That's real love

Setting: Josh is 5. I have been stressed to the max and had a very upsetting day. I am sitting on the floor crying. Ugly crying. The type of cry that makes every orifice in your face drip. Josh comes in and sits on my lap facing me. He holds my head in both hands and raises my face so he can look at me. With more concern and love in his eyes than I have ever seen he moves one of his hands to brush away one of my tears. In doing this, he gets more than he bargained for and ends up with a string of my snot going from my nose to his hand. Without skipping a beat, he wipes my nose with his finger and thumb and then rubs it on his pants (a move I often use with him when he cries). He then pulls my head into his chest in a big hug. I can't ever remember seeing my mother cry when I was young. Some days I worry that he has seen me cry too often. A possible bad mother move on my part. But either way, I am so proud that my little boy can show so much love and concern to a person. When you are willing to use your own hand as a make-shift hankie, that is real love.

The "R word"

Most of my life I have used the term "retarded" when speaking to my friends and family discussing something/someone I feel is stupid. I have never thought twice about it. Even after Josh was born I said it, the way I felt was that I didn't actually feel that the word "retarded" referred to my son. MY son is smart. MY son is amazing. How could a word like that refer to my son? I have heard other mother's pleas and seen public service announcements (that one is really good), but it never changed me, my habit was too strong. Then last year, almost exactly a year ago, my son had some cognitive testing done. He was diagnosed with "mild mental retardation", a term that will be changed to the much preferred "mild intellectual disability" in the new DSM. I was crushed. Then one day, about one month after I learned of his diagnosis, I was making dinner. My hands were dirty and since the sun was going down I didn't have enough light. Josh was standing behind me so I asked him to turn on the light (something that he has done for years of his own accord). He walked a little ways away and looked around. "Josh! The light switch is on the wall right next to you. Turn on the light, please." Now he turns in a slow circle alternating between looking at the floor and ceiling. "The wall, Josh. The wall! You know what a wall is. The light switch is on the wall. You know how you turn on lights?" Again he looks and this time at a wall. The wrong wall, but at least it is a wall. He even turns on the light in the other room. "No, not THAT wall. The wall next to you!" Another slow circle. "JOSH! JUST TURN ON THE LIGHT! What, are you retar...." My voice caught in my throat as I realized that yes, yes he is, and what an ugly word to call him. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, like I would choke on the mass in my throat, like my heart had stopped, like I had betrayed my son. Tears filled my eyes as I stumbled toward him while dropping to my knees. I grabbed him into a big hug. "I am sorry Josh. Here, look. This is the light switch mom wanted you to turn on." I have never used the "R word" again.

Banana

Setting: My house. Josh is 4 years old and despite repeated desperate attempts at potty training, he is still in diapers. Josh came into the room clutching about 1/4 of an unpeeled banana in his hands. *sniff* "Phew! Josh you stink! Let's change your bum!" Into the bathroom. Feeling lazy so I lay him down to change him (plus it is much easier when it is a poopy diaper). I notice that his poo looks all smashed and weird. Keep changing him. Meanwhile, he still has the banana, but he isn't eating it, he is just holding it. As I am putting on a new diaper he starts shoving it in my face. Not wanting to waste, I go ahead and eat it. He giggles. Time to wash hands! That is when I realize...he has poo all over his hands. The same hands that were clutching the banana that now feels like it may be coming back up my throat. I ATE A POO BANANA! *sigh* Oh well, I guess we will see if I get horrendously ill in the next 24 hours.

Posts to come

Awhile ago I was telling my sister about some ridiculous thing that happened. She said that I should write a book. This book would be a compilation of stories about being a mom. Some would be happy, some funny, some sad, but the whole point is to share what it is like to have a kid like Josh. Of course some of my stories sound like other mother's stories, but some are very specific to our situation. Whether or not the reader is in a similar situation to me, it might be fun to read and understand a little better what it is like. I don't really think that I could write a book, but I did say that I would share them on my blog (some I already have) and who knows, maybe one day I will print all of them and make a book for me or Josh. So if you notice that I am telling old stories or talking about Josh a lot (I already do) that is why.

Thankful

I know I should be doing homework. I took out my laptop to do so but...I am overwhelmed with how grateful I am for my mother. I want to scream it from the rooftops but seeing as how I am on the Frontrunner train, that would be dangerous. So my blog, although only like 6 people read this, is the best I can do. I am the luckiest girl in the world. I have a mother who is strong but gentle, religious but accepting, always kind, and who is not afraid to disagree with me if it will make me a better person. It feels like daily in class I am reminded of how lucky I am. Today we spoke about after school programs for children and how we can help as OTs. The professor asked the parents in the class what their children do while they are in school. I was pleased to say that my family watches my son when he is not in school. She asked what they do with him. I began thinking of all the things he does with them: gardening, planting, baking cookies, making dinner, reading, doing puzzles, playing outside, finding rocks, and so many other things (and lets be honest, my mother is often the reason he does these things, although I have been super impressed with my dad in this area)My mother has always been so good with children. She always has fun, educational activities and is so happy about being with children. She loves teaching them and exploring the world with them. She took my son to the Dinosaur Park during his Spring Break so that he could actually do something fun. She let him take over 100 pictures with her camera. A while back in school I was reminded of another reason why I am thankful for my mother. I won't go into details because I do not know if she would want me to but suffice to say, my mother is strong. She can find good in bad situations. She does not allow bad actions of other people to ruin her life or allow it to ruin her children's lives. She could let it eat her up, she could turn to unhealthy alternatives to deal with it, she could take it out on her loved ones, but no, she has become the personality (can't remember right now what it is called) and has harnessed it to find "flow". She gives me the best advice. While complaining about my husband's lack of enthusiasm at a very large extended family get together where he felt ignored and left out, she reminded me, "He went didn't he? That is wonderful! You should be grateful!" Oh, yeah, I guess you are right. And when I complain of others, she reminds me to love everyone, even the annoying people :) I haven't even gone into how patient she is! Never has there been a more patient mother. I am sure she would say, "I am not perfect, Katie." (isn't she humble?) so okay, maybe she isn't PERFECT. We have had our clashes in the past. But I am so blessed to have her as a mother. I don't know if I could have learned love, empathy, or understanding from any one like I have learned it from her. She is inspiring.