Is it ok if I wax sentimental for a few moments? Will you still be my friends and read my posts if I get all sappy and wishy-washy and gushy? I sure hope so…
For those readers who actually know me, you know I can be a pretty emotional person. And my emotions run the gamut from anger to ecstasy, and from irritability to neediness, and everything in between. Though I am not Bi-Polar (I do see a psychiatrist, so I can say that with certainty), my emotions can swing from one extreme to the next fairly quickly. Maggie is like a box of chocolates…you know the rest.
My mind sometimes runs away with me. I’ll be thinking about one thing, and that thing branches off onto another thing. This can go on ad nauseum. So it’s no surprise that I can go from an angry state to one where I can barely hold back tears of pride or joy. And there is no way to tell when this is going to happen, though it is most frequent when I try to sleep, because, well, my brain never totally shuts off.
And now I shall wax…
I’m so in love with my kids. “Of course,” you say. “What good mother isn’t?” Well, I wasn’t making an announcement, but simply prefacing my wax. That’s where I am going with this. Until you become a parent, it is difficult to believe that it is humanly possible to love both (or all) of your children the same. But it is not only possible, it’s unavoidable. Sure, you don’t love them for the same reasons. They are all unique individuals and you love them for who they are and who they are growing to be. I admit, there are days when I like one more than the other, particularly when one is being a little turd. But my love for them is infinite, and therefore it can not be said that I love one more than the other, because it is not mathematically possible (game, set, match).
The Boy, who has just turned 9 and is in 4th grade, has a heart of platinum. No, not just gold, platinum. He is the most sensitive, caring, and loving person I think I have ever met. I have talked about this in a previous post, but it bears repeating. This is the way I see him:
” He is my rock, such a compassionate and loving child. He is going to grow up to be someone really important, not a politician, or a CEO of some faceless conglomerate. He is going to do the really important things. He is going to help. He is going to heal. He is going to nurture. He is going to cultivate. And he is going to lead in a way no one has in a long time. He will make a difference for his generation, even after watching us forsake our own.”
He is sensitive to others’ feelings, almost so much so that it seems that he is an empath (for those of you who used to watch Charmed, Phoebe was an empath). He senses all sorts of distress in others and immediately takes action to show them he cares and tries to help. Can I remind you he is 9? But he is also sensitive in that low self-esteem way (God, I wish he had gotten his father’s confidence and not my self-consciousness). He takes everything to heart and he constantly needs to be reminded of how wonderful he is, and that no one is good at everything. I make it a point to have a mental list of all of the things that people love about him to reassure him that not doing well on his math homework can’t take away from how wonderful he is. Watching his beautiful little platinum heart break when he is down is absolutely one of the worst things to witness, and I would sell my soul if that is what it would take to prevent it.
He is an amazing big brother to the Dude. He almost never shows jealousy, is eager to help me with him when I need it, and his love for his little brother is so apparent, you cannot miss it. He plays with him and tries to teach him how to do things, very patiently, I might add.
Now, speaking of the Dude, where do you begin describing the incredible being who is nothing short of a miracle? Yes, I know that technically a miracle is a gift from God and I am an atheist. But until I find another word I want to use to describe the vastness of the gift I was given, miracle will have to work, since most people understand the magnitude of that word. Let’s not dwell on it…let’s move on. Here’s what I have said about him in the same previous post I referenced above:
“Everything about him is contagious – his laugh, his smile, his raw, innocent delight, and his completely unadulterated and unconditional love. He is disabled, true, and in most ways his disabilities limit his daily living skills to a great degree. But until you meet him, you can have no idea the extent of his abilities. He can evoke any emotion in you in a nanosecond, before you have time to register it. Most notably, he can wrench pure joy from the hardest of hearts with one steely gaze of his cobalt blue eyes. That’s a gift. Maybe even a super-power, I can’t say for sure. And every time he accomplishes something I didn’t think he would, my heart bursts with a pride unrivaled.”
We all take for granted the abilities we have until we are faced with someone who doesn’t have those abilities, whatever they may be. Then we learn to appreciate every single moment, every single tiny step forward, and we understand and admire the strength, determination, and courage it took to get there. I watched a few weeks ago as the Dude began to use his pointer finger to operate things, and then it quickly began to turn into a pincher grip. He wasn’t doing this in his Extended School Year program, and it was before his regular school year began. He learned it himself! I have been bragging about it and pointing it out ever since. Proud mama? You better believe it!
And recently I taught him how to blow kisses (I have to make the kissy sound for him, but he’s got the motion down, and then we have to clap and cheer), we’ve started playing a very enjoyable and apparently hysterical game of patty-cake while we wait for the school bus (there’s a 20 minute window of when they feel like picking him up, and the Dude gets very impatient), and on Friday I got him to kiss my hand after I kiss his. He doesn’t actually pucker up, it’s kinda slobbery and gross actually. But he loves doing it, and he loves when I tell him how good a job he did.
Oh my, it looks like I’ve waxed for more than just a few moments. But honestly, what parent can limit their bragging to a paragraph? I think I did well keeping it as short a I did, because I could just keep on going. But I won’t. You get it. And if you read my recent article on writermags.hubpages.com, you know exactly what I am about to do…