Some people are just natural encouragers. Take little Liam for instance. Yes, you may know he is full of joy and happiness but he is also a little bundle of enthusiasm and encouragement.
This morning, we were going to his speech appointment where he was going to be finishing up some testing to see if he still qualifies for services (a blessing to be sure!) We decided we would stop by the local coffee shop to pick up a special coffee for his pathologist as a Happy Thanksgiving gift. I missed the turn.
"Oh shoot!" I exclaimed.
"What, Mom?! What?" Liam said, almost worried.
"I screwed up my driving and missed the turn," I told him.
"It O.K., Mom," he said. "Try again! Try again, Mom!"
"Liam, you're awesome," I told him.
Then again, if someone were constantly telling me I was awesome after half the things I said and did, I might very well be super encouraging to others, too!
Have a Fantastic Thanksgiving!
11.23.2011
11.22.2011
The Differences
Thought I had forgotten about you, didn't ya?! No such luck! We have just been super busy.
It occurred to me recently that although everyone thinks Madeline and Lily look a bit like twins, they are really very different kids. I don't know if it is because unlike the people-pleasing Madeline, Lily has already gotten in trouble this year for lashing out at other students (twice in one day....apparently they did SOMETHING to deserve having their work scribbled on by my daughter and then having their scissors snagged away) or if it is just the different types of things that they are "into" these days but no matter, they are each very much their own person. And I think it can be best accentuated by their art.
Let me use Aidan as the control sample. Notice his works of art: planned, skilled, structured. He is the kid who, when told to do his best work, executes every last stroke of his pen, pencil, or paintbrush with precision, putting each line meticulously in its place, making his mother panic in the painstakingly slow process of everything he does. But, the finished work is often worth the
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| Aidan and Mom with Leroy (1st grade) |
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| The Tiger (oil based pastels, 1st grade) |
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| Under the Sea (2nd Grade) |
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| The Horse (3rd Grade) |
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| Black and White Sandile (from Pokemon, a few weeks ago) |
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| Untitled (Last Weekend) |
Then there is Madeline's art: simplistic, cute, happy, calm, relaxed.
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The Honeybee (Preschool)
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| Madeline and Kurt (Summer between Kindergarten and 1st) |
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| Self-Portrait: Princess Madeline (Summer between Kindergarten and 1st) |
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| Plain Bunny (1st grade) |
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| Bandit Bunny (1st grade) |
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| Self Portrait (Last Weekend...and almost true to size!) |
And then there is Lily. I think her frenetic art speaks for itself (as well as her inner being!):
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| Lily's Bunnies (perhaps on drugs or after selling their souls to the devil or both....) |
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| Christmas Trees (gone wild!) |
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| Person Unknown (but it sure as heck looks like the Muppet character Beaker!) |
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| Mom (Actually, this one is about right....I often feel just. like. that!) |
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The Sun (Smiling down on the Incredibly Gigantic Lady who wears the sun on her bosom and 5 monsters on her skirt with hair that puts even Rapunzel to shame! Oh wait, I think this was supposed to be me as well....)
Have a happy week! |
11.09.2011
Seven Years Ago Today, Continued
It had been a rough few months. In the midst of the excitement over being pregnant with our second child, there was the scare of an ultrasound which had pointed to possible problems: a blob-like mass on the placenta, cysts in both sides of the brain; and a blood test that showed elevated risk. There had been worry from family and friends, lack of understanding from health care providers who told us we "couldn't make an informed decision without having an amnio" and similar feelings from those around us. We had cried in the fear of the unknown yet held tight to a hope that reassured us that no matter the outcome, all would be well.
The moment of peace that descended on us when we were told we were only faced with potential Down Syndrome, not something else more devastating or fatal, is like nothing we can describe. But after all that fear and worry and stress, we were left with the peace that can only come with great surrender.
In those last few weeks, we studied Down Syndrome and we spoke to parents and families who had been affected by it. We tried to stick one foot in that door, just in case, and in the privacy of our home we tossed around our thoughts and feelings and retained our hope as we prayed our silent prayers: prayers of acceptance, of faith, and of surrender.
When she entered this world, we saw a squishy, healthy baby that had come quickly and efficiently to us. It was late at night and the nurses showered her with praise as they prepared us for her first night in this world. Yet one questioned remained: Did she have that extra chromosome?
You'd think we would have known instantly. We had done this before, certainly our parental instincts would kick in and overwhelm us one way or another. But truth be told, she was like most newborns, slanted eyes, a squashed face, a little swollen, beautiful and perfect. We had given her her name and she was ours.
But the first thing everyone wanted to know when we called with our joyous news was: Is she ok?
And we told them, yes, she is okay, one way or another. And the nurses reassured us that she was healthy but that they couldn't tell us anything more than that. They couldn't determine whether she had that extra something or not. We'd have to wait until morning.
Seven years ago today, morning came and it didn't matter really what the doctor had to say because the thing is, when you have a baby, your heart grows a little larger and beats a little stronger and the only thing that matters is that all encompassing love that is big enough to sustain life, whatever it may offer. And babies, well, they are gifts and like any heavenly gift, we don't get to pick out the details. And like most gifts, babies do nothing to deserve our love, they simply exist and we simply swell in their existence.
It's one of the few glimpses we get into the heart of God.
The doctor came in early and I could almost sense the stifling of a great chuckle when we asked him about her chromosomes. She had the typical amount he assured us. Yet what we felt was not some collective sigh of relief but the simple acknowledgement of grace: a grace that had allowed us to find peace in the midst of the unknown and assurance in our total surrender. And in that moment, we inhaled what was and exhaled what could have been knowing that either way, we had been given an incredible gift of love.
The moment of peace that descended on us when we were told we were only faced with potential Down Syndrome, not something else more devastating or fatal, is like nothing we can describe. But after all that fear and worry and stress, we were left with the peace that can only come with great surrender.
In those last few weeks, we studied Down Syndrome and we spoke to parents and families who had been affected by it. We tried to stick one foot in that door, just in case, and in the privacy of our home we tossed around our thoughts and feelings and retained our hope as we prayed our silent prayers: prayers of acceptance, of faith, and of surrender.
When she entered this world, we saw a squishy, healthy baby that had come quickly and efficiently to us. It was late at night and the nurses showered her with praise as they prepared us for her first night in this world. Yet one questioned remained: Did she have that extra chromosome?
You'd think we would have known instantly. We had done this before, certainly our parental instincts would kick in and overwhelm us one way or another. But truth be told, she was like most newborns, slanted eyes, a squashed face, a little swollen, beautiful and perfect. We had given her her name and she was ours.
But the first thing everyone wanted to know when we called with our joyous news was: Is she ok?
And we told them, yes, she is okay, one way or another. And the nurses reassured us that she was healthy but that they couldn't tell us anything more than that. They couldn't determine whether she had that extra something or not. We'd have to wait until morning.
Seven years ago today, morning came and it didn't matter really what the doctor had to say because the thing is, when you have a baby, your heart grows a little larger and beats a little stronger and the only thing that matters is that all encompassing love that is big enough to sustain life, whatever it may offer. And babies, well, they are gifts and like any heavenly gift, we don't get to pick out the details. And like most gifts, babies do nothing to deserve our love, they simply exist and we simply swell in their existence.
It's one of the few glimpses we get into the heart of God.
The doctor came in early and I could almost sense the stifling of a great chuckle when we asked him about her chromosomes. She had the typical amount he assured us. Yet what we felt was not some collective sigh of relief but the simple acknowledgement of grace: a grace that had allowed us to find peace in the midst of the unknown and assurance in our total surrender. And in that moment, we inhaled what was and exhaled what could have been knowing that either way, we had been given an incredible gift of love.
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| 2004 |
11.08.2011
11.07.2011
Words Can Never Hurt Me....Usually...
Sometimes I only catch the end of the conversation but sometimes that is all I need to hear.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me," Madeline chanted to her siblings who apparently had said something less than kind.
"Yuh-huh," Lily said, scooting her chair away from the table.
"No, they can't," Madeline replied.
"Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi...." Lily said, right in her face.
"OOOOOW, Lily!" Madeline screamed.
"See, told you so," Lily said.
"LILY, your words did NOT hurt me. You punched me, that's what hurt!" Madeline insisted.
"Hey Mom, do we have a really big dictionary?" Aidan asked.
"Aidan, you are not hitting your sister with a dictionary," I told him.
"Ah, come on!" he exclaimed.
Really, we are in fact trying to teach them kindness but it seems to be oh, so hard sometimes. As a matter of fact, sometimes it seems like we are actually just a comic strip waiting to happen.
Have a great week!
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me," Madeline chanted to her siblings who apparently had said something less than kind.
"Yuh-huh," Lily said, scooting her chair away from the table.
"No, they can't," Madeline replied.
"Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi, hi...." Lily said, right in her face.
"OOOOOW, Lily!" Madeline screamed.
"See, told you so," Lily said.
"LILY, your words did NOT hurt me. You punched me, that's what hurt!" Madeline insisted.
"Hey Mom, do we have a really big dictionary?" Aidan asked.
"Aidan, you are not hitting your sister with a dictionary," I told him.
"Ah, come on!" he exclaimed.
Really, we are in fact trying to teach them kindness but it seems to be oh, so hard sometimes. As a matter of fact, sometimes it seems like we are actually just a comic strip waiting to happen.
Have a great week!
10.31.2011
Happy Halloween!
Today is the happiest of Halloweens. You see, today is October 31 which means IT IS FINISHED! The 31 days of posting has come to an end and I just have to say, YIPPEEEEE! (You are probably feeling the same.)
Might I just point out that in the last 31 days you have actually been privy to 33 posts. (Hey, I never said they would be GOOD posts....this was all about quantity, not quality....apparently I learned NOTHING from our little mini-series!)
But, it was a good lesson in perseverance for me and now it is time for a break.
So, on that note, I just have to tell you about a conversation I overheard today.
Aidan: "Madeline, you are being an e-d-i-e-t right now."
Madeline: "What does that spell?"
Aidan: "Well, duh. It spells idiot."
Hee hee, I don't even need to make THAT funny.
Happy Halloween!
Might I just point out that in the last 31 days you have actually been privy to 33 posts. (Hey, I never said they would be GOOD posts....this was all about quantity, not quality....apparently I learned NOTHING from our little mini-series!)
But, it was a good lesson in perseverance for me and now it is time for a break.
So, on that note, I just have to tell you about a conversation I overheard today.
Aidan: "Madeline, you are being an e-d-i-e-t right now."
Madeline: "What does that spell?"
Aidan: "Well, duh. It spells idiot."
Hee hee, I don't even need to make THAT funny.
Happy Halloween!
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10.30.2011
Just for a Day
Just for a day:
I chose to stay home. It was then that I was able to create a home worth staying in.
I chose to be still, unmoving. It was then that I was moved.
****
The baby is asleep. My instincts tell me to be quiet. To let him sleep. To KEEP HIM ASLEEP. But, to be quiet, I must slow down. To be quiet, I have to be still. In that stillness, I can hear tiny whisperings stirring. (No I am not schizo but thanks for wondering!)While I am actively being quiet, it occurs to me: We create too much excess noise. Most of us do anyway. We fill time up, moving from place to place, activity to activity, one piece of technology to the next; one noise to another. Our lives are full. And in that fullness, they are noisy.
But God spoke to Hagar near a spring in the desert, when she was all by herself. God spoke to Abraham when he was sitting, still and alone, in front of his tent. God spoke to Jacob in his dream and then again in a wrestling match, in the middle of the night, in the middle of silence. God spoke to Joseph in his dreams and again in the aloneness of prison; to Israel in the visions of night; to Moses while he was by himself. And then, in a most dramatic display, Got spoke to Elijah. He called him into His presence and sent a wind storm, and an earthquake, and a fire. But God was not in those. God came in a tiny whisper.
And the story line reveals itself over and over: God spoke to Samuel in the silence of rest and solitude, while alone in the temple; to the prophet Nathan, in the night; to Solomon in a dream and to Daniel in visions and during prayer.
Time and again, God speaks. In the silence. In the solitude. In the stillness.
Fast forward in time and we see God speaking (sometimes directly, sometimes through angels and in other ways) to Zechariah while he was alone burning incense in the temple, to Joseph in a dream, to Mary through an angel while she was alone, to Cleopas and his friend while they walked, and stood still, and broke bread; to Mary Magdalene as she wept alone in the tomb, to Saul on the road while he was blinded by the light, practically forced into silence so that he might listen and again to him (as Paul) in the night; to Ananias and Cornelius in visions, and to Peter on a roof while praying. The story unfolds and we are shown that we occasionally need to be still. We occasionally need to shut off all the noise invading our lives and be silent. Because God might be trying to speak.
"For God is not a God of chaos (or confusion, or disorder), but of peace." --1 Corinthians 14:33
And to hear Him, perhaps we need to practice stillness. And simply be quiet. Maybe then, in our stillness, we will be moved. Maybe then, order and peace will follow.
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