The Evolution of a Number

A little over 3 years ago I sat in a cold therapy clinic with my precious Little Bug and was handed a number that was meant to define him.  And in a lot of ways, it defined both of us for a long time.  That first number really cut deeply, and that experience has always stuck with me as one of the lowest points in my journey as a special needs mama.

Over a year ago I got another number for Little Bug.  There must have been more in between these two, but these are the two numbers that I remember.  Again, it cut deeply.  But unlike the first number, I didn't let it define me as much; in fact, I think it actually spurred me into bigger, bolder action.

Today I clutched my Little Bug's hand as we marched back into that first clinic room for a new number.  I admit, my eyes went immediately to that mat where we first started this number game and I got a bit panicky.  I didn't want my amazing son in this room.  I didn't want this to be the place his development and progress would depend on.  I didn't want to have this woman (who I can't be sure, but very possibly was the same woman who evaluated him 3 years ago) look me in the eye and give me a number meant to define my son.

But if my son has taught me anything over the last 3 years, it's to be brave, suck it up, and jump into the hard stuff with a smile.  So I did.  And he brought me to near tears over and over today as she put him through the physical evaluation because he ROCKED it.  Every skill he had was busted out in fine form and at the end of our eval, I knew no matter what number she gave me, it wouldn't matter.

This kid is a fighter.  And no matter what number she threw at us, the knowledge that he was going to continue to progress and make strides and hit milestones was going to be way more important than the number on his assessment.

For the record, it was 30 months.  Little Bug is 49 months old.

She gave me the number and paused, waiting perhaps for some sort of reaction that she didn't get.

"This isn't anything new to you, is it?"

No.  It isn't.  But unlike the last couple numbers, this one didn't cut deeply.  It stung for a moment, but then rolled right off.  Because this time, the number isn't going to define anything about any of us.  Little Bug has proven that he won't let anything stop him, and I have total faith in him.

I have faith in him.  Something that only recently I have come to see is a huge part of this journey for all of us.

I don't see a child 18 months delayed.  I see a child who battled his way up ladders until it became easy for him.  I see a child who regularly threw up on himself and then with tears in his eyes went back for more sit ups.  I see a child who trips over his own feet a couple times an hour and always, ALWAYS gets right back up and starts running again.  I see a child who wasn't strong enough to grasp a toy in his hand who climbed up a tube slide today before scaling a rock wall.

The number has evolved for me.  It's really no longer relevant.  They can write 30 months on paper and throw it around in meetings all they want, but for Appa and I, it's clear the number game has changed.

Thirty months means nothing to me.  I have a 4 year old, and he is a strong, positive kid who is working hard at reaching his max potential.

Tonight, I am proud.

WWTD

It seems like a no-brainer: teach you kids by example.

But sometimes I forget that it extends past the basic "please and thank you" or sharing to those more abstract (and bigger) life lessons, like how to deal with stress or anger.

I am working--hard--on patience.  I used to think I had a ton of it, but since I started staying home, that patience has worn thin.  I'm still trying to process why this is, but the fact remains that I am more apt to raise my voice or immediately punish than I was a year ago.  Although I don't think there is anything wrong with raising your voice at a 4 or 2 year old who is beating on their brother, trying to ride their push car down the stairs, or continuously trying to unscrew a lite light bulb from a lamp, there are other times when I can tone it down, and I know it.

I'm trying to focus this week on thinking about how I want my SONS to react in situations of frustration and anger.  When their little buddy knocks down their block tower, do I want them to automatically scream "NO."  Do I want them to glare at someone who talks flippantly to them?

What Would THEY Do?

If I continue on my current status quo, what will my boys do when faced with similar emotional stimulants?  If they see their mother going for the "NO" or no-mercy time out right away, they are going to learn to behave that way themselves with their friends/family/future spouses.

And when I play back my behavior sometimes, it definitely isn't behavior I would wish to see come out of my precious, tender-hearted sons.

My mantra for the week: WWTD

Breakfast with Mama

 This morning was not a good breakfast morning...or maybe it was an awesome breakfast morning.  I'm not actually sure.

It started out with two little boys refusing to eat their bacon and eggs.  That refusal turned into defiance, which somehow turned into a hysterically funny food fight.  And the laugher coming from those two little boys while throwing food was so genuine and enjoyable that I just sat there with a dumb grin on my face watching the brotherly bond between my sons practically strengthen before my eyes.

Then I realized there was food everywhere.  And my kids were throwing it.  And watching me watch them in approval (and maybe even take some pictures with my phone).  And throwing more food.

And I wondered if in this moment I was the world's coolest mom or the world's most irresponsible mom for letting my kids bond over making a giant mess of our dining room table, floors, and walls.

I didn't have too long to ponder because someone committed the ultimate sin and threw a slice of bacon on the floor. The laughter turned to anguished wails.

And the moment was over.

I think next time I'll find slightly less socially inappropriate and disgusting ways to bond, but I don't regret this morning.

Thanksgiving

Four years ago it was Thanksgiving Day.

And I was thankful.

I was thankful that my sister's first son was born, a thanksgiving baby whose traumatic but triumphant entrance into this world left us all with much to be thankful for.

I was thankful for our first home, which we had closed on just the day before.  A home whose bare walls whispered promises of the most important moments of my life I knew it would usher in.

I was thankful for family, health, love, and friendship.

I was so very thankful.

But what I didn't know, as I stood in the dark basement, phone in hand after just sharing in the raw and beautiful first moments of my sister's motherhood glory, overcome with tears of thankfulness at the fullness and beauty of life, was that there was so much more for me to be thankful for.

Like the little baby, just a few hours old, also born on my Thanksgiving just a world away, who would be one of the brightest lights of my life.

I didn't know it yet, but I was thankful for the young woman who was selfless enough to put her baby ahead of herself for 9 long months.  I was thankful for the foster family who would shortly take that baby into their home and raise him to know love and comfort and family.  I was thankful for the agency who would provide for that baby until offering us the biggest honor of our lives....to be his parents.

But most of all, I was thankful for that boy.  That tiny, soft bundle of life whose spirit could not be contained by body or mind. He's left a mark on everyone he meets. He's made the world a better place in his 4 short years on this earth, but in my world, in my life, he's rocked it to the core.  He is, quite simply, perfection, vintage 2007.  And I get the honor of being a part of that, of loving him as only a mama can.

So although his birthday doesn't always fall on Thanksgiving Day, in my heart, it will always be a day of true thanksgiving.

So very blessed. So very thankful.

I love you, Little Bug.  Happy birthday.

Puppy Love

A couple nights ago a package with two wrapped gifts came for our soon-to-be 4 year old. He and his little brother crouched excitedly on the ground as he opened the first gift, an animatronic puppy. Because their mama is super allergic to animals, this puppy (which was aptly named "Brendan" after a friend, the first time Little Bug has ever independently named a toy) is the closest thing either will get to a pet.

I moved to give Little Bug his second gift, but he refused it, over and over again. Not because he only has eyes for Brendan, but because he insisted that the second gift was Little Bro's puppy. No matter how I explained the concept of birthday presents, Little Bug adamantly believed the other box was a puppy to bring joy to his brother.

Luckily, it was smaller animatronic animal, and although slightly confused and bummed that Little Bro didn't have a puppy like Brendan, they were both thrilled with the arrangement.

So although the second gift was intended to bring Little Bug joy, it turned out that the greatest joy for him was being able to share with his little brother.

There is nothing more amazing than watching the childlike love of two little brothers.

Like a Diamond in the Sky

Little Bro and I are not cut from the same cloth. I am in uncharted waters when it comes to parenting him, not only because it is him uniquely, but because my experience with temperaments like his (namely my sister) haven't always been the easiest. I love this boy fiercely, but he has brought me to my knees daily in my quest to be a good mom for him.

I love rules. I love structure and routine and control. Little Bug spoiled me because he needs and wants all those things in a mother. And as uncool as it may seem at times, I really do think it's not a bad thing to teach and expect children early and often that following rules, even small ones, matter.

Little Bro loves independence and freedom. He loves to express emotions and explore and discover on his own terms. He also really likes control. As maddening as it can be for me at times, I also think it is very important to allow him to grow and learn in an environment that suites this level of independence and control he craves.

But what is a Mama to do when structured meets freedom, when logic meets passion, when because I said so meets screw you and your table manners, too?

Frankly, the blending isn't going as well as it should, and more evenings than not I lay in bed praying that tomorrow I'll manage to let it roll off me a little more, turn the other cheek just a little farther, whisper instead of raise my voice. Don't get me wrong, we're good, Little Bro and I, but I know I could be so much better for HIM. And I want to be.

Today I tried something new. I unruled him, in a way. Modifications to our routine and rules that I would normally never dream of allowing made their way into our day. Most notably, I gave him complete control in an area where he wants it most: food. Instead of sitting him in a chair and eventually fork feeding him every bite to get food in his belly, I let him run around our house playing while I followed him around forking bites into his mouth, ala Korean Halmoni style. And wouldn't you know, he loved it, asked for food, and ate a larger lunch than he has in a long time. From there, a day that was already going good went even better. For the first time in a long time, I can't think of a moment today where I wasn't in word and spirit the Mom I want to be.

Granted, this sort of thing can't and should not be sustained. Tomorrow he's eating lunch in his chair like he always does, but the experiment got me thinking about other ways I could modify my expectations to be a little more palatable to his desires. I expect him to meet me on my side most of the time, as it should be when a parent is teaching a child to live life, but I think I can find some instances where I can return the favor.

Little Bro is one of the coolest kids I know, and I want nothing more than to make him happy while giving him life tools. I am really grateful to have the chance to expand as a person as I grow to become the Mama he needs and deserves.

My baby Big Star...all the things I don't understand about him are the things I love the most.

Trick-or-Treat

Tonight, after the sugar rush (the pavement pounding one....not the one that was percolating in my little kids' bodies), my kids sat at the table eating dinner while watching the trick-or-treaters come to our door.

As I handed out candy to a group of princesses and ninjas, one of the older princesses (maybe 10?) looked past me to my frantically waving and seriously adorable sons. In a very conversational tone she asked me "Are you babysitting tonight?"

Seriously, well-meaning 10-year-old girl?  Are you freaking kidding me?  In our own home?

I get mistaken for the nanny about once a month, but usually it is an understandable mistake.  I live in an area with a lot of nannies and a lot of Korean families.  I have learned to be quick and cheerful and totally non-awkward when it happens because I get it.

But in my own home?  Our safe place?

My response was my trusty "Nope, they're my babies" served up with a smile and mirthful eyes.

"They don't look like you."
"Nope, I don't look like them."

Then the moment was over as the princesses and their ninjas had other homes to conquer, but it left me feeling a bit out-of-sorts.  Because it reminded me that no matter where we are, how we see ourselves is not how others see us.  Even in our own home, the place that wraps all our family magic up and keeps us safe from the world.

And I can accept that.  It's part of being special...standing out.  I just need to make sure I never lose sight of my responsibility to teach my kids that no matter where we (or more importantly, they) are singled out, our truths and reactions should be the same.

I did give that princess the crappy gobstoppers though...I won't lie.