His Own Time

Caedmon is 7.

Caedmon has sucked his thumb since birth.

At 3, we were a little concerned about it. The doctor shrugged and said we could try to do something about it but it wasn't that big of a deal.

At 4, we commented to him that maybe we should start working on not sucking his thumb anymore.

At 5, we talked to his dentist about it and she told us he would quit when he was ready.

We had already learned from potty training with Damek that kids are pretty awesome at picking their own time line so we decided to sit back and wait.

At 6, he endured comments from multiple loved ones and basically told them where to get off, he loved his thumb and he would continue doing his thing, thank you very much.

At 7, well, it began as any other year has. But three nights ago I noticed he was quite restless and hyper-tired, not typical for him but occasionally we all have nights. The next night was very similar. That was strange. The third night I wondered if he was coming down with some sickness that is taking forever to manifest? What in the world is going on?!

Then I realized, it has been a REALLY long time since I have heard the sucking sounds of a thumb in a mouth! Could he be quietly weening himself without saying a word to any of us?

I decided not to say anything. Maybe he didn't tell us because it wasn't a discussion he wanted to have.

It made me tear up a bit. Watching my independent 7 year old go this struggle alone. I am so proud of him. So proud of his perseverance. He's shown it in many things in his young life. It makes my heart happy for the man he is growing to be.

Sometimes It's Just Too Much

Caedmon has a pretty major surgery coming up in a few weeks. His legs will be broken, by a doctor not in some rambunctious little boy play, reset to try to straighten them a bit from the way they twist now, his left foot will be reconstructed, a tendon will be completely severed to loosen his foot and stop it from turning in. His dad and I have felt this heavy weight on our chest get heavier by the day as the surgery gets closer. This kid! He has been through so much, though he doesn't really know that, it's all part of life for him.

Adam and I are looking at the minimum 12 week recovery time and feeling like this huge tidal wave is just hovering above our house. Caedmon is looking forward to Grandma coming to visit. He just doesn't have the adult mind that can latch on to anything in the future and attach fear and negativity to it.

And then . . .

A few days ago, on a Friday, Asher and Caedmon were wrestling, as they love to do. Asher saw the CHAIT tube button on Caedmon's side, grabbed it in his little pudgy fingers and completely yanked the entire button and tube out of Caedmon's body. We heard a scream, came running, and saw the tube lying on our living room rug and a hole in Caedmon's side. Adam quickly put together a bag while I taped gauze over the opening and Adam and Caedmon rushed off to the ER. After 4 hours, they came home with a huge, long temporary tube taped in various places around his side and chest with the instructions to call his urologist on Monday. We called as early as possible on Monday and, after some calling back and forth, were told, 'Oh, we just went to grab another tube and realized we don't have anymore. We'll have to order them.' How long will that take? 'Well, we hope just a few days . . .' It is Wednesday now. We're still waiting to hear something.

And then . . .

Last night we wanted Caedmon to be able to bathe and we needed to change the dressing over the hole. He was so anxious that we were going to somehow pull the tube completely out of his side that he could not calm down enough to let us do it. It took Adam holding him down on the floor and me pulling tape off and putting more tape on to finally get him in the shower. He was so upset he was shaking and shivering. There is nothing worse than having your child be scared and having to walk them through the thing they are most scared of. To have him crying in my face with a look of utter terror while I calmly (on the outside) continued on with the job at hand was nearly more than I could take. We cuddled for a long time and talked through what had happened, what he had been scared of (pain), what had actually happened (no pain). I am tearing up just writing this because even the memory is so stressful.

And then . . .

Today Asher had his PT appointment. On Friday he had finally been fitted with new orthotics, he had outgrown his old ones. I was so happy to take him in finally and have him get a good session in with the appropriate footwear. A few minutes after him going back his PT came out and said, 'Could you come back with us?' I followed her to a bench where she picked up Asher's shoeless feet and said, 'These orthotics don't look right.' She then pointed out several problems with them that were causing Asher to twist his feet in order to walk.

Quite often I am able to be a 'go with the flow' kinda person. These things are what they are and I can't change how it's happening, I can only change what happens today. But with so many things at once it feels like too much sometimes. I would like to cuddle in my bed, read a good book, get on a plane to somewhere sunny and warm, forget about mommy duties for a while, have a good cry and sit by the ocean. Instead, I will get off the computer right now so I can get to Caedmon's school in order to cath him.

Meh, get-aways aren't that great anyway. All the stuff is still sitting here for you when you get back. Perhaps slogging through is the best plan. After all, it's just a stage. Also, my mom sent us some money for ice cream. I think we shall have an after-school get-away to the ice cream shop.

Waiting It Out

Not very often, but there are times, when Caedmon is over-tired or coming down with an illness, when he will become extremely stubborn and oppositional and he will flail around so much and take swings at anyone near him that I will have to gently restrain him or he will hurt himself or someone else. And he will cry and sob while trying to hit or kick me. And he will scream at me to let him go. And I have to tell him that I will hold him until he feels safe again. And sometimes I have to wait for what seems like a very long time for that to happen.

These are the times I don't like being a mom much. I don't like conflict. I don't like confrontation. I don't like holding back my child. I don't like that he has these moments.

Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I'm just as angry as him. Usually I am tired too.

And then most of the storm passes, and I can let go of him and he'll let me smooth his hair or massage his arm or put my cheek next to his as his sobs slowly fade. And through the ebbing I pray in my own head. That I would have wisdom. That I can be calm. That I can show him love before he falls asleep. That he would have peace. That he would know he is loved. That I would stop making so many mistakes.

And then he asks me to cuddle with him, usually a little longer than on a normal night. And sometimes I don't want to stay longer but I do because it's not time to leave yet. The storm has not quite gone away. And as I lie next to him I feel his breathing slow, I feel his body relax, I see his eyes close. And as I get up to leave, he opens his eyes, lifts his arms and gives me a tight hug. 

I love that part. 

And I love how it reminds me of my Father who holds me through some pretty amazing temper tantrums, even at my old age. A Father who doesn't walk out when the going gets tough. Who waits out the storm with me. Who holds my hand and smooths my hair. And waits.

Turning 7

Caedmon had his semi-regular visit with his orthopedic surgeon a few days ago. His orthotics were extended to better fit his growing feet, he was checked over for general health and well-being, he was scheduled for another gait analysis . . . and we found out this will be the year he has a major surgery on both legs in which they will break and reset major bones as well as reconstruct some bones in his feet.

'Yeah, just let us know when would be a good time for Caedmon to be wheelchair dependent for at least a month.'

We knew it was coming, his orthopedist has been warning us for several years, but we just weren't quite ready for it to come now. In fact, my memory is that the orthopedist said sometime between his 8-10 birthdays, he's only going to be 7 this year.

One more adventure on the journey. One more surgery. One more getting up and starting over again.

We're ready for it. We love this boy!

Running at 6

No parent ever knows what their child will be capable of. We can hope, dream, plan all we want but what the reality is will never be quite what we anticipated. This is true regardless of ability, regardless of the hurdles or hurdle-free life a child has.

Watching Caedmon from birth, seeing how twisted his feet were, going through multiple surgery recoveries with him to improve mobility, taking him week after week to physical therapy, knowing his leg bones are rotated and will require more surgery sometime in the next few years, I decided long ago to just embrace every victory he has and let go of any expectation. I decided to encourage him when he asked to try something, to support him, to cheer for him, never to say 'never' and never to push.

So when his brother asked to run in a kid's 1/2 mile fun run after a race Adam was in and Caedmon, not one to want to be left behind, asked if he could too, I said, 'Great!' And when he waffled back and forth up until 3 minutes before the race started I just held his hand and said over and over, 'Whatever you want to do is fine but I know you can do it!' 'Okay, I'm gonna do it, Mom!' he said, turning in circles, which is his way of showing excitement.

Adam lined up with him at the starting line, pushing his wheelchair in case he needed it at some point in the race.

When the race started, he was in the back of the pack but he was running. He would slow a bit, then hear somebody cheering for him and his pace would pick back up again. I was standing halfway down the turnaround course. When he saw me, he blew me a kiss and then ran faster to catch up with his dad. He never stopped moving and he only stopped running once to say 'hi' to Asher, who couldn't stand to be on the sidelines and jumped in the race for the last 1/4.

Seeing him running brought a high-pressured surge of emotion. It was so beautiful, the way he moves his body when he runs is so fluid and graceful, like a dance, it brought so much pride, my boy, not stopping, not crying, not quitting, it brought back all the hard work he has done through the years to even be able to walk time and time again after surgeries knocked him backward. All of a sudden I could imagine what the parents of that athlete who scores the winning points at the last buzzer to win the championship game must feel or the parents who watch their child graduate at the top of the class from some Ivy League school or become president or do anything that they hardly dared to hope their child would be able to do.

'THAT IS MY SON!' I wanted to shout to everyone he was passing. I would have too, had I not been sobbing like a baby.

Mom, Where Were You?!

These are words I swore many, many years ago my kids would never say to me. I was going to be that mom that came to everything, supported everything, participated in everything.

It only took until the end of Caedmon’s kindergarten year for me to break that promise.

I have so many justifications and excuses for why I didn’t show up: Asher was getting over a sickness and had fallen asleep after an intense physical therapy appointment, it was raining and his school said they would cancel the event if it rained, Adam was busy all day with appointments and was unavailable. The truth is, I could have done so many things differently: swing by the school or at least call to see if the event was still happening, wake Asher up after a short nap, it really wouldn’t have killed him, call Adam to see if he had a little wiggle room.

The fact is I did none of these things and I made assumptions. And so I missed Caedmon’s very first sports day.

As Caedmon climbed into the car at the end of the day, I see big tears in his eyes and hear the reproach in his voice.

‘Where were you, Mommy?!

You said you were coming and you didn’t come!

I was the last one in everything!

Dash (real name) won everything and made fun of me!

Why weren’t you there?!’

Every word is a stab to my heart, manifold by my own mom-guilt.

There was a lot of apologizing, a lot of explaining, trying to make him understand that I love him and I support him and I will be there for him in the future. But it doesn’t take away the hurt of the moment or the feeling of letdown.

Not to mention the pain of losing that we can’t even focus on yet because the pain of mom and dad missing this day is too fresh. How do I help Caedmon see that he is an amazing kid? How do I help him see that losing at a sports day is a teeny tiny insignificant nothing compared to all the wonderful things he wins at everyday, like loving and resiliency and courage and humor? The truth is I missed that opportunity because I wasn’t there, I wasn’t present in that moment and so I missed that teaching opportunity.

And man does that hurt! It hurts so much it has taken me over a month to actually sit down and write this blog.

But the truth is that I have made and am going to make a lot more mistakes in my career as a mom. As hard as I will try and as much as I won’t want to, I know I will let Caedmon and Damek and Asher down many more times in my lifetime. Because the truth is I am just a human and being human I make mistakes.

This is the point where I fall back again on the promise in Romans, God will work all things together for good to those who love Him. Do I believe God is big enough to work even my worst parenting mistakes for the good of my children? If I don’t, then I need to rethink the god I am serving. If I do, then I need to be willing to drop the guilt and shame at His feet and honestly thank Him for how He’s going to take every parenting triumph and mistake and create something spectacular for my kids and, what’s ever harder, for me. And when the time comes that I pick up the memory again and start rehashing my guilt, I need to be willing to carry it back to Him, drop it again, and again, and again, until it is really gone.

I really let Caedmon down. I made a big mistake. I can’t wait to see how God takes this and makes it into some extraordinary thing for Caedmon, and for me. And I can’t wait to be standing right in the front cheering him on at his next event because even mamas and daddies deserve grace and even mamas and daddies can grow and change and improve with time. 

The Greatest Is Love

One thing Damek really struggles with is knowing how to interact in positive ways with people, especially when he thinks he is right and the other person is wrong. Especially when the other person is his little brother. One thing Damek really needs is someone to come alongside him and explain and model what are appropriate ways to interact with people. One thing Damek really hates is to be wrong. He has been known to adjust facts in order to appear right when he is found to be wrong. And so we have started to teach him based on 1 Corinthians 13:1-3:

 If I had the gift of being able to speak in other languages without learning them and could speak in every language there is in all of heaven and earth, but didn’t love others, I would only be making noise. If I had the gift of prophecy and knew all about what is going to happen in the future, knew everything about everything, but didn’t love others, what good would it do? Even if I had the gift of faith so that I could speak to a mountain and make it move, I would still be worth nothing at all without love. If I gave everything I have to poor people, and if I were burned alive for preaching the Gospel but didn’t love others, it would be of no value whatever.

The repeated phrase usually goes something like this: Damek, when you are rude you are wrong, regardless of whether your facts or right or not. How can you say what you're saying in a way that is not rude or mean?

This usually gets us into a lively discussion because, as previously mentioned, he hates to be wrong. And some days he will try again and do a fantastic job of rephrasing what he's saying and some days he will get frustrated and agitated. But we keep trying. That's all we can do as parents, teachers, adults in the lives of kids, just keep trying, keep modeling, keep repeating. Don't give up.

I have met people in real life and on-line who I wished had had someone in their lives to teach them these basic principles. John Viscount Morley once said

You have not converted a man because you have silenced him.

Yelling louder, being ruder, taking over, showing physical aggression does not make one right no matter how correct that person's view might be. And it does not teach or earn converts, it simply makes what one has to say of no value whatever.

Of course, as parents we can be guilty of this kind of behavior ourselves. Sometimes when I am dealing with a 3 year old who has his own thoughts on what needs to be happening right now or a 6 year old who is asking a million questions to avoid a consequence or a 9 year old who is questioning every decision I make in a day, the easiest thing to do is to yell louder, be rude, take over, be physically powerful. The hardest thing to do is to take a step back, regroup, try again, use love, and continue to show respect even when I have to be firm.

And if that is so hard for me to do as an adult, how much harder for a 9 year old with a learning disorder? Maybe I should have said 'one thing that we both really struggle with'.