The Joys of Parenthood

Lately I've had a lot of parents tell me that they don't understand what people mean when they talk about the joys of parenthood.  These are no ordinary parents that are feeling this way.  The parents I'm talking about deal with situations that ordinary parents never dreamed possible and they do it everyday.  They deal with being sworn at, kicked, punched, demeaned, disobeyed, spat at and hated... that's on a good day and that's just by their children.  On any given day, they also deal with being judged, neglected, misunderstood, and overwhelmed... and that's by the system that's supposed to be helping them.  These parents also face ridicule, useless parenting advice, and scorn... these are by ordinary parents. It's no wonder these parents have a hard time finding the meaning in the joy of parenthood.

This goes out to all the parents who have a hard time finding the meaning of the joy of parenthood.

The joy of parenthood is that moment at night when the kids are in bed and all your energy is spent... yet you're able to wish for one more moment of time with your child. 

The joy of parenthood is having your child have the worst behavior possible, in front of visitors (including the in-laws), at the worst possible moment, when you're least likely to hand down your usual fist of iron, and yet you wouldn't give up your child to anyone for any amount of compensation in the world. 

The joy of parenthood is in knowing that you could give every bit of every thing you have without reservation so that your child can have one more minute of happiness, one less minute of time, or one more minute of life.

The joy of parenthood is being able to see the blessings, benefits, and pleasures in the sacrifices you make in order to make sure your child has a better life than you ever had.

The joy of parenthood is that feeling you have- in spite of being hit, kicked, punched, spat on, threatened, rejected, embarrassed, horrified, and run through the ringer- when your child wraps his or her arms around you, snuggle in close, and says "I love you. I'm sorry. I want to be with you forever." It's knowing that no matter what they've done or will do, you'll never love them any less; and every day, your love for them will grow higher, deeper, longer, and wider than your heart can imagine being possible to love.

Not So Special Education

I'm the type of parent who's big on education, so I take an active role in my children's schooling and education.  I have two school aged children in my home, one who receives regular schooling and another who's in special education.  Though I've worked with special education children before, I'm finding it's much different when it's your child.

Unlike general education, special education is meant to take each child's individual strengths, weaknesses, and disabilities into conderation and come up with a specialized education plan that provides for maximized learning for the child.  That specialized plan is called an individual education plan, or IEP. 

An IEP is a supposed to be a well though out document that explains the goals and objectives for the child and the tools and aids being provided to assist the child in obtaining those goals.  There is an entire committee of specialists who each play a role in making sure the IEP is the best available plan available to help your child meet his or her educational potential.  The goals and objectives should be reasonable for and obtainable by the child, taking into account the child's special needs and circumstances.  The IEP also gives a specific time frame in which the goals and objective are to be reached; that time frame should also be reasonable, taking into account the child's special needs and circumstances.  In an ideal world, the child will reach all of the goals and objectives outlined in the IEP.

Anyone who has lived into adulthood knows we do not live in an ideal world.  Having gone through the special education process for the past year and a half, I've found that the special education system in my area is nothing like it's supposed to be. Last school year, my husband and I found that the school our child went to did not have the skills and training necessary to handle the severity of disabilities our son has, yet at the same time, the school was not willing to admit as much. School became a playhouse for our son; one in which he could do and act as he chose.  As much as I hate to admit it, our son spat, choked, swore, threw, argued, hit, punched, and did all kinds of things to all kinds of people with no consequences whatsoever. My husband and I warned the school ahead of time of the types of behaviors they could expect from our son, we also told them how to handle our son's behaviors; everything we said fell on deaf ears until it was too late.  When it was all over and done with, our son had been transferred to another school to be someone else's problem.

Not wanting to have a repeat of last year, my husband and I moved to a new school district, one that was known for having a better special education system than that of last year.  In his new school, my son has found that his teachers and administrators are better able to deal with his behaviors. I have found, however, that there is still much that is lacking.

My son has been in school less than 10 weeks so far, yet we have already had two meetings with the school.  The first meeting was to give the school the same heads up we had given his last school regarding his behaviors; the second meeting was scheduled to discuss his IEP. If you'll remember, I made a point in the beginning to point out that my husband and I play an active role in our children's education.  After the first school meeting, I received a copy of my son's IEP and what I saw disturbed me to no end.

The first thing I noticed about my son's IEP was that although he was a 5th grader (in name only), his IEP had him marked as  6th grader.  As I traveled deeper into the ten or so pages, I saw trouble on the horizon.  The objectives written into my son's IEP were unbelievably high as far as expectations were concerned.  The more I read, the more I could see that whoever had written my son's IEP, they had not in any way taken my son's abilities, disabilities, or individuality into consideration. I knew that if my son were to truly be expected to live up to that IEP, we would all be in trouble; my son was being set up to fail and the teachers, administrators, my son, and our family would all be forced to pay the price for someone else's mismanagement.

It wasn't long after that when I set the wheels in motion for an IEP meeting. An IEP meeting is when the IEP committee comes together and discusses changes to the child's IEP either at the parents', school's, or committee's request.  I expected to be met with some resistance regarding the changes I wanted made, but what I got was nothing like I expected.  I quickly found that my son's teacher agreed with my concerns and felt as I did regarding the IEP- surprise one (it's usually my son's teacher who is the biggest source of contention when it comes to the choices my husband and I make for our son).  All of changes I wanted were made exactly the way I wanted without me having to vocalize what it was I wanted- second surprise. So far, everything was going better than I expected; then we got to the issue of grade level.

What I expected to be the easiest part of the IEP meeting, I found to be the most disconcerting.  What was thought to be a mistake was in fact a calculated and disturbing violation of my son's rights as a student and my my husband's rights as parents.  It turned out that the school did not have the proper program available for my son's grade level, so they changed his grade level so he would be able to stay in the program they placed him in. All this took place without mine or my husband's knowledge, without our consent, and without taking my son's needs into consideration.  The person who made this decision regarding my son had never met my son, had not ever taken a look at my son's IEP, and challenged everyone who disagreed with her decision, including my son's teacher, prinicipal, and special education coordinator.  To put it politely, I wasn't happy about the fact that important decisions regarding my child's education were made without my knowledge and without my consent.

Honestly, my son is no candidate for early promotion in school. Remember how I said that him being in 5th grade is by name only, well as far as academic level is concerned, he's a 2nd grader, as far as socially, he's still in pre-school.  In my eyes, there's just something wrong about putting a child who's so far behind even further ahead; I would feel the same way if it weren't my child.  To date, I still have not received a valid excuse as to why my son is now a 6th grader though he has in no way earned it and you can believe I'm going to continue asking questions. 

As things stand, I may end up having to hire a lawyer in order to fight this errant decision, and if that's what it takes, I will. I just find it disheartening that the very system that's supposed to cater to my son's individual needs  is getting the best possible education he can get is actually standing in the way of my son getting the educational help he needs... that just goes to show that in this day and age of  "No Child Left Behind", my son is a victim of not so special education.

Gestational Diabetes

When I was pregnant with my second child, I heard the words I'd been dreading since I was a child- "you have diabetes". There's a strong history of diabetes in my family, so I've been careful to take care of myself, so as to combat my lurking enemy; but with my second child, and all the weight I gained in my pregnancy, diabetes was inevitable.

What's a mom-to-be to do when she hears "diabetes"? Do what I did and take control of the disease before it takes control of you. I was careful to follow the diet prescribed by my doctors, I walked for exercise (I would have done more, but couldn't due to other complications), I tested my blood sugar as advised, I took my medications; in short, I did everything I knew I was supposed to do.  In fact, my doctor called me her model patient; she said she wished she could bring all her patients to me so I could show them how it should be done.  I knew that if I didn't get the diabetes under control in my pregnancy, it could carry over into my post-natal days, which I had always worked so hard to avoid. On top of all that, I knew what the diabetes could do to my unborn child.

I'm glad to say that I gave birth to a healthy baby girl.  She is now 7 months old. I am also happy to say that since the birth of my child, I am no longer diabetic. I fought gestational diabetes and won, and you can do the same.  I still have to be cautious of diabetes because of my high risks (family history, gestational diabetes), so I make sure to eat a fairly healthy diet, exercise when I can, and just take good care of myself over all. 

My point is, you don't have to accept diabetes passively.  If you actively fight against it, you won't just win the battle, you'll also win the war.

A-raisin' A New Son

Raising an adopted child isn't easy. There are times when you wonder "WHAT WAS I THINKING!" The rest of the time, you're trying to keep from pulling your hair out. And if you're lucky, there are some times when you're rewarded with a hug and smile.

My son was 9 years old when he came to live with my family and he showed up with a lot of baggage. I'm not talking duffle bags and suitcases. I mean emotional and behavioral problems. Being the biological son of my husband didn't make his transition go any smoother. My husband, who was in the military, was over seas fighting for our country; thanks to his dedicated service to the U.S., his son barely knew him. He had been in foster care for over two years after having been physically, sexually, mentally, and emotionally abused while in his mother's care.  Due to being over seas, my husband didn't find any of this out until months after his son was already in foster care.

Needless to say, all those bad experiences didn't fare well with the boy and he took it out on any and every one and thing he could find.  Since he came home a little over a year ago, he's threatened me with a knife, choked a classmate, threatened to kill his teachers, attempted to have sex with a little girl, threatened his classmates with sex, and much more.  Remember, all of this took place when he was 9 and 10 years old.  Rocky road isn't just a flavor of ice cream, it's a description of our life with our son.

Six months after our son entered the home, things weren't great, but they were improving. As life would have it, his mother began contacting him (through a brother social services decided it was okay to leave in her care), doing away with the three years he had had to get her out of his system and sending him into a downward spiral that no one could pull him out of.  We had to have him institutionalized for a month to get some of that anger out of his system. 

It's been seven months since then. Through extensive therapies (notice that's plural) and no contact with mom, things are improving again. He still has days when he's a complete terror, but those days are becoming more infrequent. We're finally on our way to recovery. Our family is taking all the steps we know to make it so my son never has to return to foster care and so that we all can grow to have healthy lives. Through lots of work and God's help, even my son, with all his obstacles and troubles, can be successful.

Heart Disease

When I got married, I inherited a child with heart disease. He was born with only half a heart and, honestly, it's a miracle he's alive.  Mind you, he has the energy of an entire football team, on steroids, drinking an endless supply of coffee, on game day, but inside him is a tiny little heart that's too small for his body and limits him as a person. My son doesn't, however, allow his condition to limit his confidence in himself; as far as he's concerned, he can still do anything. As his mother, I do all I can to help him maintain that belief.

On the other hand, there's my husband, who was born with a perfectly healthy heart. He's a fairly young man who's been dying since I've known him.  When we met, one of the things that attracted me to him was his zeal for life; another was that he was so active, in spite of his age. He was 46 years old, rode a bike to work, worked a 12 or more hour day, rode his bike home, then still had the energy to drag me around a battlefield or mall, or some other place.  He was refreshingly affectionate; made me feel loved, honored, and respected; and he brought out the smiles in me. Only three years later, that man I fell in love with no longer exists.  My husband no longer rides his bikes. He's angry and bitter and surly. He storms around in constant rage. In fact, the honor and respect disappeared a long time ago. So what happened?

My son, in spite of his heart defect, is one of the most loving children you will meet.  He greets every one with a hug and a smile, even if it's someone he just met.  Having been the object of abuse on top of abuse on top of abuse, it's a wonder he feels any love at all, but he does.  His heart, in spite of its size, is the most open and loving heart I've ever seen.  It's warm and inviting and desires to love.

My husband, in spite of his naturally healthy heart, not to mention his privileged and blessed life, is one of the most miserable people I know. Believe me when I tell you that he wasn't always this way.  He was recently diagnosed with a seizure disorder, which has altered his life drastically, but his death started long before that.  Little by little, the fun and decent man I loved is being chipped away at and replaced with a grumpy, cantankerous and distant corpse.

What's the difference between my son and my husband? Heart disease. My son suffers from a physical ailment, but my husband suffers from heart disease as well. Unfortunately, my husband's form of heart disease can't be fixed with a scapel.  My husband suffers from the type of heart disease that only he can change. His heart has become poisoned with anger, bitterness, depression, and all the negativity he can find. 

It is my hope that some day my husband will look at our son and learn something from him, a lesson I learned a long time ago... it's not the handicaps in our bodies that keep us from succeeding, but the handicaps that linger in our hearts.

Poverty

One thing on the minds of everyone in the world right now is economy. The world's economy has all of a sudden hit a low that it hasn't in about 70 years. The Great Depression is the last time anyone remembers things being this bad. Daily, I'm reading reports of people who are committing suicide, murder-suicide, and other such acts of desperation because of the prospect of losing their homes, their families, and their dignity. So what does one do to survive in these times?

I, myself, have had some hard times. When my first child was born, I was a single mother with no job (I knew that my most important job was to be a parent to that child) and I wasn't receiving child support. It was a struggle having enough to make ends meet. And now that the entire country is headed into financial turmoil, my husband is newly disabled, the money from my jobs (notice I said jobs) is trickling in slowly, and sometimes I don't know how I'm going to pay that one bill that just nagging away at me.

Knowing that the world's economy is in trouble is frightening, even to me, but I insist on not fretting too much about it.  What keeps me grounded and unafraid is my faith. You see, I've learned that God takes care of His people and no matter the economy or other issue, God is faithful.

What to do when it's all falling apart around you? Trust God, He'll see you through it all and He'll also give you the wisdom to combat any problem, including poverty.

A Tribute to Motherhood

A couple of years ago, I suddenly went from being mother of one to mother of five; and then earlier this year, we added one to make six.  You name it, I've been there: special needs child- got it, infant- got it, teenager- got it, adopted child- got it, boys- got it, girls- got it. I'm beginning to think that there's no aspect of motherhood that I haven't experienced, but knowing nature, something will be thrown in that I wasn't quite prepared for.

With all the challenges I experience being a mother, I have to admit that I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.  I've learned to accept the challenges that motherhood brings me. Wifehood, now that's another story. Some day, my children will all be grown and married off and have children of their own, but for now, I'll just enjoy all the surprises each day of motherhood brings.