Riding the Short Bus

"That's so retarded"

Ouch.


"The guy acts like he has Downs or something."

Yuck.


"I'm not smart like [him], you know, I was more like a short bus kind of kid..."

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths...


Words have so much power; power to heal or to destroy, to bring life or death. The words above are just a few of the very painful comments that I have noticed in the last couple of years.

People almost always love Cohen before they even get to know him. It's like one mischievous little grin in their direction and most people are goners. When they get the chance to know him beyond the "he's so happy all the time" phase, they find out how much he loves to play tricks on people, how fierce his love for his little sister is, that he can be incredibly naughty, that he is a crazy good wrestler for how tiny he is, and that he is fantastically strong-willed.

Cohen is a lot of things. He is not a joke.


"I'm so sorry, if I'd have know you had a kid like that I wouldn't have said anything."

It doesn't matter WHO you said it to!


Cohen has had to WORK hard for every skill he posses. He was two before he learned to walk, but every single day he endured difficult physical training so that he could build the muscle tone and the coordination he needed. And now, at three, he runs everywhere with his brothers and sister.

Cohen doesn't speak much yet, but every day he works through our speech therapy program and has an outside speech therapist once a week. It is difficult, but he keeps trying. Is that funny? Stupid? Retarded?

No, it's not. It's brave. It's strong. It's Amazing.

Being compared to this kid should be a complement, not a joke.

beauty

My day has been filled with tiny giggles and big belly laughs, chocolate chip covered faces, wet kisses, arms wrapped tight around my neck, little hands pulling at my apron, water and tears spilled, fears calmed, lessons taught, songs sung, the same three books over and over, more kisses, and four sweet lovies tucked in bed. What could be more beautiful?

End The Night

Last night I had a terrible nightmare.

In my dream, two of my children and I were taken from our home and forced to work at a brothel. I begged and cried and pleaded with the woman in charge to let my children leave. I told her that I would be her best employee if only she'd let my children go. She responded with a matter of fact "They are old enough to work. They are cute and they'll sell well."

The next scene I remember is the morning after that first night's "work" holding my little boys in my lap weeping and one telling me "I thought the night would never end, Mama. I thought the morning would never come!" I was broken and so were they. There was no hope for us.

I woke to the sound of the baby crying and after I realized it was just a dream I began to calm down. I nursed the baby, gave her some Tylenol to help with her teeth and walked with her for a while.

Then I put her back to bed and went back to my bed. But I did not sleep.

That dream kept playing in my mind and while I was relieved that it wasn't true and that all of my children were sleeping safely in their beds, I couldn't help but realize that it is true for so many mamas. As I lie in my bed last night, there were women crying, screaming, begging, making bargains they never would have otherwise made in order to protect their babies.

Our world is broken. For so, so many it feels like an eternal night of hell and that morning will never come.

Some mamas just risked it all, they gave up all of their money, they gave their babies to strangers or sent them off on their own and hoped against hope that morning could come for the ones they loved. They sent them off with tears and kisses and lots of prayers. Maybe if they made it to America they'd be safe. And the gamble of "maybe" being safe was worth the risk, because they couldn't deal with the certainty of their baby being forced into the gangs, forced to kill or be killed, forced to become a prostitute, forced to sacrifice humanity for survival.

Some of those babies made it! They survived long treks with little food. They survived the traffickers that were supposed to be taking them to safety abusing and taking advantage of them. They kept moving forward because their mamas told them not to stop until they crossed the border, that when they got there they would have the chance to be children again.

They made it! They did it! They were safe!



But we don't want them. Those children will expose our children to all types of diseases. Think of all of the terrible things they've seen; won't they replicate the terrors they have been exposed to and our children need to be protected from such atrocities. Those children are not our children.

Please, for just a moment imagine that they were our babies. That we had our babies in a place that we could not keep them safe, no matter what we did. That we had to send them off, reliant on the mercy of others and the mercy of God.

I beg for mercy! Please, they may not be our babies, but they are somebody's babies! We can work together to end the night!


If you are interested in being a voice for mercy by calling or writing your congressmen here are the links to contact them:
House of Representatives

Sentate

For Kezzi- On The Hard Days

I wrote this for Kezzia last month, but it fits again: with a trip to the emergency room due to a "hair tourniquet" (it's a real thing) followed by our little ER souvenir of uncontrollable vomiting all around. I think the worst has passed and am dreaming for a decent night's rest.

Sweet Kezzi,

You were sick this week. You cried so much and were so uncomfortable. I held you and walked round and round and round the living room with you. Every time I tried to sit and rock you, you threw your body backward with all the force your little 10 month old muscles had and screamed and head butted me until we got back up and walked some more. A few times I had to take you to your bed and let you cry for a minute because I *had* to use the restroom or make lunch for your brothers or just take a breather.

It was so hard.

I cried a lot with you.

Caring for little ones is the hardest thing I have ever done. Honestly, many days I wonder whether or not I can do this mothering thing. It is so hard. Some days I give and give and give and it's never enough. And some days I'm selfish and don't give and that hurts my heart too. The sick days are the hardest, trying to do the every day hard stuff with a little one who is hurting is heart-breakingly hard.

But it is also good.

When you fall asleep in my arms and I feel your soft baby hair and skin against my cheek, I know I can do it.

When you reach for me and open and close your little hands to tell me that you want me to hold you, I know I can do it.

When you and all of your brothers are tangled up together for a bedtime story, I know I can do it.

The love I have for you is fierce and even on the days that are oh-so-hard, it makes me brave.


Little One, you are going to face so many things in your life that are hard. You may think that there must have been some sort of mistake, because the mess you find yourself in is too hard. You will probably find some things that you had no doubt that you'd be good at and then realize that whatever it was did not come as naturally as you had expected.

But Sweet One, almost anything worth doing is hard sometimes. So far my experience is that the experiences I most treasure in this life have been hard. Be brave.

Just because it is hard does not mean you're doing it wrong.

I hope that by the time you are old enough to read and understand this letter I will have been made kinder and softer by all of the hard things I have run into.

My hope for you is that one day when you find yourself in that place where you say "I can't!" you'll find the courage hang on, because nothing lasts forever. Every single difficult day this week came to an end. Even when you cried for what seemed like hours and I could not put you down, eventually you fell asleep and in those moments I held you even closer.

In the shower this week, I wore out this chorus:
"Your grace is sufficient for me;
Your strength is made perfect when I am weak.
And all that I cling to, I lay at your feet.
Your grace is sufficient for me."

These moments, these hard, I cannot do this moments, they can make me more like Jesus.
Sister, I don't know what life looks like for you now, but I sure know that the world can always use a few more people who act like Jesus.

So today, when things are so, so hard- breathe deep and keep being brave.

I love you,
Mama

Love

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” ~C. S. Lewis

Happy Birthday Cohen

Dear Cohen,

Today you are two. People like to tell me that you're an angel (you're not) and that you are adorable (you are). You get a lot of attention. Everywhere we go people have expectations for you, many of them based on the shape of your eye. I have them too. Mine are higher than most, because I see in you such wonderful potential. I want things for you that a lot of people say are impossible. I thought you'd walk before your second birthday, but you haven't yet, and it's okay. I want you to do things your way. I simply want the same things for you that I want for your siblings: to make this world a little kinder and a little more beautiful. And I want you to find joy in the journey, Cohen.

I am so proud to be your mama. If you become the world's first doctor with Down syndrome I will be so proud to be your mama. And if you want to work at the grocery store and bag like a champion I will be so proud to be your mama. Or if you're a fireman like your daddy, or a banker, or a janitor, or a senator, I will be so proud to be your mama. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am going to do my best to give you the tools to move on and then I'll do my best to move out of your way so you can do life your way.

Today you like to toilet paper the bathroom and eat things that aren't entirely edible. Today you are two.

I love you,
Mama

impressing you

I often, after meeting a new person, spend a lot of time contemplating whether or not I have made a good impression. I replay the conversations over in my head- what went well, what I should have said here and there, and all the times I interrupted or spoke too quickly. Really, it's not just after meeting a new person, it's almost every time I have a conversation with someone outside my own family. I have thought for a long time that I am just naturally shy and that is why I am uncomfortable in social settings, but recently I had an epiphany: The reason social interactions are so nerve-wracking for me is that I am completely focused on myself. My self-absorption keeps me worried: I think this person is really (nice, cool, well-educated, or fill in the blank...) and I want so badly for them to think the same of me that I miss out on the actual relationship! I constantly try to find points that we have in common- it's almost like I'm yelling "See! Look! I'm nice (or cool or well-educated or whatever thing I admire about you) too!

I want to try a new way. I want to find the beauty in others and celebrate it. I want to change my focus from trying to make people like me, to just loving them.