No matter who you call me, I'll take the good, and take the bad. And today had it's bad.
It was a wonderful start to a Sunday morning. The boys slept in, thanks to this dreary, rainy weather. Who wouldn't want to stay under the warm down comforter on a day like that? I did. It was heavenly. I rejoiced that I was able to rest up for my morning teaching the pre-school class at Southpoint, my church home. I love teaching the little ones. Plus, it gives me a chance to see how Isaac is interacting in a classroom setting, get some pointers and tips for/from his teachers at school if I have questions, and generally, be a visual presence for him.
All was great. He sat through our class lesson, video, skit, puppet show. Answered questions asked of him. Played and shared with friends. He even shared a little snippet of his day yesterday with them: "I rode on my scooter, friends!" I was very proud of the morning.
Lunch time was a treat. I made myself and the boys baked chicken and some salad. Isaac won't eat baked chicken, but he will eat hot dogs. I get the uncured organic all beef ones, and he only eats one or two a week at most. He ate one and a bowl of orange bell pepper and yogurt ranch dip. I was very proud of the afternoon.
And then I forget.
I forget the good days aren't because of me. I can help them be positive, and look at them in a light that will put a spin on success...but it's not because I did anything super special. I'm a mom of a kid with a few special needs. But....like I said....sometimes on the good days, it's easy to forget.
Something triggers my sweet boy into a panicky, blubbering mess. I run down to the kitchen to grab my coffee while the boys are upstairs in the bath, when I hear feet in my bedroom. I rush back up and Isaac, wet and dripping, comes around the corner. "Isaac Josef! What are you doing?" I ask loudly. That something...that trigger? That was me. All me.
He immediately puts his hands up to his face and squeezes his eyes shut. He is crying so hard, I cannot get him to breathe. "Isaac..." I whisper in his ear as I hold him to me. "I'm sorry, it's okay..." I let out a deep sigh, partly because I know this is going to take time and patience, both of which I'm running short on as of late, and partly because I feel like a total failure.
Hyperventilation...rubbing his face over and over, (he doesn't like the feeling of the tears on his cheeks, I've discovered) making spitting noises at me when I ask him what's wrong, stomping his feet and making gutteral noises--and even lashing out and hitting me once when I tried to get him to look at me. Emotions combined with a difficulty in communicating. I pick him up and just hold him. Ethan is sad too. As I try and calm two crying children, I wonder what happened to the good today?
This is life. How many times have I wanted to grunt and stomp my feet? I just know better. Isaac needed a moment of comfort, rather than a moment of instruction. There is a fine line, and I was tight roping it.
After calming Isaac down, getting him into jammies, and cuddling with him on the couch, things were better. I thanked God with a deep, heavy breath as I tucked him in.
The good is there so when the bad comes (and, yes, it DOES come) you can pause and be thankful. The bad doesn't last forever, and more than naught, we find more good through the bad.
|Isaac and Mommy, 2008|
THAT, friends, is a fact of life.