Oh Dear....

Really? Am I really doing this? Am I really going back to school, full time, in just two days?

HAVE I LOST MY MIND?!?

I can't even keep up with my laundry. My apartment is in a permanent state of disarray. My daughter nearly always needs a bath. And I think that adding in 12 hours of class a week, plus a practicum, sounds like a good idea? Right now it doesn't even seem doable!

But then I look at my kids. They are beautiful and they are smart and they look at me with these trusting eyes...and I know it's up to me. I have to do this for me and for them. Yes, it will mean some sacrifice on all of our parts. And I can't pretend to know how we will manage the next few years. But when it's all said and done and I walk across that stage in three years (THREE YEARS?! ack!), it will be worth it.




Right?

The Boy

I've got mommy guilt and I've got it bad.

He's only 6 months old and I'm already worried about how little I talk about him. People ask me how things are and I launch easily into a list of things that are going on with Diva Girl...the good, the bad, the progress, the way she has found the right screaming pitch to drive me crazy. Oh, and Rascal? He's good. Sleeps well. No teeth yet.

Ouch.

So that is what I was thinking about this morning, as I lay next to him in bed. I watched his sweet sleeping face and I though "Please, never have such issues that people always ask me how you are in worried tones...but be so wonderful that I always have something about you that I can't wait to share"

I have all these hopes and dreams for him. I realize that while I am, of course, fearful of him ending up on the spectrum, I don't dwell on it much. Sometimes I am equally terrified of what will happen when he reaches the age of three and is completely normal...what on earth do I know about raising a child without the aid of a team of therapists? But either way, my prayers for him don't change. I want him to know love, in all the different ways it appears in life. I want him to know how to love as a friend, loyal and honest. I pray that he discovers the joy of loving a wife, a working and joyful love. And of course, I hope he will (in the faaaar future) know what it's like to love a child, the complete surprisingly strong and pure love that threatens to overwhelm you the first time you hold them in your arms.

For now, I just want to teach him that I love him, that daddy and sister love him, and that God loves him. And I look forward to his little belly scootching turning into crawling. I am enjoying his wonderfully sunny personality and his quick smile! Yes, he is a good sleeper, but is also hilarious in his tendency to take over the whole bed and wake up in a completely different position than he drifted off in. He adores his sister, and will often look at her as though she is the world...even after she just bonked him over the head with a sippy cup.

Baby boy, you bring me joy! I won't forget to share that with the world.

Tell me something I don't know

.I don't care how many evaluations we have to undergo with Diva Girl, I doubt I will ever grow to dread them any less. There is something about having to watch your child be tested and see that evaluator scribble down all the ways she is coming short...well, it can be plain old depressing.

Today we had a speech evaluation for Social Security Income. Apparently, they needed to make sure we're not pulling a fast one on them. Alright, fine, I have no problem taking her in to prove how behind she is *sigh*

We show up and sit in the second nastiest waiting room I've ever been in (the first involved blood stained chairs, so I am pretty sure the first place spot is reserved for all time). Diva Girl was covered in dust in a matter of minutes, and I had the joy of digging an ancient skittle out of her mouth. I could tell this was gonna be good, but little did I know...

Granted, the evaluator herself was a sweet lady. She tried to be as sensitive as she could while we went over G's medical history and blah blah blah. Apparently SSI hadn't sent her any info on us, because she was happily surprised when I told her G has a formal diagnosis and is getting therapy. You could read on her face that she was relieved that she would not have to be the person giving me the news that my dear daughter has issues.

Of course, Diva Girl did awful. She wouldn't identify a darn thing, she kept flicking the lights off, and we spent most of the time trying to keep her away from the computer and paper cutter (seriously, who conducts evaluations in their actual office?!?). I think there were 5 identifiable words spoken the entire time we were there. But what else do they expect when they put my kid in a strange room with a strange lady? If I get a copy of this evaluation, please remind me that the results mean nothing and that I don't care that she will say something like "she is in the bottom 1%" Because the good news is that I can't imagine them not approving her case. And the better news is that she is doing better than any evaluation can measure. If she doesn't want to point to a ball when a stranger asks her to, fine...what matters is that she can look me in the eyes and say "ball!" when I hand one to her. And who cares if she didn't want to look at a picture of a baby? What makes me proud is that she came up to Husband and I and said "Rascal sleeping" one night last week (Yes, she knows who he is! And what it means when mommy takes him back to the bedroom! And mommy totally started crying and hugging her like a crazy lady when this happened!)

I see progress. I hear words. So who really cares about evaluations anyway?

He still loves me!

It's been five years since I vowed to be his wife for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live. And I think we've done our best to test out those vows in these five years. And as I held his hand tonight, a part of me is still in awe that he chose me. That he loves me. That we are still holding hands, through it all.

When we came back from our honeymoon and landed in reality, with no jobs and plenty of school left, he held my hand and told me we would find a way.

When I broke down and quit school and felt like a failure, he held my hand and made me smile again.

When I saw those two pink lines and wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry, he held my hand and let me know how excited he was...and I knew he was going to be an amazing father to our little one.

When we had to swallow our pride to provide a home for our baby, he held my hand and reassured me that we were doing the right thing.

When it felt like we had nothing, he held my hand and I knew we had what was important.

When he told me he was going back to school, he held my hand and gave me hope.

When we lost our babies, he held my hand and grieved with me.

When Diva Girl began to slip away and we began the journey of autism, he held my hand and cried with me. And then he helped me have the strength to be the mother she needs me to be.

When I gave birth to our son in the most unexpected of circumstances, he held my hand and was my rock.

When he graduated and made me the proudest woman alive, he held my hand and told me it was my turn.


So here we are. Five years of challenges faced, joys shared, and love grown. I love him today with a depth that I could not truly imagine on the day I said "I do". And I pray that he will hold my hand through all of the adventures that life has yet to bring us. Let's rise to the occasion together!