Little boys do and will grow up

Posted on October 19, 2014 by middleofthemadness

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was a mighty cute little boy. He had wispy blond hair and striking blue eyes. His face danced when he smiled. His lips curled into a perfect little “o” and he giggled the most delightful giggle. Oh, how he was loved by everyone who walked by and tickled his belly or stroked his hair.

But none could love him more than his mother. Yet with the fiercest of love, she also was the most generous with love – for she shared her little precious boy with me. He was four days old when we met and it’s been twenty-eight years of non-stop love. I babysat as often as I could. I used to wait at the entrance of the church for the family to arrive and I would snatch up that little bundle and carry him around on my hip as if he were my own. We were so attached, he and I. When he fell down and scraped up his knee, he’d walk past his mom and come to me kiss away the “boo-boo.” He’d cry when I left and quiet when I approached. We were so bonded, he and I.

When I left for college, I returned for his birthday parties. I spent the summers with him. I went to Disney with the family as his friend. As he entered high school, his mom would call me and say “He’s having a hard day, can you call him?” and I did. As he moved on to college and to his time in the service, we continued to talk and share and connect. When he took classes in the city, he would spend the night each week in our “toy room” and wrestle the boys in the morning before we all left on our separate ways for the day.

Any “normal” mother would have been threatened by this relationship, worried that her son had no love for her. But R.S. was no “normal” woman – she was amazing. She loved with abandon and taught her children to love as eagerly. I once asked her if she was concerned or “didn’t like” how close her son and I were in his early years. Her response was simple and profound – “the more people who love my son, and the more people he knows love him, the better he will be.”

And she was right. He did turn out to be fantastic. Oh, it was not easy. He had an abundance of stubbornness and strong-will. He did not care to sleep through the night for years. He had enough curiosity to rack up hundreds of dollars in damage. He had enough passion to punch a hole in the wall. He had enough courage to serve his country. He had enough self-confidence to ask the girl of his dreams to marry him.

And yesterday he walked down the aisle with his beautiful wife and his face smiled and his eyes danced. In our firm embrace at the end of the pew, I told him how happy I was for him and how proud I was of him. I turned to walk out of the church with tears in my eyes – thinking, “there goes my little boy all grown up,” at the same moment that I turned to look behind me and …. “and there are my own little boys.”

There come along three stubborn, strong-willed, curious, active, and loving boys. There come three bundles of joy who have more energy in a millisecond than I have all day. There come three determined souls pushing against all the limits placed upon them, eager to engage the world, conquer the world, master their universe. There come three eager, yet anxious, boys calling out for reminders that they are loved – hugs and cuddles, kisses and “lovings.”

And I am reminded that it is my job to continue to seek out and build relationships with others who will be able to come alongside my sons. Who will love them. Who will model all of life redeemed for them. Who will cheer at their games and pick them up when they cry. Who will tell them that they are AWESOME and will correct them when they stray. For children need to know that there are at least five adults outside their family who love them so much, such that as life tosses them around, they can keep finding their feet again. I want that for my boys. There may not be too many “Nonni’s” in the world like I was, but there will be lots of love.

For one day, I will watch them take the hand of a beautiful lady and beam with joy as they walk through a gentle cloud of bubbles. And I will thank all who helped me shape the man. For little boys will grow up.

And then a little more chaos!

Posted on October 12, 2014 by middleofthemadness

It quite likely could be said that some people seem to thrive on chaos. Given the way things seem to be going, it is highly likely that my sister and I are that type of person. We seem to invite it in to our house. Let’s see – there was Super Tall Guy, The Flipper, Mr. Ornery, along came Trouble followed less than a year later by The Little Guy. If five boys in a five year range weren’t chaotic enough….we added a sweet (yet apparently fragile) Bichon Terrier to the mix.

Now we add again.

Let’s just say that we spent almost the entire weekend rearranging two rooms of the house. The small third-floor room used for storage (since my “family” essentially lives in what might have been an attic) has pretty much been moved into my bedroom. This tiny space has now become the new “toy room” (and Super Tall’s dressing room).

Spending so much attention on this process sometimes leads to

A bit too much screen-time distraction for most of the boys,
A little bit of creativity for one of the boys,

Not the healthiest of meals (ahem) for some of the kids,

Finding some “great” clothes in the backs of closets,
And apparently misplacing the dog, as noted by a very unhappy neighbor.

But we managed to convert the former unrecognizable heap of a mess of toys into a beautiful guest room….(we sat in an exhausted heap in front of the TV this evening arguing over who had to get up to get the remotes…sigh…!)

….for Wimon ….a woman from Thailand….a friend of a friend of my parents (you see what being Missionary kids does?!)….who is arriving late Wednesday evening to begin an English as a Second Language program in preparation for a doctorate in physical therapy. She’ll be staying with us for a “bit.”

I use Lego play as a way to coax a few words out of strong, silent Super Tall Guy. We talk about a new person arriving in the house. Someone who probably won’t speak English very well. He pauses and says quite quietly “I might laugh when she speaks.” “You just might,” I reply, “because it will sound different to your ears. She’s going to be so happy to learn from you” (and please, please….don’t you boys start chanting your usual body parts chants!!! Or run downstairs all “carefree” after your baths. Or burp and “putter” as if she’s family!). “Oh, she’ll be here for Halloween,” he exclaims excitedly. Yes, that should pretty much blow her mind in her first two weeks of culture shock. “And Christmas,” he continues eagerly. So far, it seems like this might go pretty well….

…though I’m thinking that we might have to quiet down the household a little…actually, I’m hoping that she might quiet it down a bit 🙂 !!

Sometimes I wonder “what am I going to write about this week?” And then, there always seems to be something….always another adventure!

On the lighter side….

Posted on October 6, 2014 by middleofthemadness

I decided the last couple posts were a bit on the “heavy” side, so I thought I’d lighten myself up a bit this week. This past Saturday, I stumbled downstairs in that I-wish-I-was-still-sleeping haze and pulled out my phone to connect with a friend and ask a question. I quickly put it away realizing that at 7:12 on a Saturday morning, few people really wanted to hear from me. It left me pondering a simple question – when it is “appropriate” to call or text a parent? (And really, to be honest, as a very strong introvert, texting is always preferred for me!)

To answer that simple question, I spent a bit of time learning Word functions that I often don’t use. Here’s my advice (click on it to enlarge):

And then after inviting three additional young boys over for a “Steelers Party” on Sunday, I pondered my complete lack of energy as the evening waned.

This imperfect correlation is, of course, based on scientific and rigorous study and I solely hope to warn other parents of the dangers of this imbalance. I’m hoping someone wants to take my three boys for next Sunday’s afternoon game! Let me know.

Self-emptying

Posted on September 30, 2014 by middleofthemadness

Funny how you won’t hear words for a long time…and then twice in one day. Funny how the concept of “self-emptying” seems to be synonymous with parenting. The preacher used it in an example yesterday morning and then my friend who has 4 boys of similar ages of mine used it as we rested on blankets at Raccoon Creek State Park while the boys splashed in ice-cold fall water (good for you, knuckle heads!).

You know how you watch your red needle slide past the “E” on your car and you calculate based on prior experience that you have 20-30 more miles to go? Running on fumes and yet you’re still running?

That’s what I was doing last week – running on fumes….after I thought I was already at Empty. I went way past Empty on Tuesday when the third or fourth email arrived about how “difficult” my boys were being in their nice private Christian school. When the kindergarten teacher called to see if we could have a conference with the principal because Mr. Ornery was in fact being….well, Ornery. When the poor 5-year-old boy had landed on Red on the Traffic Light system (and the floodgates seemed to have opened up). Well, I lay into him as soon as he popped “innocently” into the van in the carpool line:

“What do you mean you were on red?!?”
“What do you mean you’re not listening to your teacher?!?”
“What do you mean you’re refusing to do your work?!?”
“How could you stand in front of the class being a goof pretending you’re writing on the board in marker instead of chalk?! And then you’re going to make the chalk screech?!?”
“And you pulled down your pants?!?”
“By golly, BOY – you gonna be on RED at school, you’re gonna be HURTING at home!”

By the time we got home….and the typically bouncing boy sobbed as he slunk into time out (while I was still on the phone with his teacher, mind you)….he probably thought his world had ended right then and there.

Well, mine had. We picked up the second-grader from chess club an hour later and I laid into him too. “What are you so mad at me for?” he asks.

Could it possibly be because:

“STG had a very difficult day today”
“STG was defiant and disruptive in class.”
“STG put his head down and flatly refused to work.”
“STG should NOT have any gaming time. It’s very important to be firm and consistent.”
“Anger seems to be STG’s most authentic mood.”
“STG almost constantly makes noises like a whale song in the back of the room, which do not seem to be intentional.”
“I really do need you to have a conversation with STG about his behavior. He needs to understand rules and consequences.”

By this point, I was banging kitchen cabinets to check to make sure that they will in fact break if you give it just the right slam! I had sent both boys to time-out and gratefully let my sister “talk” to them about why Mommy might be so angry. I had very few tears left to burn down my face. I headed out of the door to take one of those “I completely give up and I am not your mother” walks when my mom arrived with my youngest….and I sucked in a big breath and welcomed him home. Self-emptying.

I wasn’t mad at the boys. I was mad at myself…..for possibly picking a school for them…that might not actually be right for them. I was mad at myself for possibly making a mistake. I was mad at myself for not knowing the “right answer.” I was mad at myself for being mad at them and at myself.

I was Empty.

I was exhausted.

I had done the week of guilt. I no longer could process the constant emails interrupting my office work to inform me that my boys were “not listening to the instructions the first time.”

I couldn’t figure out how to advise the sweet young kindergarten teacher how to draw the line for Mr. Ornery and change her “reward” system so she didn’t keep rewarding his obnoxious class clown behavior.

I couldn’t figure out how to handle Super Tall Guy’s teacher’s sharp tone of annoyance in her emails.

I wanted to know that these teachers and school were going to come alongside me and partner in this journey of growing healthy boys (not just compliant boys). I wanted to know if they actually had a sense of developmentally appropriate expectations. I wanted to know if they actually loved the boys. I don’t have peace about any of that yet.

So, I need someone to open a “boys’ school” in this area. And I need it Pretty Darn Quick! Let me know when you have it ready!

Hitting the inevitable wall of failure along the journey of parenting …

Posted on September 21, 2014 by middleofthemadness

A week of “heavy boots” for me. Both boys are apparently struggling at school. Super Tall Guy seems to be having a particularly severe time….and after a string of emails and phone calls from teachers, I hit the wall.

Sometimes as a mother you struggle just to breathe.

Oh…it happens quite a bit, actually. I didn’t know that. Before. Now I do.

The tears burn hot in the eyes and threaten to escape onto the apex of the cheeks.

The heart aches as it wordlessly pumps life-giving energy into a body temporarily unwilling to accept it.

The brain screams “failure” from deep caverns within.

Failure…

And you sit

Washed in emotion

Lost in contemplation

Crushed in fear

How could you be such a failure?

How could you?

The evidence seems to mount up so clear

Arguing against you

And yet….

Sometimes…. it takes a few moments to pull back

To look up

To step away

To see that all the little pieces jumbling towards failure

Pointing towards failure

All the little pieces….

Are in fact….just little pieces

And apart they are manageable and will dissipate.

Do not let them congeal and yell failure.

Do not listen.

You are mom.

You are strong.

You will rise again.

And so will they.

Make way for the GUILT

Posted on September 14, 2014 by middleofthemadness

I know that most people dread Monday mornings….the back to work routine… the end of rest and relaxation. But I secretly don’t mind Mondays because they signal the end to harried weekends. It’s almost impossible to have any semblance of “relaxation” on the weekend – there’s always one more fight to call truce for, one more cup of water to get (come on, 3-year-old, reach the sink already, would ya?), one more spill to wipe up. But Monday? Monday morning I get to sit down at my grown-up desk, reach for a cup of coffee (that is still warm), and think about….ah….ADULT stuff (as well as wonder if I packed the quarter for milk in the lunch box, if Super Tall Guy is behaving at school, if I remembered to pay the day care bill….fleeting, fleeting worries…back to work).

Sometimes, I even feel just a tad bit guilty for liking Monday mornings when everyone else is moaning. But that’s only because it’s clear that as a parent, you will feel guilty about almost absolutely every single decision you make and even ones that you didn’t really make.

My latest parent guilt trip took off last week. For the first time, I had to go away for a business trip (and was actually looking forward to a quiet evening alone in a hotel room!). I kept the upcoming 36 hour getaway low key early in the week and the boys said goodbye pretty easily Thursday morning (though Mr. Ornery slept through the kiss I planted on his forehead). By Thursday night, however, I was talking with Super Tall Guy at an hour past his bedtime and listening to his weeping, sobbing cries of “I need you here, Mommy?….Why did you leave me?…..There is no meeting more important than me, Mommy.” (You know it’s a tear-jerker when it’s weeping, sobbing crying!). Of course, he was in the excellent hands of my sister and mother, and yet I felt pretty bad about leaving him and for “burdening” my family with the care of my three rambunctious temperamental boys (though I confess, the king-size bed was pretty sweet without my usual 90-pound son encroaching upon my space!).

And this came on the heels of my wallowing guilt for Super Tall’s two-weeks of nonstop saliva-spitting throat pain after his tonsillectomy. So I’m feeling a bit fragile in the parenting department right about now.

The problem with parenting is that you feel guilty no matter what. I yelled at my kids too much today. I put them in daycare rather than having Mary Poppins nanny at home. I work rather than be a stay-at-home mom (even though I’m single and have to be the bread-winner!). I fed them McDonald’s two days in a row. I put the blue lid on the green sippy cup. I forgot the water bottle for the soccer game. I rocked him to sleep. I didn’t rock him to sleep. I left the chocolate bar within reach. I told him a thousand times not to touch the hot pan – he still touched it. I snapped at the three-year-old for wetting his pants….and at the five-year-old for wetting his pants. I bought a Nerf gun. I let him sleep over at a friend’s house when he was already tired. I only read one book before bed. I thought the 32 stickers on the belly were cute…until we tried to take them off.

I missed church today….again. I didn’t have the energy to battle Super Tall Guy and his argument that he’s practically at church all week by attending a Christian school. Instead we had a “quiet” morning of indoor soccer goalie practice (nothing shattered) and then headed to the zoo. It was a perfect sunny day and I sat watching them scurry through the mole rat maze. Peace. And I didn’t even play with my phone – I just rested in the moment. A mother bouncing a ten-month old sat next to me and we struck up that typical “hey, your baby is cute and boys are WAAAAY different than girls” parenting conversation. She confessed that they had also missed church despite having gotten dressed and ready….but just didn’t get there. I shared that I had also given in and decided I could be a less-stressed, more patient mother by enjoying just a bit of time with them this morning as well. Before parting, she said, “Thank you for the affirmation. Sometimes I feel so guilty.”

Sometimes we have to remember that we are being the best parent that we can be in the moment that we have. I know that so many times I want to have done better. So many times I wish there was a rewind button, even if only 5 minutes back, to have a chance to do it over and do it “right” this time. But often I have to remember that there usually isn’t a “right” way to do it. There are so many factors at play – what I’m bring to the situation, what the kid is bringing and the context that we’re in.

Sometimes, I’m a “good enough” parent. I’ll never be a perfect parent. There is no perfect person….no perfect kid. But the fact that I care enough to think about it – that I care enough to experience guilt (on a pretty regular basis) – that it matters to me….that’s what makes me a pretty good parent. The willingness to try my best despite suffering “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” of parenting – that’s what matters. There will always be guilt. There will always be a next time. May we continue to encourage each other to be the best we can be in the moment…and practice forgiveness.

When Parenting Drop-kicks your Expectations

Posted on September 7, 2014 by middleofthemadness

“Parenting – the hardest job you’ll ever love.” I don’t know, sometimes, it just doesn’t work for me. Sometimes it’s just way harder than I’d like it to be….and I’m not seeing much of the flames of love.

Most of the time, it’s hardest when it spits at and flaunts my expectations for the day. You’d think that with a cumulative “parenting age” of 16 (8 + 5 + 3), I could learn not to have expectations….but no…..I’m still a young and naïve student of erratic, nonsensical, disruptive young boy behavior.

The earliest lessons in false expectations are learned dramatically by all parents in naptime woes. You think you’ve managed to keep the little 3-month-old awake all morning and put him down at 10:00 am so you can catch the Ellen Show…but no….five minutes after you just sit down, right after her dance routine fades into commercials, and…. “waaaah.” Crushing.

You think you’re going to enjoy a nice afternoon at the Museum of Natural History, but you spend the entire time chasing down an escaping two-year-old, cornering him in the bathroom after he’s already wet his pants, and then staring in shock as he drops his knickers in full view to pee on the grass near Dippy the Dinosaur outside. Mind-numbing, drop-kicking parenting.

Then there’s the recent experience with the tonsillectomy where I figured about 4-5 days of ice cream, popsicles and jello and we’d be right back into routine. But no…..two trips to the ER, return trip to the operating room and two weeks of spitting out saliva. Messy, disgusting, worrisome….and so knocking out my expectation.

Parenting…. drop-kicks every expectation, right?!?

But no, I don’t even learn the hard way. Tuesday morning….it’s my birthday….and what do I expect? Silly of me to even think that we could possibly have a peaceful day. Super Tall wakes up beside me and wonders, “Do I get to stay home from school for your birthday?” “No, my dear,” I reply, “I don’t even get to stay home from work!” And since it was the first day back to school after a long holiday weekend, the boys sure weren’t going to work too hard on having a peaceful back-to-school moment just because it was my birthday!

But I out of work a little early to pick them up from the bus and take them out for some ice cream (my treat) …. and that was the end of the peace. Parents picked up Thai food earlier and reheated it for dinner. Boys bounced on and off chairs and screeched and babbled at the table repetitively. Every few minutes another pile of dog poop was gleefully discovered under the table and had to be cleaned up. The wine glass stood untouched. The food was cold by the time it reached my lips. The fight over who was going to blow out the candle (clearly not the birthday girl) was not surprising, of course, and the chaos before the quiet of deep sleep was only a tad more than typical. “Exhausting” is not even an adequate adjective.

My brother called around 8 pm and asked, “So – what’s your resolution for this upcoming year of your life?” Without pause I replied, “Next year – next year on my birthday, I am going to be at a nice restaurant with adult friends enjoying some peace and quiet and a very fine glass of wine!” He seemed surprised. I don’t know why.

In about 50 weeks, I’ll let you know time and location ….and I’m going to expect some good cheer, belly laughs, and a table full of peace and quiet!!

You can hold me to it.

(Of course, this expectation will be dashed by a kid who breaks his arm falling off the top of the minivan at 4:00 pm!)

5 things to do differently next year so that I’m not apologizing again

Posted on August 31, 2014 by middleofthemadness

Because I really do owe my boys a great big huge apology for totally underestimating their amount of stress this week with the start of school. It became pretty clear by school day number 4 when every single person in the house was tantruming in the morning, including me. It was a bit obvious the night before when the 5-yr-old new kindergartener cried every 5 minutes about absolutely everything in big weeping, sobbing tears punctuated by blood-curdling screams.

Yes, it took me three days to become reflective enough to see that the boys were exhausted and I certainly had not done well enough to prepare them nor to help them navigate the huge change of starting school. By the time I got them to bed on day #4, I had myself a little cry-out of emotional exhaustion on my bed (and though I stumble on the “language” in this post about emotionally exhausting mothering, when I read it the next morning, I thought – wow, that’s exactly what I’m thinking!)

I was actually glad there was no school on Friday. I took the “little boys” (ie, Mr. Trouble and the Little Guy) in to day care with Mr. Ornery so that he could “visit” and say hi to his friends again. Then we all just played at home for the morning – the school boys on the computer, me in the weeds – until the afternoon when we explored a new pool (thanks to Pittsburgh Mommy Blog’s mention of it). It was exactly what we all needed. No stress. No worry. Something new and fun. Time on a pool lounge chair for me to just sit for a bit, to breathe. A chance to regroup and become friendly to each other again.

So, today I say:

Super Tall Guy, I am so sorry for being so grumpy with you this week and for not being more patient. You knew you didn’t want to go back to school because “it’s too boring” and “second grade is too hard.” You have changed classrooms, changed teachers, and changed most of your classmates. And to top it all off, your best friend from the past two years is in the other second-grade class. Despite all this, you have “stayed on green” every day, and I haven’t had a call yet from the teacher!, and you haven’t even given (too much) of a fuss about getting ready for school. I shall try to give you a little extra attention this next week and let’s find the fun in second grade.

Mr. Ornery, I owe you a super huge apology for completely underestimating the amount of change you would be going through and how exhausting that would be for you. Your cheerful smile and bouncy energy mask the fact that you’re so nervous inside that you just can’t hold back the tears. Your whole daytime world has changed and Mommy’s just been like, “hey, you’re going to kindergarten now….have fun!” I know – it’s the second time “kindergarten” for me….but it’s the first time for you. I’m sorry. You certainly needed many more cuddles and hugs and explanations than you were getting from me, even with the whole “Kissing Hand” bit. Thanks for being such a brave little boy and for loving your awesome teacher so much (but, um, hey – don’t forget about your Mommy!). I promise to give you much more “lovings” this coming week and find time every day to listen to just you tell me about your day at school.

Hey Little Guy, sorry for kind of forgetting about you…..again. With all the excitement of the brothers going back to “real” school, there certainly wasn’t much hoopla to celebrate that you were also moving to “the big kid class” at your day care center. Yes, you visited it a few times and you always seem to handle transitions well, but maybe your extended and extraordinarily annoying whining fits are just your way of saying “Hey Mom, my life is stressful too, you know! Where’s my attention?!? Hello!!!”

So….to possibly avoid future apologies (yeah, right!), next “Back to School” season, I’m going to try to remember to:

Acknowledge that it’s going to be stressful and tell the boys that. Let them know that they are going to get so tired from meeting new teachers and new friends and old friends and figuring out new classrooms and new seating arrangements and new schedules. They have new desks and new chairs. New backpacks and lunch boxes. New clothes and new shoes. New readings and math and homework. It sure is a whole lot of new at one time – and how many of us like change?!?

Have something fun and special in their lunch boxes every day. Take some time to write a little note or draw a little picture. I’m not super creative like some parents, but I would like to do something a little more meaningful than a hurriedly packed sandwich.

Celebrate the end of summer and the beginning of the school year by having some one-on-one time with each boy. I thought about it a bit late this year and asked Super Tall Guy to go out to breakfast last week…and he wanted The Flipper to join us. I wish I had done the same with the other boys.

Stock up on a little more patience and a lot more sleep! I definitely needed to be in bed earlier myself each night to be more rested and ready to handle their emotions. I had a hard enough time managing my own emotions and feelings feed off each other like wildfire!

Slather the boys with as many hugs and kisses as I can get away with. After all, they are still young enough that they’re letting me hug and kiss them before they walk into the school and I know this isn’t going to last long.

In fact, none of these days and years and moments of time last long, so I don’t want to live in regret. We’ll have a re-do next year and next week!

From Heavy Boots to Hope for my Biracial Boys

Posted on August 25, 2014 by middleofthemadness

Years ago I read Jonathan Safran Foer’s book “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,” set in the time of 9/11 from the perspective of a 9-year-old boy who lost his father. It was such a powerful book and one that I was glad to read, despite the tears. I have always remembered little Oskar and the way he described his intensely sad emotions as “heavy boots.” That phrase rings in my heart on many different occasions.

This week has been one of heavy boots – from the Middle East to the Ebola outbreak to the death of another African American teen and the tension that followed. I am faced with the reality of how fragile life is and how one can get comfortable expecting a “tomorrow” when there really is no guarantee of one.

There’s no tomorrow for Michael Brown. I will not pretend to know all the facts and realities of what happened in that scenario. But I will say that it cuts to my core – in sadness for parents who suddenly lost their precious son and in heightened worry in my heart….for my boys are brown. Heavy boots upon my soul.

This is one of those posts that I’m not really sure how to write. My brain still swirls around this subject. I’ve read posts from an African American women pleading with her white friends to do more. I’ve read posts from a white mother acknowledging the white privilege her children have. I sit and ponder – where am I fitting in? – a white woman raising biracial boys.

The year I adopted Super Tall Guy was the year Barack Obama became president. I’ve often thought that rather than celebrating our “First African American President,” we should be celebrating our “First Biracial President.” We should celebrate the fact that families can unite. There can be peace and harmony.

Yet often there isn’t. A discord simmers below the surface until the spark and then it blasts wide open with an ugly face. We’re shocked. Outraged. It’s too ugly and we want the lid back on. Cover it, and yet it’s not over. It’s not over until we deal with the truth in turmoil beneath.

I don’t know how to do this fully, but I’m seeking. I’m seeking ways to help my sons understand that the color of their skin will actually influence the way people look at them and respond to them. We’re just in the early stages of the boys recognizing a difference. This summer at the pool, 5-yr-old Mr. Ornery looked around and said, “Mom, there’s not too many brown skin people here.” True. And sometimes we put our arms side by side and Super Tall Guy says, “Look how white Mommy’s skin is. Why do you get freckles?”

Two years ago, Super Tall Guy learned about Martin Luther King, Jr. in kindergarten. We bounced down the staircase of the school talking about the day and all he had learned. I asked him in the course of many questions, “So, Super Tall, are you black or white?” “White,” he responded as he jumped the last two steps to the landing.

You see, though his skin is browner than mine, he is growing up in a “white world.” That’s my world and that of my family. Yet I am conscious of the fact that he is biracial – all three are despite how light or dark their skin is – and that matters. I look for diversity for the boys – in their school, in their neighborhood, in our church. Yet I know that I need to do more for deep in my heart, I worry about what they will face in this world. Heavy boots.

I need to learn more. I need to talk to others more. And I need to talk to my sons. I havet yet to say, “Son, because of your skin, people are going to judge you and make assumptions about you and treat you differently…..and they won’t do the same to Mr. Trouble because he’s white.” Hard.

Maybe I’m hoping that one day I won’t have to say it. Maybe I’m hoping that someday it won’t make a difference to anyone. Maybe I’m hoping my boys can keep growing up in the Mommy-cocoon of protection. It sure would be nice, but I also know this world is not going to change enough in the next year or five years or even ten years to spare me the difficult talk. And it’s not going to change enough to spare my boys some very painful experiences. I ache already for them.

Yet part of that world change has to begin with me. And you. And everyone. Together.

A change in the way we look at each other, whatever our differences. A change in the way we respond based on our judgments.

So when you see me out with my kids, don’t assume the “Black Baby Daddy” is at home. Talk to me and learn about this single woman who has adopted a set of brothers.

And don’t look at my sister’s African American kid and assume the poor little guy lost his Mommy when in fact he is standing right beside the woman who loves him more than the moon. Ask and learn about The Flipper’s challenging beginning and how far he’s come and his hopes for the future. He is amazing. My sister is amazing.

Please….don’t assume. Don’t judge. Begin the conversation. Open up. Be real. Invite others into your home and into your life. Share the fears, the heartaches, the pain. See beyond the surface and honor the person within. Lift each other up. Love. For we all need to be about the business of changing the world. There’s no sitting around hoping.

I don’t have all the answers, but it matters to me.

Lift the heavy boots.

Then he bled….

Posted on August 17, 2014 by middleofthemadness

Every few months I settle into my bed a little before exhausted-brain time and write a short “letter” to the boys in a journal for them. I know that I’m not going to remember everything that they do. I know that I will forget so many details of their lives and will regret that. So I try to chronicle some of the “momentous” moments. (Naturally, boy number three keeps getting the short end of the straw….same way that there are fewer professional photos of him! Why are some clichés so real?!).

Last night I picked up the pen to tell Mr. Ornery how exciting it is that he finished his “season” at the day care center. He has been there almost every single week of his life since the age of three months. There were times that he waved good-bye to me, times that he needed just one more kiss, times that he needed to run and jump into my arms, and times that I thrust him into Miss Kathy’s arms, knowing that her embrace would soothe him and he’d soon be on with his day. But there were many days that I walked out of the door with tears in my eyes, pausing before I could drive on. Being a working mom with my precious children with someone else every day was not something I had dreamed of. And yet, I also knew that they were well-loved, well-cared for and that they were growing and learning and thriving. And so….I would whisper comforting words to other mothers as they walked out with glistening eyes as well.

Last night I also wanted to write to Super Tall Guy to tell him in his own private journal (rather than the Open Letter) about his experience over the past two weeks. Yet as I chronicled the events and glowed about his bravery and how much I had been worried about him, I realized that I just couldn’t put the emotions into words. For almost two weeks, I have been wound so tense. I have lived with a baseline level of worry and stress and anxiety about my boy’s recovery.

How could I describe the panicked look upon his face when he bolted upright in bed at 9:02 pm last Monday? How could I tell him my fear when streaks of blood stained the tissues that he spit into? The shake of his head when I told him we were going to the hospital? The wide-eyed gazes of his younger brothers who had aroused with the sudden change in energy level in the room? The concern in my heart as I chatted with his ENT doctor during my almost red-light-running rush to the hospital? The determination in my voice as I announced to the Emergency Room attendant that he was bleeding after his T&A and we needed to go straight back?

The panic in my stomach as I watched him spit out clots of blood and saliva? The fear as they wheeled him into the operating room even though the on-call attending physician hadn’t made it to the building yet? The beat of my steps pacing an empty surgical waiting room at 11:15 at night? The silence in my response to the cleaning staff’s amicable question, “How are you?” (I had no answer….I had no idea how I was….).

The tears that eventually escaped in staccato bursts as I tried to pull myself together. The texts sent into the air to reach out to family and friends for prayers. Sister and mother who stayed awake throughout the night for electronic updates. The kind response from a friend over an hour away willing to come to the hospital (“You shouldn’t be alone now.”) The warmth of the hug from a nearby friend who did jump in her car and sat with me for a bit….catching up on family happenings as if we had just met up for a cup of coffee. Plain joy and gratefulness to once again look down at my son, my boy, my angel post bleed ….sleeping once again in the recovery room.

All of that and more, I just couldn’t write for him. Not last night. Not in his journal.

But maybe….someday…..he might read the writings of his mother who sends out her heart to friends and family across the void. Because it is through connecting that we are real and through loving each other that we carry on.

For now, I hug him every moment I can and whisper “I love you” so much more than I did.

And I rejoice in the cheeseburger that broke his 11 day fast and the smile that skirts his face as he jumps on his bike once more. Every day stronger. Every day more alive.

Every day more lovely and surrounded in love.