To the Mama and Papa Warriors

I see you limping towards the finish line of the summer. 

I know as you watch other people post pictures of kids on the first day of school, that you might not have had a happy picture to post or that you might not even try to snap a picture of your own kid, knowing that getting to her school on that first day with clothes on is about all you can do. Or that you are already dreading the battles and the tears and the meltdowns that come with any fresh season, knowing that September is usually just a survival month. 

Maybe the summer went better than you expected. 

Or maybe it was absolutely impossible, a child who was functioning well, suddenly sent off the rails because of a "vacation" or a bullying incident or, in the case of my own sweet boy, a stomach bug that drastically altered our lives for an entire month, sending three of us out of town so he could be an only child and have full parental attention for 8 days in the hopes of healing finally happening.

Maybe you were fighting back tears by 10 am this morning like me because even the anticipation of the changes coming has sent your household into a tailspin.

I see you. 

I've done what I can to keep my family together this summer and it hasn't been easy. So many of us are finishing the summer exhausted. 

Going into the fall brings a strange mix of anticipation, hope, fear and dread. Will his teachers be as compassionate as last year's bunch? Will they see him for the beautiful child he is or consider him a threat to the classroom? Will they see his exuberance and joy as an asset or misinterpret his energy as dangerous? Will they offer him theri-putty and a trampoline when he's spiraling? Or send him to a corner in punishment and call me early to pick him up? 

Will they work with us or against us? 

Will it be a fight or a partnership? 

Oh, warrior friends, I see you. I know about the IEP's. I know about the times you actually hope for some kind of new diagnosis that might come with strategies that might really work this time. I know that it's possible your child isn't functioning because you bought him the wrong pair of socks for the first day of school or because she knows enough to expect that there will be unkind words from peers who don't have the empathy or language to process differences as good. I know about the long lists of allergies and sensitivities you have to hand to that teacher and the skepticism with which you might be met. I know that people might take your rigidity is a parenting fault, but that you know it to be the only way your family can function. You don't mess with naps or schedules or diets or plans. 

If it's on the visual calendar, it's happening. There's no such thing as "let's just be flexible" because anytime you have tried, the costs have far outweighed the benefits.

I see it.

And because I see it, you know what else I see? 

I see the fierce. I see the fight. I see the hope. It's there. Even on the days when you are seventeen kinds of done before 9 am - the hope is there because we are in this together and there is a God who loves our kids more fiercely than we can. On the days when you don't have anything left, there is another warrior who is fighting hard beside you. Who can listen to you vent, cheer you on, hold you up. And you can do the same on the days when she is all out of strength. 

People don't fight wars alone, friends. 

This is YOUR child, but you are not the only one who loves him, who wants good for him. He or she is beautiful. And precious. And perfect in so many, many ways. And so you wake up and you fight, sometimes from a good place and sometimes not, but you do not fight in vain.

Because love is powerful. And even with all the exhaustion and the frustration and, yes, sometimes the hopelessness, you will fight for that kid to within an in of your life just like God fights for you.

I see you. I’m with you.

The next month is going to be rough. It just will. If you need to scream, let it out. If you need to vent, I will listen. Seriously. I GET IT.

But please, if there is one thing I don’t want you to do, it is to buy into the lie that you are fighting alone. 

God loves my son more than I can imagine. HE wants good for him. HE wants him to thrive and to dance and to laugh and to function. And HE is fighting right alongside us. We are not warriors because we are strong in ourselves. We are warriors because we accept that we need grace, forgiveness, creativity and hope every second of every day to be the kind of parents our children need.

So, friends, take a deep breath. If you are trying to do this alone, call someone fast. Invite him or her to fight and pray alongside you during this transitional time of year. Do it for you and do it for your kids. 

We've got this. Together. One hour at a time.

A Letter to My Firstborn on His 10th Birthday

To My Son,

Ten years ago on this day, I remember two things.

One, being absolutely starved and just wishing you'd be born already so I could finally eat again.

November 1, 2006

Two, being completely overwhelmed when you were placed in my arms. No words, no thoughts...just staring and wondering how it was possible that this tiny human was finally here.

And now, today, at 9:44 am, you turned 10.

What a ride it has been.

You were born in Virginia, came out of your shell in North Carolina and came into your own in Wisconsin. Now we are full circle and it's been, at least from your perspective, the hardest year of your life. You left all that was familiar to you, crossed the country with two very angry, very loud, toddlers. You searched unsuccessfully for friends during the longest summer of all our lives. You have struggled through your first bad teacher for a few months now.

But all that is beside the point.

I don't tend to wax too sentimental over the baby years. I have loved watching you grow and learn and become this phenomenal human. But there is something about this milestone that has got me thinking, pausing.

You, my son...well, where do I start?

You have the best giggle of any kid I have ever met. Your smile lights up a room. Your beautiful eyes are full of curiosity, full of kindness and hope. Your heart aches with those you love when they feel pain and rejoices with anyone who is happy. You play soccer fiercely and even though you aren't the biggest or the fastest kid on the team, you practice hard and you give your all. You read books about science before bed and want to grow up to solve global warming. You write books in your spare time and draw schematics for your Lego city. You consider it your responsibility and joy to keep your little brothers laughing and you make up better games for them than I ever could.

You are jocky and nerdy and funny and kind and sweet all at the same time.

The time is coming, though, when it won't be so easy to be kind. When choosing that road might render you uncool. When erring on the right side may mean you lose friends. When defending the humanity of your brothers gets you called names. When working hard at your schoolwork and wearing glasses might put you in the dork category.

When being unashamedly you will no longer be as easy as it has always been.

Son, don't let them change you.

Laugh when you think something is funny. Dance if your favorite song comes on. Play with any kid you want, whether or not the "right" label precedes his or her name. Continue to see girls as playmates, as humans with brains and brawn and creativity. As friends, not objects. Care deeply about justice and love.

Even when no one else does.

You won't look back in your twenties and wish you had tried harder to be like everyone else. You might, however, look back and wish you had the guts to be yourself, no matter the cost.

So, my beautiful boy, happiest of birthdays.

Ten years old!

I am not choosing the sentimental route, the route of wishing you were still little and I could hold you close. The truth is, I count it a joy and privilege to watch you grow each day. What I love and long for is to see you experience joy, right here, right now. To give me hugs if you want but to let go of you when I need to because it's best for you.

You have made me prouder than I ever thought possible.

Keep being you.

Fierce, loyal, funny, smart and kind.

And never apologize for it.

Love,
Your Mom