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.

Love.

I've been told recently, that I "love too much sometimes."
As if that is a bad thing...
I guess to some, it implies weakness; that if one "loves too much," they will inevitably choose unwisely at times and feel pain.

I distinctly remember the first time my heart hurt.  I thought, "Wow. My heart actually hurts."  It was painful and sharp and I didn't know if I was going to ever feel happy again.
But, I did
We always do.
It didn't make my experience of loving any less significant.

I had a conversation with a friend last week, and we were discussing what it takes at times to do the work we do (with struggling kids).  I relayed that when I first began working for the Division of Youth Corrections, I was at best, about 4 years older than most of the inmates.  In some cases, I was nearly the exact same age. I attempted to fuel my insecurity by setting strict limits and boundaries; I wanted to make it clear that the kids knew who was in charge. After a few months of attempting this strategy, I was frustrated, and wondered why I wasn't relating to any of the kids.  I had an excellent boss, who taught me my most valuable lesson to date:
"Guess what? No one is going to love you, if you don't love them first."
He was right.
The second I learned to stop pretending to be the hard ass that I never was, I found joy in establishing relationships with the kids who were serving time.
I loved them.
And, not unlike myself, that is all it took to create compliance (most of the time:).

Now, my job is a little easier, because the kids are cute tiny bodied humans.
But, man how I love them.
Especially the butt-heads.
I just do.

So...what this person didn't know who made this comment referencing the amount of love I share at work, is that he unknowingly gave me my most favorite compliment.

I do unashamedly love.
It's who I am.

Again.

We are doing it again.
The 2nd Annual Deak's Run for Hope is scheduled for May 12, 2012.
I wouldn't miss it, if I were you.
See www.deaksrunforhope.blogspot.com for details.

Christmas Day 2011

I knew it may be a rough day, when Abby came into my room at 5:00 am, not asking about Santa...but, asking to get in the tub because she was sick.  It took her a couple of hours to even really care about the gifts, but in true Abby style, she powered through and was sweet and kind and grateful all day long.  Our Christmas mornings are not short. It is very important to Abby that Deak gets to take his "turns" opening gifts, and she very sweetly helps him open each one; showing each package to him and explaining all the fun things he gets to do with it.  I don't know what could exemplify the true meaning of the day more.  She inspires me.

This was the first real "tween" year for Ab...full of JB perfume and a cell phone (which she doesn't use too often). She also loved the Monster High Dolls and pirate ship from her dad.

Deak, well, Deak's was about buttons...as usual. He also got a jumping horse replacement for the one he wore out a year ago.

A pretty perfect day.

The Cell Phone...

The Jumping Horse...

Our traditional homemade buttermilk pancake breakfast...

Deak and Trip (Maddi's puppy), back watching youtube videos on the ipad.

Christmas Eve 2011

December.

December came and left us in a blur this year.  Though I consciously attempted to soak in the moments, I'm afraid the hustle of the season may have overtaken me more often than not. I love making memories, and the anticipatory craziness that surrounds each activity. I love that Christmas allows me to plan and create and be a little domestic.  I enjoy being traditional; wearing an apron and baking from scratch.  I love that I don't have much choice in guiding my thoughts towards others and towards my family.  I love the Lord, and the reason for celebration.

I guess, I love Christmas.

Visiting Santa...

Deak actually really liked the Big Guy this year, and was excited each time we spoke of him.  I've been waiting a long time for excited Santa giggles from that little dude.

Deak, pretty much doing what he does (ipad).

Abby's first time outdoor ice-skating.  She eventually braved "letting go" for a two foot span.  After we left, she begged and begged to come back again.

 

Making our homemade Gingerbread Cookies...

Ab and her cute friends, exchanging gifts.  Brittney to the right (next door Bff who moved in this year) and Briawna to the left.

And, for good measure...Deak.

Love What You Got.

Last night before bed as I stood in my little girl's room praying with her, I could not help but feel.
She was tucked in, looking like the baby girl my heart longs for her to stay, and I was taken aback by a wave of emotion that emptied in my heart.

I consciously listened to the prayer I was reciting and found myself thanking my Heavenly Father for the stuff that so often in my past I've taken for granted.
People often say things like, "I'm grateful for food, I'm grateful for the roof over my head, I'm grateful for my family."  And, trust me, I am guilty of rolling off the standard phrases more often than not.

But, last night I realized that I mean it.  Every word.

I've said aloud a few times, that I think the Lord knew what he was doing when we ended up on a crazy path last year that circled us back into our home.
I needed to understand, I needed to feel gratitude, I needed to show gratitude.

My most important prayers are the ones that tell the truth.
The prayers of gratitude at 1:00 in the morning, after a long and tiring day, and I realize that my right leg has not ached once...not once. The prayers of gratitude sent at 5:00 on a Wednesday afternoon as I walk to my car from the grocery store, and realize that I made it through without a scream from Deak.  The prayers of gratitude that are sent at 9:00 as I put my not so little girl to bed, listen to her recount the plethora of reasons as to why her bedtime should be extended, and feel nothing but love.

I feel so lucky that the experiences I've had in my 33 years of life have lead me to a place where my heart can swell with gratitude over healthy bodies, uneventful grocery store trips and drawn out bedtimes.

I am grateful.