my big boy

They told me it would happen.

The speech therapists told me, I was assured by friends of speech therapists, moms of kids who need speech therapy, friends of our family...it would happen. One day Ben would just take off and speak. No longer encumbered by his hearing deficit, the period of catch up and the normal age equivalency would blur. That day happened Monday.

That day fell on the heels of a weekend I was away from both boys. That day also came during sickness, for each of us. That day also fell while I was frantically pulling out the fall clothes. There was so much other-ness swirling it took me a full day to recognize what was happening. And once I recognized, no cognitized, his rapid change...it took my breath away.

My boy has never been so clearly 3. It has occurred to Ben too. We have a language all our own; it is not so simple as sign language, it is more like charades. As I am his so constant companion, I can deduce what simple word he wants me to understand in just a few complicated moves. (For example, to say 'red' he acts out a car going to a stop sign. Then I know he means 'red'). He caught himself a couple times yesterday...."mama, mama, mama, wait" this is followed by the charade. He charmed us by catching himself and smiling, and then simply saying "tent" or "spiderman" or "bread". He is on a free for all, repeating words as they barely exit the speaker's mouth...because he can. He plays with his words, rolling them over in his mouth, saying them over and over, sometimes accompanied with jumping and other visible glee. Jack couldn't be prouder, "Benny is talking a lot now, he talks like me."

Its not just the verbal ability, its the expression that makes the joy catch in my throat. Benny and I have developed a private ritual, we squeeze each other's hands 3 times to express that we love each other. I don't know why I never did this with Jack, it just became something special with Ben. Maybe because it was nearly impossible for him to say, and I needed to create an outlet for him. I couldn't imagine all that love being trapped in there, unable to share itself. He would frequently squeeze my hand when we hugged or held hands. He would go out of his way to run up to me and grab my hand and squeeze it, because this moment was silent, it also seemed private, personal, just ours. Today he came purposefully toward me, grabbed my hand and said, "I luff you, Mommy." I knew as I heard those sweetly enunciated words, this was one of the most precious moments of my life. I tried to be worthy and smile as tears spilled from my eyes. He said, "why you kie mommy, I said I luff you." I buried my head in his hair, knowing there's no stopping him from growing.

He is wearing size 4 pants that I dug out of my fall storage box. They were Jack's last winter and now they are his. They make him look taller, his new cache of words make him seem older. The confidence his speaking gives him makes him bigger, more independent than he was just last week. My mom's heart is so full of love, longing and the pain of growth it is hard to put this in perspective....my little boy is a big boy, and getting bigger.

This day...these days...

As I shut off the cool water in my shower this morning with a frustrated turn of my wrist, I lamented, "will I ever take a shower in privacy again, without several emergency toilet flushes that steal my hot water?" I allowed myself to think back to the days when I could take leisurely showers, every day with all sorts of beautifully scented soaps and gels, a fancy razor and lots and lots of hot water. I could give myself an hour to get ready for the day, a day that started much later than my current normal. As I toweled off and lotioned up in a 30 second frenzy, I almost drooled remembering the way it had felt to wake up in my bed, in my very own apartment, surrounded by comfortable pillows, awakening because light was streaming in the windows...now I watch the sun come up, take a shower every few days and it is quick by necessity, beautiful soaps and fancy razors seem ridiculously frivilous. Then God's graceful voice drifted to my reverie, and I remembered, it wasn't so long ago that I couldn't afford to take a shower at all until late in the evening when Scott was home and could watch the babies, even brushing my teeth was a luxury in the crazy busy reality of two little boys. It struck me so clearly, this is a phase. I am through that phase and into this phase, and soon enough, I will be taking showers that are entirely private and how I will long for the little eyes peeking into my shower, and blue bubblegum toothpaste goo gobs littering the bathroom sink, and tiny, dirty handprints imprinted to my white towels. My heart opened to this day in all its common-ness, its unremarkableness making it vitally important to me. I prayed that God would help me remember this very average day, and be grateful throughout this day for the stage I am in.

In retrospect that prayer may have opened my eyes to God's sense of humor.

I was halfway through drying my hair (this is an important piece of information that should give the visual of my frizzy, untamed helmet of hair) when the door was knocked with the door knocker...no one I know ever uses the door knocker, it is scary loud and makes us all jump. I run to the door, unlock it and open it. Our little dog, Bernadette, bounds in, runs in circles and circles and circles- almost as if she is chasing her tail, my house bursts into chaos as the boys start to chase her too with uproarious laughter. Ohhhh, I think, I don't have time for this, we have to get to speech therapy....I turn back to the door to see a girl in navy blue uniform, I squint to see her name, A. Parell. Hmmm, what does this mean, I look past her to see her white van with "Spokanimal" printed on the side. Ohhh, this is starting to make sense. "Is this your dog, ma'am?" "It is," I replied. "Is your dog licensed, ma'am?" Ummmm, I have no idea, which I am guessing means no. She comes in, she writes me a citation, I pay $45 on the spot to license Bernadette. Unluckily for me, A. Parell had been in the neighborhood picking up a cat that had been run over (don't worry Jenessa, not any we know) when Bernadette rushed up to her and licked her hand (dumb!!). A. Parell then followed Bernadette in the van as Bunsy lead her right to our home. How unfortunate!!! I didn't even know she was loose, it must have happened when I was in the shower....(yes, I will be reflecting on this judgement later)...by the time A. Parell leaves, it is 10:18am, speech therapy is at 10:30, a 15 minute ride by bike. We tear around, of course no one can find their shoes. I cringe at my hair and stuff it in my bike helmet. I pull the bike and trailer out, put the kids in (despite their cries that the seat is wet, "well, today we just have wet bottoms!" I announce) and I take off at 10:24. I know I have to go fast to get there no more than 5 minutes late. I can do this, I tell myself. One block into the ride and I can tell something is not right. My breathing gets labored, I am REALLY starting to sweat, my thighs are on fire. It feels like I am going up a steep, steep hill. I press on. 8 blocks in and I exclaimed, "ehhhhhhhhh", I was beginning to admit I just couldn't do this. I was pedaling as hard as I could and my bike was weaving, again just like I was going up a big, big hill, but I was on a flat surface, absolutely no grade that I could make out. I pulled over. I threw up into a bush, I was pouring sweat and my thighs were in serious pain....then I considered that maybe something was wrong with the bike and not me. I checked, we had two flat tires on the bike trailer. I was literally dragging the boys. I was stuck, we were equidistant from home and speech therapy, by my calculations it was probably 10:30. Okay, I thought, just keep going. The boys are chatterboxes behind me, curious why they saw me throw up in a bush, why do I keep exclaiming "ehhhh" and "arrrrr" am I pretending to be a lion? I get there and nearly fall off my bike, I can't keep it from crashing as I land on my bottom and the bike lands on me, tipping the boys in the trailer to a 45 degree angle. I tried to stand but my legs will not support me. I rip our helmets off our head, lock the bike from the position I fell in and announce, "go, go, go, mama will follow!" They grab each others hands and head inside. It takes me a moment to regroup, but I get up and go in, I get more attention than I'm comfortable with as I walk through the door. Then, I remember my hair and as I awkwardly put a hand to smooth my hair with is 4 inches too high and not calming down, I notice how profusely I am sweating. I sit down in a chair, ask Morgan (our speech therapist) if she would mind taking Benny without Jack and myself today, as clearly I need a minute. She does and Benny cheerfully goes with her, yelling "bye Mom" loudly enough for everyone to turn and steal another look at me...my breathing sounded LOUD to my ears and my heartbeat was so fast I was sure people could hear that too. I put my head back against the chair and shut my eyes. The receptionist came over and poked my arm and said, "are you okay?" I nodded and tears filled my eyes, "my bike, flat tires, tired" I said. She asks if I have a cell phone, I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head back and forth no. She said I could use the phone...I draw a blank...I tried to come up with my mother-in-law's cell phone or Jenessa's home number...Scott's work number? I got close, I got the wrong department at the right hospital and was able to be transferred. Unfortunately, he was en route to Valley hospital, no way to reach him. A voice behind me says, "do you need a ride?" I turn around to see an angel or my new best friend, Maria. She says, I have a van with three car seats and only one child with me, the seats fold down, maybe we can fit your bike in? Ohhh, I nodded and followed her. 20 minutes of refangling her van and haggling with the bike and trailer and finally we had room in the van and the bike and trailer un-hitched (which required looking through the storage room with the receptionist for a screwdriver and pliers, both of which we found). The thee of us sized up the options and figured how to get it all in, as I tip my bike trailer sideways to fit it in the van and disgusting brown liquid rushes out the wheel wells, "ewwwww" we all scream and rush away from the liquid which coats me and my pants. We figure that it is probably rusty water and as if I could be more embarrassed, I am. Somehow we fit the bike and the trailer into her van, and all three kids (in legal car seats even) and both of us. She drives us home and helps me get everything back out of her van. In a moment of possible lunacy, she asks if I would like to have coffee sometime. This makes me laugh and laugh and laugh, it seems proposterous, but why not? I have a new friend and am a new fan of mini-vans.
We rush into the house, the boys get in their seats at the table and announce they're ready for lunch. I open the fridge to find a row of superheroes sitting on the top shelf, arms raised as if in self-defense. That was it, all I could take! I collapsed on the floor, laughing/crying....this day has been anything but unremarkable...and its only 12:30!

Homeschooling

Homeschooling is really hard. Its not necessarily that I thought this was going to be a breeze, but I sort of assumed the toughest parts were behind me; deciding with Scott to homeschool, researching curriculums, organizing my day to accommodate homeschool, lesson plans, preparing the boys for school at home (convincing them they're not missing anything on those big yellow schoolbuses or the playgrounds of 'other kids schools'). We launched in last Monday and (all that preparation for 35 minutes, just had to throw that in) I finished with relief tinged with exhileration....excited and butterflies in my stomach. It took me a several days to analyze my body's response. As we sat down for the first day of school, I looked at the two sets of eager, innocent eyes glued on me, their teacher, and immediately the responsibility that God has entrusted me with, took root. I had camouflaged that acknowledgement deep into my research, believing that that feeling would develop, not into fear, but into gratefulness. Any rational part of my brain would have agreed, what's intimidating about a 4 year old and a 3 year old....
I wouldn't have let myself predict that I would be overcome with the task in the same minute school began. Oh, but I was. I had enough presence of mind to squeeze my eyes closed over tears that wanted to come and bow my head for a silent prayer for strength, to be worthy...to be humble. Its funny how God works; He gave me the words in that prayer to root out the problem, but it has taken me two weeks, perhaps I should say it has only taken me two weeks and for that I am so grateful. Accepting responsibility for the boys education has lead me to believe I am in charge of their education and an insidious danger crept in...I allowed myself to believe those boys are mine. I built my confidence about being their teacher by doing research, analyzing and thinking through learning styles, I drew graphs, I built a homeschool alcove under my stairs...I prepared, I prepared me. And in the process, I forgot. I forgot Whose boys those are. I forgot Who has paved the way for school at home, Who determined their curriculum, Who formed them and made them in my womb, Who knows who they will grow up to be and knows fully what I am capable of and my limits. I forgot Who knows the whole picture, the beginning and the end and Who holds my life in His hands.
My homeschool idealism crumbled last night. I had a dreadfully ineffective week as a teacher. What an important lesson that God in His grace brought to my attention: I cannot homeschool. Let me write that again with the proper emphasis; I cannot homeschool. I almost bought in to the first statement until His grace shone through my guilt and tears and I realized how much I had been reliant on me and not on Him. My pride, my pride, my pride again. Oh my wretched pride. What a deceptive confidence I built a homeschool house in, thank you God for sending the winds that blew that house down in only our first two weeks. My Mom (whose very job is counseling and encouraging homescool mom's) gave me sage advice. She reminded me of the essence of homeschooling, its flexibility, its ability to morph and grow with the family it serves. To relax, this is pre-school homeschool and I was heading in a direction that would produce an exhausted first year, and more than likely, no second year. I spent last night feeling exposed, embarassed, deeply humbled and woke this morning new in God's mercies. I am regrouping. I pray this lesson goes deep (as my Benny says, "down, down, down to my toes"). I am overwhelmed at the beauty of the task before me. Thank you Lord Jesus.

there and back again, we made it!

Thanks to Jenessa, my bike has been warmed up and somehow (I don't know how she did this, but it actually looks fun!). The boys and I had no choice, we had to ride to speech therapy today. We did it! As I pulled out of the driveway, I was wracked with panic, do I ride on the left or the right of the road, sidewalk?? I didn't know the etiquette of bike riding with a trailer. Which direction? I thought I chose well, but I rode the direction I would have if I was walking. This decision posed many obstacles, not the least of which was stopping at an intersection and restarting when it was my turn to go. Cars waited patiently as I got momentum, at Washington and Buckeye there is a slight incline....you may not notice it if you are in a car, but I will never forget it as it slowed my progress crossing the street with several cars behind me. Oh, the humility. At one point, I was really cruising (and thinking, shouldn't I shift gears...no, no, no best to stay right where I am, I could always shift and make it harder and not get back...yep quintessential bike riding skill) when I heard the boys laughing. "Wha-a-at's so f-funny?" I panted. "Mom, we can see your underwear" Jack yelled. Oh, the least of my problems. We survived!!!