(In honor of Addison's birthday (today!), I am reposting this. I can't think of Addison's birth without having big NICU flashbacks. Originally posted 3 years ago today.) Dear NICU Parent, I see you. I see you sit hours on end next to an ...

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Dear NICU Parent and more...

Dear NICU Parent

(In honor of Addison's birthday (today!), I am reposting this. I can't think of Addison's birth without having big NICU flashbacks. Originally posted 3 years ago today.)

Dear NICU Parent,

I see you.

I see you sit hours on end next to an isolette stroking the tiny hand of your child who is covered in so many wires that you can't see her face.

I see the confused and impatient look on your face as the doctor does his rounds and then ends with "We don't really know. We just need to wait and see".

I see you leave the room in agony as your baby has to have a painful procedure that 1. you can't do anything about 2. you can't even scoop her up and comfort her when it's all over as she cannot be moved.

I see you cringe as well-meaning friends say "You're lucky you get go to home and sleep a full night!"

I see you wanting to stay home in pajamas all day with a body beaten and sore from childbirth but instead digging out clothes that sort of fit you and making your daily pilgrimage into the hospital where you left part of your heart behind.

I see you enviously watching new mommy after new mommy being wheeled by the NICU's window holding a perfectly healthy baby and taking their baby with them to the mommy recovery floor.

I see you struggle to feed your child- a simple life function now become extremely difficult.

I see you trying to find your place in all of this as the nurses and doctors take over parental duties and you find yourself sitting on the sidelines.

I see the worry on your brow as you wonder if you somehow did pregnancy wrong to cause all of this.

I see you rejoicing over small changes in oxygen numbers or praising good eating in the foreign language of "ccs"

I see you taking in the constant beeps of the noisy room and yet feeling deafened by the silence.

I see you feeling incredibly lonely as health concerns means absolutely no visitors- not even Grandma and Grandpa.

I see you wipe tears away when you think no one is looking and hastily clear your throat for normal conversation when the nurse appears out of nowhere.

I see how extremely thankful you are for how much that nurse loves and gently cares for your baby.

I see the look on your face when you arrive home after a long and difficult day, walk into a beautifully decorated nursery, and just sit with emotions too heavy to express.

I see the hope on your heart when you go to bed that night, thinking that maybe tomorrow will be THE day when the doctor's FINALLY know when you can bring your new baby home.

I see the devastation in your eyes when that estimate of "maybe next week" gets pushed out week after week.

I see the fear on your face as you finally leave after countless weeks with a baby who is on 24 hours of oxygen and a g-tube, and you wonder if you will screw this up.

I see all of this because I was you four years ago.

Today as I pulled out my first born's first pictures to celebrate her birthdday, I felt all of these emotions and memories wash over me that I hadn't felt or thought of in some time.





Why did this hit me with a wave unbelief that this was actually us 4 years ago today?

Because today...

We snuck cupcakes for our midmorning snack. We colored. We played with stickers. I gave her a long bubbly bath. She played with her brother. She fought with her brother. We all danced together to her favorite music CDs. We hugged. We read books. We laughed. We talked. We listened. I brushed her hair very carefully as she took her glasses off and said "all done". I had to say such routine things as "STOP CLIMBING ON THE COUNTER" and "Please stay in the bath until I can get you a towel" and "Just because you CAN throw that at your brother doesn't mean you SHOULD.

I have long accepted that our NICU time just "was". It wasn't anyone's fault. It wasn't a mistake. It has just blended into our daughter's history that marks her strength and courage. A history carefully and perfectly planned by a sovereign God.

Today we celebrate a life that we fought so hard for 4 years ago in the NICU. A fight that we forgot about...until today.


Why did we forget? Well....we have been too busy enjoying this:








 while she has completely mastered skills that the doctors told us she might never do



some good skills....some not so good skills...



For the past 4 years she has lived life with this smile not too far away,









 enjoyed the sights of life (with snacks...of course),



 learned how to work an iPhone,



 mastered the art of flying,



 stole to support her sweet tooth,



 learned how to ski,



let us know that she wasn't fan of the cold required for skiing,



started going to preschool,



 became an expert "stirrer"



 and oh so many other things...



...typical, little girl things.



So NICU parent- I see you- discouraged- thinking that this phase of life will last forever.


It won't.


Chin up. Hang on tight. Keep pushing through. Keep hoping and praying.

Keep fighting.


Because the best is yet to come.




HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ADDISON!!!!!!

p.s. to the awesome Fletcher Allen NICU...THANK YOU
     


I Won't Let My Daughter With Down Syndrome Be Defined By A List

(In honor of Addison's upcoming birthday, I am reposting some of my most popular posts. #Downsyndromeawareness)

Like most new parents who receive a Down syndrome diagnosis for my child, I was given a list. A list of potential features/problems to expert.
This list is cold, emotionless, and almost comes across as grotesque if you are reading it with fear already in your heart. The sharply angled words on this list tore apart my motherhood dream and became almost like a "side effects" commercial gone wrong.
Now the list has become a part of my life, and I think that whoever made these lists didn't capture the spirit of their assignment. Kind of like if someone was told to describe a Christmas celebration and they said only "Might include an evergreen tree and extreme cold" the end.
Down syndrome is no longer just a list- it has become a part of my heart beating outside my body. And as I was thinking on this list the other day, I decided to rewrite it for myself- with the spirit put back in.
Those "short fingers and small hands" are to me those sweet, warm hands that reach for mine and fold so perfectly into my awkwardly large hands. These tiny hands hold a crayon so perfectly, dress herself with such finesses, and tenderly hold onto her doll babies as she goes throughout her day.
The "simian crease" is the line in the palm of her hands that tells me where to lightly stroke as she lays her head against my shoulder and we watch a movie together.
"Flattened facial features" describes the most delicately beautiful face that fills my entire world with joy. Those cheeks are the ones that curve upward into the most gleeful smile imaginable. The extra flatness across her eyes and nose, adds a sort of exotic beauty- an air of mystery- a unique kind of charm.
"Small nose" the tiny hill in the middle of her face that decorates it perfectly. The exact same nose as both her brothers.
"Gap between her toes" is just a feature of the tiny feet that staccato through my house as if performing a song of victory with every confident step. The feet that run into school full of independence and pride. The feet that walk toward me tired with a "good job well done" theme when school is done. The feet that climb, jump, and run. The feet that keep up with her very active brother every step of the way.
"Short neck"? The back of her neck also includes extra skin- from the cysts that grew there during pregnancy. I have discovered that this is the perfect spot for kisses. A ticklish spot- her neck is guaranteed to get belly laughs that will put a smile on any face. This necks rocks a set of pearls like no one's business. This neck holds high a head full of blonde curls. This neck turns quickly as soon as she hears the smallest sound of chocolate being eaten in the farthest corner of the house.
"Small, abnormally shaped ears" the place where I gently tuck her hair out of her face. Also- these ears are the holders for whatever blingy earring set she is wearing that day. The ears that hear me say "I love you". The ears that take in the world around her- and then she responds accordingly.
"Upward, slanting eyes" are the almond shaped windows into my daughter's soul. The most beautiful soul housed in the most beautiful of eyes- this unique shape only adds to the beauty that is Addison.
"Poor muscle tone" means that when she wraps herself around me for a hug, her entire body melts into mine with a warm grasp that makes all other hugs suddenly seem lacking in comparison. When I pick her up in the morning, there is something very cool about the way she melts into my arms, rag doll fashion. Her arms reach up to hold onto my neck, and her face presses into me. Never do I feel needed and loved more than when she lets me carry and hold her.
"Excessive flexibility" means that she does splits and awesome gymnastics tricks like nobody's business. Someday we will find a place for her to channel this skill. But for now? She wowed the socks off of her swim class teacher last week as she did the splits in the water…while swimming.
"Tiny white spots on the colored part of her eyes" describes to me blue eyes flecked with extra goodness and love. It's like she has bits of cloud floating in her blue eye skies.
"Short height" means she stays in each size a little bit longer which makes is so much cheaper to dress her fabulously. Her two year old brother has long passed her up in height. But as she needs more help with certain things, it makes it so much easier that she is smaller and lighter to carry around.
"Extra large, protruding tongue" honestly she has never once had her tongue protrude- but if she did, I'm guessing it would be to stick her tongue out at me with the sass that I have come to associate with her personality. She does struggle with speech, and I think this does go back to having an extra large tongue (with extra small mouth). But she works so hard, and has had huge success in this area. This tongue is the one who says "mommy" and "Carter" and "Ewi" and "Daddy". This tongue is the one who tells us what Addison wants. This tongue is the one that tastes her food and has told her that she definitely likes chocolate the best.
"Intellectual disability, mental retardation" She knows the list says this, and she uses this knowledge to always pretend that she doesn't understand instructions (she does)- while she then does whatever she wants, grinning at pulling yet another fast one over on me. #evilgenius There is a difference between developmental delay and "stupid". Addison is the farthest thing from stupid. In fact, I would venture to say that oftentimes she is way smarter than both of her Master degree holding parents. Oftentimes things take her longer to learn, but she gets there. In her own time, she gets there and then she makes us all wonder why we were in such a hurry.
"Possible heart defects" She has had two heart surgeries but no actual heart defect. Her second surgery, in fact ended up just being an umbrella shaped objet put into her thigh and carried up a vein to her heart. She came away from "surgery" with only a bandaid. A BANDAID. She was the youngest/smallest person to have this particular procedure done at Boston Children's Hospital. Her last heart checkup included perfection and "AHHHHH she's so adorable!" from all involved.
"Possible vision problem or crossed eyes." Whelp she would get vision problems from me and her Grandmas anyway so…. Also, her glasses (which are in the shop right now) turn her into a mini profession/model/intellectual faster than you can say "cute baby". Her othomologist says that because of her flattened features, it makes the eyes look even more crossed than they are. A sort of "crossing mirage" if you will. She has had surgery for crossing. But I will say- these eyes- crossed or not, bespeckled or not- they miss nothing. Her favorite is reading. She reads all the time. Her eyes manage this particular hobby quite nicely.
"Will most likely resemble one another" While she does have features of Down syndrome, her brothers will never ever be able to deny her. #twinsies#triplets I think she definitely looks like our family first, Down syndrome second.
And nothing on the lists warned me about the long NICU stay when all her ultrasounds looked healthy, the 9 months of oxygen, the g-tube, and the sleep studies. (And yet how all of this would be worth it a million times over.) I think because- no one person with Down syndrome speaks for all. The only thing that remains constant? An individual with Down syndrome is a person. A person with many variables that cannot possibly be contained with a list.
So I think when doctors hand over the list to new parents shocked with a new diagnosis, they should include all the facts. Like- this list really means nothing. Except to tell you- you are about to have a baby. A super cute, amazing baby. A baby who will rock your world in unexpected ways. A baby who will have struggles and strengths. A baby who will steal your heart and make you wonder how your life even existed before this baby came into your life. A baby who might have some extra health problems but who was paired perfectly with a fighting spirit to overcome and thrive.
So here you go. My Christmas includes more than a stark evergreen tree and extreme cold. It includes twinkly lights, presents, sugar loaded baked goods, a spirit of happiness, plenty of snow, Christmas movie marathons, a story of hope, and so many more awesome things.

-Deanna J Smith
Originally posted August 2014


     


Learning The Same Things Over And Over Again- 7 Years Later

This time of year on my Timehop, the same picture seems to flash up a dozen times.

Me, very pregnant, standing in front of a brown crib in a pink room with the name "ADDISON" splayed out on the wall over the crib.

In this picture I am smiling on the outside, but on the inside? I had two weeks to go with my first pregnancy. The pregnancy that took me to hell and back. The pregnancy that stretched my faith and threatened to break it completely.

"Please God. PLEASE" I can still hear myself praying as I stood next to that crib for my last belly picture. "Please let those tests be wrong. Please PLEASE let her be normal."

And yet, she wasn't.

Well, according to her chromosome count anyway. What is normal anyway? (Four kids later- I have yet to see a "normal")

I have been so excited to go to the hospital and meet each of my children. In fact, pictures of those birthing rooms bring back so many positive, glowing emotions. Saying "well hello there" for the first time. Looking into brand new squishy faces, studying fingers and toes, holding the tiny body that was mine to nurture.

But seven years ago, there was more fear and angst than there was joy. What was I giving birth to? What exact was Trisomy 21? Down syndrome? Was I giving birth to a syndrome? A disease? A mistake? Why wouldn't God stop this from happening? Did he not love me? Did he not care about our family? And then after she was born and immediately whisked away to the NICU and a very long uphill battle began for her life, the experience became even more tainted.

And so I stare at this Timehop memory with quite mixed emotions. I was about to become a mother for the first time. An occupation and title I hold quite dear. The pregnancy that had ripped me open was almost over- the end was in sight. I was about to meet Addison for the first time.

And yet looking at my eyes in this picture and knowing what was on the inside- my faith in God's plan for our family in this situation was nonexistent- this faith was replaced by a determination to control the outcome with what I deemed to be better rather than simply resting in his plan- which was, in fact, better. This faith was replaced by anger. By fear. By denial.

Seven years later I look back on this angst and shake my head. I gave birth to a baby girl. A sweet, beautiful, fabulous baby girl who continues to grow and amaze us every single day.

The very thing I was resisting, the very thing I prayed, PLEADED against- is the thing that has brought our family so much joy. The thing that I honestly and wholeheartedly call a gift to our family. A way that God shows us grace and love. Down syndrome.

Addison's diagnosis hit me in waves her first two years of life. I would be fine with it one day- struggling with it the next. It wasn't like flipping a switch and the light coming on about the joy of Down syndrome. This was a daily journey- working through a lot of physical health issues, starting her therapies, figuring out how to just be a mom and love unconditionally (turns out...selfishness is a thing. Who knew?)

There will be moments still where I get very frustrated with her (i.e. this morning when she just WOULD NOT get out the door for school), and the thought flickers into my head for a brief instant "Why? Why is this SO HARD!"

But then as I watch her navigate life, listen to her happy chatter, fold her into my arms, breathe in her essence, and realize that whatever issues that are "SO HARD" have more to do with my parenting and my patience than anything that she's doing wrong- I realize anew the gift of her diagnosis. The way it pushes me to love better. To parent more effectively. To find grace in everyday moments.

But even as I am thankful for what Down syndrome has taught me, I take it a step farther and recognize that the gift has nothing to do my version of Down syndrome and everything to do with who Addison is as a person. What this particular crafting of her genetic makeup does to her personality, to her smile, to her being, to her ability to touch hearts and lives wherever she goes.

I have blogged about this flip flop. Mostly toward the beginning of blogging. YAY Down syndrome. Down syndrome is HARD. What was I talking about- this journey is amazing!

I often wonder why I have to learn the same lessons over and over again. That the "Oh okay, God. I see what you did there!" moments don't seem to transcend to all moments. That I constantly, daily find myself needing to learn to trust in his plan. And with Down syndrome- the hardness always crops up in sync with my own selfishness. It took me a long time to recognize this as selfishness. As my own sin. It took me a long time to look back on the shock of her diagnosis and not write it off as "well, anyone would respond that way!" and recognize that this was my pride at work. My extremely selfish heart. My lack of trust in God.

Also flashing up on my Timehop this time of year, two years ago I poured my heart and soul out into a novel, Motherhood Unexpected, working through many of the emotions of Addison's pregnancy and birth while enjoying my favorite genre- fiction. In Motherhood Unexpected, the main character struggles with an obsession with perfectionism. After much hard work and prayer, I published this book. And then almost had a breakdown over the first published edition not being perfect. (long story...but in hindsight- sleep is good).

I then spent months working through something that I thought I had settled while writing the book. What? Didn't I already learn that? I spent thousands of hours crafting this novel- well, first thousands of hours learning how to craft a novel- and then painstakingly stringing just the right words together- just the right characters (who I fell completely in love with). And while writing through Claire's perfectionism and how that influenced her initial nonacceptance of her baby with Down syndrome, I prayed through my own pride in this same area and was GOOD...until some typos slipped through to the first few books.

IT'S NOT PERFECT!!! MISSION FAILURE! (never mind the next uploaded version with fixes and the hundreds of notes I am still getting from people telling me what an encouragement and challenge this book has been to them. God used it- in spite of me. I think this might be the theme of my life)

I had to completely rework and pray through this issue of perfectionism in my heart once publishing was complete.

Why can't this be a "learn this once and be done" deal?

I want to make a printable to hang next to my closet that reads "Today may I be clothed in kindness, love, and grace....accessorized with heaps of humor in just the right places." (perhaps with a picture of fashionista Addison dressed all kinds of fabulous.) Because it is my prayer every day to demonstrate kindness, love, and grace- but I so often fail with this with the ones nearest to me- my children and my husband. So often I need a "redo" button, a fresh start, a chance to take back hastily snapped words and replace them with words saturated with patience and grace.

Why? Why can't I just pray through something once and be good to go? Why am I continually learning the same things over and over again?

Perhaps I am a slow learner.

Or perhaps- it's this very struggle that strengthens faith, that causes me to lean heavily on the one who never struggles, that constantly points me back to the cross and my inability to heal my own brokenness.

Perhaps it is this daily working through things- this daily asking for help- this daily dependence on God that continually draws me closer to him.

As I look back on my Timehop picture from 7 years ago- as I'm about to meet Addison and have my world explode and become a legit special needs mom- my overriding emotion is one of disappointment- in myself.

I wish that I took one look at her sweet face and everything just clicked into place for me- the love- the hope- the faith in his plan. The beauty that is to be found in the unexpected. The joy that she would bring us. But instead I had ahead of me many moments of fighting and wondering, questioning and struggling.

But maybe this daily journey of faith and love is what was necessary to make me into the mom that Addison deserves. That all of them deserve.

Maybe I needed this struggle- this searching for faith- the daily confessing and pleading for strength-to become worthy to take her tiny hand and walk alongside her in life.

I am certainly not a perfect human being- or mom. I have Timehop to remind me. Daily.

But I am supremely thankful for each of the steps that have led me to today. An education of sorts to get to where I need to be in order to handle the day in front of me. I don't know what today holds. Grocery shopping with a toddler and a baby-so no doubt relearning all of these things over yet again.

We are just a couple weeks out from celebrating Addison's seventh birthday. She is healthy. She is strong. She is beautiful. She is smart.

And with every breath she breathes, I am reminded- God is good. I am reminded- to keep loving- keep growing- keep pushing forward because she has a lot to teach me. And a lot of fabulous living to do.

I wish I could read this post to the pregnant girl standing in front of the pink ADDISON wall 7 years ago. She probably wouldn't have listened, because she needed to live all of this out for herself. But maybe, just maybe, she would have. And that birth would have been full of as much joy as the other three. And those first weeks and months- just as sweet.



     


An Ah-Ha Moment Like A Bolt(ing) Of Lightning

I sat in the parking lot, fighting back cold and bitter tears that would match the rain falling outside.

That had been like a walk through the parental hall of shame.

You wouldn't think it would be so hard to walk from the pool locker room allllll the way out to the car. But for some reason, it was.

I lost Addison four times.

At first, she just gently ran away- wandering over by the bathroom stalls. Did she have to go potty? Nope. Just exploring.

Then while we were walking down the long hallway, she got a bit more aggressive and ducked into a doorway- a physical therapist's office. Apparently she wanted an appointment! And to chat about chocolate. (One of those two things is true. I'll let you guess which one.)

Then up by the closed play-place, she opened the door and disappeared into the darkness there for a while.

Once retrieved from there, she meandered back over to the pool entrance.

By the end, I was carrying her, along with the baby. Sweat was dripping down my face as I avoided the stares all around me. You know the stares. Raised eye brows, open mouths, and "why did you have children?" eyes. I thought I was doing good to carry all of the swimming gear, the soaking wet towels, and the baby all the while directing the boys with their floaties toward the car (with my third and fourth arms). Carrying Addison's writhing form on top of it all seemed a bit excessive...for any mom.

I knew it would be a challenge taking all four kids alone to the pool. But not this hard. The hard part should be the baby, right? The stubborn two-year-old?

The baby sat quietly in her carseat and the two-year-old obediently held his brother's hand and trotted alongside us.

After all, I was doing this for Addison. Her speech therapist said it was helping with lung development. Her physical therapist said that her swimming was helping build good muscle strength. We have this pool membership- for Addison. Why was she making it so impossible to make these weekly trips?

And so I sat in the car, unmeasureably frustrated. This bolting thing had been a problem for a long time now. Why does she bolt? What was I missing? Why oh why did she randomly run away so quickly that she disappears for long minutes at a time? (You will recall the time she escaped our house and hiked up an extremely busy road a few years back.) This is more than a frustration. This is a danger.

Living life with a bolter is a bit like driving an old rusty pickup truck (and if you are pregnant- which I'm not but have been for a large portion of Addison's life- fill the back of the truck with super heavy stones)- next to a flashy red sports car that delights in revving its engine and peeling away from every stoplight random directions just to see how fast it can take those turns and disappear in a cloud of expensive red smoke. Your job- as the old rusty pickup truck- is to make sure this flashy sports car stays at a decent 25 MPH directly next to you on the main road. No speeding. No turning. No disappearing. No revving. No fancy u-turns to escape you. Oh and the fancy sports car doesn't know it's supposed to only stay next to you. He is fresh off the lot and out to play and twirl around town. Soooo....good luck with that.

Having a child who bolts does not make me a bad parent...or an ineffective one. It makes me a tired parent. Because I can never really take my eyes off of her for a second.

I've tried GPS tags that sent out alerts to my phone the second she moves a certain distance away (btw- not at all impressed with the Buddy Tag). I've tried laminated social stories "Mommy says STOP!" (complete with appropriate signs) We've talked over and over about the danger of running away. I've enlisted therapists' help. I've put alarms on all our doors. I've enlisted brother duty as her watchers. I never take her out in public without a strict plan in place (buckles in the grocery store cart, wagon, holding brother's hand for short distances, having an aide track her one-on-one.)

And honestly as she has grown, the bolting instances have gotten fewer in number.

But with Aaron's work hours, and none of my usual safety plans useable for pool time, I needed to figure something else out or else we could never go back as this activity somehow triggered old behaviors.

That experience was just too painful. And familiar. #ThisIsWhyINeverLeaveMyHouse

It was while driving home in utmost defeat that a thought struck me. The day before this pool outing we had her IEP. And something her speech therapist mentioned to me hopped into my brain at that exact instance.

"We are working on being able to properly identify story progression. First, this happens. Then, this happens. Lastly, this happens."

At school they were doing this in context of storytelling. The beginning of the story, the middle of the story, the end of the story.

Hmmmm. My wheels began to spin. (While driving home. See what I did there?)

I began to wonder if I've been looking at this all wrong. May be this wasn't about me getting her to STOP bolting away. Maybe I was looking at this from completely the wrong direction. Maybe this was about her understanding the order of events in front of her and not jumbling and skipping them out of order- like she was doing to storytelling at school.

In my mind, the

1. Once Upon A Time
2. Series of Long, Interesting Events
3. Happily Ever After

naturally falls in this order. But in her mind, apparently it takes a bit of work to line that all up.

The next time we braved a pool visit (yes, I am crazy, but the boys also looooove it and Carter had promised to be a super big helper with Addison....so we tried again), I had a new strategy in place.

We returned from a good swim. (She does super well while IN the pool. She's such a little fish! It's just the transition to the car that's tricky) I was starting to get everyone changed when Addison tried to slip away. I dropped everything that I was doing, knelt down in front of her, and said,

"Addison. First, we are going to change our wet swim clothes into dry clothes. Then, we are going to walk straight down that long hallway and to the car. Last, we are going to go home."

She looked at me solemnly and asked, "Home?"

"Yes, LAST we will go home. After we do those other things." I held up my fingers to count them and listed them off again for her in the proper order.

She nodded her head slowly.

She changed without complaint, walked down the hallway without escaping, and proudly walked herself straight to the car (alongside her brothers).

Lucky coincidence? I don't think so.

It made me wonder if when she escaped our house (on a Thursday) to- as she told us later-"walk to Papa's house" (where we go every Saturday night)- that maybe this was a matter of jumbling up "First Thursday, Then Friday, Last, Saturday. Papa's House!" Maybe she woke up Thursday morning and thought, "It's Papa house day!" and just took off.

This whole situation got me thinking about perspective. How easily I get frustrated because I can't change Addison to fit my perspective. "Addison, STOP RUNNING AWAY!" When instead, I should have been changing my approach to get inside her mind a little bit more. And help her fix whatever need was obviously there. Not "STOP RUNNING", but "Why? Why do you keep running?" and fill her obvious need for further instruction of some sort there.

Oh sure, I have definitely tried to get inside her mind before. But for some reason these two concepts clicked with me in this moment. Bolting. Story Progression.

And maybe it's something as simple as just kneeling in front of her and making sure we are on the same page of the current story progression. (Since I obviously can't make up special visual aides to go with every single outing- or hour at home when there is no outing.)

Am I over simplifying it? Can such an easy fix really correct years of bolting?

I don't know. Addison has always been a bit of a mystery to me.

Not that I'd say that I have any of my kids figured out. Because.....yeah, no. Parenting is tough business.

But Addison has always added an extra bit of mystery as she doesn't respond the same way as the others to what you might call "normal" correction (time outs etc).

If one of the boys were to run for the road while we are playing outside- they are immediately sent back into their rooms and they lose the privilege of playing outside with the rest of us for a period of time. This is devastating to them, and they never run for the road again.

I will do the same for Addison, and when she returns outside, she will immediately run for the road again.

Because what might be a discipline problem for a typically developing kid, is not necessarily a discipline issue with a child with special needs. No, it is a form of communication. A way of looking at a situation. So disciplining her really doesn't solve the problem.

Ask me how I know.

(I say "might" because there are definitely times when Addison has discipline problems that look identical to the boys'. But sometimes not.)

Addison is a bit like a luxury piece of chocolate. You have to twist the outside packaging away to truly see and experience the depth of beauty and delicious chocolate beneath the outer layer. A different perspective is available to all who care to look.

You can stare at the gold packaging all day long, frustrated that there is no chocolate. But it's really not the chocolate's fault you don't take the time to twist away the pretty packaging to reveal a different view from the one you initially considered.

I am thankful for being forced to view the world through a perspective different than my own. This is a valuable life experience that Addison gives me- to step outside my comfort zone and understand a totally different life perspective- and even though at times it might be challenging, I wouldn't change it for the world.

I say all of that to say- it's been a long journey of bolting and trying to figure out how to help her through it. I don't know if I've figured it out. My theory does make a lot of sense. And explaining a situation to her in these terms really helped smooth over the transition from the locker room to the car.

Maybe her running to the road during outside play time was a confusion of "Today, we play outside. Tomorrow, we go to school."

Maybe when she escaped church nursery and waltzed down the middle row during sermon hour was her mixing up, "First, nursery. THEN, mommy and daddy pick me up. Lastly, go home." She skipped right to the pick-up part....without us actually being there to pick her up. (A self-motivator, that one.)

Maybe running away at the grocery store was her skipping right to the "THEN, we buy ice cream" (I think this is her life motto. Except there is no "First and last." It's just always ice cream time.

Maybe when she slipped away from her aide at school and went into a random classroom, this was her confusing which class it was time for. "First, we walk in the hallway. THEN, we stop in a classroom for our special activity. Last, we return to our own classroom." She up and chose when to stop in a different classroom when she felt like it was time.

There's a pretty small legit chance that I sound totally crazy. But living almost 7 years with a bolter (ok to be fair- she's only been walking for 5 of those years) has a way of seeping away logical brain cells. She had been doing so, so, so much better. The miserable pool trip (and subsequent outings) really took me by surprise.

But I'm not afraid to go back anymore. Because I have a plan that's been working. And when all else fails:

First...we use story progression reasoning
Then....we use story progression reasoning
LAST....we bribe with ice cream cones.

I haven't had to do the ice cream cone one in a while. I'm going to call that a win.


Note:
I've updated a few things on the blog. Things that BADLY needed to be updated. Sorry it took me so long. It's still a bit in progress, but it's already better. The pain-in-the-neck Disquis commenting section is GONE. As a result of this- all of the comments have disappeared until I can figure out how to upload them all back to the normal blog comment section. /-: And the shares are gone too. So if you have ever felt inclined to comment or share, now would be a great time. You know, so it looks like at least one person reads this blog....every blue moon. (-;

Thank you all for your patience with me this past year. I'm hoping to get back into blogging once a week, and dusting off my facebook page a bit more. Thanks for sticking around and for reading.

xo Deanna

     


Savoring the Beauty of Motherhood

I know I have been absent here. This is due to a number of reasons. One of the big reasons being, I've been working on several other writing projects, and there just isn't time to fit everything in! So blog posts have been pushed aside a bit.


Today I am sharing one of the projects I've been working on for the past month- a talk I gave at our church's Cross Connections this Monday. This is a breakfast we put on for preschool moms. This ministry has always been such a huge blessing to me, and I am thrilled to be on the other side of things this year, helping out and contributing as I can. I am so grateful for the opportunity to share, and to the many people who braved the snowstorm to come out and enjoy the morning!


I am sharing this talk because it is something very near and dear to my heart- "Savoring the Beauty of Motherhood", and I know this topic is important to a lot of you as well. 


Fair warning- this is longer than my usual post length. It was given as a talk (long winded people unite!), but feel free to dig into it if you want, or pass if you just don't have the time. Just putting this out here for those who might appreciate the subject matter and the heart behind it. (And for my own memory storage purposes.)


Without further ado- here you go!


Savoring the Beauty of Motherhood


The day before my son’s fourth birthday, I woke up to a bit of a horror show. It took me a few minutes of sleuthing to piece together what actually happened because of the many pieces involved in this particular show of horror. And it might sound like I am making this story up. Trust me. I wish I was.

So here’s what went down. My son Carter Henry (yes, the middle name is necessary for this story) woke up quite early this fateful morning and tiptoed ninja-style into the kitchen. Using his monkey-like skills, he climbed to the highest pantry shelf and removed a handful of dishwasher soap tablets from the box tucked way out of sight and reachability. You know, the kind of tabs with the warning label “lick this and you will die a slow and painful death”…or something. He climbed all the way back down, deliberately removed all of the wrappers from the tablets, and then placed the open tabs in his little brother’s crib. After placing these tabs, he went back to the kitchen and proceeded to spray down the entire kitchen with nonstick cooking spray. The greasy finish was the perfect addition to the hot, sticky summer day. I can just imagine how his wheels spun on this one. As he is climbing to the super high up point where the tabs were hidden, he passes the shelf with the cooking spray and thought, “Huh. Wonder how this works?” and snagged it on the way down.

I woke up as I heard the baby talking to me, and I went first thing to the baby to get him up, and discovered the highly poisonous tabs surrounding him. I think God made him especially wise (because of who he is dealing with as a brother) as baby brother had not touched a single tab, but instead was staring accusingly at his big brother, as if beginning a long career in tattle-telling.

Confused and livid all at once, I asked Carter why on earth he would do this? Why would he give the baby poison? And his response was, “I wanted to killhim.” Great. Now I’m raising a murderer. I thought back to the day before when I did a HUGE demonstration by the dishwasher “DON’T EAT THESE. THEY ARE POISON. THEY WILL KILL YOU.” in an attempt to capture a teachable moment for my crew about what not to put in their little mouths. And I realized that this warning only served to make them extremely curious about all things poisonous and this strange new word- “kill”.

I think we can safely call this a teachable moment fail.

Around this point, I went into the kitchen to throw away the dishwasher tabs, and my feet slipped rather strangely on my normally dry wood floors. With a mind struggling to comprehend the horror of it all, as if moving in slow motion I saw the empty can of cooking spray and the thick layer of grease covering the entire room.

Carter stood in the corner, looking guilty. With a black, black heart and greasy hands.

Barely holding it together and feeling the need to NOT LOOK AT HIM not even A LITTLE BIT, I calmly- oh so calmly- told him to go get dressed. Now. The discipline and talk through would come later, after my heart calmed down from a point of anger to a calm but firm “this is not acceptable and you will NEVER DO THIS AGAIN.”  So I told him to go get dressed while I got my breathing back under control and figured out how most effectively to address this situation.

He was mad. He didn’t want to get dressed. So, naturally, he went into the bathroom and threw up. Everywhere. (He has the gift of throwing up on command.)

At this point the kitchen was covered in greasy cooking spray, the bathroom was covered in vomit, one son was trying to off the other, and it was 6:30am.

Did I mention that I was struggling with a pretty serious case of morning sickness myself? Because definitely- bring more players into this game!

The last thing on my mind at that moment was savoring the beauty of motherhood. The. Very. Last. Thing. In fact, running through my head was a bit of “how did this become my life and how do I get out of it?”

Now, just to set your mind at ease, you most likely will not have this same exact story happen to you. All of our kids are different- some are just naturally more challenging than others. Carter is my most challenging child. Parented identically to his brother, he still presents situations to us that his brother would never DREAM of doing. Depending where you are in your motherhood journey, you might have already realized that these types of moments will come. These stories will no doubt come in different shapes and sizes, depending on your child’s temperament and stage of life, but in every motherhood story there are moments that can only be described as a “low point” as we face our sinful charges and try to figure out how to parent through.

The next night, I slept rather fitfully, keeping my ears wide open for even the slightest stirring of naughty toddler. What would I find when I exited my bed at the selfish sleep-in hour of 6am?

But it was the oddest thing. All day long Carter was kind, polite, well-behaved, and overall an extraordinary, helpful child. It was as if a switch was flipped. And this new behavior continued as the following months progressed. He was growing up! He was no longer three! He was four now! He was going to school! He was learning! He was becoming someone I could rely on and really enjoyed being with instead of someone that I dreaded interactions with. (mostly because of the cleanup involved). He became such a joy and my big, big helper with the other children.

Motherhood involves some rather serious valleys. But- for every valley, it is surrounded on both sides of peaks- the highs- the mountain tops. And as you stand back and seek a more comprehensive view, it’s like driving down I-89 during the peak of fall foliage. The peaks and the valleys blend together to create one breathtaking view bursting with intense color and beauty.

Do you get this same view when you are standing in the valleys? No.

Would you get this same view if no valleys existed- only the highs? No. This is what they call flat ground. Do the endless miles of Indiana cornfields offer the same amount of enticing beauty as New England fall foliage?

It’s like going through grueling, painful labor to get to meet your sweet newborn for the first time. Like floundering through months and months with a baby who REFUSES to sleep and as you stumble to their crib for the thousandth time that night, your baby flashes you the most beautiful, captivating smile ever in the history of the WORLD. Like enduring a screaming, public two-year-old tantrum to get to the sniffled “I wuv you, Mommy” and the tight hug. Like watching your child be selfish and unkind- working and praying and working on this with them until the playdate that you see them kindly sharing. Like that first day of kindergarten drop off. You’re so proud! This is your baby all grown up! And then picking them up at the end of the day, kicking and screaming, carrying their writhing body out to the car because they simply didn’t want to come home. They want to stay at school FOREVER.

Peaks and valleys.

So how do we stand back and see the whole picture? How do we enjoy the beauty when it seems like we are constantly stuck in those valleys? How can we appreciate our reality when some days it seems like it’s so completely different from our motherhood hopes and dreams?

How do we savor the beauty when we are on our hands and knees cleaning up a bathroom full of vomit, knowing that we have to go degrease the kitchen next and oh by the way- it’s a LONG way until bedtime and they are off destroying the living room while we get this done?


1. Remind yourself that this phase doesn’t last forever
Fall foliage is a quickly fleeting thing. We get so used to it that it’s easy to take for granted. Until one day you are driving down the same road, and it’s all like- um, why are the trees naked? WHERE IS MY AUTUMNAL COLOR?

Soon the naked branches are covered with a luscious, thick layer of snow. Come spring? That melts too.

But then the naked branches burst into new color. Green, fresh life. Does this last forever?

Phases in motherhood are the same way. In those hot and sticky summer days. It’s almost impossible to convince our sweating forehead that in a few months it will want to be under a wool hat, desperately trying to stave off frostbite. When we have babies, it’s hard to imagine them as toddlers. And then school aged kids. And beyond.

But while we are wrapped up in the details of today, tomorrow sneaks up on us until it’s already the next phase and we aren’t really sure how it got here.

When Carter was three, I was convinced that I wasn’t going to survive it. This phase was lasting FOREVER. It was TOO HARD. He’s five now. Heads up- I survived. The morning sickness from the story? Gone. I have a beautiful 9 month old daughter now. The kindergartener that I had to drag kicking and screaming to the car after her first day? She’s a super grown up, confident first grader now. And the baby who REFUSED to ever sleep? He’s the kindergartener. He collapses in bed exhausted after a day full of learning.

These phases fly by. What’s the saying? “The years are short, the days are long?” yup. That.

I really enjoy my Timehop ap. Are you guys using Timehop? Basically it takes all of my pictures that I post on social media, and it keeps it organized per day. So if I pull up Timehop today, I see the pictures I posted last year on this day, two years ago on this day, three years ago on this day, four years ago, etc etc. It is a very helpful reminder as to how fast my kids- these seasons of motherhood are changing.  How quickly these little years are fleeing. I had to laugh as on a regular day my timehop might begin with a post from 8 years ago about how extremely TIRED I was while finishing grad school. (My definition of “tired” has really been stretched since those grad school days.) Then no doubt post a couple years later- something about my first pregnancy. And then the following years after that just start adding babies. All the up to a year ago today. It’s crazy how fast the time has gone.

2. Capture the Memories
Sometimes when I am having a particularly rough day, I will dress the kids in cute clothes and then pose them in one giant heap, and take a ton of pictures. Out of 1,275 pictures taken, there will be 1 that is halfway passable with four grins facing my way. At the end of the day after the last baby has been tucked in bed and the last cheek has been kissed and the last goodnight song has been sung, I will go back to those pictures and scroll slowly through. The wriggly tiny bodies that somehow represented all my greatest frustrations that day suddenly transform into the sweetest, most mellow, glorious little human beings that are just ridiculously cute in every possible way. I’ll then go to watch them sleeping, and they look so angelic. So peaceful!

Also sometimes on a rough day, I will take a picture of the ridiculousness of it all. Three Costco sized boxes of cheerios spilled on the floor? Take a picture! The house trashed beyond all reason? Click. Your child literally climbing the walls? Picture! Sometimes sending these pictures to my husband is the only way my stories are believable at the end of the day.

Oh, and if the house is covered in cheerios and the kids are bouncing off the walls with no end in sight? It’s a great opportunity to load all the kids up in the car for a little drive time while playing music and/or an audio story. Our current favorite is Adventures in Odessey. My 6, 5,and 3 year olds really get into the stories, the van becomes super quiet, and Dunkin’ Donuts has coffee drive through. Just sayin’.

All of our motherhood lenses are unique and beautiful in their own way. Mine tends to include a lot of mess as the curiosity level in my boys tends to demand that they take things apart to study them. To me this mess represents a house full of life and energy. That is a beautiful thing.

I have a theory think that taking pictures of our kids can help us step back and view certain situations more objectively. Rather than holding the hard times close and internalizing them in a subjective fashion, stepping behind the lens can help us step away and observe the big picture, as pictures somehow combine the peaks and valleys all together in one shot and gives us the opportunity to study it from afar.

So for example, subjective- “I can’t believe this happened to me. Why did my child poison the baby, grease down the kitchen, and throw up all over the bathroom? Why is my child so bad? He hates me! This is the worst morning ever!”  And viewing the same situation a bit more objectively: “This is intense curiousness and athletic prowess at work. How do I channel this for good? How do I help him learn to navigate his skills in a positive way? How can I take this energy and curiosity and mold him into a strong leader someday? A dependable, kind man?

Call me crazy, but taking pictures helps me view the situation a bit more objectively.

Now after capturing these moments, you may feel comfortable sharing them on social media, or you may not. This is an entirely personal decision and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. I myself tend to share a carefully selected variety of pictures. Mostly because I don’t have a lot of time to stay on top of baby books, and this allows me to create a store of memories with short captions (which then shows up on my Timehop which means that I will be reminded of that short memory exactly a year from now).

If you find yourself enjoying capturing these moments, and finding solidarity in others capturing and posting theirs, let me offer just a gentle reminder to not participate in the compare game of the motherhood lens. We are all going to choose different parts of motherhood to stand back and objectively study.

Someone else might be posting a series of peaks on a day when you feel stuck in a constant valley.

Also, I’m convinced that social media makes us all look like we are much more together than we actually are. Every time I log onto instagram and search for new pictures, every pregnant woman I see looks like a model with a pretend belly strapped on….every house looks like it should be in a Home and Gardens magazine….every meal looks like it should have its own Pinterest worship team…and every toddler is dressed to the nines, accessorized with an angelic smile and doesn’t look at all like they plan to paint their baby sibling in poop later on that day.

But to be fair, the pictures I share tend to be on the more positive side as well. The highlight reel of my day. For example:

A few months ago I ran to the grocery store during an extremely hectic morning in the midst of an extremely hectic week. I was barely holding it together when I ran into a friend. After our initial “hello”s, she surprised me by asking, “How, how do you do it all?” She asked, breathlessly waiting for a wisdomous answer. “Well” I looked at her a bit unbelieving. “It is 9 am and I am at the grocery store…in something that looks remarkably like pajamas. My hair hasn’t been brushed for days. My toddler is wearing two different shoes. And my baby’s sleeper has more than a few smears of avocado that are hardening into dark green crusties from a hurried breakfast before school drop off. It occurred to me that she sees my life only through what I share on facebook and Instagram. The night before I had posted some sort of adorable picture of my kids smiling, all dressed. With matching shoes. And spotlessly clean baby collars. Hectic mornings where I don’t have time to brush my hair don’t make it onto Instagram.

It’s not the whole picture, I promise.

Feel free to take pictures of your motherhood peaks and valleys and feel free to enjoy other’s pictures, but always remind yourself that there is more to the story. And if you feel yourself getting discouraged because of others’ shiny postings of their motherhood awesomeness? Maybe time for a social media break. Just a couple days away to focus back in on the beauty in front of you instead of feeling the need to compare yours to the cleaned up, posted version you see online. I do this regularly and it really helps to reset.

3. Keep your eye on Moms with older kids
I absolutely love following moms who have “been there, done that” and are on to a whole new phase of motherhood that I can’t even wrap my head around yet. For example- after a somewhat trying day of wrangling 4 small children one day, I logged onto Instagram to see a mom post about dropping her oldest child off at college for the first time.

Her motherhood lens captured this tall, lanky boy man- ready to face the world. His face was etched in optimism and wonderment. He was leaving home and entering the world as his own person. No parent would be there to tuck him in at night. No one would hold his hand as he walked toward his first class. No one would be there to comfort him if he woke up in the middle of the night with a bad dream. In his lean face framed with floppy brown hair, I immediately saw both of my sons. And my heart froze at the thought of leaving them alone on a college campus. To be responsible for their days entirely without my input. To learn and grow into a life entirely separate from mine. To not be available for me to just wrap my arms around them at a moment’s notice and breathe in their boyish scent- half dirt, half mischief.

I tend to sometimes think, “If we can just get to that next phase, it will be EASIER”, but watching these moms navigate new territory, I observe that these new phases come with new problems. A new level of motherhood complexity that makes a house full of squirming babies suddenly seem simple and lovely to navigate.  That provides a unique privilege to be able to scoop up my crying toddler after he stubs his toe. To appreciate the ability to place soft kisses on his forehead as he is frustrated with his homework assignment. To be there. To have him with me for all of the little and big moments alike. To have years in front of me with teaching potential. Of memory making. Of living life under the same roof. I have years ahead of me still to prepare them for the responsibility that college requires. To send my children out into the world, ready to start making big, scary decisions all on their own.

After seeing posts like this one, I do my dirty diaper duty and piles of laundry of today with a new kind of sweetness. A realization that this won’t be my life forever. And maybe, just maybe someday I will wish for these days back again- to safely have all of my babies under one roof with my biggest problem of the day being how to get them to just LISTEN and pick up their toys the FIRST time I ask.

Following moms with older kids provides a valuable perspective. Their motherhood lens is one that we can learn a lot from.

4. Rely on The Lord’s Strength
When we went in for the 20 week ultrasound for our very first baby, we stared at that fuzzy ultrasound screen, bright eyed new parents- full of hope, happiness, and ideas of how parenting should look. We were just supposed to find out gender, and boy were we excited. But it turns out we found out more than we bargained for that day.

The “It’s a girl!” was followed up by a somber, “Now I don’t want you to worry, but it looks like something isn’t quite right” which led to the ultrasound being switched to the high risk center which led to counseling with a genetic counselor which led to an amnio which led to the worst phone call of my life.

“I’m so sorry, but your baby tested positive for Trisomy 21 (Down syndrome)”

I was halfway through my first pregnancy, and already I was in my first motherhood valley. I wasn’t even close to being able to see the whole picture. The beauty that comes with this particular valley. The bursting colors, the unique viewpoint, the happiness of mothering a child with Down syndrome. At that time I could only see the dark, cold valley in front of me filled with dirty, gray rocks that at times seemed to be suffocating me. It was only later that I would realize what a gift this diagnosis would be to our family. A beautiful, delicate, unique blessing that today I wouldn’t trade for the world.

But in that first motherhood valley, I couldn’t see it at all.

One difficult pregnancy later, a horrendous labor, a long NICU stay, bringing my baby home attached to an oxygen tank and a g-tube, two heart surgeries later- I learned something very important about being a parent.

Hard times will come our way. Really, really hard times. Parenthood brings with it a new level of hopelessness and inability to control the life in front of us. We can’t control our children’s ultimate safety, health, or life. We can do our best, but so many things are out of our control as parents, it is rather ridiculous.

And we can’t do this on our own. When your beautiful new baby is in heart surgery and you are sitting in the waiting room just praying that you will be able to hold her warm, soft body again, you find that you need someone else to hold you up. Someone so much stronger than yourself or the hundreds of people sending encouragement your way. Someone who created this entire situation and put you into it with the title Mother. Someone who designed this all to happen this exact way and who willingly provides the strength necessary to get you through it.

Motherhood has driven me to my knees.

Motherhood has seen me cry out for the life of my child all the while praising in thankfulness for the opportunity to have at least met her in the first place.

Motherhood has taken what confidence I had in myself and forced me to acknowledge that I can’t do it. Not even a little bit.

I’ve heard it flippantly said that “Motherhood is not for the faint of heart.” And I get the sentiment behind this, but at the same time, I respectfully disagree. Motherhood absolutely IS for the faint of heart. Because we all are.

In fact, I would say that our hearts are even worse off than merely “faint”. I think our hearts could more aptly be described as “broken”. “Shattered beyond repair”. Our hearts are the Christmas tree ornaments that we thought we set up out of the toddlers’ reach but then somehow miraculously pudgy hands grab hold and the delicate glass falls falls falls to the ground and the singular ornament suddenly becomes shiny confetti. Didn’t happen at your house? Mine either, of course.

Jesus was born in that stable those many years ago, and grew perfectly into a man who died on the cross for our brokenness. The Christmas story was the beginning of our opportunity to heal. The manger scene is so much more than a pretty greeting card or a mantle display. The manger scene is part of God’s intricate plan to offer forgiveness and hope to mankind. The strength that we need as mothers to carry on in the hard times can be traced all the way back to that babe in a manger and the incredible plan that was laid in place for our salvation.

Motherhood makes me all too aware of my own sinfulness. Of my own need for a Savior. Of my own need for grace, strength, and wisdom. Motherhood pushes me toward the cross in a desperate cry for help. Of God sending his own son to take my sins on his shoulders. Of him living his sinless, perfect life in such a way that he became the perfect sacrifice for our sins. Of him dying and then rising from the dead just thee days later. Of his willingness to forgive me of my sins. Of his promise of life everlasting.

Our calling as mothers is so much more than keeping them fed, clothed, and alive. I would venture to say that our calling as mothers is to live this gospel message out to our children. Not just by the words we speak or the church services we take them to- but rather how we live in front of them. How we forgive them for their transgressions. How we love them. How we give grace, kindness, and love to others while they are watching. And how we acknowledge our own brokenness and need for a Savior and how this same need is mirrored in their own sinful lives.

I’ve been doing this motherhood thing for seven years now, and I am no expert. The one thing that I know is that I know nothing at all because as soon as I figure something out- they change.

But one thing that I can say with certainty. I can love my babies even when they are doing horrible things like spraying the kitchen down with cooking spray. My sin was far worse than that. My sin was enough to condemn me for all eternity, and yet he still loved, forgave me, and gave me new life.

I have forgiven Carter Henry for the day before his fourth birthday. (Although this doesn’t mean that I won’t still share it at his rehearsal dinner someday. That girl deserves to know what she’s getting into!) And I never stopped loving him.

The way I handle these situations with my children is far more important than making sure that they never do it again. Handling motherhood “low moments” is my opportunity to live the gospel out in front of my children.

Motherhood is such a beautiful thing. It is a rare gift. A unique privilege. Motherhood is something never to be taken for granted.

Certainly it comes with its challenges. With its frustrations. With its “How did I get here and how do I get out of this?” moments.

But I honestly think that motherhood was designed to draw us closer to the Lord. To remind us in a very real way how inadequate we are and how much we need Him. How forgiveness works as it allows us to be on both ends as the forgiver and the forgivee. How the unconditional love that we have for our children doesn’t even compare to the unconditional love that He has for us.


5. Enjoy the Bigger Picture
There are moments that I take pictures of my kids and there are moments that I refuse to reach for the camera. Moments that I soak in and merely be present for. Moments that I tuck away in my heart, unwilling to share them with whoever might look at pictures I take.

And so I enjoy my motherhood moments. The sticky ones, the soft warm ones, the hilarious ones, the messy ones, the ones bursting so full of love that I feel like my heart might explode.

I will never get today back again. My children will never be this exact age again. These moments are quickly fleeting, and I want to remember exactly the beauty in front of me and savor each and every last bit of it.

I regularly remind myself to look at those peaks and valleys all in one. The exquisite Vermont landscape in front of me. Sweeping gorgeousness in every season alike. And when those fall leaves are up, I enjoy the color. When deep blankets of snow coat the rolling hills? I enjoy the sparkling white. When bare branches grace spring? I enjoy being able to see more of the startling blue sky. When greenery floods the scene, I soak in the lushness of the green.


Whatever your motherhood lens may show today, look for the beauty there. Or just laugh at the ridiculousness of it as you seek to view trying times more objectively. And then put it in the big picture, next to those truly lovely peaks, and be grateful for the view.


     


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