Wordless Wednesday

The Jackpot.

I think having a four-year-old is like hitting the jackpot on parenting. I also love the newborn stage where they are teeny-tiny, snuggly, and sleepy. My least favorite age is 12-18 months, where the little stinkers are big enough to destroy your house but young enough not to really understand much. At two, it gets a little better, but then they can throw a major fit and still need a lot of help with stuff. Plus you have to potty train . Three is pretty good, but at four... they can do a ton of things for themselves but still think you are the coolest, prettiest, and most powerful person in the whole world. Savannah is totally potty trained (although that took half her life), can take a shower, dry her own hair, make her own bed, put away her laundry, fix her own breakfast, and can dress herself. And she still likes to snuggle.


And the creative outfits she comes up with are just an added bonus.





But in spite of being very independent, she still was completely in awe when it flurried a little over the weekend. And she told me that I don't need makeup, and I wouldn't look very good skinny. Love that kid!





Don't worry, I haven't forgotten the kid-scissor crisis of 2012, but most days, having a four-year-old is like hitting the jackpot. :)

L.O.V.E.

"A new command I give you: love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another."








"Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love."






Happy Valentine's Day! We love you!

On Being "Special."

I'm sure that some of my readers with "normal" children get tired of hearing about having a "special" child, but this is my life now. And it is, at times, consuming.


Yesterday seemed to be a normal day until I had to drive a nasty, poopy diaper to the lab. And somehow that isn't the weirdest thing I've had to do for Brooklyn.


So anyway, if you have a special-needs child, and you want a stress-relieving laugh and a few pictures of Ryan Gosling (yes, those two do go together, believe it or not) click here.


And also... a beautiful poem I found...

I Am The Child ~ Author Unknown

I am the child who cannot talk. You often pity me, I see it in your eyes. You wonder how much I am aware of — I see that as well. I am aware of much — whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or impatient, full of love and desire, or if you are just doing your duty by me. I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express myself or my needs as you do.

You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times. I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated. I do not give you answers to your everyday questions, responses over my well-being, sharing my needs, or comments about the world about me. I do not give you rewards as defined by the world’s standards — great strides in development that you can credit yourself; I do not give you understanding as you know it.

What I give you is so much more valuable — I give you instead opportunities. Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine; the depth of your love, your commitment, your patience, your abilities; the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible. I drive you further than you would ever go on your own, working harder, seeking answers to your many questions with no answers. I am the child who cannot talk.

I am the child who cannot walk. The world seems to pass me by. You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair, to run and play like other children. There is much you take for granted. I want the toys on the shelf, I need to go to the bathroom, oh I’ve dropped my fork again. I am dependent on you in these ways. My gift to you is to make you more aware of your great fortune, your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself. Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them. I feel not so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright, to put one foot in front of the other, to be independent. I give you awareness. I am the child who cannot walk.

I am the child who is mentally impaired. I don’t learn easily, if you judge me by the world’s measuring stick, what I do know is infinite joy in simple things. I am not burdened as you are with the strife and conflicts of a more complicated life. My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy things as a child, to teach you how much your arms around me mean, to give you love. I give you the gift of simplicity. I am the child who is mentally impaired.

I am the disabled child. I am your teacher. If you allow me, I will teach you what is really important in life. I will give you and teach you unconditional love. I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you. I teach you about how precious this life is and about not taking things for granted. I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams. I teach you giving. Most of all I teach you hope and faith. I am the disabled child.

Not Me Monday

I did not attend a Kindergarten readiness seminar and gasp in shock over how many things kids have to know to go to Kindergarten. I did not feel like I hadn't prepared my child enough. I was not surprised that kids have to be able to cut out things with scissors, and realize I never let my kid use scissors. I did not go to Walmart and buy her kid scissors that day. Not me.


Yesterday, I was not changing Brooklyn's diaper and did not tell Savannah to clean her room. I did not feel proud that she was in there happily doing a thorough job. I did not go ahead and make dinner for Darren and I, give Brooklyn her medicine, and settle her in her crib before going to check on Savannah.


I did not, upon opening Savannah's door, find that she'd found her scissors. And that she'd used them... very well. I did not gasp and stand there with my mouth gaping open as I surveyed the damage. She had not cut up two pompoms, baby doll clothes, a tutu, and a pajama top, in addition to not cleaning her room at all.


I did not just back out of the room, shut the door, and when D got home from work declare to him that the child was HIS.


I did not decide that in the cutting department, she should be very well prepared for school.


Not me.

Happy Friday!

Wordless Wednesday