Worry

A mother worries over her children.  And I think when a mother has a child with a disability, she may worry a little more over that particular child than the others.  At least I know I have done that now and then.  Sometimes it is justifiably so, sometimes not.  The past few weeks have been a little bit like that for me.  Kindergarten is starting for Henry, and I, like many mothers of children starting kindergarten, am a fretful mess of tangled up concerns and fear and protectiveness and what-ifs for that little boy. 

And so I worry.  And then something happens to remind me that this little boy is…well…Henry.

Last week, while we were out in the wilderness we went up to the lake to swim.  There were a few other families there, too.  William and Henry were throwing the frisbee in the water, and a couple of little girls came over to join in…girls that we didn’t know.  William bugged outta there pretty quickly.  

But Henry…have I mentioned how charming Henry can be?  Henry played with the girls.  He had the frisbee, and he ran around taunting them with “come on girls, try to get me!”  He held the frisbee out of their reach and laughed his laugh (which totally makes me laugh while I’m writing this).  And the three girls were all running after him, squealing and laughing and trying to get my Henry.  He didn’t know them.  He couldn’t hear them.  But no matter.  He was comfortable.  He was so confident.  He was happy. 

And there it was…the lesson.

I. Will. Worry.

And then I will look up and see Henry.  I will see him make friends.  I will see him be the center of attention.  I will hear his laughter.

 

And I will wonder what on Earth I was worried about.

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This is the Fodder.

We are back from the wilderness now.  It wasn’t really all that wild.  More on that later. 

Anyway, we’re back.  And of course, we had t-ball practice today and soccer starts Tuesday and cheering has been going on now for two weeks already and the boys need cleats and uniforms and school shoes and I still had some school supplies to buy.  And I noticed while I was packing for the wilderness that Henry really had very few decent shirts to wear for school so we had to get a few of those, too.  

Have you ever shopped with two little boys?  Mm-hmm. 

It was only slightly frustrating, to be honest.

Let me just share some of the comments I overheard:

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William:  “Hey Henry, what if you tooted on Santa’s lap?!”  chuckles and snorts and guffaws.

***

Henry:  “Hey William, hold my finger.”

William:  “No Henry, I know what you’re going to do.”

Henry:  “Hey Mom, hold my finger.  I promise I’m not going to toot.  I’m just going to pretend to.”

***

Henry:  “Whoa, I just did a tooter.”  More chuckles.  More snorts, more guffaws. 

 

Can I just ask, what is it with the tooters?  

I live with small, insane people.  This is the fodder.

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Perhaps I’m a Bit of a Nutjob.

Tomorrow we leave.  Again.  Heading to the cabin.  (That makes it sound like MY cabin.  It’s not my cabin, just fyi.  I like to pretend.) 

***Oh, before I forget, Ella can say her name.  You should hear her.  I have never heard anything so cute in my entire life.  En.Tire.Life.*** 

So anyway, for the next week, there will be no internet.  No phone.  No television.  No VCR.  No nothing.  It’s kind of freaking me out.  Me and technology kind of hold hands, if you know what I mean.  So I have packed some wine (me and wine hold hands, too).  Actually, I haven’t packed any yet.  I haven’t packed anything yet.  (Again, looking forward to the freak out).  But I plan to pack some.  And some games.  And some books.  It’s going to be good.  I think. 

And I’m looking forward to waking up to bacon, eggs and coffee every morning. 

And not getting up early unless it’s to watch the sunrise.

And grilling every night. 

And s’mores.  And sticky, dirty children, exhausted from a day of playing outside.

And the smell of my boys hair after they’ve been outside all day. 

And walking with my girls.

And fishing.

And swimming in the lake.

And enjoying time with my mom, dad and sisters and their families.

And watching the sun set on the lake with The Man and The Cabernet.

And going to bed at a reasonable hour, because I am without blogs. 

I’m totally not thinking about any of the tantrums that may or may not occur.  In a tiny little cabin. 

And I’m totally not thinking about where in tarnation Ella is going to sleep, and that she is going to wake up at early o’clock every morning.

And I’m totally not thinking about this.  Yep, those were some good times.

Because if I were thinking of any of those things, I might think myself a bit of a nutjob for going back.

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The Outfield

The outfield doesn’t see a whole lotta action in kickball…

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A Piece of Him

One morning in Rodanthe I walked with Henry.  We collected shells and held hands. 

It was windy that day, and the waves roared, but he didn’t hear them. 

I wondered what that is like — not hearing the waves.  What it is like to walk onto the beach and not hear the gulls cry, or the wind gust or the sea crash on the shore. 

What is that silence like — you can feel the spray of the water, you can see it crest and watch it’s momentum heave it onto the ocean floor.  You can watch the wave dissolve into soft, swirling foam.  But you can’t hear it.  You have never heard it.  To you it is not a wonder.  To you, is does not roar.  It is a silent, sparkling, tangle of water.  And to you, that is normal.  I wondered what that silence is like.

And among all that wondering my mind found the place that is always there, but that I keep closed up most of the time.  The long-hidden disquiet resurfaces, ever so slightly, every now and then.     

Now, like I did when Henry was first diagnosed, I worry that he will feel isolated. 

But I don’t think he does. 

I worry that he will struggle. 

But I don’t think he will.

I worry that he will regret what he doesn’t hear.  That he will be angry that he doesn’t hear well. 

But he is so wonderfully perfect, just how he is.  I want him to grow up knowing that. 

I worry that he will be teased, or taken advantage of.  I worry that he will feel different. 

I hope he won’t.  But I don’t know… 

What I know is this boy.  I know he is happy.  I know he is confident.  (And he has the best freckles.)  I know I love him.  

And that part of him that doesn’t hear…it does not define him.  But it is a piece of him.  It is a piece of who he is. 

A piece of my Henry.  A piece of his wonderful.

Five Drips

There were five drips…possibly six.  In the little potty. 

I should mention that I did not make the drips. 

It was #4.  I am so proud.  We’re not even potty training. 

But when you see a two year old, standing by the potty, saying “psssss” (yes she did say it) you put her on it.  And she makes drips.

And then you make such a big deal about those five drips.  And then she is proud.

And then you make gingerbread cookies.  Because your love for your baby girl (and gingerbread cookies) knows no season. 

(And sometimes you might find a ball of frozen dough in the freezer that has been there since Christmas.)

Then you smoosh a scoop of black cherry ice cream between two gingerbread cookies.  Black cherry and Ginger?  Um, oh my word yes.

And then you celebrate the tinkle.

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All Boy

William.

I love this boy.  I love that he is all boy.   I love that he drinks from a hose.  Even though that is gross. 

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Visit 5 minutes for mom for more wordless wednesday photos.

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Sunshine, Sandcastles, Ice Cream, Laughter

It was a ten hour drive to the beach.   A Ten.Hour.Drive. 

That was sucky. 

And as we entered the Outer Banks, mother nature blessed us with a downpour.  Wind.  Torrential rains.  

So to recap:  trapped in car for ten hours;  rain. 

Then we arrived at the house.  We let the kids run around for an hour and then tucked them snuggly in their beds.  Luckily, we brought the pack-n-play for Ella, because the crib that was supplied was not assembled.  Isn’t that useful?  So I layed Ella in the pack-n-play, and closed the door.  Fifteen seconds later I could hear her screaming at the door.  Because she just climbed right on out of that pack-n-play.  The pack-n-play was also, clearly, very useful.   

So she slept in the bed with me that night.  And to be honest, I’m rather thankful for that crib being disassembled that night.  Sleeping with that little redheaded cherub by my side was not really restful.  But lying there watching her sleep and feeling her curled up next to me was nothing short of wonderful.   

I awoke to the sound of that little girl, two inches from my face, saying “Mommy.  Hi.”  She makes my heart come all undone…      

Then The Man put the crib together. 

And it rained some more.  And was cloudy.

But on the third day, the clouds parted and the sun fell on our faces and warmed the sand.  We did very little but play all day.  And eat ice cream.  All week. 

(Look at his round belly…he’s just all sorts of cute…)

This week was sun-bleached hair, freckles, pink shoulders and pink cheeks. 

And sandy little feet.     

And building sandcastles. (Which William takes very.very.seriously.  Don’t mess with his castles). 

We collected shells.  We chased sandpipers.

 

We played in the surf.

 

We laughed. 

(There may have been a couple tiny little tantrums.  Or something.  But whatever.)

Four little children, drawn to the swirls of foamy surf.  Squealing with delight and fear and anticipation of the sea, crashing on their little feet.    

This past week at the shore reminded me what childhood should consist of…sunshine, sandcastles, ice cream, laughter.  

It was lovely.

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A Catchy Title is Eluding Me.

I’m back!  Did you miss me?! 

Don’t all shout at once now. 

Anyone?  Anyone out there miss me?

Alrighty then.

So I’m knee deep in laundry today.  And I’m feeling very ambitious so I’m making braised chicken with summer tomatoes served on a bed of mashed potatoes for supper.  Yes, it IS good. 

Also, I’m freaking out because there is less than one month until school starts.  I feel unprepared.  Disorganized.  Still need a few school supplies for my baby boy going to kindergarten (cry).  And clothes.  I think all of the kids need a good lot of clothes. 

And we’re leaving for another week’s vacation in 12 days.  TWELVE!!!  Yikes. 

Oh, before I forget I must mention Mr. Pink.  Mr. Pink mowed our lawn for us while we were gone.  We drove up to a freshly cut lawn.  It still had the mowing lines and everything.  That was a really nice thing to do Mr. Pink.  Now you see?  He isn’t all bad. 

Also, I must mention my thanks to Mrs. Pink’s father, who was also very kind while we were gone.  We had asked them to water our potted plants while we were gone.  Then we proceeded (like idiots) to turn our water off so that the pipes didn’t burst while we were gone and flood the house.  So Mrs. Pink’s dad came on over to water those plants, but strangely, couldn’t get any water to come out of the hose.  Mm-hmm.  So do you know what he did?  He hauled watering cans over to water them.  Wow.  Mrs. Pink, you must thank him for us.  And also aplogize for our idiocy.

So basically, I have not pulled my thoughts together about the beach.  Because I know the rest of the world has been waiting, breathlessly, to see how my vacation was.  I can tell you it was lovely.  And I’ll leave you with this, which just may be my favorite picture from the week…

Is that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen or what?