parenting error #2942

Oh, Dearest.

You are our first child.  You are the one that made us fall in love with being parents, the one who convinced us there was still Wonder in the world.  You are also the one who taught us how quickly infants can fall off a bed, how literally and figuratively freakishly strong a child can be, and to always bring 2 changes of clothes- for everyone- to church.

You are have been there for every parenting triumph and every parenting failure.  All of them.

This story is a recount of the latter, I am sad to say.

Monday night, you were having a rough time getting to bed.  There are few things funnier than a VERY tired child yelling at their parents that they are NOT. TIRED.  all the while wobbling around like a wet noodle and turning bright red with anger and snot and flailing arms.  If you’re not tired, you’re going through menopause, my hand to heaven.

As you were finally crawling under your comforter, we noticed a little red line of blood in your mouth.

“Ry, ” I said, “Is your tooth loose?”

“No.”

“Can you wiggle it?”

Huh.  Well, you didn’t know… so you reached in there, wiggled it around, and pulled it right out.

And then proceeded to lose your mind.

Because WHO KNEW your teeth could come out of your head?

Certainly not you.  Your parents never told you.  Shoot, we just started regular brushing last month!  Loosing teeth was the absolute last thing on our radar.  We’ve been busy with growing and walking and potty training.  And your brother.

Child, I am so sorry.  It was terribly traumatic.  You didn’t want to sleep with it under your pillow (because, you’re right, that’s weird), so we wrapped the tooth up and placed it on the kitchen island.  The Tooth Fairy came (Wow.  So much new information in one night.  Again, sorry.) and left you $5… because you are five.  And she took the tooth… maybe to give to Abby in a few months!  Who knows.  We were trying to make it better.  Fun.  Exciting.  An honor. Faily, fail, fail.

We dropped the ball.  Never saw it coming.  Your Olympic Spotlight story just got that much more interesting.

Let me just say, for the record, that re-living childhood through you is ridiculous.  How did we ever survive it ourselves?  You turn 5, you get ready to be sent on a big yellow bus to a school far away with people you don’t know, your arms and legs start getting too long for your body, and then, also, oh how ’bout your TEETH COME OUT?  And a  weird fairy comes? At night while you’re sleeping? And gives you money?  And TAKES THE TOOTH?  

The hack kinda world is this we’ve got you in?  Sunnuva. 

And we’re supposed to guide and prepare you?  For Pete’s sake.  I can’t even wash my car.

The rest of your teeth will be considerably less of an ordeal [fingers and eyes crossed].  But, the fact remains that you are growing up.  Sometimes we forget that.  We listen to you and we watch you and we think, “She’s so little.  She’s so very young for her age.”  And then your body goes and blows us into reality.  Overnight potty training, losing teeth, posting on horses.  Whatever.

Bless you my child.

You are my soul.

My deep, complicated, manic, gut-wrenching soul.

I get you.

[My Love.]

[My Heart.]

We’re on our way.

Rylie Girl.

Monday afternoon we had your final IEP meeting before Kindergarten next year.  It was a chance to meet with all your current therapists and hear how the past year had progressed.  Everyone was there to brag on you, Ry!  Becky and Becky and Brenda and Jessie and Pete… and even Mrs. Rachel and Mrs. Karen for next year.  Mom and Dad… and everyone.  We all came.

As much as we focus on details- numbers and charts and progress and scales and standard deviations- I will leave those to your official files.  Let me tell you that in a year’s time, you are now age-level (and sometime ABOVE average!) in your gross motor skills!  Well, in everything but ball throwing… but that’s genetic.  Sorry.

A year ago, you were barely on the charts.  And what’s important is not that you can run and swing and jump… but that your body can do it without so much agonizing effort.  That you can (usually) catch yourself before you fall.  That you can run and keep up with the boys… and lawnmower.  That your body is not fighting itself AS MUCH as it was last year.  The gap- that huge chasm of difference- is slowly closing.  Because once Gross Motor closes, next comes Fine Motor.  And once Fine Motor gets more under control, then comes Speech.  And once Speech comes, Emotions.  And after all that, Disneyland and basic world domination.

We’ll take it.

Kindergarten here we come.

Get ready.

baggage

Oh, the things so very dear to the 2 oldest Littles around here.  The contents change every day or so without rhyme or reason.  But the baggage… the precious, the trinkets, the lovelies, the whathaveyou… it come-th with-eth.  If they are walking, they are carrying their bounty.  If they are sleeping, the Treasures are on the pillow next to their crazy little heads.

Lord, help us all if we forget a piece- for surely The End is nigh.

Many of you hear me loud and clear.

plastic horse, travel toothpaste, bottle, valentine

bulldozer, weighted plastic egg, slap bracelet

crazy 8 cards, magnetic rock, rubber lizard "Blue"

pink pen, koosh ball, play spatula, silicone cups

RANDOM.  What can they possibly be thinking?  As I carefully placed each child’s Essential Items in separate piles last night- easily found in the morning lest All Be Lost- it occurred to me that I have no cause to roll my eyes at their Beautiful and Precious Things.

For I have my own, though now invisible.  

Things I have picked up and chosen to carry with me without fail for years.  As I mentally took a long-overdue inventory of my own baggage, I realized I wanted the slap bracelet and travel toothpaste so much more.

How long have I been carrying the embarrassment of that one day?

The hurt of that other conversation?

The desire for that certain thing?

When exactly did the guilt climb on and stay about that one thing?

When did that picture of that ‘perfection’ settle in?

How long has entitlement been there?  Sneaky thing, entitlement.

If My Things were physical, I would need a trailer to carry them.

This Wednesday starts a beautiful season in the Church: Lent.  For me, it’s the final climb out of winter.  It’s 40 days of introspection where Believers intentionally pray, sacrifice, read, sleep, eat, or simply change to focus on their own relationship with God a bit more.  It’s where we wait for Sunday… for Easter. It’s where we take apart, re-order, and restock.

I don’t know about you, but some of that Baggage has got to go.  It’s heavy.  And, it’s old.  I don’t want it anymore, seen or unseen.  It’s getting in the way.

I need a clear path and a clear heart to do this thing… this life… right.

So, let’s get on with it already.

We’ve got a lot to sort through, Self!

Bring on Wednesday.

I may need to get a head start.

the cost of education

Dear Rylie,

I thought I would be the mom who made a warm breakfast every morning, who had art projects planned strategically throughout the day, and rotated books with the seasons.  Maybe I would home-school, maybe I would Montessori… but either way, I’d wear long flow-y skirts and a cowgirl hat and we’d feed the chickens in-between lessons and talk about where our food comes from.

It’s a family joke that I have the child who must touch, must lean, must shadow.  Me, who needs a personal space barrier of 2 feet at all times.  It’s a proof of genetics that I have the child who can be more sullen, feel more emotions, and carry more anxiety than her five years should allow. ‘Payback!’ I hear more than I care to.  It’s true… I know.  But there is more.  There was always more to you.

Deep inside, there is a girl struggling to be understood… quite literally.  There is a girl who absolutely cannot stand to be bored.  There is a girl who is content with direction and approval.  This… this was not me.

For me, words flow easier than relationships.  For me, singing in front of thousands is more comfortable than eye contact with your father.  For me, freedom is a blessing  and I bristle when someone tells me exactly how to do something and when to do it.  You?  You have more social skills now than I ever will.

It is the beauty of a new creation.  In Christ, we are all new creations made in His image.  You and I share a history and a family and a future… but we are our own.  Same, but gracefully different.  Let’s both try to remember that, ok?

You will start kindergarten next year, Rylie, and you will be going to school.  Real School.  You have grown beyond what I am capable of handling on my own.  I simply don’t have all the tools to be everything that you need.  God has rigged it so that you would have to fly and I would have to ask someone else to help you land.  I know you… and you know me… too well.  We need to expand the village.

I am terrified.

What if you get lost?  What if you can’t get to the bathroom in time?  What if your teacher can’t understand you?  What if the other kids laugh at your jeans that are always too big?  What if they don’t invite you to their birthday parties?

Oh, it will all happen.  I know.  But what if you notice?

Your dad and I have looked at 4 different school districts and 2 private schools.  We have emailed, phoned, and met with principals, resource team leaders, and bus drivers.  One… one… called immediately.  One asked how they could serve you.  One met with us before the sun came up to hear your story and show you around. One praised your progress and prayed for your development.  One cried as they talked about the potential to work together to bring out Rylie we don’t know yet… the child of God within.  

There is no question that you will be safe here… where they answered questions I did not voice.  Where there are students like you and students not like you.  Where the staff will pray for you when my voice is hoarse.

I’ll be wearing my long flow-y skirt and cowboy hat… as I pick you up from the bus stop every day.  And I will beg for information and snippets of song as clues to your day… as we feed the chickens.  It is not what I pictured.

Perhaps it is more?

The cost of education is great, and it has nothing to do with money.  I will pay the tuition… but that’s just a matter of re-budgeting and discipline.  No- I will pay in the distance, in the giving over, in the requirement of trust, in the absence of you.

And I will celebrate in the freedom, in the peace, in the pride that will return… in your joy of adventure, in your excitement for that yellow bus, in your pages of practiced letters and lines.

I will pay.

I am glad to have a little time to save up.

Love always, Mom

The One Where Rylie Can’t Win

[preface: It has long been believed that my family, the Sebeck family, has a special adverse relationship with Murphy and his Law.  Ry’s genetics are working against her. Oh, Child.]

Last week, dear friends of ours welcomed little Cooper Robert into the world.  You know them: they are the family that has been fighting for a child for years- I mentioned them in Holy War.  We were happy-jump-up-and-down crazy people and asked if we could come to the hospital with tired kids to quickly say hello and hold the miracle.

The Mulders headed into the big city… in the big farm truck… after dark.  We ate out at Red Robin.  We got balloons.  I think they gave them to us as a thank you for leaving, but I digress.  Ry got a purple balloon.  Gus Man wielded blue.

We ate, we left, we made it to the hospital. We put our hands/heads in the fountain, we rode the elevator, we emptied all the hand-soap dispensers.  We hugged the Daddy.  We hugged the Mommy.  We rocked the baby and his sweet little cheeks. We left.

It was so very calm on the way home.  What an adventure for the Mulders of TexasNorth!  Curt pulled into the driveway and sleepy little eyes popped open searching for a ride to their beds.  He opened the truck door…

and the purple balloon floated out of a little girl’s hands,

 up up up into the night sky.

Let the wailing begin.

So, I let Gideon’s blue balloon go, too… on a rescue mission to find the purple balloon or at least keep it company.  It didn’t matter.  The poor girl was inconsolable.  I promised to find her another balloon the next day.  It was an accident.  Someone else needed the balloon.  The birdies are happy.  Daddy is sorry.  Yes, we can pray for the balloon. 

Sleep, Child, sleep.

The next morning, Ry was up bright and early.  She had her day mapped out.  She would dress, she said.  And then we would eat and then we would go get another purple balloon.  It was 7:15am.

The memory tears began to flow as she sat down to breakfast.  It really had been such a great balloon. It was purple.  It was free.  It was magic.  More tears in her Frosted Mini-Wheats.  I did my best to serve with a smile.  Rylie looked up from her bowl and then left her seat to look out the window.  Her eyes followed the path of the lost balloon last night.  “Up?” she asked?  Yes, up, Darling.  And then, “Mom!” accompanied by frantic pointing.

Pointing to the ancient apple tree.

To the TOP of the ancient apple tree.

To the top of the ancient apple tree where a balloon

and its string has made its home the night before… never fully escaping.

The balloon… the balloon that is too high to reach, that never really left, that will remain in sight for the next 6 months until a storm or axe chops that tree down…

The balloon was blue.

And all our tears were real.

5 around the sun

Dear Rylie Joy,

Today… today you are 5.  Fahv.  You are 44 inches tall and 36 pounds if your backpack is fully loaded.

You are in Ms. Hogan pre-k class and you attend 1 music therapy, 1 riding therapy, 1 occupational therapy, 1 physical therapy, and 3 speech therapies each week to fight the Childhood Apraxia in your body.  You lay your clothes out every night, without help, for the coming morning.

You are in love with horses, babies, swinging, the color purple, and your grandfather.

It has been an unspeakably difficult year for us… for me and you.  Your body and behavior hit at about age three.  Your mind is five.  Your humor is about a 27.  Your loyalty and empathy are off the charts.  You are beautifully undefinable.

As your mom, I feel like I am the cause of so much of your frustration.  It is me, 99% of the literal time, that pushes you.  Get dressed.  Don’t touch.  Repeat that.  Try again.  Turn around.  Get in the car.  Not right now.  Hurry.  That is unacceptable.  Thank you.  Look at me.

Every day we have tears, and every day we have hugs.  How can I be the same one to discipline, to punish, to lose it, to drive you to tears… how can I be that same person and yet also be the only one who knows how to comfort you?  To interpret for you?  To understand you like know one else?

It is, perhaps, one definition of Grace.

Humility is not, by any measure, my strength.  I think this year… this incredibly hard and emotional and long year… was less about your body’s weakness and more about my heart’s shortcomings.

You have always been such a teacher.

I made you a purple cake.  You don’t know that yet, but under the white frosting and candles is a purple cake.  I’m so excited I can hardly stand it.

Your PapPap (my dad) is here, which may eclipse any American Girl doll, hammock swing, or paint set you receive after dinner.  Your relationship with him is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and I am forever thankful for the ability he has to cheer your heart.  He was a good dad, but he is an incredible grandfather.

You are fortunate to have a handful of adults like him in your life… who call and play and pray and and are simply genuinely invested in you, Child, and your story.

Again, it is Grace.

So, you are five.  Fahv.  In less than a month, you will be a big sister again… and you are so excited.  I pray you will know, somehow, the special place you have as Mulder 1.  The first child.  The one who taught me to be a mother.  The one who broke all the rules of normalcy in Apraxia.  The one who smiles with her eyes.  That’s you… and you will always have a specific, certain place.

I pray for growth. I pray for language.  I pray for durable friends and big-hearted teachers.  I pray, selfishly, for less tears of hurt and frustration and manipulation.

I pray, Rylie, that you would know Jesus loves you more than I ever possibly could.

Happy Birthday, My Shadow.

You are so very wonderful.

Love, Mom

Christmas will come early

Dear Rylie and Gideon,

It would appear that your parents have learned no healthy fear from the past… from emergency c-sections, from scary developmental diagnoses, from miscarriage, from in-utero diagnoses, from 5 months of colic hell,

from ANYTHING, really…

It would appear that your parents are still optimists when it comes to Littles, and that’s why I am so very happy to tell you both that…

It would appear, if science and God can work it out, you will be joined by another Little Mulder around December 20th of this year.

No- we do not currently have the appropriate car, bedroom, or dining room situation to make this happen smoothly.

Please see the above ‘optimism’ explanation.

Love,

Mom (and, in part, Dad)

PG13 version coming Monday.  Stay tuned.

What (my) kids are for.

We had children, as many of you did, because it was the next natural step.  We were blessed that it worked fairly easily and we were prepared for the basic social responsibilities of shelter, food, safety, and education.  We figured they’d be pretty cute (we were right) and that we were above-average in our ability to handle stress (we were wrong).  We knew we would pray for them and take them to church.  We knew that we wanted kids.   

I don’t remember discussing the “yes, but WHAT ARE THEY FOR?” part of kids… the “big picture that gets you through the mud” part.  I subconsciously assumed the usual: kids teach you about God, kids keep the world going, kids pay for your nursing homes. Kids are necessary and lovely and hard.

But then Rylie was born.  And then Rylie was broken.  And I began to question the point of such heartache.  Why have kids if it is going to be THIS HARD?  Is it fair to Rylie?  Is it fair to her brother?  Is it fair to us?  

And I became afraid.  Afraid of doctors.  Afraid of having more kids.  Afraid of anger.  Afraid of therapy.  Afraid… that I could not do it and I would fail.  I would fail Rylie. Afraid.

I am not, as you may think, a strong person.  I am not gifted in patience or passivity.  This past year with Rylie has brought me to my knees both spiritually and physically as I begged for answers and rest.  Clarity and help. Motivation and a supernatural heart. Why wasn’t it coming more naturally?  Wasn’t I made for this?

What was I missing?  What in the world was I missing?

I had to back to the beginning. 

I expected Rylie to be born… and I expected Rylie to be fine.  I expected to deal with ‘girl’ emotions in junior high and heartbreak in high school.  I expected to right the few wrongs of my childhood, teach her to ride a bike, and to make handmade Valentines for her Kindergarten class. She would grow up, possibly start a family of her own, and continue the circle.

I did not expect for her to be broken. 

•

I watched my child sit through hours of intense speech therapy drills last week.  I watched her perform over and over again, stumbling through language that is so easy for me.  On the last day, I heard the woman demand, “Say KNEE! KNEE.”

Rylie, distracted and head down, impulsively yelled “KNEE!”  She looked up, put her little hands to her little mouth, and grinned.  And then she clapped.  And then she yelled again, hopping in her seat. ”KNEE! KNEE! KNEE!”  She has never been able to say that before.  I can’t wait to show you the video. It’s remarkable.

Watching that miracle from behind the glass mirror, I realized my truth: Rylie is NOT broken.  She is the very image of God.  God, who knows what it is to hurt.  What it is to be misunderstood.   What it is to have people define you by their fears.  What it is to love unconditionally.  Rylie is a lot of things, but she is NOT broken.

Her story does not stop at her diagnosis, and, therefore, neither does mine. 

What is Rylie for?  She is for redefining norms.  She is for healing old hurts. She is for second-chances. She is for seeing God in a tiny little body, fighting to be heard. She is a messenger.  She’s a game-changer. 

I had it all wrong.  And, I’m sure I will again. But I am certain that I would not have learned this lesson without my child.  Not so effectively.  That’s what she is for.

And I am not afraid anymore.

I am a lot of things, but I am not afraid.

• 

Some brilliant quotes from email answers you sent in on the ‘strategy‘ post:

I can say that a good reason for having kids is WOW you really understand uncondonditional, overflowing, heart-gonna-burst-it’s-aching-so-much love.  This parental love is so different than familial love or romantic love.

I see the worst of life everyday at work, and it is only though trust and faith in God that I have hope that my kids will be okay in this crazy scary world full of all the wrong choices.

I still have no clue what I want professionally or in some ways personally either! I applaud any and all who choose to be parents, there is an honor and a love that you deserve for taking on what is such a huge responsibility, and risk to your heart and soul to leave yourself vulnerable to a little life that can bring so much joy but also so much terror and fear through all that can go wrong in the world.

I heard a saying once, and I know I won’t get it right, but it was something like, “Children are proof of God’s hope for the future.”

Why would God call us to do that? First, to bring him glory through the using of our gifts in his kingdom. But secondly, because it is the hardest, most selfless (when done well…yikes…need to remind myself of that ALL the time) thing I will ever do. It reminds me of how God doesn’t respond to me when I mess up, and reminds me of how I should treat others when they sin, err or fail me. It is a huge lesson in humility, in dependence on God, and in self-sacrifice. It reminds me of the book, Sacred Marriage, and it’s principle: what if God designed marriage to make us holy rather than happy? Challenging stuff, especially in our church world today.

I am sitting here typing this with a house full of kids (well actually 2 are at school which is a beautiful thing) and for the first time in 9 years I am thinking, why did I have kids, because they don’t clean, they cost a ton on money, and half of time I’m not sure I want to claim them as my own—and surely, it isn’t proving what a wonderful person I am–NO WAY.  So, I guess it has to come down to God.  I had kids because God made me.  I didn’t plan it–He did.  He made me desire my husband and created this really strange and excitingly wonderful way to make them.  And then He held me in His hands as I held them in mine–and he hasn’t let me go yet, so I haven’t let go of mine.

God’s plan for me and having kids was different from my idea, but has humbled me to not always knowing what He has planned for me.  I was given a child in an unhealthy marriage and unable to have children in a healthy marriage.  It is hard at times to understand the reason behind that.   Having [my son] was not planned and when I think back to the circumstances it is truly a miracle.  I do know that having him has taught me true love, great joy and some of the deepest pain and tears.  The level of each of those emotions cannot be matched in any other relationship.

I can only imagine how much more I will want children once I am with the person that I want to have them with.  I mean my goodness…  They’ll be these true, living, breathing symbols of love and commitment and a marriage covenant and thinking about that makes me giggle.

All you have to do is love this baby and teach him about Jesus.

We wanted to have kids so that there would be more nice people in the world. We figured that we are both nice, we would be nice to our children and therefore they would probably be nice also. So far I think that [our daughter] is a positive addition.

Happy Happy Day

Ry turned four right around Thanksgiving and I never got a chance to tell you…

that she sang “Happy Day” to herself all day (week?) long

that she got a riding helmet

that she blew out all her candles in one breath

that she weighs 32 pounds soaking wet and is 36+ inches tall

that she eats frosted mini-wheats every. morning. for breakfast

that she carries Little Baby (now held together with white duct tape) with her everywhere she goes

that she always puts her shoes on the correct feet

that she rarely finishes a meal, and by rarely I mean never

that she has unbelievable maternal tendencies

that she babbles and sings herself to sleep

that she is addicted to books

that she was an angel in this year’s children’s Christmas program and waved at us the whole time

that she still naps in the afternoon at least 3 times a week

that I made her a crown so she could be a princess on her birthday… and any other day

and I made one for you, too

Just say hello today in the comments and tell me about your most memorable birthday gift.  I’ll announce a winner on Monday. 

Happy Happy Day to you!

almost 4

Dear Rylie,

Later this month, you will finish 4 trips around the sun.  Somewhere tucked inside all the insurance letters, preschool, trips to Texas, trips to Pittsburgh, trips to Cleveland, cows mooing, and chickens flying… somewhere in all that you changed from a big toddler to a little girl.  You are potty-trained.  You pray at dinner.  Your face is fine with rosy cheeks.  Your hair is back down to your shoulders.  Your fingers can cut a decent line through paper (and fabric and crayons and napkins).  Your legs are working so much better than a year ago.  You run so much faster (and straighter!) than last year!  Brenda (PT) and Becky B. (OT) and Becky L. (speech) have really stretched your therapy sessions.  You work hard with them each week and we are seeing the change in you.  You are more confident, more *ahem* assertive, more adventurous, and it is a joy to watch.

This year, Mom and Dad took you out of daily special needs preschool and enrolled you in Oakwood Christian Preschool.  This allowed us to add in a few more activities with a wider variety of kids.  So, our crazy schedule looks like this:

• Mondays: music therapy with Mrs. Julie, lunch at Camp Roger
• Tuesdays/Thursdays: preschool
• Wednesdays: riding therapy at the Equest Center
• Fridays: PT, OT, and Speech therapy with Becky, Becky, and Brenda

It’s working well, but Mom has to write down where she’s going every day so she doesn’t show up to music class with your riding helmet.  Gideon loves to watch and play from the sidelines.  He loves you so much, Rylie.  He loves to clap for you and sing along.  He loves to pet the horses.  All these classes, these drives, these adventures… they are not just for you.  They have changed all of us. We are all working with you, Child, and we are better for it. 

You are passionate to exhaustion about horses. Horses. Horses. Horses. (Sleepless in Seattle?  Anyone?) You love horses.  You ride with dad at our neighbor’s house once a week, and you are so brave!  You ride alone and without a saddle.  Last week while eating breakfast before your first official therapy lesson, you spoke your first sentence.  “Di-Gin no on nay-nay.  Me.” [Gideon is not riding the horse.  I am.]  You have never, and I mean never, put together 2+ words before.  I was stunned.  All of these new experiences are slowly connecting words and meaning and language for you.  It has been nothing short of miraculous to watch.  You are a miracle.

Ry, we tried to get you extra one-on-one speech therapy through our insurance.  Mom and Dad and Doctor Hoffius and Dana… we all wrote letters on your behalf asking for more time with a specialist.  They denied us twice.  This led Dad to have a meeting at work with his 2 bosses.  In short, he asked them to change work’s insurance policy.  And, you know what, Ry?  They did it.  You now have permission to see a specialist for 30 private visits a year. 

You, with so few words, tell such an amazing story. You are hard to ignore.  BUt then, that has always been the case.

For this next year, Ry, I pray for an explosion in words.  I pray that the growing frustrations you feel when you try communicate would begin to melt as your language grows and grows.  I pray that children would be kind to you as you all discover that every child is different.  I pray that I would be patient with you- I know how hard it is to grow up.  And, I pray that you would find joy in all the things God has provided for you in this family, this farm, and our community.

We are all still cheering for you! Go, Rylie, Go! Show us what is possbile.  Show us what you can do.  Show us what we can do.

I love you.

Mom

[below: rylie talks about her first riding lesson]