Loving Through Silence and Disconnect

If you are mother, you know pain.  And if you are a mother, you know how hard it is to watch your child in pain.  Whether it is holding your infant while they get their first shots or watching your teenager go through the agony of heartbreak.  It is pain just the same.  

And you are there to comfort.  You are there to hug.  To hold. To kiss away the pain.  You are there to whisper in their ear, “it’ll be okay,” while wiping the tears from their cheek.  You are there to brush the hair from their face while looking into their eyes to make sure the pain in subsiding.  You are there to listen to them whimper, cry, scream.  And they look to you.  Their eyes seeking yours to connect.  To make them feel better.  Loved. Comforted.  You are there to extend your arms and bring them in.  They reach to you for an embrace, a kiss.  You hold on tight and they hold tighter.  They look into your eyes and feel strength and love.

I am a mother. I know pain.  And I know how hard it is to watch my child in pain.  I am here to comfort, hug, hold and kiss away the pain.  But it ends there.  I reach out to hug and to hold, but he doesn’t want to be touched.  I want to kiss away his pain, whisper in his ear.  But he won’t let me near him.  

I reach out to touch him and he shrinks away.  I try to brush his tears, but he bats my hand away.  He whimpers, cries and screams, but he doesn’t look to me.  He doesn’t connect with me.  It’s as if I’m not even there.  I extend my arms to bring him in.  He kicks, thrashes and flails.  He screams, “leave me alone,”.  He doesn’t look into my eyes.  He doesn’t reach to me for an embrace or a kiss.  He just exists in his own space.  Tormented and in pain.  And I can’t do anything to help it.  I just watch.  Watch him drown in his own pain, anger, and hopelessness.  I try again.  I reach out, I look to him, try to tell him it will be okay.  

He covers his ears.  He looks down.  He screams and cries.  Any attempt of mine to be near him is met with resistance, if not complete denial...and often resorts in his total retreat from me.  Literally and figuratively.

Imagine standing outside a house.  Standing at a window, peering into a room, one hand cupped around each eye to reduce the glare and get a better view.  You peek in the window, expecting to see your child playing.  You expect to see him laughing, smiling, dancing, skipping, running, playing with friends.  But instead you see him standing in the room alone.  Crying, screaming.  You watch him wrestle with complete torment.  Absolute pain.  He is broken, harmed, threatened and alone. 

You start yelling his name, telling him, “Mommy’s here”. But he doesn’t hear you.  You reach out, but your hand hits the glass.  You pound on the window with your fists. Over and over again.  But he doesn’t hear you.  You look for his eyes, you look to meet them, connect with them. But he doesn’t see you.  He doesn’t see you.  He doesn’t hear you.  He doesn’t feel you.  He is in pain...and so are you.  And there isn’t a thing you can do to get through to him, connect with him, let him know that you are there for him. You just watch the pain unfold, the torment unravel and the voice go from a cry, to a scream to silence.  

And you remember to breathe.  You are thankful it has ended.  For now.  And you wonder how long long you have until this happens again.  You do what you can to hold back your tears, because in the silence, he does look at you.  And if he sees you crying, it will start all over again.  From the beginning.  And there you will be.  Standing at the window.  Looking from the outside in.  And praying.

Living Life in a Box

I remember the first time I knew you were different.  Okay, well maybe I don’t remember that exactly.  But if I did, I’d feel like I had more control in some weird kind of way.  In actuality, it was the moment, the first time that someone else told me you were different.  

I walked into your preschool that day, the room bursting with primary colors and alphabets and I saw you running circles around the room, squealing in delight.  Your delight was not for me mind you, but rather some kind of game of keep away you were playing with another child.  You slowed a moment and looked at me briefly out of the corner of your eye, and then kept running.  I watched you for a moment, running in and out of the rays of sunshine filtering in from the windows.  As I stood there watching you, your teacher came up behind me and commented on how much energy you have.  How much energy you ALWAYS have.  No matter the time of day, with or without nap, you were much like the energizer bunny, she said.  

“I think he has ADHD. Has anyone ever talked to you about that?  Has his doctor mentioned that to you Heather?”

In that moment, I felt like the rays of sunshine withdrew from the room.  Suddenly, all I heard was your squealing, louder than the others.  It was as if someone had pushed the mute button on the rest of the children’s laughter.  And it was just you and me.  Until that moment, I’d always looked at your energy as an amazing thing.  Until then, I looked at your ability to jump from one toy to another as flexibility.  I’d never put a label on it.  I’d never put you in a box.  But in that moment, I felt like a giant box and just been dropped around you and your future, your possibilities were going to be limited.  Limited by others.  

That was five years ago.  Today, you are nine.  And your preschool teacher?  She was right, about the ADHD part.  And many have since tried to put you in a box.  Your kindergarten teacher continually placed you in a chair outside the classroom for talking too much and moving around too much.  Your first grade teacher consistently made you sit in other classrooms or stay in at recess for being too disruptive.  Your second grade teacher, well I think she just didn’t know what to do with you.  Your third grade teacher, she knew you were different.  But she saw that as potential instead of a limitation and worked with you to help you feel calm and secure in who you are.  And here we are, a few weeks into fourth grade and you are struggling to find a box that fits you.  There are moments when you want to celebrate your differences, but most of the time you just want to be like all of the other kids.  

You recognize you are different.  You recognize your small size and stature makes you a great candidate for a Yoda costume for Halloween.  You realize that your fascination with science and meteorology could prove to be an exciting career as a storm chaser.  But you also recognize that being different doesn’t always feel good.  

As I look back at that first time someone else told me you were different, I realize that in that moment and for several months, if not years after, I let others define you and the box you should fit in.  But as you’ve grown, so have I.  And together, we’ve learned this so called box is one that we will define, we will break down and break through.  And heck, maybe we’ll create a brand new, big box.  One that has primary colors and rays of sunshine coming in.  One that is ever changing to meet your wishes, not the needs of others.  

   

    

It's Been Awhile

I know, I know. 7 months since I last posted. Ummm...I was busy? Aren't we all? It certainly isn't because I haven't had anything to say. More like I've had too much to say. So I've been micro blogging, errr....tweeting! I've been putting all those little delicious Noah bits in 140 characters or less and posting them via Twitter and Facebook.

And yes...I've been busy, but that's no excuse! I've gotta get back to taking the time for myself to write. Longer. More than 140 characters at a time.

So here I am, with my second blog post of the night after going "dark" for 7 months! Whew!

Looking forward to sharing more soon...in more than 140 characters.

Living the Dream

You’ve heard them, the sayings reminding us to take it all in. Savor every moment. Enjoy the little things in life. Well Noah had one of those moments recently.

It was a Monday. The end of a long day for both of us. I’d just picked up Noah from school and drove the 4.5 blocks home. I started my usual chants as we pulled in the garage, “Grab your back pack. Don’t forget your library book. Can you grab those wrappers and put them where they belong Noah? Our car is not a garbage can.”

Now it is quite normal for him to hear approximately 2/3 of what I’m telling him - on a good day. But today was worse than usual. He dashed out of that car quicker then I’ve seen before and ran straight into the house.

Nature called.

As I’m going through the mail in the kitchen I can hear him peeing in the bathroom. Yep, I could. Because the vast majority of the time, it is just too much work for him to close the bathroom door. So as he’s using the facilities, I hear him say, “Aahhh...living the dream”.

No joke. While he’s peeing. He. Says. “Aahhh...living the dream”. Who says that? While they’re peeing? Noah does. And all the while I’m laughing out loud and wondering where in the world he picked this up from. I also found it quite charming that this boy can be so in the moment that a good pee is “living the dream”.

It seems he truly does savor every moment and enjoy the little things in life. And through this rather comical example, I challenge you to savor every moment, enjoy the little things in life.

And next time you have to use the restroom, just remember, YOU are living the dream!

The Wonder of Boys

The wonder of boys.

Okay, so I know we are so different, boys and girls that is. That whole Mars/Venus thing. But seriously... besides it being physically impossible, I don't know a single girl that would do what I'm about to tell you my son did.

Here I was early last week, just minding my own business, on a conference call at work when an email from Noah's teacher pops up. She sends email updates on classroom events, etc. on a weekly basis, so I wasn't alarmed...until I read her subject line. It read, "Today". That's it. One word. Immediately I knew it wasn't going to be good.

So I opened it and read on. Here is how it started:

"Today during lunch I was walking past the boys restroom when I heard..."

Yup. I bet you are going all those places in your mind I was. And none of them are good.

She goes on to tell me that she heard several loud boys' voices. And she heard them saying things like, "Let's see if we can get it in there from here". Come to find out that a trio of boys is seeing how far they can pee. A pissing contest. Literally. And my boy was one of the trio.

She goes on to tell me that the boys were kept in at recess and all were honest and admitted to their actions.

Now like I said at the opening, I don't know a single girl that would do this, even if it was physically possible. First - we wouldn't want to make a mess, second - this is just gross, third - we tend to be a little more modest (we don't like the whole community shower thing from high school gym class) and fourth - if we are going to compete on anything, it is probably going to be number of hand bags or shoes or something! Now this is a generalization and perhaps there is some chick out there somewhere that would participate in this type of contest, but I don't personally know one.

So I picked Noah up from school that day prepared to discuss why this was so wrong. I know, I know, the whole "boys will be boys" mantra. But again, this is just gross. So I was ready to talk to Noah about how inappropriate it is to whip it out in front of others AND how unkind it would be to leave a mess in the bathroom that such a contest would encourage. Thankfully, after a little grilling Noah admitted that all he did was say, "I could get it in there from here". Now perhaps he is lying to me, but in any case he now has my VERY clear point of view on why this is wrong and why not to do it again...or to at least use his "inside voice" the next time he is involved in this type of contest so the teacher can't hear it going on from the hall.

Any One Thing

There are many difficult things about being a parent. I explored this briefly in a previous post titled, Love, Pain and the Possibility. The ache in your heart that comes as a parent when you are witness to the pain your child experiences. Whether that be from falling off a bike, being teased at school or some other superficial reason.

Then there is the pain that is caused by the very person a child should never feel pain from...a parent. If there is any one thing, one person, one relationship a child should be able to count on in this world, it is the relationship, the love of their parent.

However, this is not always the reality.

Recently Noah was riding in the back seat of his Godmother's car and playing with a Magic 8 ball. He asked the ball, "Will I see my Daddy Mark anytime soon"?

Reading the reply, Noah sighs, "Nope". And then, as if confirming the answer wasn't a surprise, he says, "Yup."

My heart broke into a tiny million pieces when I heard about this...for about the hundredth time. Every time I think about the pain Noah may be feeling or will feel, my heart shatters again. How does one explain to a child that their parent makes a choice such as this? How does one explain the reason that one parent doesn't even call, with the exception of an occasional holiday? And how can I love him enough to make up for what he's lacking on the other side.

I can't. And that kills me.

At this point, Noah hasn't asked too many questions. He seems to just accept things as they are. I would think that he hurts at times. I would think he questions at times. I would think that he is angry at times. Yet, there he is...just asking the Magic 8 Ball and sighing. No tears. No tantrums.

I know that one day he will ask more questions. I know that one day he will feel more pain. I know that one day he will be more angry.

And I will be there. And I will love him.

I know that one day, he will understand his pain. I know that one day he will move forward. I know that one day he will use his experience to help someone else.

And I will be there. And I will love him.

Because it is my day to understand my pain. It is my day that I've moved forward. And it is my experience that I will use to help him.

Here's a Stroll Down Memory Lane

Wow...things have been soooo crazy busy and it has been far too long since I posted.

I hope to add more content and stories soon, but in the mean time - enjoy this photo montage I put together for my Mom for Mother's Day two years ago. Much of the video is poor quality as it was taken with an old (and very low megapixel) digital camera. CLEARLY, these were taken before my days of working at Best Buy!

Enjoy...and look for more posts soon!

Mr. Valley Girl

I'm not so sure how this happened, but somewhere, somehow Noah is aware of Valleygirl talk.

Seriously.

I know, it's weird...and hysterically funny.

Check out this video proof...and never, ever take yourself too seriously.

The Big Cheese

Crap...It has been about 2 weeks since I last posted. Let's just say the kid has kept me busy! We've had all kinds of things going on...birthday parties, Super Bowl, Valentine's making (worth its own blog post at a later date) and The Big Cheese!


Huh? What's the Big Cheese you ask? This is a special day at school in which he gets to share about himself and his family with the class. This could either be really endearing or quite scary! Every mother knows what I'm talking about. It's those moments when we just wish our children would NOT adhere to the "Honesty is the best policy" mantra. Those moments when we want a giant hole to crawl into or feel the need to fake an emergency phone call of some sort.

I could just envision how this "Big Cheese" thing was going to go:

Teacher, "So Noah, tell us what life is like at home...what do you do when you are not at school?"

Noah, "Well, mostly listen to my mom say things like, 'I can't take it anymore Noah'".

Teacher, "What kind of things do you like to play with at home Noah?"

Noah, "Weapons" (See previous post, Weapons and Booze for more on this).

Teacher, "What does your family like to do together?"

Noah, "We party, my mom drinks booze".

Thankfully it was a lot less dramatic. Instead he had to paste pictures on a poster and answer some questions. I've put a few of the notables below.

When I grow up I want to be: A Storm Chaser
If I had one wish, I would wish for: Seeing a real tornado without getting killed.

So that was the Big Cheese...and it wasn't nearly as painful as I envisioned.

Whew.

They're Just Jealous

Ahhh yes...getting your nails done. Most girls I know enjoy this pleasure. Who knew a six year old boy could too!

Yes, it's true. Noah got his nails done. Seriously.

On Saturday I was able to get in to get my nails done on a last minute cancellation, but the catch was it was after a 5 year old birthday party. So I told Noah he was going to have to go with me to the salon, but that he could sit in the chair next to me and quietly play his Nintendo DS.

Well all hopped up on sugar from birthday treats and cake, this wasn't going to cut it! Nope! One of the nail techs had some open time and started talking with Noah about nails and how it is done. Next thing I know he is telling her he wants his nails done. "Let's do it!" he says.

So as I am sitting in one chair, he is sitting in another getting his nails painted "camoflauge". I can't even get the kid to sit still at home so we can trim his nails, but he was willing to sit for 15 minutes and get his nails painted with multiple colors so it looks like camoflauge!

He was so proud of his nails and thought it was a tremendously cool thing to get done. Later that night we went out for dinner. And it was interesting to see the reactions of people who saw that he had his nails painted. Our server couldn't have been kinder...she echoed his excitement when he showed her his nails and even commented on his zest for life! Then sadly, I watched the couple sitting across the aisle from us and watched as they pointed at his hands, shook their heads and looked disgusted. Really people? Now, granted I'm making some assumptions that they were discussing Noah. But I watched her point to her nails and then point at Noah while shaking her head and scowling. Interesting that painted nails on a boy can draw such an adverse reaction. What's the big deal? So it's not "status quo"...let him express himself! I know it may be a bit out of our comfort zone, but isn't that the point? That is when we learn the most about ourselves and others!

Later Saturday Noah started talking about how excited he was to show Mrs. Schultz (his first grade teacher) his nails on Monday at school. I thought it was amazing he wanted to wear his painted nails to school, but then started worrying about kids teasing him. So I decided I should just warn him of this possibility. I told him it was possible and that I just wanted him to be prepared.

His response, "I don't care Mommy."

"Right on brother," I said, "That is the best attitude to have".

So today he marches on into school. We go through the usual routine of hanging up the jacket and back pack and as I smile I say, "Let me see those nails Noah!"

He proudly pulls out his hands to show me...and then you could see the realization on his face as kids walked by. He slowly pulled his hands up into his sleeve as if he was trying to decide if this was a good idea after all, gives me a big hug, runs off and calls over his shoulder, "I love you Mommy!"

After seeing that moment of doubt on his face, I was a bit worried how the day might go.

Afternoon comes and I pick him up from school. I peppered him with the usual questions, "How was your day? What was the best part of it? Music or Gym today?"

Then the big question..."What did everyone think of your nails?"

"Good," he says, "But did you know that if they tease you, they're just jealous?"

"Did someone tease you Noah?"

"Yeah, Josh did, he said I was like a girl, but he's just jealous".

What an amazing moment. So easily he just ran with the flow and really didn't worry what other people thought of him! If only we could all be less concerned about what others think and just believe in ourselves, follow our heart and be that comfortable in our own skin! Wouldn't that be amazing?