Month: March 2011

Quote of the Day

“Baseball?  It’s just a game – as simple as a ball and a bat.  Yet, as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes.  It’s a sport, business – and sometimes even religion.”  ~Ernie Harwell, “The Game for All America,” 1955

The Annual Review

On Tuesday, I met with Moose’s teachers and therapists (and the school psychologist), to review his progress of the last year, and set goals for him for next year (Kindergarten!).

This is the third annual review I’ve attended for him, plus the meeting where we set goals for him before he even started school, when he wasn’t yet three. While I’m thrilled with the progress he’s made, for some reason, these meetings always make me nervous. At first, I couldn’t even identify why I had a knot in my stomach all day, and then it hit me–I was worrying over his review. Worried about what they’d have to say about his progress and behavior (which is ridiculous, because it’s always all good), worried about what the goals would look like for the next year, worried at just the thought of him starting Kindergarten.

I really didn’t need to worry. The reviews of his progress were excellent. He’s meeting most of his goals at least 75% of the time, and many of them 90-100%. Everyone who has worked with him commented not only on his achievements and perseverance, but on his attitude–what a funny, sweet little boy he is. His teacher even got a little teary-eyed at one point talking about him, which almost got me started, but also made me feel really good. The goals for next year, while daunting when written out on paper, are not outside the realm of his capability. Even talking about Kindergarten wasn’t terrible, although I did cry a bit at home over the thought of him being in school full days next year.

I’m going to be dealing with these meetings every year, and I’m sure that I’ll always feel some apprehension beforehand, but with every good meeting that I have, I’m hoping that anxiety for the next one diminishes a bit!

Two Weeks

We knew about our surprise baby for about two weeks before we found out that the pregnancy had ended.

It’s now been two weeks since we received that terrible news.

It’s funny how different the same length of time can seem, depending on your perspective.

Those first two weeks went by so quickly. We were full of plans and dreams and excitement. There were so many things to think about and talk about and hope for. For two fleeting weeks, we were, as a family, on top of the world. It was kind of like Christmas–no matter how much you want to slow down and enjoy it, the happiness just makes time fly by.

These last two weeks, in contrast, have been interminable. The weight of our sorrow, the disruption to our normal routine, the knowledge that someone will now always be missing from our family, have made time pass so very slowly. It’s like a bad dream you know you have to wake up from, and yet can’t escape as quickly as you want. Only this has been no dream, and no amount of waking up will make the hurt go away.

But, life does have to get back to normal. Routines need to be reestablished. Work has to be done. And we’ll carry on. But I imagine that ache will never totally go away, and that knowledge of our loved, but absent, family member will always be with us. There will still be moments of sadness, but the joy of everyday life will outnumber those moments. Just as spring always follows winter, bringing light and color and happiness, happiness will follow our sorrow. And we’ll continue to carry on.

No One Else Can Do It For You

I thought this was a beautiful observation, not only on breastfeeding, but motherhood itself. Also, a bittersweet reminder of moments I won’t be sharing with our lost baby. The most striking line in the whole thing?

As with so much of motherhood in this mortal vale, the burden is joy; and the joy, burden.

The rest is equally eloquent–read on, and see what I mean:

“Here’s the thing about breastfeeding: No one else can do it for you. When your infant nursling is hungry, you must feed it. It doesn’t matter if you yourself are hungry, or tired, or in a very inconvenient public place, or in the very crucial middle of making supper. You must stop what you are doing and feed the baby. And if this is your first baby, or if the baby is newish, or you are shyish, even the “publicity” of a room containing friends and relatives may be too public for you, and you must withdraw to the solitary confinement and possibly painful appeasement of an impatient, ungrateful guzzler. (And if you are at times employed away from the baby, you must still make provision to feed the baby, likely necessitating that your breaks are consumed by quality time with uncomfortable apparatus.)

But! Here’s the thing about breastfeeding, that over the course of three subsequent nurslings, I’ve come to discover: No one else can do it for you. No one else gets to see that contented curve of her cheek, just so, in the moonlight. For you alone is reserved that first amazed look when, at several weeks of age, she finally becomes aware that she is not exactly dining solo: “Hey! You’re here too?! ” You get to see the chubby legs kick in excited anticipation of a satisfying meal. Yours are the little sideways glances and quick grins between gulps. When she’s tired or strung-out and no one else can comfort her, you can have her nestling in shuddering contentment within seconds. If you feel like she’s been passed around enough at a family gathering, or if you need a break from the family gathering, you can plead baby’s nutritional needs and seek a quiet corner of escape.

No one else can do it for you. As with so much of motherhood in this mortal vale, the burden is joy; and the joy, burden. Some days, the balance tips toward joy, and some weeks, the burden seems likely to break the balance altogether. Often, it’s just pretty darn hard to tell the difference, but grace gives us enough glimpses to keep us going until the Day when things are finally sorted out for good. Thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift!”

via Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition: Random thoughts of a lactational nature.

Winter? or Spring?

This has been a very confusing weekend.

It looks like winter–snow covering the trees, wintry mix falling from the sky, roads kind of slushy…

But are those flowers under the snow on this bush?

And tiny, brand new, green leaves on this tree?

And this poor, snow-covered magnolia…I don’t think magnolia flowers are used to weather liked this…

And the daffodils…they could barely hold their heads up under the weight of the snow.

Yep, I’m officially confused. On Wednesday, we were excited about the buds starting to open on our cherry tree, and at least one of my children wore shorts.

Yesterday, we broke out the winter coats again, and now we’re wondering if the trees will even finish blooming this year, or if the hard freeze will bring an end to our beautiful spring.

March weather can always be counted on to be totally weird!

Well, if you’re GOING to have snow in March…

…surely there cannot be a better day for it than the Feast of the Annunciation.  Gods little reminder that Christmas is but nine months away! “The angel Gabriel from heaven came, with wings as drifted snow, with eyes as flame…”Joyous feast day, one and all!

via Weedons Blog: Well, if youre GOING to have snow in March….

Silly Girls

I stumbled across the girls together the other day, and they were being so cute and silly…but of course, they stopped before I could take a picture.

There were sitting on the couch together. Bunny was reading…not out loud, just to herself. And it wasn’t even a book with pictures. But Ladybug was sitting right with her, paying attention as though she was reading the story, too. Meanwhile, Bunny was absent-mindedly twirling Ladybug’s hair…she usually twirls her own hair while reading, but Ladybug was right there, and her hair is longer…it sure was funny to see.

The truly hilarious part, though, was that it was Ladybug’s job to turn the page for Bunny. She can’t read yet, of course, so she kept asking, “Is it time yet?” and waiting anxiously for her chance to help.

They’re so funny together…it makes me wonder what they’ll be like as teenagers!