Tag Archives: work

FAIL

FAIL
I’m bummed.  Actually, I’m way more than bummed.  I’m greatly disappointed in myself.  I let my frustrations get the best of me this morning.  I’m 99% sure Jackson forgot the turn of events as soon as he walked through the school doors.  But my reaction to things left a bitter taste in my mouth.  I pulled into school with tears brimming.

My vexation almost always results from what I believe should, at this juncture, be routine.  I get flustered with things that Jackson and I (and his OT) have been working on for what seems like eternity.  To me, dressing (and undressing) should be almost second nature by now.  He’s five, for Pete’s sake.  Truth of the matter is, the act of getting dressed or undressed is simply not natural for Jackson.   When it comes to undressing, shoes are semi-doable, providing they’re Velcro and loose fitting.  He’s good with taking his socks off.  Pants?  If they have a fastener it’s a no-go.  Pull over shirts and tees?  Pretty good, but for the life of me I don’t understand how they become stuck on his head, which results in his spinning around in circles.  Getting dressed?  That’s very often, but not completely, a bust.  (Thank goodness we live in Florida where pull-on shorts, tees and bare feet are the norm.)  This morning’s debacle went something like this.  The jacket went on, yet again, without a shirt.  And the pants went on backward, replete with the zipper in back.  Really?  The zipper wasn’t a dead giveaway?  Doesn’t any of this seem strange or uncomfortable, Jackson?

All this happened after spending the first 40 minutes of my morning making futile attempts to literally physically extricate myself from the grasp of a whiny and whimpering munchkin.  He was bent on me not getting up this morning.  He was adamant I needed to come back to bed with him.  Unfortunately I needed to get to work today.  The end of the month is fast approaching and I have a lot to do between now and the 31st.  Plus, a shower was needed, as I hadn’t had one in a few days.  I know, TMI…

I lost it.  Not literally, but my jaw was set and my teeth were clenched as I set about undressing Jackson and getting him dressed and out the door.  He had to sense I was frustrated.  My touch wasn’t gentle.  It was hurried and silent.  I prayed aloud for the Holy Spirit’s calm to wash over me.  We made our way out the door and into the car and rode in silence for the nearly 25-minute commute to school.  Now here I sit.  My spirit is broken and I can’t think of anything I want to do more than race to school and scoop Jackson up and hug him.

I’m so grateful tomorrow will be a new day and I’ll get a do over.  And blessedly God’s grace and tender mercies will be new too.  Thank you, Lord, for not giving up on me.  I’m so unworthy, yet Your love is faithful day in and day out.   Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

 Lamentations 3:22-24

22 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”

 


Sacrifice

This post isn’t about me, per se.  It’s a message for someone.  I don’t know who the person is (or people are), but I believe God has pressed it upon my heart to put the following encouragement out there, not necessarily as someone who has been-there-done-that, but as someone who daily IS there DOING it.  I’m talking about parenting a child with special needs—great or small, whatever those needs may be.  Whoever you are, God wants you to know you are not alone.  Not only am I in the trenches with you, but there are countless others out there who get it—and get you.  Of course everyone’s situation is unique, however, those of us battling it out in the parenting trenches know your internal, physical and spiritual struggles.

If my admittedly failing memory serves me correct, parenting a child with special needs is not something I neither signed up nor signed on for when I inked my parenting contract with God.  But then again, few people do.  (There is a very special place in heaven for those whose hearts God has set to seek out and parent children who have special needs.  Bless you.)  As the parent of a child with developmental challenges, pipedreams are no longer in my wheelhouse.  That’s not conjecture; it’s fact.  I’m not seeking sympathy, I’m simply telling you my reality.   I can’t see past today.  My son consumes me from the moment his eyes flutter open at the crack of dawn until he finally drifts off to sleep at night.  His days are fueled by a great deal of anxiety and nearly every second of my day is spent caring for or interacting with him in one way or another.  And the few hours I’m afforded during the school day are spent at my office doing full-time work on a very part-time schedule.

One of the many things I’ve learned firsthand over the years is this:  you cannot effectively parent a child without sacrificing yourself.  Every family’s situation is unique, however, parenting a child with developmental and/or physical challenges greatly magnifies the sacrifice required of parents and caregivers.

I’m less than happy and more than a little embarrassed to admit that oftentimes I look at friends and acquaintances (and even my husband/business partner) through green eyes of envy.  I had—and continue to have—so many dreams and aspirations I fear will never come to fruition.  But I’m learning to have peace with this possibility.  At times it’s been a tough pill to swallow, but our mighty Comforter is balm to my wounded ego.  When I get a case of the feel sorries, He reminds of this:  Jesus’ birth, life and death were foretold; His sole purpose was to be mankind’s Savior—our Redeemer.  He came to earth to be The Sacrificial Lamb.  Period. He didn’t juggle many roles in His short time on this earth.  Nor did he try to find a way to mitigate His purpose.  He had a singular objective.   Jesus never questioned that.  Never.  Ever.

Now, I am absolutely, positively NOT comparing my sacrifice or anyone else’s for that matter, to the ultimate price Jesus paid for you and me.  However, I firmly believe as mothers in general our lives must, to some degree or another, be a living sacrifice for our child(ren).  My experience tells me this is especially true for adoptive parents and parents of children with special needs.   Both bring so much to the parenting table.  We simply cannot have it all.   There are many folks who believe differently.  There’s a host of people out there who either try to convince us we can have/do it all or guilt us into believing we fall short if we don’t aspire to be supermom.  But as the mother of both a soon-to-be 32 year old and a five year old on the autism spectrum, I can tell you it’s an unreasonable goal and trying to do so can be a real spirit breaker.  In this instance I have most definitely been-there-done-that.

So, my dear friend—whoever you are, the only counsel I can offer is take it easy on yourself.  Please, please, please give yourself a break, and while you’re at it, a pat on the back.  You deserve it.  I guarantee it.

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My husband and I are partners in a branding firm.  When we were planning for our adoption our game plan, once our munchkin was home and settled, was to bring him to the office with us.  We were excited for Jackson to be a part of our little company.  One of the many reasons we wanted to—and were excited to—do this was so he could see us in action in the office, which would hopefully give him an appreciation for hard work.  My husband and I have always referred to ourselves as “Team D—D squared,” but looking forward, we’d be “Team D—D cubed!”

My husband returned to work within days of our return home from Ethiopia.  Several weeks later, once we were settled with a routine established, I attempted to take Jackson to the office.  I brought a bag filled with bottles, diapers and toys and set up a portable crib.  I closed my door and played soothing music.  For naptime I downloaded white noise on my iPhone, closed the blinds and dimmed the lights. I tried everything, but it was impossible to keep Jackson content or quiet.  It was abundantly clear.  Our plan to bring Jackson to work so I could return to our physical office in any capacity was simply not going to happen.  Jackson’s high energy/high octane presence was far too disruptive in the office setting.  To say it was counterproductive would be a disingenuous understatement.

I began to work from home and started to set deadlines for a return to the office.  I started with a goal of six months.  Six months became one year.  One year became eighteen months.  You get the gist.  I tried to bring Jackson into the fold, not only at these milestones but also in between, to no avail.  I honestly don’t remember when I simply gave up on the goals, but I did.  I chucked the idea of ever returning to work with Jackson as my/our sidekick.

Let’s fast-forward four years and five months.  (But hey, who’s counting?)  Last month Jackson began VPK.  He is in school six hours per day, Monday through Friday.  I finally returned to the office and can’t express in words how good it feels.  I never in a million years thought I’d be so happy to park my butt at a desk.  It’s not the work per se that has me excited.  I’ve been getting by while working from home.  (To be honest, that statement probably errs on the side of gracious.)  It’s the idea of being a part of something again.  I’m part of a team, as opposed to slaying dragons by myself all the livelong day.  And this absence from Jackson affords me a deep breath of sweet, fresh air that I definitely and desperately need.  It allows me to savor my time with him so much more than when we’re glued together 24/7.  And as an added bonus, I actually wash my face, brush my teeth and take a shower.  And this is daily, folks!  And for an added double-bonus, I get to wear decent clothes!  These are all things I took for granted pre-munchkin.  I have a new understanding of and appreciation for the idiom “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”  It’s a given I’ve always been fond of this little munchkin of ours, but seeing him light up when the teacher walks him out to carline absolutely sets my heart afire.

 “Once you become the mommy or daddy in your child’s world, it is the only world in which you exist, no matter how much you fancy there is a separate world of your own.”  ~Robert Brault