I have spent the last few weeks reading over the emails you sent at my request in my previous post. It has been emotional remembering the day that our lives changed forever and appreciating those of you who shared how our story has affected you. Thank you. It made me remember that our hearts weren't the only ones that broke that day. Many of you were right there along side us, holding us up by your love and prayers. You've cried with us. You've grieved with us. You've celebrated with us. You've stood along side us, watching Elena grow into the beautiful, joyful, silly six-year old that she is. Thank you.
Especially touching were from a few people, who somehow stumbled upon Elena's story and shared how it had blessed them. One from Christy, who doesn't know us, just happened across my blog one day. She told the most beautiful story of how she found hope in our story, that gave her strength when walking through her own valley. Her journey was different but also familiar and her words really touched me.
"Then I remembered Elena, and your journey. I looked to your blog to find hope, and inspiration. I saw how your faith was carrying you through.....It helped me see that I may have lost something that was our 'normal' but gained something even greater in our new 'normal'."
Thank you, Christy.
Another came from Patty, also someone we've never met, but has found inspiration in Elena's story and has been praying for our girl for six years. It always amazes me how far Elena's light shines and the people whose hearts have been touched by her. I'm a firm believer that God works his way into our hearts, encouraging us through our troubles, through people. And it's a honor to know that in spite of the heartbreak of her injury, and the difficult road it set our family on, God continues to use us to declare His goodness. Thanks Patty, you touched my heart.
Opening yourself up to vulnerability is a scary thing. There are many times where I second guess myself about how much I share, how much I feel, but in my heart I know someone may be out there who needs to hear that they aren't alone. I'm always so inspired when I hear or read someone else who is brave enough to share their story, and simply say, "me too" or "I've been there". This is my "me too". And not just how we cope with the challenges of having a special needs child. But also, just being a Mom. Being a person, who has feelings and struggles and shortcomings. I'm very aware that because of the blog and because of what our family has been through, people have watched to see how we react, how we cope and how we live our life. I'm sure some can't relate or think we're nuts. Some probably put us on a pedestal and give us way too much credit. And some of you maybe get it. That we are just like everyone else, maybe a different set of circumstances, but still in need of grace every single moment of every day. We just do our best (totally imperfect with this too!) to hand our burdens over to the only one who willingly, joyfully carries them for us, Jesus.
This time of year is increasingly reflective. I think about years' past, and all the memories we have of holidays before. But also reflect upon what the past year has been, full of peaks, full of valleys or full of both. It's also a good time of year to slow down (yeah right?!?) from the hustle and bustle of the holiday season that we can all reflect upon the impact our lives have on others. Good and bad. Are our words and actions full of anger, bitterness, resentment? Or are they chock full of love, grace and kindness. Do we build people up with encouragement and comfort? Or are we desperate to remain holed up in our hurt and our injustices, spewing it to those around us? This time of year is all about peace, humility, giving and kindness. Let's strive to reflect that, not only amidst the holidays, but in our hearts and in the treatment of those we love and those around us.
Words can bless our hearts, as in the meaningful emails you sent me last month. And words can be bristly, hurtful and build walls. Showing kindness, sharing our stories with another, and encouraging others should all be on our Christmas lists this year. You never know when your words or actions (intentional or not) can be the change in someone's life.
**You can now email thoughts, responses or whatever (nice, of course!) at ourshininglightblog@gmail.com
Friday, December 8, 2017
Friday, November 3, 2017
Six Years Later
Not many people experience a moment when life as they know it ends, and the entire trajectory of their life does an about-face. I have. And on this day six years ago, everything about me, my life, my future was changed forever. My nearly four month old daughter stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating and though she was revived, I would never again see the baby girl I had dropped off hours earlier. November 3, 2011 was the day that everything changed forever.
Panic. Hysteria. Terrifying. Those are just a few of the words that I can find to describe how that day was for me. That day is so traumatic for me to relive. Even now, it's difficult for me to speak about it. I find it much easier to hide behind my keyboard in the quiet, emotions in full force and write about it. But speaking about it, it hurts and I always cry.
Of course, there's more than that day. The following 20 days we spent in the hospital, living in a state of complete shock, unable to comprehend what would lie ahead. The first couple months at home, where we had to reacquaint ourselves with a baby we did not know, in a new life with new worries, new medical terms and constant fear. And then the next nearly two years that it took me to come out of the darkness, to understand and accept our new lives, Elena's new life. And most of all choose joy.
As Chad and I were remembering last night, talking over the little details and things we often forget, I just kept saying, "I can't believe we lived through that." I can't. When we talk about that time, it sounds so impossible. It's terrifying to look back and see what a valley we walked through, how dark and deep it was.
A couple of weeks ago I stumbled across my old Bible I used through my teenage years, and a letter fell out of it when I picked it up. I remembered stuffing it in there years ago. It was from someone, whom I don't even remember, I met during a youth mission trip in 1998. On the back of the envelope was a Bible verse Deuteronomy 31:8:
"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."
In the letter she wrote, "God is going to keep using you in mighty ways, just keep trusting Him." and she ended it with Psalm 121:1-2 "I lift my eyes up to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth!"
I don't remember who this person was or what some of the other content in the letter was referring to, but I do know that these two verses struck me in the heart in that moment and have stuck with me the past couple difficult weeks. Whatever trials I was facing as a 14 year old when this letter was written obviously pale in comparison to the journey I began six years ago, but in that moment it was such an affirmation to something I already knew. I know how I, we, our family endured. We were never alone. We never could have survived this on our own and come out on the other side in the condition that we have. Our marriage. Ourselves. Our love and hope in our daughter. Our gratitude and perspective.
When I found those two verses in that letter, what spoke out to me was the love. The love of a God who will never leave me alone to weather the storm on my own, that will cradle my heart and protect me from what I cannot bear. It is the only explanation I have for the current state of my soul and my ability to choose joy in the often difficult days we face. Elena was saved that day. We all endured an unimaginable tragedy, but only a God whose love for us is so unfathomable, can take our tragedy, sustain us through it and use it to bring hope and shine a light in this dark world.
Over the last six years, you have shared this journey with me. You have supported us. You have loved us. You have stopped me in a Cracker Barrel to introduce yourself and tell me how much you have prayed for us! This blog serves us both. It allows me to share the truth of our journey with you, while keeping you connected with our sweet girl and the amazing things God is doing in our lives. Though somewhat selfishly, this is my story. I don't speak for Chad and I try not to speak for Elena. It's my truth and what is in my heart (hello, vulnerability!). About a year ago, someone asked me a question that has since stuck with me. I was asked what that day, November 3rd, 2011 and Elena's injury was like for our family and friends, the people that were with us that day and in the following days, weeks, months. Perhaps it was the self-preservation mode that happens after a trauma or maybe it was too painful to know, but it occurred to me that I had never asked anyone (other than Chad) what their memory of that day was or how Elena's injury affected them.
And so now, sheepishly, I ask. I ask because this question has been in the back of my mind for some time. And I feel like maybe this is part of my healing process, stepping outside my experience to try and understand someone else's. Maybe someday I can share these with Elena and the boys as a reflection of the love, empathy and steadfast support you all have given our family. Painful to read I imagine, yes, and probably painful for some of you to share, but also it's your story, woven into ours.
I have set up an email address ourshininglightblog@gmail.com if you feel moved to share your experience, your memories or how Elena's story has affected you. Six years of peaks and valleys, inspiration and desperation, hope and despair, frustration and blessings. I can only pray that Elena's light has shown as brightly through the darkness for you, as it has for me.
Panic. Hysteria. Terrifying. Those are just a few of the words that I can find to describe how that day was for me. That day is so traumatic for me to relive. Even now, it's difficult for me to speak about it. I find it much easier to hide behind my keyboard in the quiet, emotions in full force and write about it. But speaking about it, it hurts and I always cry.
Of course, there's more than that day. The following 20 days we spent in the hospital, living in a state of complete shock, unable to comprehend what would lie ahead. The first couple months at home, where we had to reacquaint ourselves with a baby we did not know, in a new life with new worries, new medical terms and constant fear. And then the next nearly two years that it took me to come out of the darkness, to understand and accept our new lives, Elena's new life. And most of all choose joy.
As Chad and I were remembering last night, talking over the little details and things we often forget, I just kept saying, "I can't believe we lived through that." I can't. When we talk about that time, it sounds so impossible. It's terrifying to look back and see what a valley we walked through, how dark and deep it was.
A couple of weeks ago I stumbled across my old Bible I used through my teenage years, and a letter fell out of it when I picked it up. I remembered stuffing it in there years ago. It was from someone, whom I don't even remember, I met during a youth mission trip in 1998. On the back of the envelope was a Bible verse Deuteronomy 31:8:
"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."
In the letter she wrote, "God is going to keep using you in mighty ways, just keep trusting Him." and she ended it with Psalm 121:1-2 "I lift my eyes up to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth!"
I don't remember who this person was or what some of the other content in the letter was referring to, but I do know that these two verses struck me in the heart in that moment and have stuck with me the past couple difficult weeks. Whatever trials I was facing as a 14 year old when this letter was written obviously pale in comparison to the journey I began six years ago, but in that moment it was such an affirmation to something I already knew. I know how I, we, our family endured. We were never alone. We never could have survived this on our own and come out on the other side in the condition that we have. Our marriage. Ourselves. Our love and hope in our daughter. Our gratitude and perspective.
When I found those two verses in that letter, what spoke out to me was the love. The love of a God who will never leave me alone to weather the storm on my own, that will cradle my heart and protect me from what I cannot bear. It is the only explanation I have for the current state of my soul and my ability to choose joy in the often difficult days we face. Elena was saved that day. We all endured an unimaginable tragedy, but only a God whose love for us is so unfathomable, can take our tragedy, sustain us through it and use it to bring hope and shine a light in this dark world.
Over the last six years, you have shared this journey with me. You have supported us. You have loved us. You have stopped me in a Cracker Barrel to introduce yourself and tell me how much you have prayed for us! This blog serves us both. It allows me to share the truth of our journey with you, while keeping you connected with our sweet girl and the amazing things God is doing in our lives. Though somewhat selfishly, this is my story. I don't speak for Chad and I try not to speak for Elena. It's my truth and what is in my heart (hello, vulnerability!). About a year ago, someone asked me a question that has since stuck with me. I was asked what that day, November 3rd, 2011 and Elena's injury was like for our family and friends, the people that were with us that day and in the following days, weeks, months. Perhaps it was the self-preservation mode that happens after a trauma or maybe it was too painful to know, but it occurred to me that I had never asked anyone (other than Chad) what their memory of that day was or how Elena's injury affected them.
And so now, sheepishly, I ask. I ask because this question has been in the back of my mind for some time. And I feel like maybe this is part of my healing process, stepping outside my experience to try and understand someone else's. Maybe someday I can share these with Elena and the boys as a reflection of the love, empathy and steadfast support you all have given our family. Painful to read I imagine, yes, and probably painful for some of you to share, but also it's your story, woven into ours.
I have set up an email address ourshininglightblog@gmail.com if you feel moved to share your experience, your memories or how Elena's story has affected you. Six years of peaks and valleys, inspiration and desperation, hope and despair, frustration and blessings. I can only pray that Elena's light has shown as brightly through the darkness for you, as it has for me.
Monday, October 23, 2017
Remembering the Before
It's that time of year again. When the little ache in my heart grows a little bigger, knots take hold of my stomach and I endure flashback after flashback. Today I spontaneously broke into tears in my car, simply driving down the road. The weeks leading up to the day, the day our lives changed forever, are almost always harder than the day itself.
I find myself struggling to remember that, with Elena, there was a before. There was a time when we were naïve and unaware of the world that is now our life. I was a new, young working mother dreaming about the future of our new family, and worrying about my “problems”. It’s easy to look back and think about what I would have done differently, but time doesn’t allow for that.
Every year in the weeks leading up to that day, I replay all the memories I have of the “before”, holding onto them dearly. Because with every year that passes, those people who were, that time that was, seems to slip further away. When I look at the last picture we took, I’m filled with a deep sorrow. I know, now, what’s to come. And that fear, the grief, the sorrow, the heartbreak are all still very real and tangible. Perhaps I will relive it for the rest of my life.
And so I wait. I endure the now. I wait for the day to arrive so I can remember, cry, grieve. But I always remember that she lived. And for that, I owe to God for saving her and for sustaining me the past six years. Even in the pain, there is always goodness.
I find myself struggling to remember that, with Elena, there was a before. There was a time when we were naïve and unaware of the world that is now our life. I was a new, young working mother dreaming about the future of our new family, and worrying about my “problems”. It’s easy to look back and think about what I would have done differently, but time doesn’t allow for that.
Every year in the weeks leading up to that day, I replay all the memories I have of the “before”, holding onto them dearly. Because with every year that passes, those people who were, that time that was, seems to slip further away. When I look at the last picture we took, I’m filled with a deep sorrow. I know, now, what’s to come. And that fear, the grief, the sorrow, the heartbreak are all still very real and tangible. Perhaps I will relive it for the rest of my life.
And so I wait. I endure the now. I wait for the day to arrive so I can remember, cry, grieve. But I always remember that she lived. And for that, I owe to God for saving her and for sustaining me the past six years. Even in the pain, there is always goodness.
Thursday, September 21, 2017
I Think I'm Doing it Right
It's been radio silence here for almost a month. Indeed, I am ok. Several of you sweet, sweet people reached out to me after my previous post (here), with beautifully encouraging words that were not only uplifting to me, but gave me great perspective. I truly love that about sharing. There's definitely a correlation between me being vulnerable and sharing things here and how my eyes get opened to different ideas/thoughts. I know not everyone is a sharer (especially a public sharer) but for me, being honest about something I'm going through leaves me open to receiving so much love, kindness and perspective. So thank you all you sweet people. Thank you to those of you who go on a feeling of needing to reach out. Your words are always meaningful to me and almost always rattle my core a bit.
I am ok though. You see, things (mainly emotions) build up in my head and my heart over time and if I don't let them out, it just makes things worse. And for me, I articulate best via writing. And even better, I have so many of you who care about our family and our girl. Sometimes I think three, maybe four, people still keep up with us nearly six years later, but then I'm gently reminded that God is still using Elena, using me to share His story through our story. Goodness, that's a blessing but also a responsibility!
Like all of life, there are highs and lows. On our particular journey, there's grief, oh so much grief. There's frustration, sadness, failure. But there's also love, kindness, resiliency, strength, joy, peace, faithfulness. I *try* to hit them all, but there are periods of time that are just plain hard. In my Bible study this morning, our teacher mentioned that God promises "springs of flowing water" within us that refresh and strengthen us when we begin to feel depleted going through life's difficulties. I had never heard that before, but was able to immediately connect to that feeling. I can't tell you how often people say to me, "I don't know how you do it." Well folks, that it. When things are hard and fuzzy and I can't tell which way is up, somehow I get replenished to carry on. It's my strength and it's how I have learned to be resilient.
Now that may sound funny to some people, and I can understand that. It certainly doesn't mean that I'm always focused and bursting at the seams with energy and vigor for life. Ya'll I'm a Mom like a lot of you and I am ALWAYS exhausted, often daydreaming about running off to Mexico to margarita all day (yes, I just used margarita as a verb....I think we can all relate). I mutter not nice things sometimes when I'm cleaning the kitchen (or the toy room or the living room or the bathroom or everywhere) for the thousandth time in one day. I have days where I doubt it all, get so mad at God, grieve, cry. But someone or something usually happens to help fill me up, restore my heart and give me perspective. I just know where to give the credit, hint....it ain't me.
I read a little blurb on Instagram today (see! social media can be good!) by Glennon Doyle of Momastery (@glennondoyle). It said this:
"....we believe that life is easy. That life is supposed to be easy. So if it's hard we're doing it wrong. It's hilarious... -- we know that life is hardest, relationships are hardest, work is hardest. All of it is hardest for people who are doing it right, who are showing up, making themselves vulnerable, falling down, trying again and getting back up...."
The gist of it being that when you pretend that life is easy, that you've got it all together, you're doing it wrong. Pain and life are hand in hand. When we can acknowledge that, we can be vulnerable and help each other. When I shared that last post with you all, it wasn't necessarily easy. It can be hard to share feelings, even for me! But, what I was met with was love, acceptance, encouragement. You texted me, emailed me. You asked me how I was *doing*, like *really* doing, not just a generic greeting. You prayed for me. Even if you can't relate to having a special needs child (which can feel incredibly isolating, by the way), you cared. God may be using me, but God is using you guys too.
There's no new progress on the communication front for Elena. I'm still frustrated. I'm still disappointed. I don't have any clear next moves or answers. It's all still on my mind daily. But, I have hope that we will find a way to get my girl to speak to us. And there's always beauty on the journey, as evidenced by all the perspective gained above.
And there's this...my little model. The image of God's goodness right here, folks.
I am ok though. You see, things (mainly emotions) build up in my head and my heart over time and if I don't let them out, it just makes things worse. And for me, I articulate best via writing. And even better, I have so many of you who care about our family and our girl. Sometimes I think three, maybe four, people still keep up with us nearly six years later, but then I'm gently reminded that God is still using Elena, using me to share His story through our story. Goodness, that's a blessing but also a responsibility!
Like all of life, there are highs and lows. On our particular journey, there's grief, oh so much grief. There's frustration, sadness, failure. But there's also love, kindness, resiliency, strength, joy, peace, faithfulness. I *try* to hit them all, but there are periods of time that are just plain hard. In my Bible study this morning, our teacher mentioned that God promises "springs of flowing water" within us that refresh and strengthen us when we begin to feel depleted going through life's difficulties. I had never heard that before, but was able to immediately connect to that feeling. I can't tell you how often people say to me, "I don't know how you do it." Well folks, that it. When things are hard and fuzzy and I can't tell which way is up, somehow I get replenished to carry on. It's my strength and it's how I have learned to be resilient.
Now that may sound funny to some people, and I can understand that. It certainly doesn't mean that I'm always focused and bursting at the seams with energy and vigor for life. Ya'll I'm a Mom like a lot of you and I am ALWAYS exhausted, often daydreaming about running off to Mexico to margarita all day (yes, I just used margarita as a verb....I think we can all relate). I mutter not nice things sometimes when I'm cleaning the kitchen (or the toy room or the living room or the bathroom or everywhere) for the thousandth time in one day. I have days where I doubt it all, get so mad at God, grieve, cry. But someone or something usually happens to help fill me up, restore my heart and give me perspective. I just know where to give the credit, hint....it ain't me.
I read a little blurb on Instagram today (see! social media can be good!) by Glennon Doyle of Momastery (@glennondoyle). It said this:
"....we believe that life is easy. That life is supposed to be easy. So if it's hard we're doing it wrong. It's hilarious... -- we know that life is hardest, relationships are hardest, work is hardest. All of it is hardest for people who are doing it right, who are showing up, making themselves vulnerable, falling down, trying again and getting back up...."
The gist of it being that when you pretend that life is easy, that you've got it all together, you're doing it wrong. Pain and life are hand in hand. When we can acknowledge that, we can be vulnerable and help each other. When I shared that last post with you all, it wasn't necessarily easy. It can be hard to share feelings, even for me! But, what I was met with was love, acceptance, encouragement. You texted me, emailed me. You asked me how I was *doing*, like *really* doing, not just a generic greeting. You prayed for me. Even if you can't relate to having a special needs child (which can feel incredibly isolating, by the way), you cared. God may be using me, but God is using you guys too.
There's no new progress on the communication front for Elena. I'm still frustrated. I'm still disappointed. I don't have any clear next moves or answers. It's all still on my mind daily. But, I have hope that we will find a way to get my girl to speak to us. And there's always beauty on the journey, as evidenced by all the perspective gained above.
And there's this...my little model. The image of God's goodness right here, folks.
Elena's picture taken for the Jackson Center fundraising gala last week.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Frustration. Hope. Failure. Try Again.
Guys, I’m frustrated. It seems like there are about a million injustices that I’ve been facing lately when it comes to Elena and her disabilities. Advocating for her never gets easier and it certainly never lets up. If I am not constantly on top of things, it doesn’t happen. And sometimes, well most the time, it’s exhausting. Often, I find myself throwing in the towel just for a short bit so I can gather myself mentally to keep up the fight.
Whether it’s “petitioning” insurance to provide my daughter with, GASP, two different positions (a wheelchair AND a stander?!?) at home or how incredulous the lack-of/non-existent accommodations airlines are required to make for people with disabilities, it all sends my mind reeling and my inner-Mom finger wagging. This world our family is required to navigate is filled with road blocks at times. It’s 2017 and our country/culture has come so far in the fight for people with disabilities, but it still seems so archaic in so many ways. The disability world is still new to me and perhaps the longer I’m in it, the more I’ll get used to it or better yet, maybe things will get better.
I know I can be hard on myself a lot, and I am reminded to give myself grace daily. Chad and I are constantly making sure that we are doing our very best for our kids but especially for Elena, just because she needs it. But, I’m frustrated. It feels like I’m failing my girl in the one area that, right now, seems most important.
Recently I left her weekly speech therapy appointment, where we have been working with her communication device, in tears. For an hour, I watched the most beautiful, happy little girl struggle, utterly struggle, to do the simplest of tasks. The task was to point her head at a button on a screen to communicate one word. Think about it for a second. It's something I can do in a millisecond with little, to no effort. But it took an hour for her to select merely four to five words. I watched her little body and mind work so hard, every ounce of my insides were willing her to do just the tiniest of movements. I was overwhelmed by the feeling that I'm failing her, an admission that wrecks me.
All I want is for my daughter to tell me something SHE feels or wants or needs. Not for my sake. For hers. She has spent six years with a present, clever little mind that holds so much goodness, but does not allow her body to do its part. Six years without a word. Without telling me her tummy hurts. Without telling me she loves me. Without telling me she wants a hug. Six years of us guessing what she wants and needs, and without the ability to tell us just how clever she really is.
I've watched thousands of hours of Elena struggle through many therapies, whether it was Physical Therapy, Occupational, Speech...that's what therapy is, it's basically struggling for an hour at a time, pushing your body to do something that it does not find natural. For whatever reason, this particular hour got me. As her Mom, it's my duty to seek out every opportunity for her. And that includes, finding a way to give her a voice. I feel like I'm doing everything I can in every way for her, but still, I'm failing. Six years later, I still am unable to help my little girl get what's inside, out.
And so, I’m frustrated. I’m guilt-ridden. I’m sad. This is something that is on my mind every single day, a constant lump in my throat. For the first time I can remember, I’m afraid I won’t be able to maintain the strength I need to endure all the failure it will take to find Elena’s voice. Yes, there has been success on this path, but man, it is a roller coaster unlike anything. I think it’s because, in my opinion, this is the most critical human need, to be able to communicate. Sure, walking and eating are huge and would give Elena independence, but it terrifies me that she may never be able to tell me something on her own. There’s so much technology, but Elena’s challenges are so great. I’m not sure what my expectations should be. There’s just so much at stake. And I’m just not sure what to do.
There’s no positive message on this one to wrap it up. This is where I am. Frustration. Yes, fear. Hope. On this one though, I’d describe it as cautious hope. I dream of her being able to tell me everything that is on her precious mind, but also have to remind myself that scenario may not happen on Earth, and challenge myself to be okay with it. But, there isn’t giving up. It’s frustration, hope, failure, try again.
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Summer 2017
As "summer" comes to a close, I figured it would be a good time to recap the last couple months. Seeing that I can barely eek out a blog post a month (sorry all you lovely, patient readers!), there's actually been quite a bit to fill in. In fact, I can't believe Elena starts school TODAY....didn't school just recess?
Elena had an awesome time at the Jackson Center's summer camp. They did such a great job with it this year. She came home eager to share with us her day and completely exhausted, both good signs! It ended mid-July, so the last three weeks we have been....counting down the days until school starts. School. WOOOOOHOOOOO! I mean, I'm excited for Elena to get back to her normal routine of full days at school (Calvin too!) so that we can all have a normal life again. Ha! But really, summer is great for about 4 weeks and then the last 3-4 really test me in every sense of the word.
Having two immobile children and one preschooler makes it hard for my one-woman show to get out of the house during our days at home. I've been fortunate to have a sitter this summer who has helped me juggle my circus so that appointments could be had, therapies could continue and my sanity could be maintained, quite frankly. I'm serious though, it's nearly impossible for me to take all three kids anywhere by myself. I have to push a stroller and a wheelchair (Elena is now too big for the double stroller) at the same time, while Calvin toddles along beside us. People, it just doesn't work. So, we've been pretty cooped and the mom-guilt hits hard when we do the SAME THING EVERY DAY and I pray and pray that nap time rolls around. So yes, I welcome Elena back into her busy school routine where she gets pushed and stimulated and has fun activities all day long.
Elena is doing Kindergarten part deux, as I like to say...aka she's repeating Kindy. We kind of had this planned when she started last year, seeing that she had just turned five and would be one of the youngest in her class, not mention her developmental delays. She had such a great year socially and therapeutically but we weren't as pleased with her academic progress, so we made the call to do a repeat, having great hope that she'll be in such a better prepared for first grade next year. We have a ton of confidence in her team and have SUCH a better idea of what to expect. We are a little less naive and a lot more prepared so here's to a good Kindy part deux!
So yeah, that's that.
Two weeks ago, my parents packed up 38 years of life at our home on Shadow Hill Court and made the voyage all the way to the northside of Indy (ha!). It was a really hard goodbye, to their neighbors (most of whom have been there as long as my parents), to the house and the trove of memories that envelope that home. Walking through the empty house was surreal. Memories of family dinners, knee football in the hallway, whiffle ball in the yard, helping Mom wallpaper my bedroom as a girl, Christmas mornings (and Christmas present sneak peeking in Dad's closet) all came to life in my head. A majority of my 33 years of life occurred between those walls, and saying goodbye was tough. Tears were shed, hugs were given and we packed them up and moved them out. It's so nice to have my parents close, though. Just knowing they're a few minutes away, spontaneous drop-ins and dinners now possible, is exciting. A new chapter in the Frey family begins.
Rewind to about a month ago...
At the beginning of July, Chad and I were fortunate to jet off on a vacation to celebrate the wedding of some good friends....in ITALY! It was a dream trip. We spent half of it with some of our best friends eating (and drinking...hellooooo vinooo!) our way through Northern Italy. The second half, Chad and I spent a few days to ourselves on the Italian Riveria, hiking, sailing, eating and yes, more wine. It was a wonderful trip and time for us to unplug from life to just enjoy the simple things...friends, food, wine in a magical setting. And yes, the kids did just fine with our families...or so they told us, anyway! Take me back!
In the middle of camps, traveling, moves and more, we managed to celebrate Elena's 6th birthday and my 33rd birthday (though I don't really remember "celebrating" my birthday). We are celebrating our 8th anniversary today and have Turner's 1st birthday right around the corner (what?!?!?!), and before we know it, it will be fall. The kids are getting bigger every time I look at them. Some days are hard, some are full of laughs and joy. It's been such a beautiful summer. For me at this stage of life, I like appreciating the moment, but always looking forward to the future and what new memories can be made. Our life is nuts but mostly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Elena had an awesome time at the Jackson Center's summer camp. They did such a great job with it this year. She came home eager to share with us her day and completely exhausted, both good signs! It ended mid-July, so the last three weeks we have been....counting down the days until school starts. School. WOOOOOHOOOOO! I mean, I'm excited for Elena to get back to her normal routine of full days at school (Calvin too!) so that we can all have a normal life again. Ha! But really, summer is great for about 4 weeks and then the last 3-4 really test me in every sense of the word.
Having two immobile children and one preschooler makes it hard for my one-woman show to get out of the house during our days at home. I've been fortunate to have a sitter this summer who has helped me juggle my circus so that appointments could be had, therapies could continue and my sanity could be maintained, quite frankly. I'm serious though, it's nearly impossible for me to take all three kids anywhere by myself. I have to push a stroller and a wheelchair (Elena is now too big for the double stroller) at the same time, while Calvin toddles along beside us. People, it just doesn't work. So, we've been pretty cooped and the mom-guilt hits hard when we do the SAME THING EVERY DAY and I pray and pray that nap time rolls around. So yes, I welcome Elena back into her busy school routine where she gets pushed and stimulated and has fun activities all day long.
Elena is doing Kindergarten part deux, as I like to say...aka she's repeating Kindy. We kind of had this planned when she started last year, seeing that she had just turned five and would be one of the youngest in her class, not mention her developmental delays. She had such a great year socially and therapeutically but we weren't as pleased with her academic progress, so we made the call to do a repeat, having great hope that she'll be in such a better prepared for first grade next year. We have a ton of confidence in her team and have SUCH a better idea of what to expect. We are a little less naive and a lot more prepared so here's to a good Kindy part deux!
So yeah, that's that.
Two weeks ago, my parents packed up 38 years of life at our home on Shadow Hill Court and made the voyage all the way to the northside of Indy (ha!). It was a really hard goodbye, to their neighbors (most of whom have been there as long as my parents), to the house and the trove of memories that envelope that home. Walking through the empty house was surreal. Memories of family dinners, knee football in the hallway, whiffle ball in the yard, helping Mom wallpaper my bedroom as a girl, Christmas mornings (and Christmas present sneak peeking in Dad's closet) all came to life in my head. A majority of my 33 years of life occurred between those walls, and saying goodbye was tough. Tears were shed, hugs were given and we packed them up and moved them out. It's so nice to have my parents close, though. Just knowing they're a few minutes away, spontaneous drop-ins and dinners now possible, is exciting. A new chapter in the Frey family begins.
Rewind to about a month ago...
At the beginning of July, Chad and I were fortunate to jet off on a vacation to celebrate the wedding of some good friends....in ITALY! It was a dream trip. We spent half of it with some of our best friends eating (and drinking...hellooooo vinooo!) our way through Northern Italy. The second half, Chad and I spent a few days to ourselves on the Italian Riveria, hiking, sailing, eating and yes, more wine. It was a wonderful trip and time for us to unplug from life to just enjoy the simple things...friends, food, wine in a magical setting. And yes, the kids did just fine with our families...or so they told us, anyway! Take me back!
In the middle of camps, traveling, moves and more, we managed to celebrate Elena's 6th birthday and my 33rd birthday (though I don't really remember "celebrating" my birthday). We are celebrating our 8th anniversary today and have Turner's 1st birthday right around the corner (what?!?!?!), and before we know it, it will be fall. The kids are getting bigger every time I look at them. Some days are hard, some are full of laughs and joy. It's been such a beautiful summer. For me at this stage of life, I like appreciating the moment, but always looking forward to the future and what new memories can be made. Our life is nuts but mostly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Friday, July 14, 2017
She's Six
Last Sunday, my baby girl turned six. My head is still trying to wrap itself around the fact that I have a six year old. It's funny to think about myself, who I was, such a naive little thing then. Boy, has life happened over these past six years.
We were sure that our Elena Catherine was going to be born Henry William that day (we didn't find out the sex). Instead, we were surprised to hear "it's a girl!", as our sweet little girl entered this world weighing 8lbs 2oz. She was such a good baby. She was a sleeper, an eater and as yummy as a newborn can be. Life was good.
We learned more in the first year of her life than any parent should. It was supposed to be a year of watching her grow, achieve, with all kinds of firsts and dates to record in the baby book. Instead, it was a year of pain, tears, darkness, the realization of the fragility of life. Her first year was the hardest of my life. In all honestly, it's hard for me to actually remember the first year of her life. It's just dark.
But, I remember her first birthday. I'm certain we invited close to 80 people into our house that hot July day. I wanted everyone who loved and supported us through it to be there, to celebrate a day that should not have been. I cried my way through that day. Happy tears. We had made it.
And every birthday since has continued to be a celebration. We celebrate something that we know was nearly lost. Her birthday has incredible meaning and has now become a reminder of what we were given. It's a time to reflect upon the beautiful memories we have made in another year of life. It's a day to look at our beautiful girl, be proud of the amazing things she has achieved and give thanks to God for giving us the gift of her life, her smile and all we have learned along the way.
For our most precious girl, who cries every time someone sings the happy birthday song, you have enriched our lives more than we could ever know. You are brave. You are resilient. You are loved. You are a blessing. You are joy. You are perfect.
We were sure that our Elena Catherine was going to be born Henry William that day (we didn't find out the sex). Instead, we were surprised to hear "it's a girl!", as our sweet little girl entered this world weighing 8lbs 2oz. She was such a good baby. She was a sleeper, an eater and as yummy as a newborn can be. Life was good.
We learned more in the first year of her life than any parent should. It was supposed to be a year of watching her grow, achieve, with all kinds of firsts and dates to record in the baby book. Instead, it was a year of pain, tears, darkness, the realization of the fragility of life. Her first year was the hardest of my life. In all honestly, it's hard for me to actually remember the first year of her life. It's just dark.
But, I remember her first birthday. I'm certain we invited close to 80 people into our house that hot July day. I wanted everyone who loved and supported us through it to be there, to celebrate a day that should not have been. I cried my way through that day. Happy tears. We had made it.
And every birthday since has continued to be a celebration. We celebrate something that we know was nearly lost. Her birthday has incredible meaning and has now become a reminder of what we were given. It's a time to reflect upon the beautiful memories we have made in another year of life. It's a day to look at our beautiful girl, be proud of the amazing things she has achieved and give thanks to God for giving us the gift of her life, her smile and all we have learned along the way.
For our most precious girl, who cries every time someone sings the happy birthday song, you have enriched our lives more than we could ever know. You are brave. You are resilient. You are loved. You are a blessing. You are joy. You are perfect.
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