It’s the wee hours of a Saturday morning. I should be sleeping, instead I’m restless, wide-eyed. There’s a winter storm a-comin’. I haven’t had a minute to put two thoughts together since school started in the fall. We moved the exact same week. I thought it was going to kill me. Maybe it almost did.

I remember learning what happens to the brain when a person goes into survival mode. I was told in advance, but I learned the hardest lessons by living it for more than a year. No, I’m not talking about 2020, I’m talking about 13 years ago. I knew what would happen when the Pandemic hit. I knew that we would act and process things automatically based on our fight or flight response. And I knew what would happen when I was no longer in the survival situation. My brain and the brains of the rest of my family, would begin to process all the emotions that had been shoved to the back of our minds. That’s right. We don’t get to skip those. And the longer you are in fight or flight, or the younger you are (children) the longer it takes to mentally regurgitate all the packed away junk and heal. We will feel emotions disassociated from our current situation at times. Specifically, we may wake up feeling angry or sad and have no idea why. The important things to remember are that it is normal, to ask for understanding, and that it will pass. And someday, soon we all hope, we will have our new normal.

Sometime this week I  began to experience a little bit of non-fight or flight state. My body has healed enough and we are settled enough in our new home that my mind can start processing. And of course, it turns to concern about our animals and the coming subzero temps, and fretting about our last remaining bee hive. It’s my favorite hive, a swarm catch from the feral colony that used to live in a hollow tree in our old backyard. They are the Bob Ross of bees. Always chill, and always surprising and challenging us with their creative comb building art. They are, in fact, happy little bees.

I can’t control the weather. Fretting and fussing will do them no good. We can put up a wind break since we have no trees. We can be confident that we left enough honey on the hive. We can trust their feral genetics and the fact that they have survived many winters with no beekeepers. But still, I worry. I’ll be glad when the blizzard is over. I’ll be glad when the days turn warm and I hope that I will still see them bobbing back and forth, up and down getting ready for new flowers.

Jesus told us not to worry. So for the next few days I will pray for my little bees to make it through another winter and for us to make it past last years challenges and to our new spring here on our new homestead.

Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

I’m sitting here trying to type words. I had a great idea. That is until it vaporized when one of the last 29 questions or 36 weird noises that my kids have made. 8-year-old girls and 14-year-old boys are weird. And I’m not alone much these days. It makes me realize how important solitude is. It’s not only best for me, but I can be a better mama when I am able to find it regularly. Or, if not regularly at least more often that I can. As my patience dwindles at the excessive plastic baggie rustling coming from the kitchen.

#StayingAtHome has taught me lots of lessons. I learned how to Zoom for the first time, I’ve learned how to practice therapy online and probably the most important, it has helped me identify concrete needs and set some boundaries. The first two, while not instantly mastered, were easy compared to that last. When it comes to identifying my needs and establishing actual boundaries with other people, I’m pretty terrible. I tend to push those needs further and further aside neglecting them for the urgent and immediate needs that face me as soon as I wake up. Think reheating that first cup of coffee 3 times before finally giving up on it. And for me, very much and introvert, being alone is critical.

My discipleship group leader was talking about her need for this. She said that it is even difficult for her to find solitude even if there is anyone in the house with her, even if they aren’t popping in and asking for something (else) to eat or fighting over the remote.

I realized that this is also true for me. When anyone is at home I’m constantly listening, smelling, scanning the figurative horizon for something that needs my attention. Mothers are wired that way. We need to be, but I also think about how the momma cows would go off grazing with the rest of the herd while the calves were left in the care of a younger cow or heifer. They would be happily munching in the best pasture while the calves would be up in the corner laying around or playing. She knew that they were safe and that she didn’t have to worry about them for a sweet, solitary meal. When she returned her calf would run up and start nursing, happily swishing his tail. She had had a rest, her bag had a chance to fill up and they were both better for it. This takes a lot of assertiveness. I’m bad at that when it comes to my own needs. I have to remember that their feelings might be hurt, but it’s better for all of us.

Some readers might be offended by being compared to cows. I guess there is some negative connotation floating around out there. But this is really none of that. Those momma cows are peaceful and they know what to do when they are drained and need a few moments to recharge.

Finding that time to recharge is more challenging now than ever. It’s already taken me 3 times as long to write this much because I’ve had to: pour more milk, go see what all the yelling outside was about (it was nothing serious this time), go find a child who had wandered outside, engage in a legal battle about how we aren’t getting the Barbies out of storage right now, and ask someone to be excused because drinking fruit punch is apparently an audible activity.

These aren’t even daily occurances. All this happens within an hour and there are easily twelve of those during the day that moms have to contend with.

So here are some things we have implemented and/or enforced a little in the past couple of weeks so I don’t lose it and blow gremlin slime all over the house.

• Everyone eats at the table and we all wait until the others are seated to begin (this means that our son now fixes his plate very last)
• Bedtime. Because I need to not see or hear them by the end of the day
• Mandatory Recess. My words “Don’t come inside until I call you for supper.”
• Limited screen time. This was always true, but my kids get along remarkably well when they are playing games or playing outside and fight like cats and dogs over the remote.
• Arts and Crafts. This includes making play dough. Although I’m present for some of it, I choose projects that they can do mostly by them selves and that will keep them busy for a good while.
• Insisting that they make their own food if it is within their ability. This mostly applies to our daughter. There are a few things that we help with, she’s eight. Like helping with a full milk jug.
• Adjusting my expectations. I always add this and I’ve gotten more negative comments on this one than anything. But it’s true, I need to be able to set reasonable expectations for my own productivity. It’s just not going to be as good most days. And I need to give myself grace.
• Being faithful to my need to get outside alone. Giving myself permission to rest and recharge for a few minutes so that my grace bank fills up and I can be nice to my people again. It takes discipline and assertiveness. Areas that are really hard for me. And if I take my own advice when my students tell me something is hard, “Well, we found something we need to work on.”

What are you doing to maintain your balance, whether it is connecting more or carving out alone time?

I don’t have much to say that hasn’t already been said on the internet somewhere, but if you stumble on this post today, I hope it helps you. I hope you know that you aren’t alone and that we will get through this and be stronger and better because of it.

In Christ,

Amber

We were outside a few minutes ago. It was 10 o’clock and getting pretty dark. We saw a flash in the sky to the east. Then more and more. We came in since our yard has a track record of lightening strikes. Now, I’m sitting inside hearing the thunder roll in. I love thunderstorms, mostly. Less when they send 30 million volts into my big oak tree and flower bed shattering limbs, bricks and concrete. Maybe I’ll post more on that update to our landscaping later.

We’ve finally settled into the summer routine. I love not driving an hour round trip to drop the kids off at school. I love even more that they spend two nights a week at my mother’s. Bliss.

I suppose storms always make me pensive. Since I recall that I made a tiny list of things that I’d like to post about, and the first that my mind settled on was dyslexia, dyslexia it shall be.

I have far more frustrations and questions than answers when it comes to dyslexia. Even though my credentials say that I must have a wealth of knowledge on the subject including coping strategies and activities to improve skills, I feel dumb on most days when it comes to my own child. All that stuff is hard to put into practice when your kid can’t seem to do any of his every day tasks without getting steps out of sequence.

I’ve read that a lot of people think that dyslexia just means that a person can’t read. In fact, the word means reading dysfunction. Since most dyslexic kids struggle with reading on some level, and reading is the most visible affected deficit during school hours, the misconception is understandable.

The truth is, that not being able to read is just a symptom. It’s the result of not being able to match sounds with letters and not being able to get those sounds in the right order. Putting things in the right order = sequencing. Sequencing deficits affect every single thing we do every day. Everything we do from tying our shoes to fixing a PB&J requires steps that have to be done in the right order. A break down of those steps and you have peanut butter on the counter and the bread sack lying there open and shoe laces flopping getting the ends frayed as he walks back to the living room (against the rules) to eat his sandwich.

At school, kids with sequencing issues may have problems with reading, writing (including handwriting) and math. Yep, that covers just about all they do in school. All of them involve complex sequences of steps that must be done in the correct order, not to mention the classroom procedures of turning in works, going through the lunch line etc.

The answer to correct sequencing issues? It’s not as much accommodation as it is practice. And practice. And MORE practice. Developing actions until they become automatic just like a quarterback practicing throwing that perfect pass.

As a mom, I have to bear the brunt of all the crankiness that comes from asking for all that practice on things that he isn’t particularly good at. I mean, we like to do things we are good at. That’s a fairly common human trait. On the other hand, most of us get tired of having to constantly work on things that we are really terrible at. And, honestly, I get tired of having to remind the kid of the SAME exact thing EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. By tired, I mean the bone deep emotional exhaustion.

I don’t have and answer on how to ease the weariness that comes with parenting a child with a learning disability. Not a good one anyway. The only one I have is, I can’t give up today. And tomorrow the answer will be the same.

The thunderstorm is already gone. I wish life calmed down that quickly.

I don’t talk about it much anymore. I didn’t even know there was a day for remembering pregnancy loss. It’s been a long time — twelve years, in fact. My days of remembering are usually December 26th and March 22nd.

Today, I saw a shared post that said that October 15th is Pregnancy & Loss Awareness day. But, I felt like today would be a good day to post since I haven’t in so long. I finally have a day off from school, though I probably should be doing homework.

Like I said, it’s been twelve years. I’m still a little sad after all this time. I think more than anything the time has allowed me to realize that the loss was more real when I was going through it. Sure, I felt it. I thought my heart had been ripped out. But it took years to see that there is hope even in the loss of a child. And even more years to finally understand that I lost more than a tiny life that I was carrying. Two lifetimes of daydreams and expectations disappeared instantly. That was when the grief came full circle.

The hope came, of course with our third pregnancy. Fear came too. But before that came a person who taught me what prayer was really supposed to be. With the simple gesture of giving me a slender pink book, she opened the door for me to tap into God’s grace, and freedom from fear. Just by reading over his promises and committing them to my heart.

The verses that I learned are still some of my favorites. Over time, speaking his truths changed my life… and healed my heart.

Psalm 137:3

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

If you are grieving a loss today, let me tell you, first, that you are not alone, and that you are not being silly or over-dramatic. Second, I want you to know that there is hope for healing even without all the answers. It’s OK to be angry and confused. There are people out there who understand. Find them.

I also want you to know that I’m praying for you today and that you are on my mind often. I understand your heartache — how your arms feel empty and how you wish you could look in your baby’s eyes. I want you to know that the love that you feel is genuine. Love is never wasted. No matter how small, love changes this world for the better.

I can’t make you any promises except one. God, Our Father, understands what it’s like to lose a child. He hears you when you call out. He is always listening. If you call to him, he will be there and with time, you will recover.