Diznee:There's Profit to be Had!

Dear Sophie and Gideon,

Like nearly every other child in the universe, you've become obsessed with Frozen. I can usually handle this. We've got the movie and the dolls. Sophie is dressing up as Elsa for Halloween and Gideon is going to be Olaf.

Yes, Gideon-bear, I know. You want to be Elsa, too. But four Elsa's are just a few too many. Someone has to be Olaf just like someone has to be Anna. (That's Milly.) Suck it up, dude. Sophie called dibs on the Queen first. At least you're not Sven like Rory!

Every day we listen to the soundtrack and you recite the dialogue. You both love knocking on closed doors and asking "Do you want to build a snowman?"

Please stop doing that when Mommy is going potty.

The latest thing is getting dangerous. I have no problem with you acting out some of the scenes. But lately I've seen Gideon leaping off of higher and higher structures - chairs, couches, THE STAIRCASE - while Sophie yells "Anna, wait!"

Guys...Mommy can't take you to the magic love trolls. Mommy can only take you to the ER and they are WAY less understanding. They don't "remove the magic but leave the fun". They just remove you from Mommy's care.

So let's just keep it to some nice safe viewings of the movie for the 475,836th time in forever and watch Daddy's eye twitch get stronger.

Love,

Mama

Fickle

Rory has started an annoying habit. Whenever I pick her up from MDO, she begins looking and asking for Daddy.

"Dada? *glance* Daaa-DAH!"

"Nope, just Mama. Remember me?"

*shoves my face out of the way*

"Dada! Dada! DadadadadadadaDAH!"

"That whole 'giving birth' thing meant nothing to you, didn't it?"

She continues this sing-song Dada thing for the 2 hours it takes to go and pick up her siblings and bring them home. Finally we get inside and I set her down in front of her favored person and tell him that she's been asking for him. He picks her up gleefully.

"Hi sweetheart!"

*blank look*

"Eh..."

*lean out of his arms*

*claw her way to the floor*

*race to me*

*climb onto my lap*

"EEGAHBAHMAHBOO!"

*rolls on me like a puppy*

We can't win.

Bring the Music Back

Music is a funny thing. I react viscerally to a lot of music. There have been times where I need to be careful when playing music while driving. Otherwise I'll find myself in front of a judge asking me why I hopped out of the car and slugged the policeman, who pulled me over doing 85 in a school zone, while yelling F*** YOU I WONT DO WHAT YOU TELL ME.

And I'll have to be honest with him.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor, I was driving under the influence of Rage Against the Machine."

I'm a 90's kid and I am completely unapologetic about my love for bands like Green Day, Nirvana, REM, Ace of Base, and No Doubt. I love Sarah McLachlan, Natalie Merchant, and Tori Amos and I'm still angry that Lilith Fair is over.

One band that I've always loved is Smashing Pumpkins. However, my first husband was also a huge fan. We even had a Pumpkins song in our wedding. For the last 8 years, I haven't been able to listen to any Pumpkins music. My stomach got tight and I felt very anxious. I had to turn it off.

Last week, for the first time, I was able to listen to a few songs and enjoy them again. 1979...Today...Tonight, Tonight...only some of the big ones. I can listen to Disarm again and it makes me smile.

I have my music back. That makes me smile a lot more. And drive a little faster, seriously Kelly, you've got to stop doing that.

Happy Birthday, Gideon

Dear Gideon,

We've been talking about Thursday for the past few days. Do you remember? What is Thursday? What is June 26th?

Usually I just get a lot of echos and some bouncing. I don't mind. I love your cheerful enthusiasm.

You go between "maniacal ball of fiery energy" to "completely engrossed in a piece of technology" in about 4 nanoseconds. You are ridiculously good at figuring out anything you want or need on an Apple product. A few months ago, you somehow switched the wifi on to the old iPhone that holds your games and you downloaded your Pooh Bear and Donald videos from your dad's cloud. Dude, I had to ask Daddy to explain it three times before I could do that on my iPad.

Donald is your favorite. You watch old Donald and Chip & Dale videos all of the time and laugh until you can't hold still. You've started listening to non-kid music and you like interesting music videos. Pentatonix, Pharrell, and OK Go are at the top of your list. We love watching how you are overcome with joy and must DANCE. And boy, do you dance! Your little flailing arms and legs send your Grandma and your Aunt Sarah into the roof with delight.

You just finished your second year of half-day PPCD. In August, you'll go to school for a full day. You'll start mainstreaming slowly. You'll eat school lunches and go to PE. I am so proud of you, little man. You're going to be amazing. It's going to be new and very different. There are going to be parts that you don't like. I'm asking you to be brave, Gideon. Be brave and step out a little more. I'll be waiting when you come home. You can always rest with me and your daddy. I promise.

I've felt sometimes that I miss a lot of you. You still carefully guard yourself in your own little world. There are days where you barely speak aloud. You are very uncomfortable with eye contact. But you are my Gideon. I know that you like yellow cheese sticks, throwing a ball, peanut M&M's more than regular, having your feet rubbed, and giraffes. You gently interact with your baby sister, trade iPhone games with your middle sister and gleefully wrestle with your older sister. I'm so grateful that you are our Gideon. This family is so much richer with you in the middle.

Happy 5th birthday. Mama adores her sweet Prince.

Love,

Mama

Moving On

I have three blog drafts from January on here. Maybe I'll eventually come back to them. Life just gets in the way.

Today, I'm watching Milly and Gideon eat yellow cheese sticks and act silly in front of Mickey in Wonderland. We're waiting for Milly's bus to come and take her to school. It's the last week of school. She's done such a great job in just a short amount of time.

Gideon has his 3-hour ABA assessment this afternoon so I have to keep him busy until we leave at 1:30.

Selfies are a good distraction.

The miserable teething baby is starting to act a little sleepy. FINALLY. Maybe she'll nap. (Please, sweet baby Jesus...)

I'm ready for a summer with the possibility of a few days to myself. Days where I can sit quietly and actually hear myself think. Days where I can work in the kitchen without the threat of tripping over two or three small bodies. Days where I can leisurely scrub a toilet without worrying that someone is eating the walls or a book.

Days where I might be able to write.

Dear Sophie

Today you are 6 years old. It's the first birthday where you actually understand what is going on. (Mostly.)

You asked for purple cupcakes and pink balloons and pink party hats. I found pink cupcakes to bring to school but I'm making purple cupcakes for tomorrow. I even have a pink birthday 6 candle just like you asked. There are balloons, a giant sock monkey, your first real doll and a giant "Happy Birthday" banner.

6 years ago, you were in the Baylor NICU and I was in my hospital room. I had a booklet with three pictures of you. It was still hard to walk so I had only seen you once. We couldn't really hold you because of all of the wires. Your daddy and I lifted you up while the nurses changed your sheet. You weighed 5 pounds 2 ounces. I'm sure it didn't take both of us to lift you up but I'm grateful to that nurse for giving us the chance to be parents to our little girl.

I will always remember that night. I couldn't sleep. At 3 AM, I walked down to the NICU to see you again while your daddy slept. The nurses set me up in a glider rocker and helped me arrange you on my chest for kangaroo care. Your tiny head barely rested on my left breast and your feet tucked right into my cleavage.

(16-year old you is asking me why I'm talking about boobs. Settle down, cranky.)

Your entire body relaxed. You sighed and fell asleep. I held your hand and looked and your tiny fingers while tears ran down my face. You weren't supposed to be here this soon. You were still supposed to be safely growing in my belly. Monitors beeped around us. There was an IV taped to your scalp. You were so tired after such a long ordeal. I was so sore. I hadn't slept. My hormones were running wild.

So we rocked. We both relaxed. We both slept. Mother and daughter healed each other.

Thank you, my girl. Thank you for being my Sophia.

Evaluations

Milly went for her evaluation by the school district this week. We sat in a room full of toys with a psychiatrist, a speech therapist, an occupational therapist and another professional that I can't remember. They led Milly through different play to make some observations while the lady I can't remember asked me a bazillion questions about Milly's habits at home. This isn't new to me. I've done this twice before with Sophie and Gideon and knew what to expect.

One thing that I hear often that is both flattering and a little off-putting is when therapists and teachers ask me if I'm a teacher or a therapist. They praise my methods with my kids. They act amazed at how I try to coax eye contact and words out of my kids. I know the lingo and I answer questions before they're asked. I've been told that I'm one of the most involved and educated mothers that they've seen.

This is great, I'll admit! Who doesn't like being told that they're doing a great job? But I feel so inadequate. I could do so much more. My playroom isn't fully equipped with centers and reading nooks. I don't have PECS charts around the house. We don't have any social stories on the iPad. Actually, we still need to fix the iPad. So many parents go way beyond what I am doing and it shows in their potty trained and speaking children.

Then comes the feelings of "Yikes, what do you guys see on a regular basis?" If I'm impressive then there have got to be some children to worry and pray about. There are parents to educate and encourage. Being the parent of a special needs child is incredibly difficult. The bare minimum doesn't cut it and your child will regress. But I understand how overwhelming it can be to change your life like that.

Milly's evaluation went well. It looks like she'll be approved for PPCD classes. They are leaning towards a diagnosis of autism. I don't really agree with this but I'll go with it for now. I'll go into that on another post. For now, I'm glad that my daughter will have a structured half day day of school. I'm eager to see what progress can be made when more people step in and help me with my girl.

Healing the Hurt

One of the first things everyone comments on when they see my girls are their beautiful blue-grey eyes. They are just like mine. Gideon has amazing brown eyes just like his daddy but he has my nose and ears. It's so interesting to see these little people with my features running around. Especially when they smack into a door.

Because they also inherited my grace.

We have a lot of cuts, bruises, owies and scrapes here at the Dyer house. The kids are long-legged, fearless and not that aware of the world around them leading to a lot of falling and smashing into things. Not a day goes by where I'm not sitting in front of a crying child or holding a crying child saying the same thing;

"I know it hurts. Let me see it and I'll help!"

Sometimes it's easy to coax them to look at me so that I can get a better look at a goose egg. There are a lot of times where they gingerly but fiercely guard a new hurt because they're afraid.

Don't touch it! It will hurt!

Don't look at it! I wasn't supposed to be up there!

No! I'll fix it!

Sophie is the worst. It takes a long time to convince her that I'm not going to walk away from her while her forehead bleeds through her fingers. I need to look at it and I'll probably need to clean it. It might hurt but it will be better soon. I'll be there the whole time and I'll be as gentle as I can.

Yesterday, during the sermon, I realized again that God was speaking to me through my children. Our new teaching pastor was talking about becoming a new person when we accept the gift that God has given us. That we are to put aside bitterness and put on forgiveness.

Bitterness or hurt can start small and can fester. It can become infected and eventually we almost get used to that nagging pain. When we invite the Holy Spirit in, He begins to gently pull our hands away from that hurt. He needs to see it before He can heal it. Sometimes we hold on tighter and guard our hurt. We get embarrassed because we got hurt doing something we knew was wrong.

God doesn't care about any of that. He only sees that His child is bleeding. He's not going to walk away from a hurt child any more than we would walk away from one of ours. He's going to continue gently asking us to put our hands down and let Him work. It may hurt. It may even leave a scar.

But, He will be as careful and gentle as He can be. He will be there the whole time. He will love us even if we are scarred.

Pick Me Up

Rory has started crawling and pulling up. As I watch her explore her world, I think.

I love watching those chubby little legs.

DON'T CHEW ON THE CORD!

This is the last time I'll watch a baby learn to do this.

You're going to regret putting that hair ball in your mouth.

I really should vacuum more often.

God looks at me like this.

The last thought is what set me down to write in between lunging at my newly mobile daughter. There are so many times when I watch my children try out a new skill like walking or climbing. Sometimes they'll push it a little too far. Sometimes they'll do something I've specifically told them not to do.

Don't jump down the stairs!

Don't balance on the back of the couch!

Don't throw your brother/sister into the wall/floor!

Don't chew that!

Because they are young or simply don't understand, there are not a lot of instances where I can sit them down and explain the reasons why I have these rules. Our main reason that we repeat is "Rules keep us safe." Just respect that I am your mother, I know more than you and I have a reason to tell you not to run in a crowded parking lot.

Still, my children are realizing that they have free will. They can run faster than me at times. They might get that yummy looking cockroach into their mouth before I can launch myself at them. And, darn it!, they're just going to try! I must be overreacting. It can't possibly be that horrible to drink a muddy puddle on the ground!

There are times when I will quietly stand to the side and allow them to make what I know to be a not-so-smart decision. I'm not talking about touching the stove or riding their bike in traffic, but I'll let them try to carry 19 toys upstairs because they don't want to make 3 trips. When Sophie drops all of her babies and cries then I'm there to hold her while she cries. I'm there to gently ask if that was the best decision. I'm there to offer another solution.

God does the same with me. When I don't follow His plan, I find myself dropping everything sometimes. There are times I might make it up the stairs and I get triumphant. But I can't do it every time. God's plan will work every time. Sometimes I'll drop everything and in the midst of my tears I'll lash out at God. Why did He let this happen?!? He could have helped! He could have snapped his fingers and I wouldn't have to carry anything! No matter what I say, He always holds me while I cry. Sometimes I push him away and cry on my own. He waits and watches. He wants to comfort me and show me a better way. I'm that loved. I'm that wanted. We all are.

Whenever things go wrong, I'm trying to look through my tears at who is really making the decisions. Did I stray? Was I tripped? Where is God? He's always near and I can ask Him for help. Instead of curling up or lashing out, I will try to choose to take a deep breath and lean on my Father. He knows better.