Giving Thanks

"Every good and perfect gift is from above..."

James 1:17

Happy Thanksgiving

 

surprise fall getaway

Earlier this month, we surprised the kids with a two-night getaway to a hotel water park we had not been to before.  It featured seven water slides, and was small enough for the kids to navigate independently, but still thrilling enough for hours of fun.  Perfect, almost.

It would have been perfect if we hadn't taken two vehicles (Bryan continued on to Green Bay after) and gotten separated and I hadn't started out at the wrong hotel.

And it would have been perfect if all three of our children possessed the adventure-seeking heart to go on all the slides without Mom or Dad the first time. (By the end of the day, this was not an issue.)

(Okay, in hindsight, I'm actually glad I didn't *get to* sit on the sidelines the whole time.)

And it would have been perfect if a couple of games in the arcade didn't take our tokens and bring overtired children to tears.

And it would have been perfect if, two days before the trip, Brett and Reggie's wrestling match hadn't gotten a little out of hand. As a result, Reggie limped his way through the trip, willing his injury not to keep him from the fun.

It would have been perfect if Lydia would finally be 48 inches instead of 47.5 inches and Mom and Dad did not have to keep talking the lifeguards into allowing her to go on the big slide.

And it would have been perfect if the car battery hadn't gone dead leading to a few heated moments of...discussion.

A few weeks later, the kids are still talking about the "toilet bowl slide"...and that mom went to the wrong hotel.  I guess what I remember about family trips as a kid is the cool stuff...but mostly the sitting by the side of the road with the hood of the old brown station wagon up and steam rolling out.

So, in other words, we had a perfect getaway.

wacky balloons and other fall shenanigans

I love our maple tree every fall!

These guys are those wacky balloons, you know, those ones you see waving their long arms in used car lots.  For functionality, the costumes were one of my worst ideas ever. But, on the upside, the trio did win "most creative" at their school party.  When it came down to the business of trick-or-treating, the boys decided to go for ease and speed and dressed as a football and baseball player.

The kids could hardly wait to sort and trade!

They're both cute.

Brett likes to make me coffee. On this particular day, he had breakfast out for me, too.

The bread spider and donut monsters were pinterest winners.  The mummy meatloaf was not.

This year, we bought the whole hog instead of half.  That's 14 pounds of bacon!

(not so) picture perfect

On a beautiful Sunday in October, I posted this picture on Facebook:

 

It was taken on the day we took our annual field trip to our favorite pumpkin patch. I love pumpkin patch day!  When we arrive, we always grab a wagon, rush past the barn filled to the brim with pumpkins-for-purchase, pause to feed the goats, and then wind the wagon through the trees until we arrive at the field of pumpkins. The hunt begins.  Brett wants the biggest one he can lift (our requirement); Lydia searches for one that is round and smooth and perfect for carving; Reggie dashes around, shifting and spotting pumpkins until he finds one that speaks to him.  It is never "pumpkin" orange and rarely round.  After everyone has picked out their pumpkins, we maneuver our more cumbersome wagon back to the barn. We find our way through a maze of hay bales to the old silo, which has been converted into a mini-cinema of-sorts.  The seats are hay bales and the movie is always the same: The Legend of Spookley the Square Pumpkin. Then we take our pumpkins to the pumpkin meter and pay.  The last thing we do is I have the kids pose on a wagon full of pumpkins, hoping for an adorable Facebook-worthy snapshot of fall family fun. I aim, point, and click about a dozen times, willing that in at least one, everyone will be looking and smiling...with mixed results.

I always try to take the kids on the first Friday in October. They have the day off from school for teacher's workshops, and there is hardly anyone at the pumpkin patch. But this year, because I had surgery, I was not up for the outing until later in October.  Still recovering, I needed Bryan's help to lift the pumpkins and pull the wagon, so we went on a beautiful, warm, sunny Sunday.  Along with every other family in the metro.

Everywhere I looked, I saw other families experiencing those same special moments I hope to have at the pumpkin patch every year. Kids finding that special pumpkin and turning to smile for doting parents with iphones in hand. Families posing together on hay bales or wagons and parents working their magic to get that perfect fall family fun snapshot. It will undoubtedly become their "cover photo" on Facebook for the next month. But, possibly even more treasured, on the mantle or in a memory book, to say, "Remember when we..." for years to come.

We did not get that photo.  

I want to be careful here, because I always want to respect the dignity of my children and protect them on such a public forum.  But, I also want to be authentic. More authentic than I am on Facebook, where I just post cute pictures that show the dazzle in life.  This blog is my telling of our story, complete with mishap and mess.  

When you look at the snapshot above, you see a toothless little girl smiling with her daddy at the pumpkin patch on a beautiful fall day.  When I look at this snapshot, I see pain. I see what's (who's) missing from the snapshot. When I look at this photo, I remember another heart-wrenching day of parenting a child with special needs. The struggle is literally taking place behind the tall grass in this picture.  I stepped away from the struggle for a couple minutes to capture the special moments of my other children...and to regroup.

 

Parenting my child with special needs feels like I'm swimming in an ocean.  The salty water around me is not what I hoped for, but it is still beautiful.  The tide is my experience of grief and loss for the hopes and dreams I have for my child.  It comes in waves of sadness or anger or bargaining or denial or acceptance.  It subsides, but always returns.  The moments of peaceful serenity are cherished (and posted on Facebook).  The storms damage anything in it's path, especially hope, and are chaotic and lonely.  But my love for my child challenges me to find beauty not only in the sunsets but also in the storms. To release my hopes and dreams and expectations, and exchange them for a journey less traveled but uniquely treasured.