Even God Believes in Fairies

In the days following Natalie learning "The Truth" about the Tooth Fairy and Santa -- I asked her if she was doing okay.
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I found this star leaf on the playground at school.  It is magic and allows me to grant wishes."
"Hmmm..."
"Look, it's snowing.  I did that."
Natalie then went on to explain how she knows all about fairies.
"You see, before I was born God was going to make me a fairy, but then you had begged Him to give you a daughter.  So, He took most of the magic out of me.  He took out the little and he took out the wings, but He left a little bit of magic in.  I'm actually a fairy girl."
"When did you learn of this?"
"The other day...I think God knew I was really sad about the Tooth Fairy not being real so that's why now I can grant wishes.
"Really."
Yeah, my friend Bella wished to be able to fly."
"Wow. That's a tall order."
"Tell me about it."
"Ella wants to be a Jedi with a green light saber...I don't know how I'm going to make a light saber. And...my teacher, Mrs. Raymond, asked for it to snow up to her big toe tomorrow and for it to be sunny the next day."
"I see..."
Dear Lord:
Thank you for keeping the magic alive in my fairy girl's heart.

Hide n'Seek and Found

Recently I was asked to speak at my MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) year-end Tea & Testimony.  MOPS is an International Christian-based organization dedicated to encouraging and developing mothers to realize their potential.

Talk about nervous. 

For weeks, I consumed boxes of Girl Scout cookies and gallons of caffeinated beverages while staring at a blank computer screen.  

Night after night I not only counted sheep, I organized them by size and color…

Immobilized by fear…with the underlying thought being, the jig is up…

now everyone is going to know…

• after nearly 10 years of membership I still don’t know my way around a Bible
• I still think of God as someone sitting behind a heavy piece of glass with the words “Break Only in Case of Emergency”
• I’ve called God some pretty awful things in my time
• I regularly question His plan for me

For almost a decade I’ve been on a quest to understand God and my mission here on Earth.  I was baffled as to why Marilyn, our Mentor Mom had asked me to speak to the group in the first place.  What could I possibly share that would be helpful, uplifting, insightful about my pursuit for understanding God.  Over the years I’ve emailed her with dozens of questions and concerns about everything from faith and God to my purpose in mothering.

I grew up in a Catholic family and attended Catholic school in which going to Mass several times a week was part of the curriculum.  All of my friends were Catholic.  I was baptized at two months and gave my first confession at eight years old.   

Lord, I agonized over that first confession. I was a basically a good kid and recall telling the priest my sins included arguing with my brother and sister and talking back to my parents (the latter sin was actually a lie I told because I couldn’t think of another sin and was afraid I’d get into trouble if I didn't at least two sins) and then I’d receive my penance of a few Hail Mary’s and maybe an Our Father.  I was just trying to follow the rules…like not eating meat on Fridays during Lent and listening to whatever the nuns and priests told me.  

I remember when our parish priest came to speak to my 2^nd grade class about vocations. 

My first thought was “Yay! Maybe we’ll get to talk about Disney!" 

When I figured out what he was really talking about - I feared God would call me to become a nun…as my aspirations at the time were set on either working in a pet store or doing hair.  

But it wasn’t until I became an adult that I realized during all those years of genuflecting, reciting the prayers of the Rosary and participating in the ‘stations of the cross’ that I never felt comfortable in church or in expressing my beliefs in God outwardly to anyone…not even family and friends.  

It seemed God and my feelings about him were so private I even kept them from myself.  

Growing up, we didn’t have conversations about God in the home, nor did we pray before meals, and we certainly never owned a Bible. As a kid I just tried to be a good follower of the rules set by my parents, school and the church.  I believed good followed good.  Don’t follow the rules and look out.  God was watching and keeping track. By the time I was a teenager I was convinced that when I died I would spend several years in purgatory before entering Heaven.  When I left for college, my family’s connection with the church was reduced to attending mass on Christmas and Easter. I was at an age when I questioned everything I was ever taught and even more so when it came out that a priest who served at my elementary school was being brought up on charges for child molestation.

I was distrustful of organized religion.

Then in December 2000, I went on a blind date….set up by my mother and a friend of hers.  This wasn’t my first -- I was 28 years old and had been on plenty and did not have high hopes for anything to come of it.  I was so certain it would be a disappointment that I didn’t wear makeup. I tied my hair up in a tight bun and wore a shapeless wool sweater and a pair of baggy, corduroy, carpenter pants.  I was determined; it seemed, to not be asked out a second time. I also insisted on driving myself to the movie theater and figured I’d be back home and in my jammies before 9 o’clock.  

But, things didn’t work out that way.  It turned out the jarhead, country boy man from a town so small, you’d be hard-pressed to locate it on a map…was funny and interesting and interested in me...despite my best dressed-down efforts.  He was the first man I had ever gone out with in which the subject of religion, faith and God became a topic of conversation.  In all my years of dating, I’d never broached the subject and frankly didn’t care to… with anyone.  Now here was this guy talking about God…on our first date…and the idea of finding the nearest exit had not even crossed my mind .

Though Steve grew up Methodist, he had studied many different faiths including Catholicism and as it turned out -- knew more about it than me…someone who had been born into it.  And, he read the Bible.  He actually read it…cover to cover.  I remember on that first date, glossing over my beliefs by giving my standard “I’m not into organized religion…but I think I’m spiritual”.  But, in that moment, what I was…was completely gob-smacked I could be head over heels for this sweet, funny, honest man who wore well-worn snake-skinned cowboy boots and Dr. Huxtable-looking sweaters...who wasn’t afraid to say he believed in God.  In fact, in the first few weeks of dating, Steve told me he was sure God had brought me to him; I was the woman he had been praying to come into his life.

Huh? Say what?

Steve was patient and while we dated and even after we married – only broached the subject of going to church from time to time.  It wasn’t until after we had Noah that I felt I was ready to enter a church again. It seemed, although I was afraid, I was more fearful my child would grow up not knowing God.  We began attending contemporary services at a Methodist Church and for months I found it difficult to get through a sermon without tears streaking my face. 

Why? I don’t really know.  Maybe sometimes out of guilt for getting so angry at God and other times over my complete misunderstanding of what God really wants and expects of me. For so long I thought of God as something so important and powerful  I didn’t talk to him because I didn’t want to bother him with my petty concerns and problems.  And, honestly, I didn’t know how to pray.  I didn’t feel confident I would have the right words to say to him.  I was conditioned to recite prayers and felt like my words would sound stupid.

When I joined MOPS, I was a very sleep-deprived mom, working part time from home while caring for our persnickety 15 month old, Noah.  During this time Steve attended college two nights a week while holding down a full-time job during the day and serving as a clerk at a sporting goods store on weekends.  We had only one car because two weeks prior to me returning from maternity leave, my work told me if I wanted to keep my job, I would need to move to Sarasota, FL.  Subsequently, the following week, Steve’s car died.

So we made do, which meant I negotiated with my company to work 20 hours a week from home for several months until they could find a replacement for me.  But, with the reduced income and uncertainty with my future employment, we decided to get by with only one car. For the next 18 months, I only traveled as far as my stroller could take me.  During this time I wore the wheels off of three strollers and significantly whittled my body down in size…and was extremely lonely.  Although working from home provided us with extra income and kept my mind occupied, it left no time for me to meet other moms.  I walked a tight rope of sorts. I didn’t have the freedom to hang out and commiserate with stay-at-home moms nor did I have the ability to keep up with the full-time working moms in my field.  On top of the money stressors and loneliness, at 18 months, Noah had a history of chronic ear infections…then a seizure…then another…then another.  He was put through a battery of tests including genetic testing, an MRI and multiple sleep deprived EEG’s that gave us no answers…only more concerns and questions…like could the 103 fever I spiked during labor have caused his current health issues?

Talk about mom guilt.

By the time Noah was two, I knew something was wrong, but according to the state of Missouri not wrong enough.  When he was denied admittance into the First Steps program I went back to the neurologist who only weeks before had told me, “I don’t see autism” to share my Ah ha! moment – mainly that although Noah had more than 100 words in his vocabulary  -- much more than the 20 words needed to “pass” the development test, none of his words fell in the category of expressive language --words like no, eat, drink, out.  All of Noah’s words were labels. He could point to anything and name it. Thankfully, my concerns to him did not fall on deaf ears and with a Pervasive Developmental Delay (PDD) diagnosis Noah was allowed into First Steps. 

Over the next few years my life as mother and wife took a back seat to my life as a therapist for our son.  I did everything the therapists recommended which included; swinging therapy, listening therapy (which he initially hated and sometimes made him throw up), brushing and joint compression therapy and systematic desensitization therapy every day. 

And, I suffered; my family suffered…but my marriage really suffered.  And, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel close to becoming a statistic at various points throughout my marriage. 

·    when I found myself paying for gas with a handful of loose change

·    when Noah locked me in the basement and threw his shoes in the toilet in protest of potty training

·    and I definitely considered a Thelma and Louise exit during Natalie’s first six months of life…during that time of sleep deprivation due to her chronic ear infections, eczema and reflux and Noah’s seizures and other health concerns – I racked up 30 doctor visits between the two kids. 

Over the course of motherhood, I’ve built up quite a rolodex of ISTs…neurologists, otolaryngologists, dermatologists, allergists, urologists, orthopedists, occupational therapists, speech therapists, behavioral therapists, psychiatrists and psychologists.

Today I see those times I thought I was alone – God truly was working behind the scenes.  About six months after Steve and I joined a church I met Barb - an occupational therapist…not only did she understand the basics of what I was going through with Noah, but she just got me. And, she not only cared about me, she cared about my entire family.  She was the first outsider, I ever saw my husband let his guard down with – he suffered from social anxiety terribly, but with her, he acted like the man I knew – full of dry humor and a sharp wit.  And, through the many years of bare cupboards and creative cooking that goes along with having limited means, she always made sure I had chocolate.  I imagine the two of us consumed caseloads of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups over morning play dates that ran into dinnertime. She listened with a generous heart and made me believe that I was a good mom and could get through another day.

Although while at MOPS I often felt like I was carrying a secret…because I wasn’t so sure about God as everyone else seemed to be and I felt like an outsider because my kid didn’t act like typical kids…I forced myself to go…year after year.  And, sometimes I even relaxed enough to have a little fun.  I was determined as I had been with Noah’s therapy to find and understand God.  And, I made some pretty amazing friends, like Eraka. Through the years she and I have bonded over our kids who test the boundaries of what experts believe is normal and what we have learned to view as “normal plus” or our sons and husbands would see as “misunderstood super-powers”. MOPS also brought Marilyn, our group's mentor mom, into my life.  I can’t even remember how she was able to work her way into my heart because I kept stuff locked up tight…but she did and she didn’t mind – actually she welcomed any and all questions I had about God and the bible.  I began to look forward to receiving her friendly greeting and generous hugs at meetings.  Gently and respectfully, she inquired about my family and offered ways to support us because she intuitively knew it wasn’t in my nature to ask for help.  She was creative in her quest for helping me and my family.  Sometimes it came in the form of a Christian book and a few sachets of herbal tea.  Other times, a much needed grocery gift card or her calling in a favor to an occupational therapist friend who wanted to help, too.

For me, MOPS, and the friendships I’ve forged have been the cornerstone for how I’ve been able to keep on keeping on….and to continue my pursuit in having a relationship with God.  And, up until two weeks ago, I thought that would be all I’d have to share with everyone, except one evening after Steve had put Noah to bed, I heard him calling for me.  When I went into his room, Noah said, “Mom, you’ve got pray for me.”

Huh?

I was momentarily stunned.

This was a first.  For one thing, although our family regularly attends church and the kids go to Sunday school and we say grace before meals, not once had I ever prayed with my kids…mainly because I don’t even do that for myself . I often marvel at how easy it seems for others to pray so openly and freely…without worry. Now, here was my nine year old asking me to do that which I was most afraid to do and suddenly it all became clear…

All these years…

I’ve had it wrong. 

I haven’t been pursuing God. 

He has been pursuing me…relentlessly. 

He has been longing to hear from me, but it was I who would not allow it. So, this time, God decided to get creative.  I think he figured although I’d deny myself, I’d never do that to one of my children. For the past two weeks, God has been calling me to talk to him…

not in a beautiful church filled with stained glass windows...

but in a room surrounded by Darth Vader and an army of Lego guys. 

And, his voice doesn’t boom…

it’s prepubescent and always starts out the same, “Mom, you’ve got to pray for me.”

God Created All

I'm always surprised by how much I learn from my kids...

Did you know God created everything...even Wampas?

Natalie made this picture at Sunday school, but when she returned home she added a Wampa to the scene.



Mick Jagger Parenting

I may not have the "moves like Jagger", but today, I used the words of the ample-lipped crooner to help explain to Natalie why she can't have a tail.

On the way to preschool, she asked me how cats move their tails.  I'm no expert on felines, so I simply told her, "Cats move their tail the same way you would move your arm or leg.  It's part of their body." 

"Why didn't God give ME a tail?" she demanded.

"Honey, it's not just you.  He didn't create people to have tails," I responded.

"But, I REALLY want one!" she said.

"Why do you want a tail, Natalie?  What would you do if you had one?" I asked.

"I could be the best soccer player in the WORLD!" she confessed.

"Maybe you should talk to God about that," I suggested.

"Mom, can you tell Him for me?" she asked.

"No, you can talk to Him." I said.

"Will he give me one then?" she asked.

"Honey, just because you want something doesn't mean God is going to give it to you.  You can't always get what you want.  You get what you need," I said. 

No sooner had the words left my lips, and she was already bounding into her classroom, leaving her cat tail-soccer-dreams behind her.

Thanks, Mick.

Everyone's a Comedian

I always knew I wanted two kids.  I dreamed of having the “million dollar” family arrangement of one of each.  When I found out I was having a boy.  I was happy.  My husband was ecstatic.  I know this is going to sound cheesy, but he actually said to me, “Honey, since you are giving me a son, I want to give you the moon!” 

Ok, so I should tell you, he told me this while we were selecting new kitchen floor tiles, and he may have only meant for the moon to extend as far as our kitchen, but I like to think he was referring to something much more existential. 

After Noah was born and as he grew, so did my anxiety.  I loved him, but worried there wouldn’t be enough of me to cover the needs of two children.  In addition, the stress of the therapies, the seizures and a 10% increased chance of having another child with autism, caused me to pause. 

However, after Barb came into my life, everything seemed more manageable.  She was like a valve that allowed me to release some of the pressure threatening to break my fragile vessel.  So, when Steve and I decided to expand our family, I had only one request, “Dear God, please give me something different, I just can’t handle more of the same.”

Natalie’s delivery, unlike Noah’s, was planned.  Her entry into the world came the day after we discovered the cause of Noah’s seizures and were able to control them with medicine.  She arrived without fever drama and epidural complications.  She was more than a pound larger than Noah.  Instead of making an enormous protest about leaving her comfy quarters; she let out a small meow-like cry, then quickly closed her eyes like she couldn’t be bothered.

It has been interesting to watch the differences unfold. 

When Natalie was about six months old, I remember a scene in which I was sitting on the couch, her in my arms with Noah by my side.  Her gaze was fixated on her four year old big brother, when Noah commented, “You know Mom, she kinda looks like a moon.”  It was true, unlike Noah who has a slim face like mine; Natalie inherited her Daddy’s perfectly round, German noggin.  I giggled to myself, recalling Steve’s moon promise.

At eight months old, we discovered Natalie had several food allergies, among them peanuts, tree nuts and eggs.  How curious…as Noah preferred a routine diet of cheesy eggs for breakfast and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. 

Today their tastes in foods are from opposite ends of the spectrum.  While Noah would be happy with a steady diet (if we'd let him!) of processed meats and cheese, Natalie prefers raw veggies and fruit...the only exception being bananas.  Of course, bananas are the one fruit I can count on Noah to eat without complaint.

With Noah you know what to expect.  He likes to live by a playbook of his own creation.  Once a rule is set – it’s set in stone.  It’s easy to follow, as long as you have a copy of the book.  While Natalie prefers a life of what if’s.  If you ask her a question and give her two choices, her response is usually to come up with a new option.  

Noah prefers an ordered room and likes to play with one toy at a time.  (A mother’s dream).  He likes things to go back where they were and can spot a misplaced Lego guy instantly.  Natalie, on the other hand, likes to cook up Littlest Pet Shops in her kitchen while donning a coonskin cap and tutu.  Her room is usually a tidal wave of stuffed animals and Polly Pockets caught up in a twister of discarded tulle and plastic bugs.  If you ask her why, her response is usually why not?

Sometimes I wish I could have a “Freaky Friday” moment and see as she does.  She doesn’t ask questions like, “why is the sky blue?” She asks, “what do clouds taste like?” and “what does it feel like to be awesome?” She feels free to paint skies yellow and grass purple.  When coloring, she puts no pressure on herself to stay in the lines…she pretends there aren’t any.

Natalie has helped show our family what is possible when you stop worrying about the results and start enjoying the process.  She has also taught us that by not always doing what is expected, you open yourself up to receiving gifts you never dreamed were possible. Because of this, I’ve stopped listening wholeheartedly to what the experts say.  Instead I try to stay in the here and now, but it doesn’t always work.  When I think of Noah and his desire to become a Jedi; I can’t help but entertain the idea that Disney MGM Studios would be lucky to have a guardian of justice like him on their team. 

I’m also reminded of a time when Natalie was four and asked me, “Why do boys have a penis?” When I told her that’s just how God made them, she countered with, “Does God think he’s funny?” 

Today I can say with 110% conviction, “Yes, Natalie.  I think He does.”

The Power of One

About the time Noah received his diagnosis, God answered my prayers…actually I wouldn’t really call them prayers.  My convos with the Lord were more like a two year old having a fit over not getting a Hershey bar from the display case at the grocery aisle cash wrap.  Why God?!  Why?!  I’m hungry…just one!   But, before I go further, I need to give you the back story.

When I got pregnant I knew life would be different, but I wasn’t prepared for the sadness I would feel in losing my social circle of co-workers when I chose to work part-time from home versus full time in an office.  The difficulty was compounded by the fact that Steve’s car had lost the will to live and our mechanic had recommended a do-not-resuscitate order.  Noah, was just 6 weeks old, and since I had had an emergency c-section,  I wasn’t scheduled to start back for two more weeks.  Then came the call that my job was no longer secure…that is if I didn’t plan to haul my entire family on down to Sarasota, FL.  In the end I was able to work out a deal that allowed me to return to my post, but I would get to work from home and for only 20 hours a week.  The only catch was that this situation was temporary.  I had bought myself and the company, three months to find my replacement.

Our situation was aggravated further by the fact that 18 months before, my husband of good intentions, had tried to strengthen our portfolio by purchasing a rental property.  Unfortunately, we bought high, and soon after the bubble burst, and we were left with a second home that drained us and our bank account . I rationalized that since I was only going to be working 20 hours a week from home, I wouldn’t need a car because I'd be tied up with nursing and trying to fit in four hours of work each day.  Steve used my car to commute back and forth to work, and to school, and to the second job he’d taken to help us make ends meet. 

I was then left to cope with walking a line of having one foot in the working world and one in the SAHM world.  I didn’t have a solid footing in either place.  What I really needed was to create a new circle of friends and support which was no easy task without wheels.  I logged a lot of miles with my stroller and visited every park within safe walking distance from my home.  Every day I’d ask God…ok, I guess I should be honest here, I didn’t really ask – I pretty much demanded and swore and had a Super Size tantrum for him to give me one girlfriend who would listen and commiserate with me.  I was lonely dammit.

Enter…God’s perfect time line:

October 2004 – Steve and I joined a church (I had spent more than 15 years trying to convince myself I didn’t need one – I was spiritual.  That was enough, right?)  Though I was born and raised Catholic, we settled on attending services in a contemporary, Methodist one. 

December 2004 - Noah began having seizures.  A blessing in disguise, because it fast-tracked us to seeing a specialist.

January – March 2005

• We bought a second car!
• I am given the opportunity to work again with my former boss and forever friend, Ellen Rohr. 
• A space opens up in a Mom’s Day Out program allowing me to work without a toddler under foot, one day a week. 

May 2005 – Noah begins receiving therapy through First Steps and I begin my education in Sensory Integration Dysfunction and managing a very intense “sensory diet” with our son.

June 2005 – While taking a class at church, I meet a new mom.  Her name is Barb, but I’m so sleep-deprived and overwhelmed by Noah’s health issues, I don’t recall much passed her name.

August 2005 – I learn through the church bulletin that Barb’s family had experienced a death in the family.  Though I don’t know her well, I feel compelled to send a sympathy card.  A day or so after I sent the card, she called to thank me!  Who does that?  By this time, I wasn’t sure I wanted a friend as Noah’s behaviors and tantrums were growing as fast as he was and I was busy with work and working the “sensory diet plan” which involved:

·         Brushing and joint compressions -  10 times a day

·         Listening therapy  - twice a day, 20 minutes increments

·         Swinging therapy – twice a day,  15 minute increments

·         Systematic desensitization program –  twice a day, between meals

I wasn’t embarrassed by my son or his diagnosis, I told myself.  That’s because somewhere deep down (I don’t even think I consciously thought it) there was a part of me that felt if I just worked the plan, followed the therapist’s instructions, I’d get his issues licked and our lives back on track. 

What I thought would be a short, five-minute call, turned into a two hour therapy session.  I couldn’t believe my luck when Barb told me she was an occupational therapist.  What were the odds?  Our daily phone calls turned into frequent play dates and a sweet babysitting swap set-up.  It was amazing how easily the words passed between us and she cared for my kid like he was her own.  It was as if God had hand-picked her to drop in on my life when I needed her support the most…oh, yea.  Duh.