Happy Birthday

Yesterday I celebrated the 34th birthday of my husband and best friend. It was the 14th time I have been able to be a part of his special day. 14! How does that happen, and where does time go? It was a pretty normal day, certainly not filled with the birthday celebration we might have once had (before kids); dinner at a nice restaurant, a sporting event, a good movie. Instead the day consisted of work, a cheeseburger, Dylan's honor choir concert (which I MUST blog about later), and shoveled down cake before bed. Hardly glamorous or romantic. Never-the-less, it was perfectly, perfect in all of its normalcy. Logan got to decorate his cake with blue sprinkles because of the always funny joke that, "Daddy loves the Cubs"(which drives Brett crazy every time - which is why Logan loves doing it). Family shoveled in cheeseburgers and cake along side us because they were in for Dylan's concert. Piggy-back rides and giggles while we tucked the kids in, an episode of "The Office", and at the end of the day we got to drift off to sleep catching up on each other's day.

I hope it was a happy birthday, Brett, no matter how we celebrate. I hope you know just how wonderful I think you are, and how much I love you now, and always.

Valley of the Heart

I sometimes find it exhausting to attempt to write down what I am feeling. So, the following may be less charismatic than is should or than you might like it to be but I'm feeling emotionally exhausted. This weekend I had the pleasure of attending a Women's conference on the Beth Moore study called, "Loving Well". It was a great weekend with wonderful women and lots of time spent exposing "feelings". Sometimes that is hard for me to do. I related all too well when Beth said that often we know things in our head but what we know in our head doesn't always reach our heart. Only, I feel that my problem is less about my heart not knowing and more about in seasons of hurt and sadness my heart being so full of those emotions at times it forgets what I know to be true. Either way, I am thankful that I serve a God who understands my human emotions and is faithful to see me through the valley of my heart.

Raising Logan has been like driving through the mountains. I experience seasons of climbing the mountains when we feel certain that we are conquering the battle, standing on the mountain top where I feel so close to God I am certain that if I could only stretch a little further I might just reach out and touch his hand, and seasons that include a down hill slide leading to the valley. I, of course, would rather just live on the mountain top than to continue to pass up and down, up and down from one to the next. I am sure there are those of you who can and I admire you for it.

God has been working on me. I can see that He longs for something more from me. He is calling me to go deeper, and to see less valley's where Logan is concerned. In this desire for my life He has been dragging out things I thought I had put away or have been pushing down so hard I did not want to admit them. The truth is, I blame myself. I blame myself for not carrying him full term. I blame myself for his meningitis. I had a bladder infection when he contracted meningitis. A group b strep, just like the bacteria that caused his meningitis. I have never liked admitting it, but my heart weighs heavy with guilt for Logan's disability. Admitting that in a public place for anyone to read is huge for me. It makes me feel that my darkest secret is exposed for all to see. But, if I learned anything this weekend from testimony that rocked my core, it is that admitting it is the first step to letting God deal with it. So, here in this place of hurt I find myself on my knees begging God to take the guilt from me so He can use me for more. God, please, use me for You.

An OUT-of-the-home Working Mom

One of the few times in my life I knew without a doubt God was speaking directly to me was when He made the decision for me to be a stay-at-home mom. I used to be a working mom. I was a third grade teacher when Dylan was born. Then, for the first two years of his life I was a school librarian. I always felt guilty about dropping him off at day care. I hated leaving him during the day. I hated it, but it was life. It was what I did every day to do my part in making ends meet. Brett was a student at the time, a full time student, and our family depended on me heading out the door everyday. When I was pregnant with Logan, Brett was in his first year of teaching. We were finally a two income family again and the thought of going back to the days of one paycheck was enough to make us both nauseated. However, sometime right after the first of February (when I was about three months pregnant), I broke the news to Brett that God was asking us to do it again. The wonderful thing about hind-sight is that now we know why. God already knew what He had in store for our family, for Logan.

While a stay-at-home mom I always thought I would return to work when the time was right for our family. I guess I assumed it would be when Logan started Kindergarten. When Kindergarten year brought us to (another) new location, it seemed that a full time job would not be in the cards for the immediate future. However, in February I found myself in a full time maternity leave at the Middle School Library and it has turned my world up-side-down! Of course, shortly after I started working outside the home, we started packing for another move - this time just across town -, building a house, Dylan is in the middle of basketball, and Logan had a major seizure that has required MULTIPLE calls to my library with the words, "Mrs. Thompson, your son is in the nurse's office and we need you right away", or "Mrs. Thompson, Logan is sleeping again, how long would you like to let him sleep?". I really have wanted, on numerous occasions, to throw my hands in the air and yell, "God, do you not see this ciaos! A little help would be much appreciated!".

I recently vented my woes to my dear, working-mom-of-three, friend. She in turn wrote a blog on the struggles of being a working mother http://valeriepeavler.blogspot.com/2010/02/inadequacy.html
She nailed it! She nailed exactly how I am feeling! She put into words my feeling of being torn in a million directions and not being able to do any of them justice. I hate that feeling. However, her blog made me realize I'm not alone. I'm a small representation of a growing group of working mothers trying to keep it all together. It's a big job. Don't get me wrong. Being a stay-at-home mother has its struggles too. Especially when there are kids running around your feet all day and the only thing you desire is five minutes of peace and adult conversation! That's a hard job too. However, keeping the balance of work and home and kids and spouse is not a role for the weak at heart.

So, hat's off to all you working mom's who manage to keep it all together! Please, pass me along your secrets...

Another "Bump" in the Road

I have, many times, referred to Logan as my "little Charlie Brown". Charlie Brown has been described as, "a child possessed of endless determination and hope but who is ultimately dominated by a perminate case of "bad luck"". Yep, that's my Logan.

Last week while crossing the parking lot (on foot) after picking Logan up from school a car backed into us knocking Logan over into me. No one was hurt (Thanks, God) but it was pretty scary never-the-less. Then, not five minutes after we got home... he ran face first into the granite counter top in the kitchen resulting in yet another black eye. The good thing - he takes it all in stride.

My hope is that as he gets older he becomes more of a David than a Charlie Brown. Psalm 13:5-6 finds David rejoicing in the Lord while battling a long illness. "But I trust in your unfailing love, my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord for He has been good to me."

As Crazy As It May Sound

People have all kinds of noble reasons for reaching out to help those around them. My world is pretty narrow. I rarely have the opportunity to touch anyone who does not live within my four walls. Until my recent reconnection to society through my scattered substitute teaching days, I have been immersed in family life to the fullest. Maybe that is why I constantly feel the need to reach someone, in a positive way, beyond those I see every day. Maybe my reason is not so noble, but more a selfish desire to matter, or a selfish motivation of - what if it were my loved one in need. Either way, the need is real; as kooky as it may sound.

I, much to my husband and mother's dismay, always sign the back of my driver's license denoting myself as an organ donor. Obviously I hope that my need to do good happens in a way that does not require my vital organs, but if it came to that, I would want someone somewhere to benefit. I constantly contemplate joining the Red Cross. I watch the disasters going on around us and feel this overwhelming pull to go and serve and help. I have checked into the training on more than one occasion but in the end the devotion to my young family always wins out and my need to go and serve gets put on a back burner with all of the other "when the kids are older" plans. I think about adoption, a lot. I wonder if there is a child somewhere waiting just for me to have a home, and a chance at life. I have a need to help someone else, but always seem to find an excuse as to why it is never the right time; until yesterday - maybe.

Yesterday I took four cotton swabs and swiped them to the inside of each cheek. I carefully placed each swab into a return envelope marked, Be the Match. Be the Match is a registry for those willing to be marrow and stem cell donors for patience with leukemia and other life-threatening diseases. I have no idea if I will be a match, ever. I have no idea if I will get a call saying someone somewhere needs my blood stem cells or bone marrow, ever. I just know that if they do, I'll be ready. I'll be excited to have the opportunity to help. I realize that signing up for the registry is really no help in its self, but it does lay the opportunity out there.

I sign up to be an organ donar because if someone I loved needed an organ, I would hope someone, somewhere signed theirs too. I think about joining the Red Cross because if the disaster happens in my back yard, I would hope someone, somewhere would take the time to serve. I think about adoption becuase if I had to give up my child, I would hope that someone, somewhere would open their heart and take them in. I signed up on the Be the Match registry because if someone I loved needed marrow or stem cells, I would hope someone, somewhere was willing to give of their's.

So, as crazy as it may sound, I hope to help. I hope to do my part, in some small way, to make someone's life, somewhere a little better.

If you are interested in becoming a donor go to: BeTheMatch.org

Ohhhh, The Silence

Silence. You may be wondering what has kept me away. Why so long with nothing to say? It certainly has not been because there has been nothing to commemorate in the past few months. There has been lots going on in the Thompson house hold. Lots of change, lots of adjusting, lots of tears and even more laughter.

So, here's the deal:
Last year I took on writing a column for the Shelbina Weekly. I enjoy writing, journaling, and recording, but often felt I could not be as personal as I wanted with what I put in public print each week. The articles I was producing for the paper did not seem personal enough to post to my family blog, and the things I wanted to say on my blog took a back seat to the weekly deadline. Bottom line; I wasn't making time to balance both.

Last week was my last week as a newspaper columnist. I hung it up after a short career (if you can call it that when there is no pay involved) in public writing. I gave it up for a number of reasons...

The result will hopefully be; more blogging. Much, much, much, more blogging! Here's to breaking the silence!

Godspeed. Sweet Dreams.

I had the privilege of photographing one of the most beautiful weddings I have seen this past weekend. Everything about the day had been meticulously thought out; from the smallest details to the biggest, each in its own perfection. I love being a part of that most monumental day in people’s lives, because it is so easy to get caught up in the roller coaster emotion that accompanies it; the joys of new beginnings and the sorrow of certain change. As a future mother of the groom, God willing, I am always a little choked-up during the mother/son dance at the reception. I am intrigued at the choice of song by each groom and left wondering about the story behind it. However, this groom and his choice of song took the cake, so to speak, and left me slightly misty eyed. Maybe you have heard the ballad made famous by the Dixie Chicks titled, “Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)”. I had not. The lyrics sing like this:

“Dragon tales and the "water is wide", pirate's sail and lost boys fly. Fish bite moonbeams every night, and I love you. Godspeed, little man. Sweet dreams, little man. Oh my love will fly to you each night on angel’s wings. Godspeed. Sweet dreams. The rocket racer's all tuckered out. Superman's in pajamas on the couch. Goodnight moon, we'll find the mouse, and I love you. God bless mommy and match box cars. God bless dad and thanks for the stars. God hears "Amen," wherever you are, and I love you. Godspeed, little man. Sweet dreams, little man. Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings. Godspeed. Sweet dreams.”

Before I became a mother I always pictured myself having daughters. I thought about how I would buy all the pink adorable clothes their closets would hold. I thought about how one day they would grow up and I could teach them about boys, basketball, hair and make-up. I saw myself planning big elaborate weddings and picking out the perfect dress. I really never imagined God would give me boys. In general, I am an impatient person. I don't like to have to wait for anything. It is a personality flaw that our fast-paced society feeds to. So, when I knew I was going to have a baby, there was never a question as to whether I would wait to find out the sex. I knew from the start that as soon as the ultra-sound technician knew, I wanted to know. I remember lying on the table in anticipation of the words, "It's a girl!”. Of course, they never came. Instead I had to begin to think in blue. I grew up with a younger brother, so I knew about little boys. I knew that they love to get dirty and hunt and fish and do all sorts of other "guy-like" things. I knew they were wonderful in their own way. For instance, my brother was the funniest person I knew growing up, and he would have protected me and stood up for me no matter what. But, until God gave me boys, I always thought I wanted girls.

As I snapped the shutter again and again, capturing the moment of the dance, and the words of the song resonated through the reception hall; I was reminded that even though I thought I wanted to be the mother of girls, God had blessed me abundantly with my boys. I pictured myself not buying the dress, but instead dancing hand in hand with the men my boys will become. I thought about how the time between the bedtime rituals and last dance nuptials will come and go all too soon. While I used to fear muddy shoes, empty butter dishes filled with insects, Peter Pan swords, and hunting obsessions, I realized that all too soon I will trade them for varsity squads, college dorm rooms, career choices and a groom’s tuxedo. I suddenly had a deep need to be home tucking in those little men while they are still little; wishing them Godspeed and sweet dreams.

Cardboard Testimonies

I have been touched this week. I am not speaking about physically touched, but rather emotionally touched to my very core. The culprit; cardboard testimonies. If you don’t know what cardboard testimonies are, you should stop reading this, log onto YouTube, and watch as many as you can find. There simply are no words efficient enough to describe them to you. They truly are something you must see for yourself. However, for those of you who do not have instant internet access, I will do my best to fill you in. The concept is simple. On one side a weakness, struggle, or obstacle in your life is spelled out in basic black marker. On the other side how God has changed you or your situation. There are no spoken words, just a simply stated statement with a moving dynamic point. The point; God is still changing lives.

Here are some examples. On the front: Addicted to Heroin for thirty years. On the back: Saved, free and clean. Front: Not able to have children for five year. Back: Our son is two years old. Front: Scheduled an abortion 10 years ago. Back: Celebrating 10 years with our daughter. Front: Was sexually abused and had no hope for the future. Back: Found hope in Jesus! Now lead a group for sexually abused women. Front: Special needs child. Down syndrome plus hearing and vision problems. Back: Secure in God’s perfect plan. Reflecting God’s joy and kindness. Front: Battling stage three cancer. Back: Joy knowing that nothing can separate me from the love of God. Front: Looking for work, can’t make ends meet. Back: Trusting God and His perfect timing.

There are many, many more stories, one just as touching as the next. Some so touching they instantly bring you to tears, while others just make you smile. I hesitantly admit that I simply don’t live my life in such a way that I constantly see the good God has given me in the midst of my struggle. I try, but as hard as I try it too often seems that the weight of the hardship blocks the beauty or peace God is providing. For example, a good friend of mine is lying in a hospital bed with more broken bones than one could count. His recovery will be long and his end result uncertain. It would be easy to stay focused on the unfortunate circumstances of his accident instead of looking to find the plan God has. However, as I watched the cardboard testimonies I couldn’t help but wonder what his will be. How will God change his current circumstances? Will it be a testimony of healing against all odds, or peace beyond all understanding? I know that which ever it is there will be one and I pray that in time he will be able to see it and share it with others.

The testimonies also made me think a lot about what my own cardboard testimony would be. Honestly, I would have several because God has been present in all of my hard times and tough situations. The outcome has not always been what I would have chosen, but if I stop and look back on those situations I can see how God has brought me through them with a new understanding of His love. I would venture to guess that each of you would have several of your own. I often wish this column was interactive. I always feel that I miss out by not being able to hear or see your responses. Still, if I could share one with you, it would be this: front: Felt inadequate to share God’s love. Back: Realized it’s not about what I do, but what He has already done. Writing a weekly column called Faith and Family.

And Then I Read the Note

I fully understand that being a woman makes me somewhat of an emotional creature by nature. If you are a man, you may want to stop reading here. For you women, I think you will understand the emotion involved in what I am about to say. Women are programmed to cry at sappy movies and heart felt commercials. We naturally cry at weddings and funerals. We cry when we are overjoyed, sad, and sometimes even when we are mad. I understand this is our make-up although, I don’t always like it. I used to feel that I had my emotions under control. I don’t know if age or life has allowed them to flow more freely in recent years, but they certainly surface more easily than they used to.

School starts tomorrow, and the past week has been full of those one and two tear moments. The kind of moments when your eyes well, and maybe one or two tears spill over before you can compose yourself. I shed a tear for Dylan about a week ago when the anxiety of starting a new school seemed to be weighing in. I shed a tear or two Sunday when I learned that God had taken care of even the small worries I had about Logan’s school year because his Sunday school teacher is going to be helping him in the lunch room this year. I shed a tear or maybe three when we left his IEP meeting where it was so obvious how much everyone in the room wanted what was best for Logan, and was willing to do anything to make his year as successful as possible. I shed a tear when Dylan picked out his very own locker because he seemed so grown up. Then, another when we dropped all of their school supplies off at their classrooms. While we were in Logan’s room his teacher slipped a note into his book bag and said, “This is for you, mom, don’t read it unless you are ready to cry.” Thinking I had already shed my tears along the way, I decided to pull it out and read it. I thought I had shed my tears, and then I read the note titled “The First Day of School”.

I gave you a wink and a smile as you came into my room that day. For I know how hard it is to leave and know your child must stay. You’ve been with him for five years now and have been a loving guide. But now, alas, the time has come to leave him at my side. Just know that as you drive away and tears down your cheeks may flow. I’ll love him as I do my own and help him learn and grow. So, please put your mind at ease and cry those tears no more; for I will love him and take him in when you leave him at my door. – Jaime Solley

As I read these words, I don’t have to tell you that a river of tears flowed down my cheeks. I cried for the unknowns the year holds, for the kindness of his teacher’s heart, and for the loss of no longer having any children at home. I cried at the realization that I will no longer be continually at his side to make sure he gets up when he falls, his pants get pulled up straight, or to make sure everyone understands everything he says. I cried for him and I cried for myself. I sat in my chair and really let the tears come until there were no more to muster up. So, tomorrow when I drop him off at the doorway of his bright and cheerful Kindergarten classroom I am hoping that I have cried all of the necessary tears. I am hoping that the morning will be full of smiles, excitement and snapshots. But, I will probably put a few Kleenex in my purse, you know, just in case.

Happy Birthday, Logan

"I'm having a speed racer birthday party. You can come." Logan told this to everyone he saw in the past month. The waitress at the Mexican Restaurant, the lady in Wal Mart, the kid at McDonald's, and anyone else who would stand still in his presence long enough to be asked. He had been anticipating the day for so long and on Sunday it finally arrived. Brett had to be cake man this year because I was out of town (auditioning for the Family Feud in Cleveland, OH... but that's a whole other story!) until Saturday afternoon. I left him with supplies and a picture I found on the Internet. He came through gloriously!! Logan was so proud of his Speed Racer cake that each guest who entered our home was swiftly led by the hand to observe the sweet perfection. Soon after everyone arrived Logan announced, "Let's get this party started and sing "Happy Birthday to Me"!!" So we did. It was a wonderfully exhausting day.
Happy sixth birthday, little man. We are so proud to call you "son".

"What Now"

You may remember the teenage Hawaiian surfer, Bethany Hamilton, who lost her left arm to a 1,500-pound shark. When questioned about her ordeal her upbeat response startled observers when she said, "This was God's plan for my life, and I'm going to go with it." Just a few months later, she was back surfing competitively—she regards her tragedy as an opportunity to inspire others. I have often found that my faith is strengthened at the place of disappointment. It had to be disappointing to an athletic teenage girl to lose her arm, but through her words it is easy to see that her faith in God is real and strong.

Several weeks ago I wrote a column titled “Dare to Hope”. In it I shared with you that we were given hope for a possible cure for Logan’s cerebral palsy and epilepsy. He would have to undergo a spinal tap to test the folic acid levels in his spinal column as well as have some DNA testing done. We were hoping for the levels in his spinal fluid to be abnormal - it would make him a likely candidate for the new medicine - and his DNA testing to be normal. In June we traveled to St. Louis to undergo the procedure. For most of June and July we have waited around for the results and they finally came last Thursday. The spinal fluid was normal and the DNA tests were abnormal. The chances of Logan being a candidate for the new medication is low and because of the abnormal DNA findings we will have to undergo more testing in October. I would be lying to you if I said I was not disappointed. I was disappointed, but not devastated. I had allowed myself to have circumstantial hope in a medical answer but more than that I continued to have eternal hope in our God who promises that “hope will not disappoint us.” I am not sorry I allowed myself to hope for the best and know that down the road another potential answer will come along and I will probably hope for success with it also. However, my hope is grounded in the knowledge that God knows best and if this was not the right answer or the right time, I trust Him. I have leaned that it is better to ask Him, “what now” than “why” when faced with disappointing situations. I find that by asking “what now” I am allowing God to continue to reveal His plan even in the midst of my disappointment. I know He has a perfect plan and like Bethany Hamilton we are prepared to “go with it”.

While we sometimes get stuck focusing on our present situation it is important to remember it isn't the end of the story. An anonymous author said, “When we yield to discouragement it is usually because we give too much thought to the past and to the future.” I found that quote to be true. When I allow myself to get down about Logan’s cerebral palsy it is usually because I am spending too much time worrying about what his future will hold. I worry forgetting that God already knows and His plan is perfect. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18). God's plans are always bigger than we think. The sting of our relatively short-term disappointment in no way compares to the ultimate hope we have in Him.

Back up and Running!

I am back on line... finally and have O SO MUCH to catch up on!!! New Blog's (and pictures) coming SOON! I have missed my blogging family.

Dare to Hope

One thing about hope is that hope is scary. Anyone who dares to hope runs the risk of disappointment. There is joy and fear in hoping for more than we have. There is joy in hope because it allows us to live for something more, look forward to something better. God’s word encourages us to hope, but to what extent are we allowed and should we hope for anything more than what God has already done for us? My very favorite verse is found in Jeremiah. Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the plans I have for you”, declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I think that I have shared that before. I love that verse and not because I think that He is speaking of the worldly view of prosper or hope, but a hope in things to come beyond what we can see. I like knowing that there is a plan. I like knowing that we are allowed, and even encouraged to hope.


Yesterday, Brett and I sat in the waiting room of the Neurology department at Children’s Hospital. We watched as parent after parent joined us. We noticed the look on the face of one mother carrying her new baby and our hearts were saddened knowing the pain of the early start on this journey she was about to embark. We thought about the many unknowns and how scary those first few years were waiting and wondering how this thing, this diagnosis, would affect our child. Those are not years I would want back. I looked at her eyes and knew that place of uncertainty and fear. I wanted to tell her it would be okay. I wanted to assure her that there is life after this, or better yet, life with this. I wanted to give her hope.


The truth is Brett and I have come to a place of acceptance when it comes to Cerebral Palsy and our son. Not to say that we do not have our days when we find ourselves wishing for something better for him, but for the most part we are satisfied and thankful for where we are in this journey God has given us. We talked as we waited about how living this has given us the gift of perspective. In our pre-children days when we thought about our future family we imagined our children living lives similar to our own. We imagined our children loving sports like we had and hoping they would spend their school years competing in the things we grew up competing in. Perspective has changed the importance of that. While we do have two boys who love sports, we know the reality is that Logan will probably never be a star athlete. Sometimes it is easy to be sad for him because he loves them so much, but perspective has allowed us to understand that God has a bigger plan for our children than what they achieve on the athletic fields of their youth. Perspective is a gift and we are thankful for it. However, yesterday we were given hope in a way we have only dreamed about.


There is a new study being done linking Cerebral Palsy and Epilepsy to folic acid deficiency in the brain and spinal fluid. Logan’s doctor talked to us about it with great excitement. She told us about a new drug made just for this deficiency and how it has already helped one of her patients dramatically. Logan will have a spinal tap done in the coming months to test his levels. At the end of her medical explanation she looked at us and said (as if to sum it up in a way we could understand), “If there is ever a time to hope, do it now.” We are. We are allowing ourselves to hope and pray that this could be a huge step in the right direction for Logan. Hope, today, is a wonderful thing and we are doing it fearlessly. We are doing it fearlessly because we know that God is in control and He will decide if this is what’s best for Logan. We will hope and rejoice in Him no matter the outcome. “And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” - Romans 5:5. We will hope because we can.

Brave

If you have ever been to Disney World, you have probably seen the laserlight show at Hollywood Studio’s. When Logan was granted a Dream Factory trip there last summer, it was one of his favorite shows we went to. In the production, Mickey is faced with a ferocious, fire-breathing dragon. But, the dragon is no match for the brave Mickey as he slays him and is the hero of his own worst nightmare. So, when Logan knew he had to endure his Botox injections again this past Monday, he said he was going to “be brave like Mickey when he slays the dragon”. He was.

In Hollywood, Botox is a paralyzing toxin that keeps the stars looking young by smoothing out every wrinkle and crease that years add to your face. But, in little boys (or girls) who have cerebral palsy, Botox makes their stiff muscles more flexible and relaxed which helps them to move more easily. They make a significant difference for Logan. So, even though it is a painful procedure, it is worth it. The process involves laying him on a table face down where his muscles are stretched and tugged to their limit and the numbers are recorded for a reference point. Then, everyone in the room, myself included, holds him down while the doctor inserts a three inch needle to the center of his left calf muscle in four different places to inject the toxin. From there they move down the leg to the heel cord where two more injections are precisely placed. Sometimes, depending on the flexibility measurements, they also inject his left forearm. This trip we were lucky enough to avoid the extra sticks.

If you want to be inspired, make a trip to Children’s Hospital. The waiting rooms are filled with boys and girls who face their procedures with bravery that most of us would question we even have. They are well aware of what is about to happen - the anxiety is written on their faces - but they do not turn and run (and I’m quite sure that I would). I think there is an understanding that whatever they are facing is an attempt to give them a better quality of life. With the Botox, Logan is convinced it makes him run faster. For this reason, he leaves every appointment jolting out the door with the speed of a major league baseball player striving to beat the ball to first base. Well, maybe not quite that fast (although he thinks he is).

The struggle as his parent is trying to decide when the benefit of the procedure is worth the pain, and when it’s more than he should have to bear. I have often said I will be glad when he is old enough to make the decisions for himself. Until then, we just trust that God will help us determine what is necessary and what is not. Any mother who has held a child to a table while they scream in pain knows the intensity of the task. You understand when I say that the mother in me wants to pick him up and run knocking every doctor aside while I flee (yes, I have actually had that vision). But, instead you bear down and repeatedly tell them it will be okay. You do it because you believe that’s what is best for them. So far, it has been worth the tears.
The Christian artist, Nichole Nordeman wrote a song for her son titled, “Brave”. The chorus sings, “So long status quo, I think I just let go, you make me want to be brave. The way it always was is no longer good enough, you make me want to be brave.” I think she stole my very words. So, when we return in July to have his face injected for the first time we will put on his favorite Mickey shirt and prepare to slay the dragon once again. I am sure there will be tears shed but I am also sure that he will once again amaze me with his bravery and I will be a better person for having known him.

Thankfully, It's Not About Living a Perfect Life

There is nothing like Kindergarten screening to bring out the best and the worst in children. Every parent hopes their child performs to the best of their ability when it comes to this monumental occasion. Every parent hopes their child will recite those 26 little letters you've been singing to them since birth with ease and rattle off numbers with the skill of a second year calculus student. Every parent wants their child to cooperate, however, every child does not have the desire to give their best effort no matter how much prodding or practicing you have done up to that day. That was the case with Logan this year. I will admit that I was so frustrated with his effort, or lack of, that I was ready to hand out the worst punishment known to Logan - something worse than the dreaded spanking – the confiscation of his movie collection.

When we got home, I was trying to express the importance of his best effort on everything he does. I lectured him for what seemed like an eternity to him, I’m sure. I wanted him to learn the valuable lesson of hard work and always “putting your best foot forward”. Somewhere in the middle of my lengthy speech, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Are you mad at me?”. I wanted to reply in a way that let him know that I was not mad at him, just unhappy with his lack of effort, but while I was still pondering that response, he said, “Just say, “it’s okay Logan, I still love you.””. In that moment I felt caught as a mother. I was caught between knowing that there still needed to be a consequence for his action, and letting him know that even when I’m not happy about his actions, I still love him very much. I thought back to my childhood and instantly knew what my dad meant when he said he loved me enough to punish me.

I am the first to admit that I still mess up. I do things that I later regret, feel ashamed about, and wish I could change. I make mistakes. Everyday. I am not proud of those mistakes, and owning up to them is not always the easy thing to do. Often there are consequences to those mistakes and even though I regret those decisions that led to those consequences, there are consequences all the same. It is just a part of life and hopefully we learn from those experiences and in the end, they make us better people. I am thankful for those people in my life that have loved me not because of my actions, but in spite of them. I am thankful that I was loved enough by my parents that they were willing to discipline me when I needed it. I am thankful that being loved by my God is not about living a perfect life, but rather about the One who did.

Luckily for Logan, there was a second chance. He had a chance to re-do his Kindergarten screening. The second time, he did his very best, gave his best effort and it showed. I was so proud of him. However, I did not love him more for doing better, nor would I have loved him less if he had not. I do not expect perfection and I hope they will understand that I love them the same when neither they nor their actions are. But, for now, Logan does not read that much into it; he was just glad his movies were still available for viewing, at least for today.

Birthday Joy

I turned 31 last week. Some of you reading this will revel at how young I still am, and some will think it is well on the way to being "middle-aged". It's all in the perspective of your own age, I suppose. I am not ashamed to admit that I still love birthdays. I love that day in my house when everyone does all they can to make my day a little more special. I appreciate every little gesture that is bestowed upon me, from coffee being brewed before I get out of bed to a thoughtfully planned out supper. I love the sight of my three boys measuring and mixing that delectable treat they call birthday cake. I never get tired of hearing the happy birthday song, even when Logan has just finished it for the eighteenth time or when Dylan "lovingly" changes the words to something about smelly monkeys. I appreciate the cards in the mail or an email when I log onto my computer because it means someone remembered my day. It is always nice to be remembered on that one day of the year that is all your own.

When I turned nine I had a rollerskating party with all of my best girlfriends. I remember thinking that this had to be the best birthday ever. My brother gave me the Janet Jackson tape that I had been wanting and all of my friends were there to celebrate with me. My mom had spent her time planning games and baking the perfect cake to make the day fun for each of us. Then, I thought that birthdays would never be any better than when they were spent with your very best friends. On my nineteenth birthday, I celebrated the first of many birthdays with Brett. After an evening out for supper and a movie he surprised me with cheese cake and a necklace by candle light. I was then certain that birthdays would never be any better than when we celebrated them together. And then, I became a mother. To me there is nothing better than being a mother. And when I get to celebrate special events with my children, they are always better than they were before God blessed my life with them.

I have decided that really, I was right at each stage. A birthday surrounded by friends, family, my husband, and my children are the best kind of birthdays. I am convinced that it just gets better every year. The longer your life goes on, the more people God plants in your life to celebrate with. This year I got to have the best of it all. I spent the day with a friend who introduced me to her ultrasound technician as her "oldest friend". I was flattered by that because she was not referring to my age, but instead to the length of time we have been friends. I had the privilege of going with her to see her soon-to-arrive baby girl, via ultrasound. It was a great girls' day out with a friend. I was treated to supper the night before by my parents and my brother and his family. Then, I got to spend the evening with my own family at home being doted on by each of them.

Some would tell you there is no joy in getting older, but I would have to disagree. I am certain that while we may be gaining another year in age, we are also gaining another year of relationships. In essence, it's not even about the birthday itself, but rather an excuse to celebrate with the people you love and are a part of your life. I certainly hope that I am still many, many years from having daughter-in-laws and grandchildren, but when they do come, they will be added joy to each of those special occasions. So, I do not dread getting older. I actually embrace the idea of added years, added wisdom, and added friends and family. I look forward to those birthdays in the future when I am surrounded by new people who have yet to become a part of my life, as well as the ones who have been there along the way.

Links To Our Past

Last week the paper ran an article on Mrs. Calvert who was celebrating her 100th birthday. I was so taken by how well she could recall the past events of her life. She talked about events in her one-hundred years of happenings better than I could about things that happened yesterday. I cannot imagine the changes she has been witness to. I am sure that she could tell each of us stories about the "way things were" that would be worthy of their very own novel. I loved her "one-day-at-a-time" mentality and thought about how we would all be well served to live the same. She made me think about those wonderful grandparents and great-grandparents in our lives who have already passed from this earth and how if I could turn back the clock I would have taken more time to just sit and listen and learn. I would have asked more questions and written down the answers.

When my mother's mother, Thelma or better know to me as "Ma-maw", was alive we would spend each memorial weekend visiting the graves of our relatives who had come before us. I remember riding from cemetery to cemetery with her and my mother while she would recall endless stories about her youth and the people we were honoring. She would talk about the days she lived at home as a young girl. One story she retold every year was about the sister she lost. She would tell us about how her mother would render a pig at home and about the big boiling vat of lard that was around the corner the day they were playing hide-and-seek. Her sister did not see the pot and accidentally fell into the boiling concoction. She would recall it in a way that you knew she could still see the images of that tragic day in her mind. She would walk us from headstone to headstone and even to a few un-marked graves recalling the family tree and how we were all connected. My mother and I still visit those grave to this day. We don't always make the trip together, but I cannot imagine not visiting those places as we had in the past. I have wished a million times over that I had recorded those stories, written down her words, so that that part of our family tree would always be remembered. But, we didn't. Now, when we visit, we have a hard time recalling who they were and most of their memories passed on when my grand-mother did.

I was lucky enough to grow up next to Brett's great-grandfather, "Grandpa Gale". He was like a grandfather figure to me even before I was a part of the family. He never missed our basketball games and always had an encouraging word to pass along. My dad owned a farm supply store in town and I would help him on Saturday's. Most every Saturday Grandpa Gale would make his way to the store since he was still driving well into his 90's. I enjoyed sitting and listening to him tell stories about the days he worked at a car factory in Detroit, a thrashing crew and eventually a ranch in Colorado. He would tell us how he left his wife, Beulah, and young son on that ranch to find work to make ends meet. He worked in a sugar factory one winter and sent money home for his family to survive on. He would visit once a month to bring his family sugar and flower and their basic needs for survival. He had stories about good times and hard times and could recall specific dates and events from decades earlier. He always amazed me with his ability to recall specific weather. Being a farmer for most of his life the success of his work relied heavily on the weather and he could recall rain totals and droughts from specific years unlike anyone else I have ever know. When you passed him by and he reached his cane out to stop you for a moment, you knew you were in for a treat- a great story.

While Brett's great-grandmother, "Granny B" also lived just down the road from the house I grew up in, I got to know her better after I married into the family. Granny B was born in 1912 and was also blessed with great health and memory until the day she went home to be with her Lord. She was not the story teller that Grandpa Gale was, but I personally loved how she could recall the early events of her marriage. She and her husband, Noel, ran a grocery store in the tiny town of Nickelton, MO. She knew my Grandma Thelma and my Grandpa Lawrence - who I never got to meet - when they were dating. She could tell me how my grandmother adored my grandfather and some about the kinds of people they had been. Granny B was a woman of devotion. She was devoted to her God, to her family, and to her husband who had passed on many years before but she continued to sign her checks "Mrs. Noel Belt" until the day she died. I now have a hard time recalling the specifics of those stories, but I remember how she made me believe that love was both timeless and endless.

Now that all of these wonderful people are gone, I have many times wished that I had taken more time to take in the wisdom gained from each of their experiences. I would love to hear my Grandma Thelma talk more about how she raised seven children alone after her husband passed away on nothing more than a school secretary salary. I would love to hear Grandpa Gale talk more sacrifice and the road to his successful farming career. I would love to hear Granny B talk more about how she helped raised her siblings after her mother passed away at a young age. We too often wait to late to value those stories and life lessons, but even if we cannot recall the specifics hopefully we have embraced their values. It is easy to know that of all the stories they would have recalled the major theme of each of their lives was that there is nothing of greater value than family. I have said many times to my mother, "Ma-Maw would have LOVED my kids", and she would have. Because each of them knew that no matter what went on around them, no matter how bad the economy got, family would remain and love for your family would conquer. I hope that each of us takes the time to appreciate and learn from the generations above us before they are no longer here to learn from.

A Valentine's Movie

This month Hollywood will put on their best suits and designer dresses and once again head to the red carpet. The Oscars will award the best actors and actresses for their work throughout the past year. I am not a big fan of the hype. I can live without knowing "who" Angelina Jolene will be wearing this year, or who Joan Rivers decided was the best and worst dressed of the evening. It's not that I don't love movies, because I do, it's just that I don't usually base my "must see" list on the critics top choices. For instance there is one movie that I am sure will receive no recognition on Oscar night, but it is one that I feel is a must see for every married or soon-to-be-married couple this Valentine's Day.

I must confess that I am a romantic at heart and nothing moves me like a good love story. I am convinced that is the reason I love to take wedding pictures. I love the way the groom's face lights up at the sight of his soon-to-be bride and the way the tears spill from her eyes as she stands between the two most important men in her life - her father and her groom. I am moved by the sincerity of the vows and by the passion in the sealing kiss. I am easily caught up in the emotion of the day from the hectic rush of getting ready to the pre-isle jitters and the easy swing of smiles to tears. I have often wished I could bottle up their excitement on that day so they would never forget the way they felt before life hit them head on.

Valentine's Day has always been on of my favorite holidays. In grade school Valentine's Day was all about the box. I remember spending hours at the kitchen table with my mother designing and decorating the perfect Valentine box. I can still see the images of my white covered, heart and doilies plastered box that I carried into my third grade class. It was the perfect Valentine holder. At that time in my life, I was less concerned about what was placed in it, or even who put it there, because everyone gets a Valentine in grade school. But, it didn't take long for that to change. In high-school Valentine's day meant getting flowers. Flowers sent to school was the ultimate declaration of "love" from your significant other. Then, after being married, Valentine's Day became less about the gift of flowers and more about taking the time to show how much you still love and appreciate each other. And, how even though life has taken many twists and turns since that day you said "I do" your feelings have remained constant. It is a time to reflect on what God has in mind for your union and on how you have made it to the place you are in. Which leads me back to my before mentioned movie pick. I recommend the best gift you can give your spouse this year is a shared viewing of "Fireproof" and a commitment to it's acclaimed "love dare".

I am certainly not qualified to be a movie critic. I have no experience in the field. You will not see me along side Roger Ebert any day soon. However, I am certain that no matter where you are in your commitment to your spouse you will be both renewed and refreshed by the reminder of how we ought to love and appreciate each other every day. I have seen those couples who do it so well. The eighty-year-old couple who still feels the need to hold hands. The couple who has been afflicted with cancer who no longer have the luxury of taking a moment for granted. The couple who must send one away to war and embrace a little longer fearing it could be their last. However, for the rest of us who go through each day more focused on the tasks at hand than on the one standing by our side, it is a movie that cannot be missed.

Knowledge is Power

I have, on more than one occasion, joked with my husband about writing a book titled "Stupid People". Now, before you throw stones, let me explain. Since having Logan in our family I have become acutely aware that people don't always know what to say, but usually feel the need to say something. For instance, once there was a complete stranger who inquired about Logan's disability. I am always happy to talk about it, to answer questions, as I feel that knowledge is the key to acceptance and understanding. However, this man, after hearing the words cerebral palsy, began to explain to me how much better my life would be if I considered a "home" for him. He was not meaning to be hurtful; he sincerely believed what he was saying. He explained how they would give him around the clock care that I just could not provide. I politely nodded my head - although inside I was jotting notes for his very own chapter in my book - thanked him for his advice and moved on. I realized that there are situations that children must be placed in a full care home for the sake of them and their caregiver, but Logan, to date, is simply not one of them. So, when I say "Stupid People", what I really mean are uninformed people. And, frankly, before having Logan it is quite possible that I too could have scored my own chapter in someone’s book. For this reason, I was thrilled when the fifth grade teachers at Clarence and Shelbina Elementary Schools invited me into their classrooms to speak to their students about cerebral palsy.

Kids never cease to amaze me. They can be more mature, more kind, more understanding, and more accepting than we expect them to be. The fifth grade students have been reading a story about three children with cerebral palsy. I had no hesitations about speaking with them about Logan and how cerebral palsy affects his life, but I truly did not know what kind of questions to expect them to ask. I have to confess that I was blown away at how sincerely they wanted to better understand the disability and how it affects those who have it. The maturity level of their questions touched my heart in a way that I simply cannot explain. I went in thinking that I had something to teach them, but instead, they were the ones who taught me.

Since Logan's diagnosis I have prayed and too often worried about him making friends. I have had concerns about him being accepted and understood. I have worried that his slurred speech or his forgetfulness to swallow would hinder a friendship from being formed. I have too often forgotten the innocence of children and their inability to discriminate against things they understand. As I looked around those classrooms while I explained the reason behind Logan's hard-to-understand-speech, and his too-often-wet-chin, I was almost moved to tears at the looks of compassion and understanding on each of those small faces. And when one of them raised their hand and asked, "Could I get cerebral palsy?" there was a visible realization that this was not something Logan chose, but rather something that happened to him. In those moments, I know that Logan will be okay. In that moment, I knew that together we were paving the way of acceptance through knowledge; through education in what they did not understand.

I feel so fortunate that I am able to raise Logan in a time when differences are not only tolerated, but accepted and mainstreamed. I believe that the recent ideals of inclusion and not seclusion have changed the way younger generations view disabilities and differences. My hope is that classrooms everywhere are talking openly about not only cerebral palsy, but other challenges like autism, Down syndrome, and other learning disabilities. My goal would be for all students to be educated on the perspectives and realities of growing up with a physical or mental challenge, allowing them to develop a better understanding of, and perhaps an appreciation for, people with differences.

It's Just a Tooth

Logan lost his first tooth yesterday. I cried. The realization that he is losing teeth and I am losing my little boy. He was so excited (even though you cannot tell by this picture). As soon as it was out, he went to the "measuring wall" and wanted me to measure him - he was certain that this was the mark of a "big boy" - he thought he had surly grown an inch! He called everyone he knew and attempted to show them his missing tooth. I tried my best to convince him that he would have to talk, because they could not "see" it.

When he went to bed he did NOT want it under his pillow. So, he left it on his dresser. I think the thought of a fairy flying under his head while he slept was not so appealing. He thought he and the tooth fairy would be better served if they kept their distance! When he woke up this morning he came running in the living room with the five dollars the tooth fairy left for him. I guess the tooth fairy doesn't know the economy is bad because that is a lot for one tooth! I guess she figured it was a special one.

Then, Dylan - in all of his grow-up wisdom - said, "He sure is growing up too fast, mom". I couldn't agree more!