Here we go!!!

Okay vacation, here we come. Scott, Jack, Ben and my Mom and I are leaving Thursday afternoon, by car, and traveling 37 hours to Michigan... We will be gone for 9 days, four of which are spent in the car. Our directions are printed, our clothes are packed, the food is prepped and ready for the cooler. The boys have snacks, new books, new crayons and a new movie. We will be enjoying Lake Michigan and both my mom and dad's extended families. We are really excited and praying that energy doesn't wear off by Montana. Please pray for us, for safe travel, for patience with one another, for nice weather, for space and time with God in our cramped car. We will miss everyone and see you all after August 9!

Water~Trampoline Babies!!! Happy Summer days...

Little Gifts

Ben and I have been attending his speech therapy lessons for four weeks now. His speech is moderately delayed due to some severe hearing impairments at critical speech development stages. He suffered from ear infections that caused damage (not permanent, thank you God). His hearing was 30% 2 months ago, it is now 75%, and his ears are draining on their very own accord (no tubes needed). He has been making some progress in speech therapy, not rapid, but gradual and building. One of the most interesting things I have noticed is his strong personality emerging. He doesn't like to be pushed to practice something he doesn't feel confident in. He will cross his little arms and say, "all done," or "I did" when asked to repeat a word. Sometimes he just says, "no." According to his speech therapist, he is a perfectionist and has a stubborn streak. As his mom, this isn't really news to me, but ohhhh, to see it so clearly impede his own progress...tough. To parent this child, to help them along and challenge them without producing insecurity in imperfections...a balancing act. We have made tenative stabs at his memory words, right now we're working on the "p" and "t" sound at the end of words. He will invariably leave that sound off of the word, so hat is ha. I inwardly sigh, knowing that this deficiency means he stuck at the second level of expressive development, and we just move on. Last week at his appointment, when prompted, he correctly said, "soup" and "ketchup"!! Wow! However, since then he has refused to say them or to attempt them. Oh, I think. What now. I diligently ask and push him to try again, reminding him he has said them before and so well! "No," I hear.
As I was putting the boys to bed last night, I gave them their final kisses and Ben grabbed my cheeks. He looked at me, straight in the eye, he said, "Mama....zup (soup!)". I felt tears sting my eyes. He gave me a gift, he knew what hearing that word would mean to me. I swept him up in a big hug and he cuddled right in. He patted my hair, as if he was comforting me. I knew right then I could face my deep, dark fears about his speech inabilities. It would be okay. He would talk. He would catch up. Perhaps Ben had been practicing on his own, privately perfecting these words. Perhaps he just needs intimate moments to share his budding language skills with me.
This morning, in his breakfast prayer, with his eyes tightly closed, he prayed for Mama, Daddy, his car and....'Jesus.' He peeked his eyes open to look at me. Did he say it right? Did I know what he meant?
I so took for granted speech with Jack. It seemed like all of the sudden he was talking, he was expressing himself. Our communication built and built at predictable levels. With Ben, this impedement has caused each word, each verbal expression to be a gift. Each simple word is surrounded by such work; a consonant here, form your lips like this, your tongue here, try again, try again, good job!, nice try!, you're awesome. These simple words have cost me something, they have cost him something. I will not take them for granted.

Music

Over breakfast, I asked the boys what their favorite song is. Ben immediately began singing his "ABF's", Jack struggled to explain..."it is the part of the show where Super-Y solves the puzzle and the music goes...du da dee dee, yeah, that's my favorite song." I dropped my spoon. This transported me back to a horrifying moment in my childhood, a moment when you realize you are not cool. ...
It was the first day of sixth grade. I was sitting in the second seat in the first row, the second seat because I desperately wanted to sit in the first seat but was too shy to be that assertive. I blocked the first seat with my hot pink jelly shoe, hoping no one would sit there, this way I had all the benefits of sitting in the front, but had less attention. No one did sit there. Our teacher, Mrs. Garrison decided to do an icebreaker (I still hate these and would have loved to melt into my seat, a common fantasy for me) we were to write down our favorite song, without attaching our name to it and then she would read them aloud and we would all speculate whose song was whose. She gave me the paper first...I turned red and started to sweat. I had an agonizing mental argument going on. My favorite song, the one that was my true favorite was Chariots of Fire, I was familiar with this classical piece because on a Sesame Street spoof, Masterpiece Theatre, they would play this piece of music and show Grover running along the beach. These were the days when I would pretend to run along the beach, like Grover, hearing this music in my head. I would run so fast and close my eyes and pretend like I had wings. I knew I was too old to enjoy Sesame Street, but I did. We never had cable, I had never seen MTV. We lived on the outskirts of town on a West Virginia hillside, I didn't have neighbors or other kids to play with, just me and my imagination. I would run and run and collapse under a dogwood tree and dream about my wedding day. I wasn't sure, but I could guess that other kids in my class were listening to different music and not classical. I knew it would be certain death to put Chariots of Fire on the paper, so I racked my brain. The only music I had any exposure to was what my mom listened to in the car, it was always the soft listening channel. Well, sure, I liked that just fine. Truly, I didn't know there was an entirely other world of music out there. I had two favorites; a duet by Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville, Endless Love and Kenny Rogers, You Got To Know When To Hold 'Em. I figured either of those would fit the bill, the duet seemed a little cheesy, so I went with Kenny. I wrote it, boldly and passed the paper behind me. I knew something was wrong when I started to hear giggles. Three people behind me was Julie Myers, the most popular girl in sixth grade. She did the math and knew it was me who wrote down Kenny Rogers. She couldn't keep this to herself, she poked me in the back, and gave me the paper back, shaking her head and holding back a torrent of giggles. I quickly crossed out my answer and wrote down what everyone else in my row had written: Guns 'n Roses, Living on a Prayer. I do remember thinking...who? Mrs Garrison held the paper up, looked it over and said, it looks like someone tried to write, "uh, Kenny Rogers". Everyone erupted! One boy, Sean Boynes, yelled, "it had to be Katie!" Ohhhh. There it is. Not only wasn't I cool, but other people seemed to have noticed. When I went home that day, I scolded my Mom about her betrayal in musical taste. "Apparently there is other music out there, why do we only listen to that station!?" She smiled and let me in on a secret, "you are much better off without all that anyway." Um, really? That was hard to swallow.

Jack followed up with another favorite, My Little Sunshine. This helped me breathe a little. That seemed age appropriate cool, or does it, oh and why does it matter! I still struggle through this and share it with my mom at Starbucks over a cookie and iced coffees. She laughs, I tell her Jack's favorite seems to be My Little Sunshine though, so all should be fine. She bursts into My Little Sunshine, right there in Starbucks, all three verses with my boys piping in. People looked.....there it is.

My young lions' heart

I had planned on spending my nap time today reading. I got my ice water and my magazine and book (options! I had both Christianity Today and The Visitation by Frank Peretti). As I was settling in to my favorite seat in the living room to watch birds and read, I heard a most disturbing sound. Jack was singing his ABC's. He should have already been asleep if a nap were to happen. We are in an odd period of fluctuation between taking a nap and skipping a nap. There is no dependable marker, just random days of sleep punctuated by cranky evenings or late nights. Shoot! I thought. I ignored the sound for several minutes before my more sensitive radar kicked in. He could lie there miserably for an hour or I could forego my alone time and enjoy some one on one time with my boy. I did let him get up, envisioning thoughtful conversation, book reading, homeschool time...some quiet endeavor that left us both feeling closer. Um, Jack had something different in mind. He said, "Mom, Benny is asleep! We could fight, just the two of us!" By 'fight', Jack had in mind both of us being lions and wrestling around. This never does sound fun to me. I am usually able to elude the invitation, but this time I thought about how his play is his work. I thought about what valuable time and insight into Jack I could gain if I decided to relate on his level and not force him to mine. What a great time I had! We wrestled around, I was Momma lion (Sirabi for those of you familiar with The Lion King) and he was Simba (the grown one with red hair, not the small version in the opening of the movie, of course). I haven't laughed that hard at bodily noises that shan't be discussed here, in....well, maybe ever. We talked about his friends, who we should invite to our house to fight, who he likes to play with in Sunday school. He told me his favorite kind of ice cream (every lion prefers vanilla with sprinkles in a cone, not a bowl). His favorite color is still red although he is thinking about changing it back to blue. Why, I asked? "Well, because it is summer and I have been thinking a lot about water," he says. Then he clarifies, "ocean water blue not pool water blue." Of course, I say, having never thought about the difference. His imagination and logic is held tight within the boundaries of the movies he has seen. "You don't always need wings to fly, Mama, just a little pixie dust." Then we were off fighting like Peter Pan and Captain Hook. "Hey, we could fight in space like meteors, but we have to fight like dogs." (Space Buddies, in case anyone missed the reference.) He wondered about aliens, asking me tentatively, curious if this was something okay to talk about. He was always thoughtful to let me be the princess or at least female counterpart to any movie, always ending our play with regard to my being "saved." I followed his train of thought, his adventure, with no correction or additions...I don't think I have ever done this before. We ended in each others arms, my little valiant lion asleep on my forearm. I looked at him with tears. I so clearly remember him little, I know the details that are just reserved for Mom's about his every waking, breathing moment for the past four and a half years. How did he get so big? I remember hoping for a baby girl when I was pregnant. I was so confident Scott and I would have girls. I am so well suited for little girls; I still love to play barbies, tea parties, the color pink in all its shades. I was bemused, curious, even a little disappointed to find out twice, God chose boys for me. I am so glad that my life rests in His wisdom, not my own. I am so glad to trust that God not only gave me two boys, but these two boys to love and train. ... Not even five minutes after my musings about my little lion, the other little lion (well, no he prefers to be a tyrannosaurus rex) was awake. I couldn't have spent my 'alone time' any better today. Thank God for interruptions and adventures. Thank God for little boys.