about anything big.  i really don't worry about anything at all because i'm spoiled.  but i'm off track at this point.

i mean, i want those things for pratt.  and for max, too.  i wan them to have jobs.  good jobs.  an emergency account.  i don't want a busted up water heater...and a new one that costs 4000 dollars to be the reason they lose it.

but their success, their level of intelligence will have nothing to do with where they rank in school.  with how much debt they accumulate starting in college.  with how many titles are placed behind their names.

i used to think that having a child who needed you for the rest of his life...be it because of a disability...because of a disorder...or whatever...i thought that was terrifying.  and scary.  and something i never could deal with.

i was wrong.

if max never sounds like your kid...if he never has the confidence to speak in front of other people...to have a "regular" job, i will turn one of these rooms into an office for him.  the mancave can be his apartment. i'll stock it weekly with popcorn and gummy bears and redbox rentals.  i'll do his laundry.  i'll give him an allowance.  i'll do whatever i have to to make sure he's okay. and happy.  because that's all i want for him.

obviously, in my dream world...he will be fine.  he will sound like i do.  and he won't be made fun of. he won't cry when i leave him in public school. he won't beg me to protect him from bullies.

but all of this has just reminded me that success is more than i ever thought.  it's about taking a lot of small steps.  it's moving in the right direction no matter how long we have to move.  no matter how many steps we have to take.

it's never stopping.  never giving up.   it's about hard work that doesn't always end up with stacks of cash.

it's about being kind to others.  putting others needs before your own.

and the good news is that anyone and everyone can do it.

i know that my max can.  i see it happen every day with his brother.

life is hard.  so hard sometimes.

but then there are days when things make sense.  and the battle seems smaller than i had anticipated.  it's those days i feel strong and capable.

today is one of those days.  my prayer is that you have that day too.

first day jitters.

i took this picture on august 12th.  that was the day we met pratt's kindergarten teacher.

i knew, as soon as i looked at the camera screen, that it was all okay.
that i could stop worrying.  i could stop praying we would get a good teacher.

i knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that pratt was in good hands.  wonderful hands.

so.

here we are.

one year later.

so many changes.

that boy can read.  like really read.  he can sound out any word.  and say it.  he can add and subtract.  he can even multiply but he doesn't know that's what he's doing.

he's grown 2 sizes.  4 shoe sizes.  he's lost 7 teeth since that picture was taken.

he's somehow even more self confident.  he's funny.  and charming.  and thoughtful.

he can get to the library and computer lab and lunchroom without getting lost.  he could get to the nurse's station in his sleep (she's pretty. and he had lots and lots of "tummy aches").

he loves learning.  and he is excited about first grade.

so much of this...90 percent of this is because of that teacher right there.

she was patient.  and kind.  WITH ALL OF THE STUDENTS.

she was fair.  and private.  and never divulged anything she shouldn't have.

she was organized.  she sent notes home telling us what she was doing, what they were doing.  and what we could do here to help.  and she followed through.  ALL YEAR LONG.  i don't even know, man.  she's like a unicorn.

she was present.  all the time.

and somehow, in that room of 20 kindergarteners, she was soft spoken.  consistent.

he loved her.

he still loves her.  he always will.

so i write to those of you who are letting your children fly in two weeks.  those of you who were like me and just knew that it was good...but it was so dang hard.  those of you who will walk those babies in.  and leave them at their desks.  you'll smile and act like all your shit is together.

but it's not.

it's just not.  and that's okay.

i can still remember walking in with him.  him smiling.  me smiling at him.  and waving.

i knew he was okay.

but i had never left him in a new place for that long.

7 hours.

i can close my eyes and see him looking at me as i walked out.  i forced myself not to cry.  i forced myself to be strong.  because i knew he was watching me. and if i'm honest, i knew i would be stalking him on the playground that day.  and so i would see him again before 3 pm.

twice before 3 pm if i'm totally honest.  and don't judge.  you wait and see.  that will be you too.

does it hurt to leave them?
yes.

but as so many of you told me about max, our joy is what they see.

and i know that's what we all want.  to be good, joyful parents.  even when that means walking away. and trusting our schools.  and our teachers.

hopefully, you, like me, know that you can trust them.  because that's what makes it so easy.

and if there is one thing i know after a full year of kindergarten...it is this.

support your teachers.  and your school.  and the principals and office staff.  the cafeteria workers.  support your parent teacher organization.  offer to help.  to help with class parties.  and with extra school supplies.  if you're in a position to do that, try to make it happen.

and more than anything else, remember that leaving them means they are growing.  which means they are thriving.  they are healthy.  they are learning and loving and finding their voice.

they won't be babies forever.  and we shouldn't want that.  we should want them to grow and learn and change.  that doesn't mean they aren't still ours.  that just means life goes on.  and the opposite of that is just no good.  so learn...figure out some way to be okay with it.

more than just okay.  figure out some way to be joyful.

happy first day.

go feel all the feelings.  because there are so many.

eight years. eight, whole years.

in four days, i will have been married to my husband for eight whole years. 

i remember standing there, in front of those preachers….waiting to get started with the wedding.  i remember feeling his hand in mine, his thin fingers grasping my own.

there was something magical about knowing he was next to me.  that he would always be next to me.

i knew that i was comfortable with him. 

i knew that i was safe. safe from everything.  

i knew that he would love me through it all. 

i knew we had been counseled on most things you can think of.  (all things, in reality.  ALL THINGS). 

i remember feeling so calm.  in front of all those people.  so calm that i tilted my head to the right and placed it on his shoulder.  and let out a big sigh. 

because all the preparation that had gone into that special day (and there was a ton from my mom’s best friends)….it was all done.  it was all happening. 

all was right with the world.

while i had ideas about what i wanted (hydrangeas everywhere), i knew that the day didn’t matter.  i knew that it was about the forever.  

about the tomorrow.  

and the next day.  

and the day that we would inevitably receive bad news.  

the day we would argue.  

the day someone would slam the door.  (but no one leaves.  we have a rule.  you can’t leave.  you have to stay in the house and just get over it.  leaving is scary.  so there’s none of that.)

i had no idea what was in store for us.

i didn’t know that years later, we would face real life.  a new baby in the NICU.. horrible, severe post partum (twice).  colic fest 2011.  anxiety, worry.   fear.  crap I never wanted to deal with. 

but you know what?

i would do it all again in a heartbeat. 

is it tough sometimes?  hell yes.  

do i get mad at him?  duh. 

does he roll his eyes at me?  um, have you met me?

but at the end of the day, he is all mine.  and for that, i’m so thankful.  isn’t that romantic?  i think so.  i think it’s so great to know that i’m the only one who really gets to know him.  no one else.  not even andy fisher.  (who i swear he loves as much as me.)

i don’t pretend to have done anything to deserve him.  i don’t know how i got him. he’s not perfect.  and neither am i.  but so often, i feel that we are perfect for each other.  what he lacks, i have.  all my missing pieces…he fills them quite nicely.

if you’re in a relationship and you’re questioning whether he’s the one, let me say this. 

i never questioned it.

i never doubted it.  i knew.  without any hesitation.  when he asked my dad for his permission to ask me to marry him, he said, “i’m ready to put her first”. 

if he’s not willing to do that….find someone who is.  

life is hard.  it always will be.  and if you aren’t ready to put him first…and he’s not ready to put you first, the road will be more difficult than it should be.

shit is gonna happen.

your children will be diagnosed with disorders you’ve never even heard of.  friends will walk away.  life won’t make sense.

trust me when i say you need someone there to help you attempt to pick up the pieces…someone who will help make sense of the nonsense.

before we got married, we read through several books on marriage.  i remember talking one night and him saying that we always needed to imagine life as a triangle.  that i was one one side, he was on the other.  and God was at the top.  as long as we were both moving towards God, we would also be moving toward each other.  isn’t that great?  i always think of that when i want to cuss him for not putting the newspaper in the recycle bin. 

clint, if you’re reading this…thank you. 

thank you for loving me.  for still thinking i'm the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.  for making me feel important.  for seeing me for who I really am.  and for loving that person.  that silly, flawed girl who came to you probably more broken than you had wished.   

i love you back.  with all that I have.  and all that I am.

happy eight years. 

here’s to eight hundred more. 

seasons.

last night i was reminded of max's first 4 months of life.

and in case you don't know...and you're new to this blog.  um.  max cried (read: screamed) for 125 days.  from day 21 to day whatever 21 plus 125 is.

i'm serious.

ask anyone.

screamed his dang face off.

that's what he did last night too.

started at midnight.  12:05 is what my fitbit says.  i thought he screamed for me because he needed to go potty.  that sometimes happens.

but no.  i went in to him and he was screaming.  crying.

clint and i both went over everything we knew.

is it your bottom?  do you need to potty?  is it your belly?  your throat?  nose?  head?  is it growing pains?  do your legs hurt?

we never got an answer.  but we could hear he was struggling to breathe.

he can't blow his nose.  never has been able to. it's either a palate issue.  or a hypotonia issue. i'm not sure which.

we used a warm cloth to wash off what we could.  but that just made him mad.  he finally fell asleep on me.  only to wake 30 minutes later screaming louder than before.

he did this all night.  about every 30 minutes he would scream out.  i assume because he woke and realized he couldn't breath.

because of the apraxia...and because he can't fully express himself to where we can understand, i still am not sure that's all that's wrong.

but we've used the nose frida three times.  and i've rubbed all kinds of oils on him.  and i'm thinking it's allergies and a lack of being able to blow his nose.

as frustrating as this is, i'm reminded that he's healthy.  and here.  in my arms.  and that no matter how many times i have to suction his nose, it's okay.  because that's what i'm supposed to do.

we had four 7th grade boys over the weekend.  for a confirmation weekend with our church.  as we were doing a devotion with them, we started talking about spiritual gifts.

i had no idea what my spiritual gift was when i was in the 7th grade.  i don't think i knew until now.  maybe this past year.

it wasn't until recently i knew a lot about myself.

i know what i like.  what i don't like.  i know what i'll stand for and fight for.  i know what hurts me.  and what makes me happy.

i know that God made me to be a mom.  i know that God gave us apraxia so that we could go out and make the journey easier for someone else.

i know that one day, my max will stand before a big group and he will speak.  and it will be clear.  and precise.  and well thought out.

i know that on that day, i'll be the proudest i have ever been.  i hope that someone has a video camera because i'll be a crying, blubbering idiot and won't see anything.

with each day that i'm handed something that reminds me of the apraxia, or the palate issues, or the hypotonia...i remember that it's gonna be okay.  and that i will get through it.  and that he will prevail.

i know that this won't be our biggest obstacle in life.  i know that something will be larger and harder and worse.  and i know that i will be reminded of this season.  when my 3, almost 4 year old couldn't tell me what was wrong.

if you're here too, if you're feeling lost or frustrated or worried about something you can't control, you're not alone.  i try so hard to not worry about things i have no control over.  it's hard.  but it's necessary.

life is good.  even in these seasons.  especially in these seasons.  because this is when we grow.  and don't we all want to grow?

xxoo.

dear pratt.

my dearest pratt,

in less than five months, you'll turn seven years old.

SEVEN.

that's three away from TEN.  that's double digits.  that will be on a thursday.  and we will need to not be at school that day.  because that day, i'll need ALL THE OILS rubbed on me.  i don't know how i'll get through it.

heck.  i don't know how i'll get through this upcoming day of birth.

seven.

how did it even happen?

i realized that i haven't written you in a while.  and so i wanted to fix it.

i think a simple story can tell so much.  and so i'll share a recent one.  you know, to sort of capture this time. this time in history.  to capture what is going on here.

you left friday to go spend the night with someone.  when max saw your bag packed, he immediately knew what was happening.

so he ran upstairs, pulled out his trunki and packed his own bag.

he filled it with the following: Blue.  pajama pants.  a batman shirt.  ONE flip flop.  ONE cowboy boot.  his toothbrush.  your cologne.  a washcloth. and his blanket.

he didn't even get it closed properly before he was hurling it down the stairs.

by the time he had gotten to the garage, you had left.

he started hollering your name.  as loud as his little voice would get.

but you were gone.

and he knew it.  and he completely and totally broke down.  instead of sitting on the ground, he plopped down on that cracked open trunki and cried.  huge, wet crocodile tears.

i ran to him and he kept saying, "i go att, mom.  i go att."

it was heartbreaking.

i carried him (and his random assortment trunki) inside.  and we sat and rocked in daddy's chair for a long, long time.  his head rested on my shoulder and he cried.

i know that you won't understand this until you have children of your own, but pratt..max's reaction to you leaving is SUCH a huge testament to your love for him.

i struggle so often with how much i put on you.  sunday on the way to cole's birthday i asked you to watch out for him.  to protect him.  and you said, "you don't have to tell me, mom.  you know i always just do that. i won't let anyone do anything to him.  he's safe with me."

you are patient with him.  you are kind.  you don't treat him any differently.  you understand him.  you know him well.  you love him.

thank you for the brother you are.  thank you for the son you are.

thank you for loving me.  and for always telling me.  thank you for letting me hold your hand in public.  thank you for giving me kisses every, single night before bed.

thank you for trusting me with your feelings. and your fears.  and your good days and bad.

i love you more than you love cereal.

xxoo.
momma.

words.

i like to go to sleep before clint does.

there is comfort in that for me.  i like knowing he's there.  i like watching him read as my eyes drift off to sleep.

i'm not a touchy sleeper...you know, it's not like the movies at my house.  we don't tangle up with each other and fall asleep.  i need space.  i often flip my pillow for the cool side. i like being on my tummy but then i like to be on my side too.  i need room.  lots of room.  he would say the same thing.

but i also want to be close to him when i sleep.  i want to know he's there.

so often, i'll slip my hand underneath him.  right under his back.  and i'll leave it there.  and fall asleep.

last night, i knew he was getting tired.  so i turned off my mad men episode and rolled over to face him.

and as i looked up, i saw him. with his glasses on.  reading.  i stared at the outline of his face.  his chin.  his beard.  and his soft, kind eyes.  i looked at his hands.  how tan they always are.  when i see his hands, i'm always reminded of the countless ways he uses them daily.  he creates the most beautiful things with them.  that is never lost on me.

about the time i got comfortable, he closed his book.  folded his hands over it.  and closed his eyes.

i didn't say anything.  because i assumed he was praying.  and i didn't want words to interrupt it.

i watched for a few seconds before i closed my own eyes and prayed too.

the blessing that he is to me...it's never lost on me.  i get mad at him.  i get frustrated when he doesn't put the empty milk carton in the recycle bin...but i don't ever stay frustrated with him.

what he is...and what he will always be to me comforts me when i most need it.  he has been my voice of reason for over ten years now.

i know he will always love me.  i know he will always love the boys.  i know he will always work for us to have what we need.  i know he will always put me first.

i saw a post on Facebook today.  with a quote.  the quote was this...

be careful with your words. once they are said, they can only be forgiven...not forgotten.

isn't that so good?

i read it and immediately thought of my husband.   he is lucky enough to see me at my best...and kind enough to see me at my worst.

he gets me at the end of the day.  when i'm tired.  when i have no patience left.  when the smallest of things will set me off.

and yet, yet i know he's not going anywhere.  i know, God willing, we will grow old together.  i know that i'll be sticking my arthritic hand under his back when we are 90 years old.

there was a time when i didn't know i would ever have that confidence.  i have never been anything but myself with him.  i remember a time before him.  i remember trying desperately to be something i wasn't.

it is never worth it.  it's never worth losing yourself...your true self...to make someone else happy.  because in the end, it will all fall apart.

clint, if you're reading this.
i love you.
and i'm so thankful you love me too.