The Road to Here.

Six years ago, if you had told me that someday I would be kissing two of my three children goodbye, watching them climb up the steps of that big yellow bus, and entrusting a stranger to my children’s care as they make their way to school, it would have seemed like a forever away future. If you had told me that the following hours would create a gap of time in which I was not only mama who could maybe get those toys picked up before bedtime, I could not have imagined it. Yet, that day… that day is today. That day is here. The time of infancy, of toddlerhood, of transitioning from little babies into little children, all of that has floated away and I’m not sure to where it disappeared.

Today I sent off my two oldest to 2nd grade and Kinder. They boarded the bus together, they sat together, and they will return home together after 6 1/2 hours of the school day have passed. There’s a quiet that settled over my home this morning after they left. It is not a total silence, there is still that little toddler, my youngest, still in my care 24/7, but it was a quiet nonetheless. If you had told me that someday this quietness would come, I would have laughed. It seemed impossible. And if you had caught me at the right time, I would have told you that I didn’t want it, that I’d hate that quiet. Yet, here it is, and while it is bittersweet, it is more sweet today than bitter. My living room is clean. I even put on make-up today. I took my toddler out to play at the Children’s Museum. I ran to the store with little hassle. I look around and I see… my home will look different now. It will be tidier, cleaner, more frequently. It will be emptier too, until those two sweet kiddos return home in the afternoon.

I have joked, and others have laughed with me, asking “What in the world will I do with all that time?”.  Today, today I saw the possibilities and I know, this time will not be empty. I can sew again, I can tidy my home with greater ease, I can read, I can write, and I can finish projects that have lay untouched for over a year. Is it possible that the laundry will not fall behind anymore? The dishes, maybe they won’t pile to overflowing in my sink? Perhaps the floors will be kept clean, and fingerprints might just be barely noticeable on the sliding door?  Is this really my life now? Time to do the things I always want to accomplish, yet never quite had the time for? And if this time has been given to me, how do I get the most from it?

I am not prepared for this change, and I feel excited and anxious and a little bit sad all at once.

 

Summer Break Blues

Today is the first full day of summer break for our family. It’s Friday. Everett woke with the sun, at 5:30 this morning. My Oliver, who recently turned 7 years old, slept in (and by that I mean that he didn’t get out of bed until 7:13am). Wynter ambled out to the living room before my husband left for work at 6:25 a.m. I did NOT make my son a school lunch. I did NOT check the time frequently. I did NOT make him get dressed. I did NOT watch for his bus and take him out to wait for it. Instead, I wondered, how will today go? What is the best way to handle this Friday? And I asked these things because Oliver, my sweet and precious and kind little boy, quickly spirals into anxiety and fight or flight behavior unless his day is scheduled and routine.

This past month he has been on the verge of his summer break blues. We’ve had moments that reminded me of how difficult summer break is for him. “Why does school have to end?”, he asks me with tears in his eyes. “I don’t want school to end. I don’t want summer break. I don’t like this.” And my heart breaks for him as tears stream down my own face because I know, I completely understand how difficult the unknown is for him. I ask him what he will miss the most about school, and he tells me that he will miss his classroom the most. I know part of that is the people, his teachers and his friends, but I also know that most of that is because his classroom is almost always the same. He knows what to expect. He knows what comes first, and when snack time is, and where he sits for math, and what time everyone lines up for lunch. Every day is always the same for him.  Home, home is different. Home is not nearly as routine. Unexpected things happen. Instead of three teachers he has mom and sister and brother, and our behavior and decisions are not nearly as habitual. Home is safe, but it is not nearly as routine as school is.

Last year, I learned. Oh boy, did I learn. He needs to know what to expect, what to do, and he needs a plan to abide by. I have created one for us this summer. It starts on Monday, and will continue until the first day of school in August. Unexpected and unplanned things will come up, and he will have opportunities to learn to adapt to change, but he will also know that mostly his days are planned, and fun, and exciting, and routine. I’m providing this for him, not only because he needs it, but also so that we can all have an enjoyable summer.  It’s not the kind of summer I had, nor the one I dreamed of giving my kids. It’s not the lazy days, with free playing all day, and random outings to the zoo or the park or the museum. It is, however, the kind of summer we need, we MUST have, and it will be exhausting for me as I become teacher, therapist, aide, in addition to mom of 3 very different amazing kids. It will also be better than last summer. And maybe, just maybe, I can teach my son that summer is not such a terrifying thing after all, but highly anticipated time of joy and happiness and spending time with his family that loves him most.

 

Celebrating Different Milestones

Yesterday, for the last time, I deflated the balloon of Everett’s g-tube and gently pulled it from his stoma. Instead of placing a new g-tube button I simply taped gauze over the little hole in his tummy that has been there for 16 months of his life. With a few movements, and in less than a minute, he graduated from tubie life.

 

Sometimes living the life of a mother to children who are different can feel lonely. We hold other babies who’s stomachs are smooth and do not have a little plastic tube button creating a little bump under their clothes, and we feel separated. We hear other little children talking so much more than our own child, and we ache just a little bit. The differences often make us feel separate from those families that don’t have differences. Yet, every mother, every parent, celebrates the milestones of their children. The first smile, the first attempt at walking, the first time they ride a bike without training wheels; when our children gain these skills we all celebrate. Sometimes, those skills are different. The first time they drink a whole bottle without choking, the first time they try a new food, the first time they return your hug. I can tell you, though, that the burst of delight that runs through me when my children reach a new milestone is the same whether it’s a different kind of milestone, or a typical one.

I squeal.

I clap.

My heart jumps inside my chest.

And I also feel that little twinge of sadness that this means my little one is even more grown up than yesterday.

I don’t need to add more differences to what we already have. I am a mom, just like you, who feels the same things you do about all the little milestones, some the same and some different, that you are also celebrating with that little tear rolling down your cheek.

A close friend recently celebrated independently initiated dressing with her son my Oliver’s age. What a huge milestone for them! My sister in law’s baby is standing with assistance, and sheer joy spreads across her chubby little face when she can convince some steady hands to let her wrap her little fingers around them and help her balance. All around us mothers are celebrating these milestones, whether typical or atypical, all the time.

I placed my son’s last g-tube button on the counter. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I’ll probably place it inside a little plastic baggy and save it. It felt a little bit like removing a part of him, but also like moving forward to a time of less worrying. No more being careful as we pull down his shirt that it doesn’t catch on the little tube. No more worrying it will get yanked out if he slides off the couch a certain way. No more being mindful of where to blow on his tummy because getting a mouthful of g-tube is hilariously awkward.

I wonder, now, how long it will take me before I forget what it’s like, seeing that tube in his tummy? How long before it feels normal to me to hold a baby with no mind to exactly how my hand is placed? How long before what was normal to me before is forgotten, and muscle memory changes?

I’m so overwhelmingly happy that we’ve met this milestone! So ecstatic for all the things it means. So thankful to know that the very thing he so desperately needed at 2 months old and failure to thrive, is now going to be just a memory and a scar on his tummy. But I am also shedding a few small tears as I watch my baby grow up before my eyes and become this sturdy little toddler who is climbing onto tables, throwing food, and choosing not to eat the food on his plate just because he can.

And I know that so much of what I’m feeling, as I write this, is what so many other mothers are feeling as they watch their own children meet milestones and gain new skills. Some of it might be different, but much of it is also the same.

The Tired Days

There are many days, and sometimes weeks, as a mom when the only comprehensible feeling I have is tired. Worn out. I find myself muddling through these days hazily, like walking through an endless fog, and nothing seems to get done. I clean all day, yet my house remains messy. I plan meals, yet have no idea what to cook at dinnertime. I revive projects, yet finish nothing in a weeks’ time.

It is only at the end of these days that I start to realize two things: one, I’ve not been spending time with God. I haven’t been replenishing my soul with prayer and reading, with the truths I so desperately need (and sometimes a little slap on the hand for selfish behavior). I’ve been ignoring my Bible, I’ve been shooting off random prayers only when I really want a kid to sleep, or really want to survive a day.

Two, I haven’t been taking time for myself. I haven’t been refilling my cup with thoughtful me-time. I haven’t been enforcing quiet time, and doing the little things I enjoy.

Because of this, often my body is running on empty, both spiritually and mentally, and it reflects on my home life and children. My kids get restless. The TV and cartoons never turn off. Meals are scattered. Constant attention is needed everywhere.

Almost daily, I need a reminder. Take time for God; take time for myself.

As mothers, I think we often feel as though taking time for ourselves is too indulgent, perhaps too selfish. We can’t do things for us, we have to do things for our children. We can’t do things for us, because someone always needs us. But, how can we fill them up, if we are constantly empty?

I know it is a struggle to find that time; I know it all too well. The days on end when I think maybe I’ll get a shower that day, but I’m more concerned about what my kids might get into while I’m doing the most basic of things for myself… the weeks when I can’t remember the last time I got dressed and did my makeup just because I wanted to feel pretty… the months when I haven’t gone out with a friend – just me and that friend.Lately, my Bible has been sitting in a drawer unopened. It’s only today that I’ve realized this, and know I need to make a change.

Don’t forget, as Mother’s Day draws closer, that you do not need one special day to take time for yourself and God. Whether it’s five minutes or an hour, every day should have time for both. Time for letting go of worry, for refocusing our thoughts on what really matters, for remembering who we are apart from the demands of home life and motherhood. Time for praise, for being creative, for exercising the talents God has given us in life. Time for refreshing our souls, and replenishing our minds with what is good, and lovely, and right.

Don’t forget to take time for this.

-Kristina

^“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” – Phillipians 4:8

 

A re-introduction

KRISTINA

Exactly one year ago, two friends tried to start a blog about motherhood.

And after several posts, into which they put their hearts and souls, the blog disappeared. Through no fault of their own. Whether it was a fluke of the internet, a mistake neither realized they made, or God saying “now is not the time,” the blog vanished and the friends gave up.

But then, one friend reminded the other friend of that blog they had attempted to begin… and we’re starting over.

I’m Kristina. I currently have two children. Asa is three; he’s full of humor and movement, and constantly surprises me with something new he’s learned. He’s my (mostly) even-keel child, more likely to laugh at something than cry about it. Evie is nearly two, and it’s very apparent in her emotional ups and downs. When she’s happy, she is very happy. When she’s angry, the world might end.

And just as their personalities are opposite, so were my pregnancies and post-pregnancy moments. I loved being pregnant with Asa. I had the glow, the energy, the zest. While I did have three days of prodromal labor with him, once things got rolling his birth was as serene as a birth can be, considering. Immediately after he was born, I thought “I could do that again.” I lost all of the weight quickly after birthing him, and he was a dream baby. While there was some stress, of course, it was very little in the grand scheme of things. He weaned himself, he was a great self-soother, he slept well.

I hated being pregnant with Evie. I was sick until nearly 20 weeks pregnant, I cried and yelled during labor, threw up, roared through pushing, and shook for an hour after she was born. It took a full year and a half for me to want to be pregnant or go through labor again, and even now I’m not sure I’m on board yet. I didn’t lose any baby weight after having her, and gained even more through a long and rough period of postpartum depression. She still doesn’t sleep through the night, and weaning was a long and rough struggle.

My experiences and children are like night and day to each other. Both imperfect, both beautiful, both painful and wonderful and sometimes insane. I cannot wait to share the things I observe through mothering these two, and, eventually, share what a third (and fourth, and fifth) experience will be like.

SARAH

I always knew I would be a mother. From when I was just a little girl stuffing baby dolls up my shirt and pretending to give birth, it was what I wanted more than anything. I grew up as the oldest of 7 children, and I helped in the daycare my mom ran successfully. I believed my life experience would make me a great mom.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but motherhood swept under me and dragged me from solid ground out into unknown and chaotic waters, like riptide. My first born challenged everything I knew about children and about being a mother. Oliver. He was a difficult baby, with particular wants and needs, fretful sleep, and as he transitioned from infancy to toddlerhood I fell into a despair that I had massively messed up with him.

When Oliver was 19 months old, on a festive Christmas morning, I gave birth to our daughter.  Wynter. I grew into myself as a mother during her first few months. I decided what kind of mother I wanted to be, and made decisions that fit our family and our values instead of doing what I thought I was supposed to do. I wasn’t perfect, by any means, but I had a feel for what I found important and what mistakes I never wanted to make again. I endured a bout of post partum depression. I struggled with the challenges of toddlerhood. And then my world turned upside down again.

Oliver was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. A flood of therapies and doctor visits and new found knowledge and endless research overtook me. It was overwhelming, it was arduous. It was also a relief. Suddenly so much I had seen as my own failure fell into place and I saw a new way for us, for our family.  The challenges didn’t change, but I now knew that we had help.

Three years after Oliver’s diagnosis we added another little boy to our family. Everett. My pregnancy with him was difficult. I was more than ready for him to be born, and I was induced 1 week early due to fluctuating blood pressure. He burst into the world. He was the only one I actually had an epidural for, but the epidural was placed right before he was born rendering it effectively useless. As I held him on my chest I had no idea of the whirlwind that would come.

A choking episode at home delivered a first time 911 call and our bedroom flooded with 7 emergency responders. Another one that same night would send us back to the hospital where he was born to spend 4 hours in the ER and be sent home. A few days later we would be making our way to the ER at the local children’s hospital, and that would result in a 5 day hospital stay where we would discover significant feeding problems.  Two days after returning home we would see a feeding specialist who would find that Everett was born with a cleft of his soft palate. We would later find out that he also had a rare genetic condition called Pierre-Robin Sequence. We would also be going through multiple hearing tests that indicated that he was born deaf.  Then, eventually, after many struggles to help him gain weight, we would trek back to the children’s hospital for a g-tube placement. Everett’s journey through his first year and a half of life has been interesting, to say the least. So much more has happened, but I will save it for another post.

Today, we are thriving as a family. Motherhood is nothing like I had imagined, but I wouldn’t change the journey or the reality for anything. Oliver turns 7 years old this month, Wynter is 5 years old, and Everett is 18 months old. In the past 7 years I have learned so much. I cannot wait to learn more and grow more as a mother, and share the ups and downs of this journey with you.

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