Oops.

Today, I was late for church. That part is not unusual, considering I typically run at least 20 minutes behind schedule any given morning of the week.

The atypical nature in this situation lies within the reason...

Sick? Not really. Not unless sick of "it" is a good reason.

Tired? Always...

Lazy? Possibly.

If the truth be told, I was engrossed in the Wizards of Waverly Place full-length masterpiece. I really liked it, and it made me a bit teary when Alex told her mom she loved her.

So. There.

I realized I needed to break away when Abby started cheering, "Yes! No church again this week."

(On a side-note, Abby had taken care of Deakon all morning; read him stories, brought him plates of snacks and created a barricade so he could not move more than five feet in any given direction. So, I was not entirely neglectful of my children...ha.)

Best Photographer Ever.

And, these are just a few....
Courtesy of my talented friend, Carly.

If you want her info, let me know.

Frankly, who wouldn't?

It's Official.

Blair and I are old.

We have a second grader...wow.

If you needed further proof of our decrepit age, Blair asked when she was going to get her "Trapper Keeper" for school (and he wasn't kidding), and Abby's mismatched laces on her DC's brought me back to my LA Gear days (mine were turquoise and orange).


Abby channeled her inner Demi Lovato for this outfit (She literally calls it her Demi Lovato outfit), and I happen to think she rocks it as a little rocker. (That is - if you believe Demi Lovato to be a rocker, which I guess I do.)

This year was smooth sailing at the drop off in her class, no lingering hugs or watchful eyes...just "Good-bye." Ab was once again a tough chick being as that she had strep this past weekend and received a hefty dose of antibiotics by injection in her butt yesterday morning. She was up at 6:30 this morning reassuring me that she was "fine" and could go to school. She later told me I was "bugging the crap out of her" by asking how she was feeling. My neurotic nature didn't allow me to stop for more than five minutes though.

I love this girl and all her attitude. I hope second grade rocks.

ON The Charts!!!

Yesterday, we had our quarterly appointment with Deak's endocrinologist (The doc who monitors his growth hormone). I was anxious to go validate my sore arms and aching back by seeing how much Deak had grown.
But, I was even MORE surprised to learn...
HE MADE IT ON THE CHART!
*Sure, it may be the second percentile, but...he is there...and finally comparable in weight to his peers.
And...if you were to look at his height plotted on a growth chart, you would see a nearly vertical line since our past visit four months ago. He was a pindrop away from entering official chart range in height. He grew UP! His feet have finally entered toddler range (size 4) as well; and those babies have not grown in two years.
And there is also the small fact (ha) that he is now nearly completely off all of his Asthma meds, and has a perfectly healed heart. This boy of mine who could not breathe without around the clock treatments and four different medications, is now medicine free. The doctor confirmed to me that they are now theorizing that children who are growth hormone deficient and receive treatment are all reporting positive changes in heart and lung development. Growth hormone is responsible for lean muscle mass development; and those pretty important organs named the HEART and LUNGS happen to be made of lean muscle mass.
The ten months of growth hormone have been miraculous...
So...to the world he might still be a little guy...But, to me he is a GIANT! A cute, waddly, messy-faced giant, ready to conquer preschool.

Deak is a Star.

This is a copy of the preview for the documentary Deak is featured in. If you look closely in the beginning, you will also see cute Ab in the group shot.

Rick and his organization, Positive Exposure, are the meat behind the film's premise. He is an amazing man and is doing work that will change lives. He has photographed Deak the past three years, and we treasure each picture he has taken of both of our kids. We are blessed to know him.

The producer of the film is nominated for an Emmy this year for her work in a film about the genetic component to Breast Cancer. She was amazing - and is amazing for making a film devoted to redefining our definition of beauty. What do you know - maybe she will return with another nomination for this one next year?:)

Can't wait to see the whole piece...Stay tuned...

*To learn more about Rick's work, or to donate to his cause click Here or visit my link list on the sidebar and click on Positive Exposure.

Just My Son.

While at the library a couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across the book, Mother Warriors, by Jenny McCarthy. I remembered watching an Oprah a year or so ago where Jenny had described her experience fighting and advocating for the best treatment she thought possible for her Autistic son. I remembered feeling envious of her resources; her ability to be able to fly her son across the country for cutting edge treatment. Even her ability to drive to the closest Whole Foods and stock up her pantry with the food she has sworn changed her son's life. Even more so than the money, I was envious of her ability to remain stoic enough to tell her son's story on national television. It was not self-serving for her, and I am sure it impacted many people who were hurting for answers for their child's Autism.

I decided to check the book out, and it has sat on my nightstand for the past few weeks. I knew I wanted to read it; that I would relate and benefit from hearing the stories of amazing mothers who have gone to battle for their children, but I was putting it off. I knew I would leave the stories feeling inept at what I have done for my son. At 1:00 in the morning a few nights ago, I picked it up and began. I only made it a few pages in before my heart began pounding.

In the first few pages, Jenny describes an experience where her son was having a seizure and his heart stopped for over twenty minutes. Although, Deakon's experience was different, the emotions she described hit me like truck. Jenny then describes how the next year or so, she just survived; she put on her brave face, smiled, and dealt with it. She didn't have a choice. I again, felt connected with her emotional experience...

The next part is what has lingered with me though...the part where she describes panic attacks she began having at night. The attacks had seemingly come out of nowhere, and they began really freaking her out. After a therapy session and some reflection, she realized that she had truly never given herself the opportunity to feel what had happened with her son, and she realized she carried a tremendous amount of guilt.

Whoa.

Lately, I have been feeling a little discouraged with the progress Deak has been making. He is moving forward, but it is slow. I guess I just expected one big milestone after another-pretty unrealistic, I know, but it is what I have needed to feel like he is okay. Actually, who am I kidding...it is what I have needed to feel like I am doing an okay job with him. I have been putting so much pressure on myself to move him. So much so, that I was in tears with Blair the other night because I hadn't "worked" with Deak at walking that day. So much so, that in the middle of the night I worry and beat myself up for all the time Deakon had spent watching his favorite shows. Sure, that is what keeps him happy...but, I have guilt because I know that those are also what keep me sane.

I think all mothers experience some degree of guilt, I definitely did before I had Deak...but, the pressure of trying to single-handily ensure that your child, who is not able to develop completely unaided from others, "measures" up to the expectations around him, is just A LOT to carry. Every therapy visit is an emotional roller coaster, loaded with questions of good intent about what Deak is "doing now." Sometimes I spend the entire drive there trying to figure out the new things he is doing so I have something to answer. Most of the time, only to be rewarded with a stinker of a son who wants Nothing to do with showing the therapists his new skills. I think the speech therapist is sure I am lying about his verbal usage in the home, because he has yet to even say "MaMa" for her. The spotlight on Deakon's development inevitably falls on me, and I have to answer to it each week.

I try to compare that at times with Abby. I don't think my mental health would have made it past her second birthday with that kind of dissection of her development. She was my first, and naturally perfect:) Therapists and Doctors are too clinical at times. I put my suit of survival on while in front of them and listen to them call my son "developmentally delayed" and unable to "generalize." All the while trying to hold it together just long enough until I drive home and can try to stitch up the tears on my breaking heart.

Sometimes it is just forgotten that my special needs son, is just my son to me.
My son. Period.
And, I will love him with all my being even if he is still rolling around on the floor when he is eighteen.
Not saying I won't keep working hard...very hard. But, I know I've got to figure out a way to lose some of this guilt.
And...I have got to figure out a way to get that damn "Babies can Read" commercial off the air. Seriously...I thought my expectations were harsh.

Four Generations.

Four Generations of Howe Men.
And a little belly showage...

Hey, when you got it, flaunt it.

We think that's pretty cool.

Blair's Grandparents were in town from Colorado a few weeks ago and stopped by along with a few other Colorado Howe family members for a little dessert.

Blair's cousin Daniel and his cute girl...

The Missionary three days away from departure...

Blair and his Uncle Scott...(Grandma's Brother).
It is so nice to be with our family far away...we need to make a trip out to you sometime soon.

I really like...

*Driving alone in the car, listening to Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars really loud, and breathing.
*Listening to Deakon say his first prayer last night. It sounded an awful lot like, "Ya, Ya, Ya..." but it was sent on straight ticket to the Big Guy. I have never in my life felt him closer.
*Dropping Abby off in pink tights, a black leotard, and ballet shoes; hair pulled tightly into a bun. She just looks so flipping cute.
*Rocking my baby. He might be almost 30 pounds, and I might complain about it sometimes, but I will miss holding him close with his hand grasping my shirt. I can still rock him to sleep in under two minutes...
*Seeing my husband. Job #2 is done, and he gets to come home at night and on the weekends. We've missed him...and so has our lawn.
*Camden. I really like my sister's other kids too, but that little guy has a special place with me.
*That Abby is still young enough for the "Where do babies come from?" question to be answered with ..."Doctors and peeing on sticks."
I am hoping that lasts for a while.

Patient Perserverance.

This isn't my line, but I like it.

I heard it today while attempting to attend church husband-less (due to work). I had been dealing with a screaming, then sleeping Deak for most of my time that was supposed to spent renewing my hope and faith in God. My muscles ached, my forehead dripped of sweat, I really needed a diet coke, and my stomach growling was beginning to resemble a bobcat I once heard in a Diego episode. And, I was kinda tired - having not quite fully recovered from a 3:30 am party with the Deakster on Friday night/Sat morning. (Who knew he wanted fruit snacks, applesauce and Noggin? It took me a while to figure it out...)

I was finally able to drop Deakon off in his nursery class for the last little while, and I was relishing the few minutes I had to relax and listen. I listened to a lesson on Hope. Something I think I have come to understand pretty well over the past few years. Something, as I often say, I could not have a sane mind without. The woman who taught mentioned that Hope came after one patiently persevered during times of sadness and despair.

I took a slow deep breath and silently acknowledged my understanding. An understanding of the conscious choice one has to make in order to have Hope in their lives. You can choose to be sad, or you can choose to move forward with Hope.

Lately, I have noticed myself somewhat subconsciously being drawn to cute little toddler boys. Little guys who are close to Deak's chronological age. I relish in their cute little waddly legs trying to climb and balance, and I envy their ability to make the "Vroom" noises when they push their trucks around the living room floor. I hear them say "Thank you" and "Ball" and watch their parents buying undies with Thomas the Train at Target as they begin potty training. Sometimes it's just those little things...the ones I took for granted as Abby grew and explored at that age...the little things that can make my heart hurt.

I know Deak will get to do those things as well....just in a while. And that "while" may take longer than I may have originally anticipated. My hope just requires patience, and may come gift wrapped with ankle braces, walkers, and rap music. Patience as I watch my angel boy persevere - Because I do know he will persevere.

(Taken at 4:00 am...might I add...)