I've been doing a lot of self reflection lately, and I fully admit that I am my own worst critic, but I think all moms sort of get the shaft in the good job department. For the record, if you are a mom and your kids and happy and loved, you are a good mom.
I regularly neglect house duties to spend time with my kids, and although I am trying to get better in the home making department, I am allowing myself to see that I'm a pretty good mom. I've got a lot stacked on my plate, but I manage it pretty damn well, all things considered. I'm not broken. I'm not drowning. I'm not perfect and never will be.
I'm thriving now, and so are my kids. I'm a pretty damn good mom, even if I have to force myself to say it sometimes.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Monday, February 3, 2014
Let It Go
When we took custody of Little Moon, we laughed to ourselves how it wouldn't be long before this soft-spoken, whispering little child would be swinging from the lights and screaming just like his brothers, as hard as it was to imagine.
Two and a half months later, I am listening to a very loud duet of the Frozen soundtrack from that same tiny whispering child and his almost-as-tiny but way louder older brother. This duet includes musical instrument that are likely cars they are banging on our table (or each other). I'm confident that last verse will be belted out in a monster/super villain voice. It's loud and uninhibited and filled with laughter. It's making me smile and reach for the headache medicine.
I am trying to teach myself to roll with the level or noise and commotion a house of three boys brings. I tend to reject the gender stereotype notions that say that boys have to be louder and and more brash and rough than their female peers. But as I continue to parent my three boys, I am losing the battle to keep them meek and quiet and slow. I'm teaching myself that it's OKAY for little kids (boys or girls) to be loud in appropriate places in appropriate ways. And I am teaching myself that those appropriate places and ways for kids are more vast than I have or wanted to accept.
I pride myself on my boys' manners and behavior. It's not perfect, but they don't act like they have been raised by wolves and they don't bother people in places that people shouldn't be bothered. They sit mostly quiet in church, movie theaters, and restaurants. But in our home or in the homes of our friends...yes, I am forcing myself to let them scream and jump and wrestle. I believe I'd let a little girl do the same if she felt inclined. In fact, as a family who infuses nearly every part of our day with some form of speech therapy, I encourage it.
So sing away, Elsa and Ana. Fight the bag guy, Batman and Superman. Let's have that parade, Badger Marching Band. And if you are shushed, Mama will find you a different place to let your energy shine when you need it to. Even when I'd much rather that we all cuddle quietly for some book time, I'm learning to let it go and let you explore your childhood bodies and minds however loud you want.
Two and a half months later, I am listening to a very loud duet of the Frozen soundtrack from that same tiny whispering child and his almost-as-tiny but way louder older brother. This duet includes musical instrument that are likely cars they are banging on our table (or each other). I'm confident that last verse will be belted out in a monster/super villain voice. It's loud and uninhibited and filled with laughter. It's making me smile and reach for the headache medicine.
I am trying to teach myself to roll with the level or noise and commotion a house of three boys brings. I tend to reject the gender stereotype notions that say that boys have to be louder and and more brash and rough than their female peers. But as I continue to parent my three boys, I am losing the battle to keep them meek and quiet and slow. I'm teaching myself that it's OKAY for little kids (boys or girls) to be loud in appropriate places in appropriate ways. And I am teaching myself that those appropriate places and ways for kids are more vast than I have or wanted to accept.
I pride myself on my boys' manners and behavior. It's not perfect, but they don't act like they have been raised by wolves and they don't bother people in places that people shouldn't be bothered. They sit mostly quiet in church, movie theaters, and restaurants. But in our home or in the homes of our friends...yes, I am forcing myself to let them scream and jump and wrestle. I believe I'd let a little girl do the same if she felt inclined. In fact, as a family who infuses nearly every part of our day with some form of speech therapy, I encourage it.
So sing away, Elsa and Ana. Fight the bag guy, Batman and Superman. Let's have that parade, Badger Marching Band. And if you are shushed, Mama will find you a different place to let your energy shine when you need it to. Even when I'd much rather that we all cuddle quietly for some book time, I'm learning to let it go and let you explore your childhood bodies and minds however loud you want.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Distance
For once, my writing here in this space was not for any woe-is-me reasons. Life is actually wonderful. Life with three boys, a dog, and a husband is incredibly fulfilling. Easy, no, but happy. I'm finding a lot of new things in my own life and changing some things up. It's good.
But I took intentional distance from this space because over the past few months I have realized that this space became my place to vent, lament, and provide my own comfort...especially with regards to Little Bug's needs.
For the record, I regret writing only one post here in the past four years, and that post was deleted very quickly. Even the most painful of posts are precious to me because they capture a snapshot of a very real, very raw situation. I love reading the posts where I celebrate the milestones and triumphs of my children.
But in the last few months I took a break from this space because I've began to realize through some uncomfortable self reflection that my openness with Little Bug's needs (although written in the spirit of honesty or fierce pride for my son) has taken away his ability to just be Little Bug to the world. This blog isn't anonymous to a lot of readers, and that's something I have always been okay with, but that I know see in a different light as I think through the things that I have shared here over the years.
Little Bug is 6 years old now. He's in school and making friends and living a life crafted around hobbies and talents of his own making. He is the most loving child you will ever meet. He will always be excited to see you, meet you, become your friend, and learn your first and last name. He takes pride in his shirts, watches, and sun glass collections. He only wants to eat hot lunch at school because it's cool. He knows that he has to work hard, both physically and academically, and although that is a drag, he has amazing work ethic and will never give up. And he'll turn around and do it again for you with a smile, high five, and fist bump. He's a great big brother who coos comfort to his baby brother in Korean and helped potty train him. He has great hair, eyes that often literally twinkle, and a smile that can go from impish to mega-watt in a heart beat. He is an unforgettable little boy who charms everyone he meets.
But I don't write or talk about that enough. Instead I spend my time talking about medication, therapy, IEPs, sensory, tics, etc. etc. etc. And that stuff is even more unique, so it makes sense that it will float to the forefront when people think of Little Bug. And in our quest to make life easier for our son, to help people understand him, and to share our incredible pride in his accomplishments, Appa and I have spent years perpetuating this.
That really sucked as a mother to realize. Because maybe I wasn't helping him by being so open...maybe it was actually just myself I was helping at the expense of his privacy.
So we've realized that at this stage in his life, what Little Bug needs is a very small Team Little Bug to worry about those parts of his life, and the rest of his world to focus on getting to know the Little Bug that is growing into a shining, engaging, hilarious, curious, kind boy.
From now on, Appa and I have agreed not to share details of Little Bug's challenges with people. That includes my writing about them in this space. After a lot of contemplation, I will continue to write here about all my boys, but simply be mindful of what they might want to be shared about their lives as they get older. And I'll continue to share our special needs journey through MY eyes and MY challenges, but I'll never make it specific to Little Bug's needs again. We aren't going to act like they don't exist, but by now, everyone who needs to know that Little Bug is different knows enough to be a valued part of his life. And all the anonymous people who read this blog...you know enough, too.
I hope that no one takes this the wrong way. This is a wrong that Appa and I take responsibility for and are seeking to fix before Little Bug gets any older. We love our son, we are proud of our son, but most of all, he is simply that...our beloved son.
But I took intentional distance from this space because over the past few months I have realized that this space became my place to vent, lament, and provide my own comfort...especially with regards to Little Bug's needs.
For the record, I regret writing only one post here in the past four years, and that post was deleted very quickly. Even the most painful of posts are precious to me because they capture a snapshot of a very real, very raw situation. I love reading the posts where I celebrate the milestones and triumphs of my children.
But in the last few months I took a break from this space because I've began to realize through some uncomfortable self reflection that my openness with Little Bug's needs (although written in the spirit of honesty or fierce pride for my son) has taken away his ability to just be Little Bug to the world. This blog isn't anonymous to a lot of readers, and that's something I have always been okay with, but that I know see in a different light as I think through the things that I have shared here over the years.
Little Bug is 6 years old now. He's in school and making friends and living a life crafted around hobbies and talents of his own making. He is the most loving child you will ever meet. He will always be excited to see you, meet you, become your friend, and learn your first and last name. He takes pride in his shirts, watches, and sun glass collections. He only wants to eat hot lunch at school because it's cool. He knows that he has to work hard, both physically and academically, and although that is a drag, he has amazing work ethic and will never give up. And he'll turn around and do it again for you with a smile, high five, and fist bump. He's a great big brother who coos comfort to his baby brother in Korean and helped potty train him. He has great hair, eyes that often literally twinkle, and a smile that can go from impish to mega-watt in a heart beat. He is an unforgettable little boy who charms everyone he meets.
But I don't write or talk about that enough. Instead I spend my time talking about medication, therapy, IEPs, sensory, tics, etc. etc. etc. And that stuff is even more unique, so it makes sense that it will float to the forefront when people think of Little Bug. And in our quest to make life easier for our son, to help people understand him, and to share our incredible pride in his accomplishments, Appa and I have spent years perpetuating this.
That really sucked as a mother to realize. Because maybe I wasn't helping him by being so open...maybe it was actually just myself I was helping at the expense of his privacy.
So we've realized that at this stage in his life, what Little Bug needs is a very small Team Little Bug to worry about those parts of his life, and the rest of his world to focus on getting to know the Little Bug that is growing into a shining, engaging, hilarious, curious, kind boy.
From now on, Appa and I have agreed not to share details of Little Bug's challenges with people. That includes my writing about them in this space. After a lot of contemplation, I will continue to write here about all my boys, but simply be mindful of what they might want to be shared about their lives as they get older. And I'll continue to share our special needs journey through MY eyes and MY challenges, but I'll never make it specific to Little Bug's needs again. We aren't going to act like they don't exist, but by now, everyone who needs to know that Little Bug is different knows enough to be a valued part of his life. And all the anonymous people who read this blog...you know enough, too.
I hope that no one takes this the wrong way. This is a wrong that Appa and I take responsibility for and are seeking to fix before Little Bug gets any older. We love our son, we are proud of our son, but most of all, he is simply that...our beloved son.
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