Water and Sand

Living near the beach -- as in a five minute drive -- is heaven 
to me.  I can easily make my way to the water and sand and 
have that instant moment of calm.

What is it that makes us moms require many of these moments 
of calm?  Are we like everybody else who hits the wall of life 
several times a day?  Are we being dramatic?  Or, are we predisposed to a daily dose of mini breakdowns?

"Wake up, guys!"  Down the stairs to wake up the other.  "No!  Too tired!"  Up the stairs to 
wake him up again.  "Can I have eggs for breakfast?"  two second coffee refill.  "I said get up 
please!"  This goes on for at least ten minutes before the boys are up and running.  

Up and running:  "I can't find my blue shirt."  Sip of coffee, damn it!  It's cold.  "Mom, where 
are my P.E. clothes?"  Because their eyes don't work until we get into the car, I go and hand 
him his P.E. clothes.   Eggs cooking, toast toasting.  "Can I have some orange juice, please?"  
Ahh, I like the please.

"Come on, Mom.  We're going to be late!"  Really?  Really?  Keys in hand, coffee cup in 
hand, at the door waiting - waiting...you get it.  Back packs?  I ask because, please, I have 
to!  "Oh yeah,  up the stairs one goes to retrieve back pack.  Yes.  I'm just brilliant!  

Bus stop.  Out of car, "love you, Mom."  Again, I'm loved and brilliant!

Ahh, there's the beach across the street.  Calling me.  Calling me.  All the running up and 
down, making breakfast...I grab my cup, feet set in the sand while the water soothes 
my feet.  My moment of calm.

Sip of coffee...coffee cold!  Damn it!

A Late Bloomer

I'm not sure if parents with children who have issues ever get to say, "we're done.  He's grown out of it." But if I could, I'd be so very happy.

For a long time, I was not able to really answer the question, "and how is your son doing?" with "he's great!" I couldn't because every week, at least three times or so, there was some kind of melt down. I rolled in it as in rolling in crap as opposed to those who roll with it.

I've always said to myself that I was a late bloomer; boy friend later, got married later, had children later...so why is it so strange to say that after ten years of being mommy with a child who has "stuff" that I just now "get it?"

So many times I will see a child have a melt down and immediately send my empathy to the parent. It's not about whether their child has special needs, it's about the moment and therefore we send our thoughtfulness their way.

Why is it then that after all these years of meltdowns and after my child has had a disappointment, I am now having my "ah hah" moment of understanding? What the "bleep" took so long?

Recently, I was in my car while my child didn't see the "big picture." I was late picking him up to attend his after school volunteer program and he was upset. He was now going to be late and that put him in a downward spiral. I tried to explain that sometimes people run late and with that, we have to roll with it. 

He came close to a big melt down, but instead he had a fit -- a small one and then expressed his anger. I drove home and upon a gaze to my son through the rear view mirror, it hit me!  I saw my child agonize and he couldn't find his way out.

My usual reaction would have been yelling because I didn't like his reaction, or I would have fallen apart too and our ship would have gone down -- again. But this time I saw him. I saw him in the rear view mirror struggling emotionally. I saw my child not seeing what most of of us see as it not being a big deal. 

I gave in with all my love for him and he felt it. As if that heavy rock that usually sits on my shoulder, fell off his shoulder this time. I truly can't put it into words the look on his face when I asked, "are you okay now?" And he nodded yes.

My child will probably always have his issues or "stuff." It is my job to keep educating people that he's not being a jerk on purpose. Instead, he's trying to find his way to the top again. You see, he's not a late bloomer like me. He may not ever bloom.

But hey, I'm still a Warrior Mom.  Are you?