Decisions

Several kids were gathered around the kitchen table making Valentines.  Some were scribbling happily on pink construction paper while others were carefully copying their friends names onto bags of candy.  There were talks of preferring Skittles to Fun Dip and discussions about the sayings on conversation hearts. If you didn't look closely you'd think the whole group was having a great time!

When I was done washing dishes I headed to the table and sat next to my four year old.  His back had been to me while I was busy at the sink so I hadn't noticed his furrowed brow nor the scowl where his usually impish smile was. 

"Uh oh, you don't look like you're having fun!"

"I'm not! I'm not doing this anymore"

"Why? You liked these Valentines when we picked them out. You were excited about your party. What happened?"

"I can't write my name. I'm not doing this"

The little guy slams his marker down and burrows his head into his arms.  It's then that I notice the red indentions on his finger and the pile of crumpled cards next to him.  My breath catches and my stomach begins to hurt.  This sweet boy has been working so hard in occupational therapy to learn to write. Just that day his teacher commented that he had been doing a great job and she could see his progress.  I felt awful that I'd let what was supposed to be a fun activity dampen whatever confidence he'd gained.

My first instinct was to take the marker and write his name for him: smooth the edges and save the evening. While that might be a quick fix I knew that in the long run he'd be better off if I helped him figure out a way to do this himself.  After some pre-valentines candy we worked together on finishing his cards.  We settle on writing just "Oli" and when even that gets tiresome we work on writing "O".  It's an arduous task and he works even after his siblings have grown bored and moved on to the TV in the playroom.  I tell him I admire his commitment to finishing the cards and that I know his friends will love them.  I find myself biting back tears more than once as I watch him work.

Over the next several days I find myself worrying over what the future holds for Oliver.  As a former teacher I am all too familiar with demands elementary school now makes on it's youngest students.  It's a challenging day for even the most prepared child.  The thought of thrusting my most sensitive boy into an environment that I know will push him beyond his limits is heartbreaking.  I want him to be three again where our days were full of playscapes and side walk chalk.  I want more time. 

I think and think and think.  I read and read and read.  I know I'm missing something.  Many parts of school don't come easily for Oli.  He has worked hard for every skill he has mastered.  His struggle is my struggle.  I know I need a new perspective so I call on my village.  I have long, hard conversations with moms and teachers I love and respect.  We hash out our options and I shed many tears.  Two things remain constant: we all love Oliver and I am blessed with a community of women that I can count on.  We are going to be ok.

No matter what F and I decide for Oliver the choice will be a leap of faith.  We are going to have to trust that the process will unfold as it's supposed to: support will find us, the words will come, and Oliver will be happy throughout.

"Don't bury in doubt what you planted in faith."

On My Mind: Random

Lately I have really been feeling the extremes of having five children.  When things are running smoothly it is amazing!   The house is full of laughter, messes are manageable, and I am able to go with the flow.  BUT, then there are months like this one.  The babies have been sick for what seems like weeks, Frank is working late most nights, and each big kid has had their own issue that has seemed extra needy.  It's during these times that the noise in the house seems unbearable and I find myself saying "Go play outside" way more than I normally would.  I notice that I'm constantly straightening and organizing, and any variation from our routine irritates me. I just can't relax and sink into the moment like I normally do. I am thankful for the ebb and flow of life as I know that this time will pass and things will calm down again. 

I've been really thinking about is this blog.  When I started this I intended for it to be a record of our family.  I thought I'd show off pictures and record what we did each month.  Without realizing it I'd slowly stopped making those type of posts (I think because I'm so active on Facebook). Instead, I'd started posting about how I was feeling about our family structure and the changes that were happening within it as my kids grew.  I love writing about my family.  It's a good outlet for me and it forces me to get to the root of whatever issue I'm being challenged with.  What I'm struggling with is how this affects my Bigs.  They have reached the age where they need privacy.  Their stories aren't mine to tell anymore. I'm still thinking and reading other blogs to get ideas. To be continued...