Help Wanted

Guest post by Therese Steinhoff.  Many of us can relate to the feeling of needing help - it develops a whole new meaning when we realize that the help isn't always just for ourselves. You can find out more about her story at http://thejoysofraising3boys.blogspot.com/.  -BTH
 

 I have always been one to be quick to give help or ask for it when needed.  I feel good when I am helped or when I help someone else. Some people find it difficult to ask for help, but not me.

When help is offered I gladly take it. When I had the double wide stroller I was relieved when someone opened the door for me. When I was pregnant and someone offered me a seat I took it. When I had a newborn and someone offered to bring me a meal I gladly welcomed the sweet gesture. On the flip side I love to help others. I love connecting people with other people who can help them.  When there is a crisis I feel helpless unless someone tells me how I can help.

So why didn’t I get help for my child when he needed it?

Since he was two years old and in day care we have been told that there was a concern regarding our eldest son’s fine motor skills. He didn’t like to draw, write, or color. Then when he was in Pre-K his teacher once again broached these concerns with us. After a stern discussion with him he went from scribbling and coloring outside of the lines to drawing recognizable characters (aliens) and coloring as best he could inside the lines in his Batman coloring book. After that instance I wiped my brow off and gave a sigh of relief. He was finally getting it.

The first time I met his Kindergarten teacher I introduced myself and the first thing she said was “does your son have a dominant hand?” I learned that they were trying to get him to write with one hand and not both. Darn! The fine motor issues had reared their ugly head again. Still his teacher said we should take a wait and see approach with occupational therapy.

Then first grade came around. Finally his teacher said that it was time to get some intervention for his fine motor issues. We started with an OT and my son is so happy that he is finally getting the help he needs to as he puts it “write better.”

The kid wanted to write better. He was frustrated. My help wasn’t enough. What held me back from asking for help for him all of these years?

He is my first. He grew like a weed—always off the charts for height. He excelled verbally by speaking clearly and with the correct words. He recognized the letters of the alphabet before he turned two. I think in my mind he seemed to be doing great and hitting all of his milestones with gusto.  I just felt like this problem would eventually work itself out with age and maturity.

I fought back tears last week as I read through the reports from the occupational therapist and the school. Words like “fine motor delay since he was little” pained me. One report compared him to a kid who “stays on task most of the time.” “Kid A” did awesome, my son not so much. In my mind he had always been “Kid A.” They talked about how he was frustrated with his writing. They talked about how fatigued he was from trying to keep up. They talked about how school was hard for him. How did I miss the boat on this one?

The good news is he is getting help now and is feeling more confident. I need to let go of my guilt and move forward with eyes open. There are resources at our finger tips to help our children get through school. There is no shame in asking for help.

My second born is already struggling with his fine motor skills in preschool. If by asking for help early I can make school easier for him, then help is wanted. 

Milestones!

I finished my second marathon on 10.10.10.

11.11.11. I had my fourth baby on my 37th birthday.

Today, 12.12.12. the first piece I've submitted for publication in more than 15 years is running at Mamalode.

Check it out. Share it. Let me know what you think.

Lessons for today: Put yourself out there. Take good risks. Tell the truth. 

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Sock Confessions

My sister-in-law emailed me this morning.

"Have you ever put on your kids’ socks because you were too busy to go upstairs and find your own when they had clean ones downstairs?? A new first for me…did it this morning…wearing the 5 year-old's socks today!"

Ahh, the secret shames of parenthood.

Not only have I worn my children's socks when it seemed too much work to find my own, I have literally taken my own socks off my feet and given them to my son.

The search for socks in our house is in no way directly correlated to the amount of socks we have currently in the house.  If I come home with brand new socks from Target, place them in all appropriate sock drawers, the search for matching, clean socks still takes 10 minutes.

A wise woman I know once hypothesized that in the dryer single socks turn into T-shirts. Now that my husband and I do laundry for a family of six, I absolutely know, she was right.

The single, oddly shaped sock dominates the clean laundry pile and no matter how often I purge their clothes, shutting the kids' t-shirt drawers is an Herculean effort.

So the idea that those dirty, single socks mate in the laundry pile and turn into wrinkled, slightly stained t-shirts is not conjecture any more.  It is absolute fact.

The Great Divorce: 7 Ways to Compassionately Support a Family

Guest post by Elizabeth Eilers Sullivan. Sometimes the view from the horizon is cloudy, murky at best. This essay deals with how to reflect the best kind of light into the darkness. -BTH

I was at lunch the other week with two girlfriends I deeply admire and love, and our kids. I was feeling blissed out at my good fortune to be with them during the day while our olders were still in school. We were catching up on life between bites of macaroni and cheese, hummus, and wiping spilled water glasses that kept falling like blessings abundant and freely. When the topic turned toward a couple in our community divorcing. A disparaging remark was made about the one, and something inside of me came to a rapid boil. It was a moment where the record screeches on the turntable and things slow way down (this analogy dates me, but I lack another). For me, I froze and then spoke with conviction I did not know I harbored (frankly my strong reaction surprised me):

"First off no one knows what goes on in a marriage and that ‘crazy’ person is married to one of my sibling's childhood friends, so I would appreciate you not calling them crazy no matter the rumors. And, to speak toward the rumors, I want them stopped. It helps no one. I do not want to know their drama. The mere act of divorce is drama and trauma wrapped up in one, especially when there are kids involved. And for the kids, speaking of a kid who comes from divorced parents in this community, I know what was said about my parents when they chose to divorce after five kids and twenty-five years of marriage. It hurt. It hurt me. It hurt them. I watched it hurt them. I watched their couple friends chose sides and fracture a split situation further. I watched my parents turn inward away from us because they not only had to deal with their private pain but the public pain that came with this major event. And, the rumors, the gossip, the false concern helped no one. So I want it all stopped. And, my parents divorce was 'amicable;' an oxymoron at best." 

Broken down what appears to be a rant, but I hope was heard with deep love for myself, for her, for all of us to rise above what can be the a messy and painful horizon goes like this.

Seven steps to help a family going through a divorce:

1. Assume you know nothing of their marriage, even if you think you do, you are not living under their roof.

2. Do not pass judgment. Divorce is sad, tragic and a longitudinal life long event, it shifts the way a child lives out their life with parents and parents live out their lives with their kids at every milestone. 

3. Divorce is not a short cut, especially when kids are involved. It is a different way of handling daily problems big and small with your partner, you either do it under one roof or two.

4. Discernment is not done in a state of desolation. Sometimes even with the pain, divorce is the answer, sometimes it seems like it is the answer and it is not. Only a couple who carefully and faithfully discern whether divorce is their answer will know. It is advisable not to discern in a state of desolation—(St. Ignatius describes desolation where you are excessively anxious and cut off from others, being invited away from love for themselves, God, and others).

5. Do not gossip, swap stories, or spread rumors. They only hurt the couple trying to sort it out and their kids. This hurt prevents reconciliation on any level: remaining married or otherwise. 

6. Do not choose sides. Remain neutral. Remain friends with each spouse, and go out of your way to love up their children and them—a tall order, but worthy of the challenge. 

7. Lastly, keep your mouth shut, your heart open, and pray for guidance. Enough said.

Rise above the horizon. 

Christmas Presence

There has been a lot of talk at our house about making Christmas lists this year. It might sound nuts, but we've never really written Christmas lists with the kids in the past. 

My inquiries have had an unfortunate side effect - there has been lots more discussion about new toys, Lego books, e-readers, video games (and on and on) than any other year. I was not totally prepared to deal with this. I should consider myself lucky; I've avoided it for a lot of years. But I have to admit, I brought this on myself.

Some might think that I'm a Scrooge, but since we first had kids, we've followed the same basic strategy. Santa brings ONE toy for each child. They have fun, small and practical items in their stocking (underwear, toothbrushes, Pez, Chapstick, gum, etc). Mom and Dad buy ONE item for each kid as well (this year they're getting new winter outerwear).  Between these gifts and presents from godparents, grandparents and special friends, the kids end up with more than enough. They have never complained theirs was a less special, joyful or precious Christmas because Santa's sleigh wasn't loaded entirely for them. 

Don't get me wrong: I love Christmas. I love buying and giving presents. I love the whole season. The Friday night after Thanksgiving, we bundle up the kids, walk to our church with the big stroller, and pick out a tree with hot coca and adult beverages. The Athlete always sets up the Christmas music, the tree stand and fireplace, so we come home to a moment of Norman Rockwell each year. Once a year, we all deserve a little Rockwell.

But this year might be the first year that my older boys don't believe in Santa.  They haven't asked or said anything, but in my heart I know that the mystery is changing. 

While this makes me sad, I also see my chance to show them the mystery and magic of Christmas isn't lost or gone - that entering the age of Christmas reason is no less precious than looking for the sleigh on Christmas Eve. But still, misguided Christmas parenting echoed through the last week:  

"What do you want?  What do you want? What do you want?" 

I had no idea why I was suddenly and repeatedly asking. 

I finally realized that I was worried that they'd be disappointed in the Christmas morning presents. Grandma bought some big, special presents this year that will dwarf what Santa will leave under the tree. Santa cannot compete with an American Girl doll. Or a robot arm. Or Ninjago Legos. I mentioned my concern to the husband. He said: 

"So it would be a problem that the kids think Grandma is more generous than Santa Claus?"

Cleared my head right out. He was totally right and reminded me what I already know. Grandma is Santa, and so am I, and so are they. It isn't about who gives what. Love isn't a competition.

If I listen to my heart, I already know what they want.  And it falls perfectly in line with what they need.  

They need me. And their dad. And their extended family.

They need more story time.  More family dinners.  More game nights. More thoughtful conversation about their days, their concerns, their small joys. 

They want to play football and hang Christmas lights with their dad.  They want to bake Christmas cookies (which is a problem because their parents don't bake). They want to hear the stories of all the ornaments on the trees. They want to look at Christmas cards from our college friends, many of whom they've never met.

They need joyful examples of generosity. They need to see their parents having fun during the holidays. They need to see us holding hands in prayer and peace - giving full time and attention to our marriage. 

They need to see that the advent season brings peace and joy and hope - not stress and sadness and disbelief.

We might think they want the Lego Death Star, and sure, they'd enjoy it. But what they really want is meaningful experience and inspiring example. 

So today, I vow to be Christmas for my children. To let go of the worry about buying exactly the right thing, and to find joy in being the right thing.

For the first time, I'm going to bake cookies and build gingerbread houses. They won't be perfect - or maybe not even edible. (I don't promise miracles; I only promise effort.) We're going to take the kids caroling, with our bad voices and big smiles. Christmas will be different this year. I hope for more magic, more faith.

The kids are going to get one big special present this year and it will come from Grandma, and that will make it even more precious than if it had come from that right jolly old elf.

I can let go of the presents and focus on the presence.

Racing through the day-to-day, especially during the holidays, where the additional pressure of parties and presents adds to an already busy load, we often miss the point. In the rush of the mundane we forget to see the sublime. We forget the Christmas origin had no tinsel or white lights, no greeting cards or cocktail parties, no handmade stockings or collectible Santas. The first Christmas was about one, small family making room for more God and more love in their meager lives. And of course, it made all the difference.