Normal.

I went to lunch with a friend this week, who so happens to also be a mom to a darling special needs son.
It was such a good lunch; full of laughter, some tears and a whole lot of honesty.
Because, life can be really hard, and really isolating in our world.
During the course of this much needed few minutes of respite, we discussed how we both feel jealous of other families at times.  How lucky "they" are to just grab their mobile children and "tell" them that they are going to the _________ (store, movie, bank...whatever). 

There have been moments, and there have been several as of late, where I have found myself in tears, by myself, because I just don't have the same flexibility other mother's do.  I can't do things "on a whim."  My activities with my children require lots of planning, and a painstaking amount of energy (both mental and physical).  It makes for a lot of lonely nights.

Then, there are the moments where my heart is encompassed in guilt; blaming myself for not trying harder to include Deakon in things I think he should like to do. 
Most days, it feels like I can't win the battle of inner dialogue I thrust upon myself.

This weekend, I chose to endorse energy, and energy it was...because heaven knows I needed loads of it to survive.

We had the opportunity to attend a Monster Jam Truck Show, courtesy of Hope Kids, and I decided I was doing it.
Yes, me, all by myself, with Abby and my non-walking 40 lb. son.

I did my best to prepare Deak throughout the entire week:
"Deak, we are going to a show with loud trucks that go "VVVrrOOOmmm" on Friday night."
"You will love it."
"It will be loud, but you will be ready."
"You like trucks, right Deak?"
I recieved some answers in form of hand-clapping, but I assume they were mostly given to get me to shut the hell up, so he could continue his youtube watching in peace.

This event required lots of walking (from the parking area, disabled parking spots are pretty much non-existent at the arena), so I had no choice but to bring a folding stroller.  Once I got to the arena, I was to pick up my tickets in Will Call on the lowest level (basement) of the facility, of which there was no ramp.  So, I had to wait in line to get inside, explain my situation to 55 customer service agents, be escorted to the interior elevator, and allowed downstairs to pick up the tickets.  The whole process...car to entrance...took about 30-40 minutes.

Once we got to our seats, I had to take Deak out of the stroller, ask the usher if I could leave the stroller by him for a minute (he begrudgingly allowed me to, only "if it didn't touch anyone else"), carry Deak to his seat, enlist Abby in ensuring Deak did not do a front flip off of the seat (he likes to do this), run back up the stairs to the stroller, fold it up, carry it back down to our seats, and shove it under the seats out of view of anyone who was in charge (I'm pretty sure it wasn't allowed).

Deak lasted in his own seat (earplugs in), about 15 minutes, and then I realized he was going to do best on my lap, which meant I needed to take endless kicks by brace-supported feet to the shins and knees for the team.
I did, and he loved it. 
He jumped with the jumping trucks, squealed his little happy squeals and double-fisted popcorn out of the bucket like it was his last meal. 
He did not cry once.
I will repeat that, he did not cry once.

At one point, I had promised Abby a slushy, so I, again, enlisted Abby's help and she held him while I ran mock 90 to the overpriced slushy stand to buy her well-deserved reward.
I returned about 5 minutes later to Deak sitting with a stranger (also with Hope Kids).  She smiled and said, "He is a very wiggly big guy."  I was so grateful for her kind smile and "I have so been here before" nod as I thanked her for her help.

We made it about 90 minutes, before I made the choice to leave.  I wanted to leave on a high note, with a happy Deak, so that the memory he forged would be one of joy, rather than uneasiness.

My eyes could not stop themselves from tearing up the entire drive home.
I was proud.
Proud of me for doing something hard, proud of Abby and her ability to be so unassuming and protective while Deak unknowingly garnishes 99% of the attention while in public, and proud of my sweet boy.
Not because he had made it easy, but because he sure makes things worth it.

We, for one night, were as close to our version of "normal" as we could be.
Our own little miracle memory-making experience.

Eating popcorn...

Listening to the big trucks and feeling the vibrations through his seat...

And, eating more popcorn.