Here Endeth the Lesson

Well, we are back from our Maine vacation and after a week away, I have learned the following things…

That portable DVD players can be a godsend for long car rides.

That throwing rocks in the ocean and outrunning waves can provide hours of entertainment.

That if it weren't for french fries and potato chips, Justin probably would've starved on this trip.

That few things rival the beauty of the sun setting over the Atlantic.

That the ocean air does frightening things to my hair.

That a one-bedroom condominium looks a lot bigger on-line than in actuality.

That you don't so much care about your tiny digs when you’re just a few steps from the beach.

That Justin absolutely adores the ocean.

That places that force you to leave through the gift shop (Yeah, you York Zoo), should be avoided at all costs.

That Justin will always have "poop problems" on vacation...last time diarrhea this time constipation (sorry...TMI?)

That sometimes activities that should be so easy, can be painfully difficult.

That activities where you foresee challenges can sometimes, miraculously, go off without a hitch.

That a little bit of rain never stopped my kids from having fun outside.

That it's still hard to see Justin next to other kids his age and wonder if he'll ever catch up.

That I am completely in awe of Ryan's ability to make friends absolutely everywhere we go.

That when Ryan plays with his new found "posse" on the beach, it will still sting to see Justin forgotten on the sidelines.

That this will probably always bother me more than it will bothers him.

That where other kids may be afraid to get their clothes wet or dirty, my kids don't seem to share that feeling.

That a bunch of crayons and menus you can color can make the difference between a good restaurant experience and a bad one.

That you should always bring the stroller even if you think you won't need it.

That the fancy LL Bean water shoes will give Justin blisters on the back of his feet rendering him unable to walk comfortably in shoes (see the above).

That a week away is a very long time to be away from home...for all of us.

That I will rarely have a camera (with working batteries) at the perfect photo opportunity.

That when it comes to family vacations, there will always be highs, there will always be lows, but most importantly, there will always be memories.

Maine Revisited

Tomorrow morning we begin our vacation to one of our favorite places, Ogunquit, Maine. Maine is a very special place to us. It was the first place Mike and vacationed as boyfriend/girlfriend; it's where we spent a fabulous honeymoon; it's where we went for our first anniversary; and it's the place where Ryan has developed an absolute love affair with lobster and chowda.

Yet, instead of excitedly packing for our weeklong excursion, I find myself a tad bit ambivalent. You see, although Mike and I went to Maine last year a deux, the kids have not been back since the time right after Justin's diagnosis.

I'm trying so hard not to get my hopes up that Justin will be excited to spend all his days on the beach by the ocean. I'm also trying equally hard not to pessimistically expect the worst, by taking him away from the security of his home and everyday routine.

It's not easy.

I've never been very good at the "wait and see" approach. I am much more the "what can I control" type.

However, as I sit here and type, its hard not acknowledge all the things that have occurred in the two years since our last family trip.

Two years ago...

Justin wasn't talking...at all.

Ryan wasn't reading.

Justin's eye contact was sketchy.

Ryan couldn't swim.

Justin preferred to be alone.

Ryan couldn't ride a bike.

Justin wasn't potty trained.

Ryan couldn't snap, whistle or blow a bubble.

Justin spent most of his days in a fog that was hard to penetrate.

Two years later...

Justin is able to say hundreds of words and can even manage some 3-4 word sentences from time to time.

Ryan can read (although he doesn't like to) and recently showed off his writing abilities by writing RUSH (my musician husband's favorite band) on the windowsill of my kitchen...AARGH!!!

Justin almost always acknowledges when his name is called and has recently ventured into the world of joint attention (i.e. pointing while saying, “Hey, look!”)

Ryan can swim like a fish and has even been diving.

Justin still likes his "alone time" (don't we all?), but is happiest when playing with his big brother.

Ryan, just this week has really mastered his two-wheeler. The look of joyful pride when he was able to "push off" by himself and stay up, is a picture that will be indelibly burned on my brain.

Justin is not only potty trained but also stays completely dry during the night. Can I get an Amen!

Ryan can indeed snap, whistle and blow bubbles, oftentimes to the extreme annoyance of his parents.

Justin's "foggy" days are rare. He actually spends a lot more energy trying to be the center of attention.

Yes, it's amazing the changes that can occur in a scant two years time. Therefore, I promise to remind myself of that if this vacation turns out to be less than stellar for Justin.

After all, just think where he'll be two years from now.

Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

My Wish

I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow

And each road leads you where you want to go

And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.

And if one door opens to another door closed

I hope you keep on walkin' till you find the window

If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile

But more than anything, more than anything

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to

Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small

You never need to carry more than you can hold

And while you're out there getting where you're getting to

I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too

Yeah, this, is my wish.

-Rascal Flats

Happy 4th birthday precious boy. Your mommy loves you very much!

Bravery

I'll love you forever.

I'll like you for always.

As long as I'm living...

My baby you'll be.

Love You Forever...Robert Munsch

In the past few weeks, my children have shown me what true bravery is all about. For starters, Ryan started day camp last week at the local YMCA. As excited as he was in theory about camp starting I could feel his enthusiasm wane as we walked into the building. All around us, kids were a buzz, drunk with the freedom of being done with school and starting summer vacation.

In situations like this, where chaos reigns supreme, I tend to automatically shut down. I find the combination of noise and movement from too many people in a confined space altogether overwhelming for my senses. As I could feel myself run for cover in the inner sanctum of my own head, I glanced down at Ryan. He too looked to be a bit stunned by all the commotion run amok. Yet, instead of clinging to my leg or holding onto my hand, he looked up at me and said, "It's okay, Mommy. You can go now."

I always marvel at Ryan's willingness to try anything new, completely undeterred. Such a far cry from what I was like as a child, or even like now as an adult. Part of me wanted to take him out of there, afraid he'd be gobbled up by the fray of "big" kids. But, like getting into a cold pool, he took a deep breath and just jumped. My brave little knight.

The next honorable mention for bravery goes to Justin. Justin is a child who clings to certain routines. For instance when I drop him off at school, he unpacks his lunch from his little Elmo book bag, puts said bag in his assigned cubby, then says, "Good-bye" to me, at which point, I am to go...immediately. If I stay even for a few seconds to chat with his teacher he quickly becomes unglued.

Bedtime is a similar routine. We read the same story (Baby Einstein's Violet's House, if your interested), we say prayers, then he says, "Good-night" at which point I am to turn off the light and, once again, leave immediately. Well, a few nights ago I thought I'd shake things up a bit. As we read Violet's house, I thought t might be a good time to work on "where" questions. He's been doing so well with "what" and "who" that I thought we could try something new. As we read each page, I'd ask, Justin "Where is Violet?" Knowing he wouldn't know the answer, I'd model it for him (i.e. "She's in the kitchen".) I did this for a couple of pages until I realized that his huge brown eyes were welling up with tears.

He looked at me with such sadness on his face it sucked the breath right out of me. He quietly closed the book and said, "The end."

Now, I've seen him get angry when I've tried to teach him things and I've seen him get really annoyed with a look that says, "Just leave me alone". But this was altogether different. This was a look that conveyed, "I know I should know the answer, but I don't".

This was a look of...recognition.

A look that I was so completely unprepared for. I tried to scoop him up in my arms to comfort him, but he fended me off, too desperate now for the homeostasis of his normal routine. He cuddled himself under the covers, amidst the 28 or so stuffed animals he insists on sleeping with. Again, I wanted to whisk him out of his bed and cover him with kisses. To tell him how proud I was of him even if he didn't know the answer to the questions. I knew he wouldn't understand the meaning of my words, but I couldn't bear the thought that he might think he had disappointed me in some way.

I wanted to say so much to him. But, with silent tears coming down his cheeks, he looked at me bravely and said, "good night".

With that, I knew I had been dismissed. My services were no longer needed. He just wanted me to leave so he could find solitary comfort in his stuffed animal family and cry himself to sleep.

I've been truly haunted by these two images of my children this week. Completely unsettled at the notion that as my children get older, I won't always be able to protect them as much as my maternal instinct craves. Some battles they are simply going to have to fight on their own. It was so much easier when they were babies. I could just stick them in the Baby Bjorn and snarl at anyone who came too close. But as Ryan is always so quick to point out, they aren't babies anymore.

And yet, they are.

They are my babies. Age really has nothing to do with it. I'm sure I'll feel this way when they're in their 30's.

I just wonder, as a mother, do you ever really forget that feeling of fierce protectiveness you have for your children. What kind of courage must it take to let go of the fear. Fear that they'll get hurt. Fear that they'll have their hearts broken. Fear of not having control over everything that touches your precious child's world.

I know this is a courage I don’t possess yet.

But at least with my boys, I have some pretty good role models when the time does come to let go.