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| So teach us to number our days...otherwise you might double book yourself |
It's five in the morning, it's dark, and I'm scared.
Reluctant to start the day.
Afraid that I don't have what it takes.
Terrified that I might have to change.
Pulling myself together, I resolve to give it one last try. Today would be a day of decision. What is important? What can I still do? What should I give up? What is my next step?
Perhaps most important question of all, would I continue to let that voice camp out in my head. Sure, the actual words came from someone else, over a year ago. But the voice is mine.
"You can't do it.
Other people can do it if . . .
. . . they had fewer kids . . .
. . . they had more help around the house . . .
. . . they had more money or resources . . .
. . . they had a higher level of education . . .
. . . they had more willpower . . .
But not you. You shouldn't even try."
I have spent the last 13 months trying to prove that those words were false.
YES. I. CAN.
I will.
You just watch me.
I can honestly say that I gave it everything I had. I pulled out all the stops. And for awhile, it worked.
We hired a lovely lady who became our friend. She came three days a week. We held a strict and predictable routine. Get up, get dressed, clean the kitchen, be ready to begin with the Morning Meeting at 9:30 sharp. Check off the list, drag the reluctant through their paces, finish by 2. Don't forget violin and karate practice.
Until the day it all fell apart. My regular readers know the story. For the newcomers, my unborn baby was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. Summer school came to a halt. We temporarily relocated to Houston, leaving my five children behind. The baby came, along with a cascade of mercy that you can read about here . We hadn't even made it home from Houston before we received the news that we would no longer be able to employ our dear friend. I had been counting on her to get us started in the new school year. Now I was on my own. The voice that I thought I had silenced returned.
"Here it is, what I predicted. The baby would be born in August, just when school should start back and you aren't going to be able to handle it."
I dug in, against the advice of all my family and friends. I was not going to give up.
The 8 and 10 year olds were diagnosed with ADHD, dyslexia, sensory processing disorder, and executive function delays. Alvin and Dee share many of the same root issues, but the symptoms are opposite of each other. I get both sides of the coin. One is clumsy with weak muscles, the other exquisitely coordinated with rippling muscles on a slender frame. One is incredibly mild and compliant, the other is prone to rage. They both struggle with reading. But one is obviously dyslexic and the other just can't focus. They both struggle to recall the words that are just on the tip of their tongue. My volatile one will explode when someone tries to "help" by saying the word already. The gentle one is more likely to crumple in a heap.
As I became more desperate to provide some sense of order and control over what becoming an ever more chaotic environment, I turned to tweaking our diet. We restarted our Paleo lifestyle, I started taking supplements and bought a workout video.
Cy, (12) did his best to pick up the workload. As his brothers
I was taking Alvin to Occupational Therapy three times a week, Dee once a week and once every two weeks to counseling.
Then Cy had an asthma attack that landed him in the hospital. He had a freak accident that jarred his spine and gave him a concussion. He developed myoclonic tics and muscle spasms. Just looking at his Saxon math book would bring them on to the point of incapacitation.
His brain was injured and mine was fried.
We had come to a dead end, but I refused to acknowledge that I had hit a wall.
Until five a.m. on a Wednesday morning.
And that's when I pulled out my metaphorical grappling gun to scale that wall.
Because
I. DON'T. GIVE. UP.
I had the kids up by 7:30, four of them were bathed, most of them were fed (except for Dee who balked and wound up being hangry all day) the baby was put down for her morning nap and we sat down to do school.
We sang for Hymn Study.
We discussed our new Habit for the Term:Truthfulness.
We read about Gutenberg for History.
I wrestled the computer into submission so I could load our new Teaching Textbook CD. Cy can't write because of a spasming dominant arm? Fine. We'll type.
I set up Seterra.com for Geography.
I take a shower, quickly, between invasions of pooping toddlers and eager first graders who want to tell me about how they know where Finland is located.
I read with Alvin. First I read the page, pointing to every word, then he reads it. We get through the entire chapter this way. We also work with alphabet flashcards, sequencing and naming the sounds as rapidly as possible.
I read with Elle (6). She does not seem to have the struggles of her older brothers. Reading is a fun break for both of us.
I do a math workbook page with Elle and one with Alvin. Ana (4) keeps herself occupied with puzzles and coloring books.
Elle, Alvin and Dee all work through their Spelling You See workbooks. One of them is not like the others and rages through his task.
We eat lunch. Except for one, who can't stomach the leftovers and packs his own snacks.
We leave the house at 1 p.m. precisely.
That's a win, right? I'm totally crushing this Mission Impossible. Just call me Tom Cruise.
Not quite. I thought I was on time, but I wasn't. I tried to be patient, and failed. I was ever bit as hangry as my son. The house was a mess and the kids were all in Don't Make Mom Mad mode.
And that was just the easy part of the day. We still had therapy sessions, a few lessons to complete in the waiting rooms and errands to run before church that night.
Looming large in my mind was the fact that our therapy load was about to double. Cy was also going to require three days a week for the next month or two to address these tics. If you are keeping count; that's six kids, five days, eight appointments. Every single week.
Uncle.
Stick a fork in me.
I'm so done.
I'm done listening to that voice.
I'm finished with failing to live up to my standards or anyone else.
As of today I. QUIT.
I am not my own woman.
I have been bought with a price. I belong to another. He is a kind and gentle Master. He does not heap heavy burdens on us, too grievous to be borne. This is not an arbitrary circumstance that I am unlucky enough to find myself in.
I was made for this.
This is my Mission and I am not a lone operative.
Have not I commanded thee?
Be strong and of a good courage;
Be not dismayed:
For the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.
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