Delight

Take delight in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.  Psalm 37:4

I've never hidden the fact that while I love the life I'm in, it is not without struggles. Mainly struggles within me: my mind and heart. I very easily can slip into a worrisome place, especially when it comes to Ruby and her future. How odd that is because when I reflect on her past, she has done nothing but beat odds and overcome obstacles. Yet I still worry that she'll run out of steam when it comes to kicking @$$ one day. (Idiot!)

All of that worry gets in the way of me experiencing joy with Ruby. The good news is, I do force myself out of the therapy and work and fear often to still *see* her and take joy in who she is. But it would be nice for that to just happen without me having to be so intentional about shutting off the main part of my current persona.

One of my main grievings is for a 'simple' toddler/babyhood for Ruby. One where I don't have to measure her or keep track of milestones like it's my job. That constant "what's next" approach steals some of the joy out of this precious, short time when she is so little.

So I find myself in the middle of a week that should have me very stressed out. A week that includes typical therapies, a parent-teacher conference for Ruby (where lack of achievement is up for discussion), a whole morning of subbing in Ruby's class (and likely seeing the gap between her and other kids), and a County Services evaluation where they work with Ruby for a few hours to see how much (not "if") she needs help in going forward.

Sounds like a recipe for disaster in my over thinking head. But God has so given me the desires of my heart. He has given me what I want most for myself as Ruby's mom: delight in Ruby without anything else attached. I know I will mess it up and it won't last, but this week, I have been able to sit back and delight.

We still have one of the things on our to-do list ahead of us, but so far this week, I have been covered with a pleasant calm during conferences and therapies and evaluations. I've seen her sitting quietly and patiently through most of the conference in her classroom. I've heard her teachers list the many ways she is working at the same level as other kids in the class. I've heard therapists and developmentalists squeal with delight over Ruby and her willingness to do what they ask during her evaluation. I hear her chatter non-stop while they work with her, her sweet voice such a great background noise to my simultaneous interview with another therapist.

And through it all, I honestly didn't pull out that measuring stick. I didn't feel "she's doing well for her". I didn't feel the need to qualify to myself any of the good stuff that is happening with Ruby.

So when I think about the verse above, I think it means that if we delight in God, we can delight in what He's given us, and we can find peace and fulfillment. In a week that could have provided anything but, I am finding much peace.

Burn Like A Star

 "Burn like a star, Light a fire in our hearts" - Rend Collective

Ruby burns like a star. And how... She is the fire in our hearts.

Not just because she is the star in my tattoo, not just because she is a rockstar, but because she is constantly shining in the darkness around her as a pure light.

I love this song (Burn Like A Star), and it makes me think of Ruby every time. This week especially, she is shining like the star she is. My one-on-one speech time with her has been fairly productive in the last week, and I'm hearing words randomly more and more. Not always in the right order (tonight she said, "bye-bye, ook, mama, bye" as she waved to her "Llama Llama" book on the dresser after we read it"), and not always with full articulation ("ook" for book, "nana" for banana, "een" for green), but it's coming.

Today was her first parent-teacher conference. We requested an 'assessment' from her teachers a few weeks back in preparation for her Cobb County evaluation (which will lead to an IEP for her in a Special Needs Pre-K in the fall). The areas where Ruby was not performing as well as we would like were absolutely expected (speaking-related tasks). What wasn't expected was how well she performs for them with so many of the other 'typical' 2 year old areas. It would be easy to look at her assessment form, full of checks in all three levels of success (ranging from not successful to successful), and get down about it, but honestly, I'm super excited that there are plenty of successful checks!

Tomorrow Ruby will be evaluated by therapists and educators for a few hours while they take copious notes regarding her levels of speech, physical abilities, fine motor skills, etc. A report with their 'findings' will follow that, and we will have an IEP meeting scheduled. At this meeting, the types of services and frequency will be discussed and decided. There is much anxiety around this process, but at the moment I am pretty calm about it. Right now there is nothing I can do (nor do I know what i should/could do) regarding tomorrow's evaluation, so I'm just planning on a morning of seeing what Ruby has up her sleeve. If she's a rockstar (duh), then yay. If she's not giving them her full focus, then she qualifies for more. Sounds like a win-win?

Torn

We have just been through a very full season. Full of medical concerns, full of prayer, full of uncertainty, full of full schedules. One of the many things this full season did not allow for was the amount of time and energy Lehr and I expected to spend on making a decision about Eli's middle school destination.

A little background... Lehr and I are facing decisions that all but didn't exist when we were in school. Where we went to the school we were zoned for, as did all of our neighbors and classmates, Eli's neighborhood friends have been moving to different middle school districts since he was in second grade. And of those that are still here, there is a choice to be made between public and private. Add to that this fun detail: his fifth grade class is zoned for two different middle schools, with him on the 15ish% side. (And of that small percentage zoned for 'our' public middle school, we'll be lucky to get a handful that actually attend.)

This has been heavy on our hearts for several years. As products of a public middle school, and one far less capable than what we are zoned for, we have always been confused by the whole situation. And we feel so strongly about pouring into the community you live in. "Entering into each others' mess", some might say. How can we expect our local school to thrive if we take our resources (very actively involved parents and families) to other schools, private or public? This would be a great opportunity for us to enter into an environment more realistic of our city, our country, and invest ourselves, be the hands and feet of Jesus, learn about other cultures, benefit from a different, but equally as important, kind of inclusion than we think about in regards to Ruby.

We talked to parents of kids at a few of the local public schools, we talked to parents of kids at some private schools, we have prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed. And I spent hours talking to and emailing with moms on the front lines at several different schools (private and public). Then we reached out to as many individual parents as we could of kids Eli knew well that qualified for that small little percentage of possible future classmates. Still we were hopeful that we could be part of the 'change' in our area; we were hopeful that we could rally with some other families we were building relationships with through the elementary years to enter these tough preteen/teen years with a strong group of parents working together to navigate the scariness of the middle years.

Unfortunately each school year, each month, unfolded families moving in the opposite direction. By the time we entered this fall of craziness for us, we were at odds about what to do because we could count on one hand the families we know who might attend the public school with us. Then there was (is!) the issues we are struggling with as far as Eli is concerned: trust, humility, character. Our concerns were growing over his ability to grow in his faith during middle school in an environment where everything including the kids are new. It's hard enough to start at a new school with new teachers and new freedoms and new responsibilities, but then to have no comfort zone of a few familiar faces... We have always believed that there is strength in numbers when developing faith, and being around those who share in your faith and values can help strengthen yours so that you can help others find their way.

This fall got crazy: there was no time for school tours or appointments with teachers or meetings with principals. Instead, we were able to get in one tour at our public middle school and one tour at a local private christian school. So so much good at both schools. The public school is rich in music and diversity and sports and STEM. And I've talked to so many moms of current middle schoolers there that rave about the teachers, especially the sixth grade team, that have such a heart for their students. And then you have the private school which can offer faith woven through all disciplines and some familiar families for Eli and I each day.

Prayer. So much more prayer. This fall definitely offered more opportunities for that. After Ruby fell asleep in the hospital, many a night was spent researching and emailing and praying about what the 'right' thing to do would be for our family. How do you choose between two great schools that both have so much to offer? How spoiled are we by this choice?! On one hand, how do we send him into a 'bubble' where he may be too shielded from the real world? And on the other, how do we let him walk into a school where he knows less than five people (and we only know one or two families), at a time in his life when his new friendships don't involve Lehr or I at all? Unfortunately we are beyond the stage of play dates including a parent...

So now we've made our decision, but the internal struggle is not gone. We have championed so hard for the public middle school. We have spoken at great lengths about the benefits of bringing strong, eager, willing families there. We've shouted from the rooftops why we should support this school that has so much more to offer than the test scores so many cannot look past. And now I have to answer to those who will feel, as I have in the past, confused and maybe hurt by our decision to not choose our specific public middle school.

I stand by what our choice is in regards to Eli, because while the public school is amazing and we are missing out on some great things by not attending (this year), I think he needs some strong accountability when it comes to some new middle school freedoms. And I think he needs a little longer to gain confidence enough in his faith to be able to defend it to others when it is tested. As a mama bear, I think I need the safety net of a year or so of people around Eli during his day pointing him to Jesus, amidst all of the hormones and middle-ness.

Our choice is absolutely not a vote against our public school; I am incredibly hopeful that with the few other bleeding hearts that I met along the way and a new school building on the way, that by the time Maddux starts middle school, we will have a foundation of families around us, doing life with us AND attending with us. Our current choice is to allow Eli a few years of safety net to get stronger to swim in what the world has for him. We want him to be able to point others to Jesus; that was one of our 'pros' in him attending a diverse school where he may encounter kids who don't know about God's great love. Hopefully with a little more daily guidance (from someone other than Mom and Dad), he can strengthen his confidence in that area. How great would it be for him to be able to not only defend his faith to a new friend in a few years, but maybe even help them to accept Jesus.

If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say, Don't Say Anything At All

'nuff said.

But it's me, so I couldn't possibly stop there.

I've been pretty light on the blogging lately. Part of that is due to being home and being B.U.S.Y. with 'normal' stuff like school and sports and middle school decisions and routine doctors' appointments. That stuff takes a lot of time and energy, especially with three kids all moving in three very different directions. But what zaps of my time and energy these days is worry. And scrutiny. And fear.

Philippians 4:6  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving present your requests to God.

Struggling, really struggling, with the concept of worrying right now. Ruby's therapy sessions are not offering as many hopeful moments as I would like. Or as many lights at the end of the tunnel as they once did. Instead they are full of disinterest, impatience and uncontrollable impulses. One therapist has been having us work on a mouth/tongue skill with her for a month now. These sessions are wrought with frustration for the therapist.

And this mama.

I can usually get Ruby to perform the 'trick' she is being asked to do, but the therapist cannot. (Cue more frustration.) Our time together is spent mostly in a stalemate. And my therapy work at home with her is not met with as much focus as she used to give me, which can be attributed to anything (especially being two years old), but that means the work accomplished and skills displayed are significantly diminished. 

Speaking of that 'being two' thing... Ruby is very stubborn and will not give up on something, regardless of how many 'no' responses she gets to it. Time outs do not work so far, as she thinks sitting on her designated step is a game (even though the kids routinely get sent there for time out too, and she's seen it modeled correctly). Redirection is my best bet, but even that depends on her desire to be redirected.

This means that everyday tasks like cleaning up after breakfast or making dinner are stretched out infinitely because every minute I'm having to check around the corner on Ruby's activity or stop her from doing something she's not allowed to do (like turn on the microwave, or empty the cabinets). Yes, I show her where to play. Yes, I give her QT before and after so she *should* be fine to self entertain. My next step is likely a pack-n-play to contain her. I don't like that. I know that shouldn't bother me, but it does. She's almost three...we should not be moving backwards with her following simple directions, and she *should* be able to grasp at least a few of our household rules by now (i.e. no touching the microwave or emptying out the cabinets).

Ruby's interaction with other kids is yet another thing that causes my shoulders to stiffen up. This week alone has found us in three situations where she was having 'open play' with kids around her age. I feel like I have to follow her around like a helicopter parent to ensure the safety of others. Ugh. That's an ugly sentence. She wants to interact. She wants to engage. So she will: she'll say 'hi', and usually give a hug. But sometimes that hug turns into a take down. Other times it is followed by her waving 'hi' again, but this time with her fingers actually touching the other child's face. And when it gets even better, she ends up pushing them. For no reason at all.

These interactions, these stagnations in therapy progress, these everythings make me scrutinize...everything. That's not fair to Ruby and it's not fair to me, but I still do it. I read too deeply into Ruby's performance in a round of color matching. I think too long and hard about what it means that Ruby can't stop touching the washing machine buttons. I look too closely at Ruby's part in a social setting.

As this swirls around my head, we're in the midst of transitioning out of Babies Can't Wait (state services from birth-three years old). Next year she will likely go to a special needs preschool for two days a week. I'm certain the county will push for her to attend more based on their evaluation of her, but we want her to attend her typical preschool three days a week to continue the benefits of full inclusion. But how can I expect that she will be a contributing member in her typical classroom next year if she isn't able to communicate basic needs to her teachers and peers? I know there are plenty of kids who are not big talkers, and many that do not engage nearly as much as Ruby. But that's where the balancing act lies...she wants to be involved in everything, so often there is taking of toys, or pushing out of the way in place of words she has in her head but not on her lips.

Then, because once I get into this dark space, I'm unable to find my foundation for what I believe is right or working with Ruby in regards to everything, I second guess it all. Then I worry that I'm not giving her enough time to just be a kid without me interfering. Then I worry that I'm not allowing speech and OT things to just happen naturally (which is really not an option, as those of us working through some of these challenges with Down syndrome know). Then I worry that I'm mistaking my worrying and planning for things to do with actual time working with Ruby and maybe I've got it all wrong and I need to be doing even more.

My opinion remains that she has so much to say, even though she has such limited speech. She's like this sunflower, not yet opened, but containing amazing color and size. But how will anyone know what is inside of her if she remains closed?

And that's where the fear creeps in. The fear that Ruby is not capable of as much as I think she is. The fear that her potential is being met; we are seeing it's entirety in her few jumbled words that are incomprehensible by most people. Enter the fear that inside of this closed flower are only a few petals.

You can see how quickly this spins out of control. You can see why it's not always a good idea to walk through the mansion of my mind. You can see why I sometimes opt to not say anything at all.