Time

I reach under the blanket to tickle my boy's toes. I whisper that it's time to get up for school and pray that this morning finds my sweet O in an agreeable mood. 

"No! I'm not going!"
"Sweet boy, I know you don't want to, but it's not a choice. We have to go."
"It IS a choice.  I'm not going!"
"I'm going to go wake up your brothers I'll be back to check on you."
He begins screaming as I walk away.

My eyes fill with tears as I move on to my other children.  I hate that they wake up every morning listening to their brother scream. I hate that I don't get to send them off with any "good luck on your test!" or "I know you'll do great on your speech" pep talks. At this point I'd settle for "Don't forget your backpacks".  Every single moment of our morning is spent cajoling Oliver to get dressed, eat, get in the car, and then get in the building.  I never for one moment take for granted that I have such flexible grace filled older children.  They never complain and often offer help.  

"How's it going, O? You need any help with your shoes?"
"I'm not wearing shoes because I'm NOT GOING TO SCHOOL"

Both shoes are tossed in my direction.  I sigh, pick them up, and put them by his backpack.  I'll deal with them later.  If he gets to school barefooted at least he'll be at school.  I check to make sure the babies are still eating and that W and G are close to being ready. They are all in good shape so I move back to Oli.

"Hi, Sweetie! I'm so proud you got dressed.  What do you feel like eating today?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Ok. Can you force something down? I hate sending you without something in your tummy."

As soon as I've said the words I know I've messed up.  The only way to keep the peace in the mornings is to keep up the illusion that O is not going to school. He insists he isn't and I don't argue.  If I make any comment that he interprets as an invitation to fight then he gleefully brings out the crazy.  I close my eyes and begin deep breathing.

"I TOLD YOU I"M NOT GOING!!!!!!" 

Oliver starts kicking the wall repeatedly and I know that we have just earned our 900th tardy of the year.  


I reach under the blanket to tickle my boy's toes.  I whisper that it's time to get up for school and pray that this morning finds my sweet O as happy as he usually is. 

"You need to hurry or I'm to not just going to tickle your toes but also your nose!"

I watch the impish grin I adore spread across his face as he whispers back:

"Not my nose and toes! Wait until I GROW!"

We both explode into laughter and he jumps out of bed.  That he happily gets out of bed and he can rhyme is not lost on me.  It doesn't take a Lens of Joy to be filled with happiness about the changes Oliver has made.  A diagnosis of dyslexia, intensive intervention with a gifted teacher, and lots and lots of positive reinforcement from the adults in his life have softened Oliver's heart and helped him make huge progress academically.  My silly O is back! 

There are times though when I wonder about the future and where O is headed.  What is college going to look like? What kind of job will he get? Is he going to sleep in his bunk bed forever? That's when I have to stop and make myself think back to all Oliver and I have been through. My Lens of Joy helps give me perspective.  He's Oliver! He's tough and persistent and brilliant.  He is amazing.  He's my hope.