Tag Archives: grandparenting

Spotlights and Hissy Fits

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Spotlights and Hissy Fits

She was perched on my lap, knees digging into my thighs, peering over and around the head of the very tall gentleman in the row in front of us. She was literally quivering with delight as she watched the lights come up on group after group of dancers. Without fail, she clapped fervently then cupped her hands around her mouth and let out a whoop as each took a bow.

Periodically she turned a bit to face me, excitement lighting her face. “That was so good!” she exclaimed over and over. She could barely contain her joy.

She celebrated every performance including her own. This afternoon it was about her and her dance company and she was loving the costumes, the makeup and the spotlight.

After the final curtain we all loaded into the fifteen passenger van. In a matter of moments, she went from celebrated performer to big sister/little sister/six-year-old girl whose sparkly costume was suddenly itchy and whose blood sugar was crashing. She was near having a hissy fit, but Mommy assured her she could in fact endure the costume for the short ride home.

Once there, she slipped into something far less itchy and was given some quiet time in her room to unwind. In a bit she rejoined her six brothers and sisters in the kitchen for pizza and it occurred to me that her moment in the spotlight was short.

I thought of how I deal with my “fifteen minutes of fame” experiences. We all have them from time to time…. a short period of time when the spotlight and the attention turns to us and we feel special, important and celebrated.

But for most, those are short-lived and we climb back into the fifteen passenger van that is our daily life. To be honest, I sometimes throw a private hissy fit when the celebration is over.

Oh friend, I’m so thankful for GRACE that assures us that no matter how short-lived our moments of fame may be, we are valued and loved. 

GRACE even when I’m out of sorts because the current circumstance, maybe even the thing that just a day or so ago was beautiful and sparkly, is now irritating and I just want out.
If you find yourself just outside of the afterglow of a great experience, give yourself some grace, friend. Recharge with food for your soul and take a break. Then come join us at the table, where we will again celebrate the goodness of our Father and what He does for us and through us.

“Living then, as every one of you does, in pure grace.
It’s important that you not misinterpret yourselves as people
who are bringing this goodness to God. No, God brings it all to you.
The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God
is and by what he does for us, not by what we do for him.”
Romans 12:3  ~ The Message

 

Enjoying his grace in spite of my hissy fits,

lorraine

 

 

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My beautiful dancer, and her mother’s efforts to keep her flat on her feet when she’s not in the spotlight.

 

 

 

Proceed to the Route

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Proceed to the Route

The sun was already low on the horizon as I choked back tears and hugged her. I had something I wanted to say but I knew that with one word would come a torrent of sobs. The last thing I wanted to do was make this more difficult.

I closed the car door and backed along the fence line. Through tears I drove away. “Call Mike on mobile” I sobbed to my car. The hands free feature dutifully dialed my husband and I poured out my heart as I drove along the now familiar highway.

It had been a week since I arrived, ready to relieve Nana for a few days. Momma was at the hospital hours away, attending to the newest arrival. With six children at home, she called for help.

But now Momma was home with the baby and things were settling into the new normal. It was time for me to go.

The heart is complicated. It can be so divided at times. I desperately wanted and even needed to get home. My job was waiting; my hubby had endured back to back absences during a recent business trip and this week with the grands. It was time to go, and yet my heart longed to stay.

And to further question my desire to stay, it had been a tough week. I have a new respect for moms of big families, especially when there are lots of littles.

I had barely arrived when a stomach virus struck. Each night, a different child woke with cries of “I frew up”. Showers, linens changed and comfort doled out, I collapsed on the air mattress in the boy’s room and dared the guinea pigs to wake me with their nocturnal shenanigans.

Every day, before first light, the house was awake with sounds of children. J was in his bed, reciting his schedule for the day and using every word in his vocabulary. Keep talking little buddy…I need coffee. Sweet EB was already standing in her crib, clutching her comforter, pillow and a stuffed Minnie Mouse larger than her. I put my arms around the bundle and went to the kitchen urging her to whisper, a skill she has not yet mastered.

As I walked through the living room, there sat G – completely dressed, including his newsboy hat. A “man” of few words, he gave me a nod as I passed. By now I could hear E calling from his crib. He and his sister would want their milk and Miss P, the only one with a schedule to keep, was still deep in her princess sleep. The oldest of the lot was sleeping soundly, a tween getting his growth sleep.

I pray we made some good memories. I have some great ones and I also was reminded of life with littles.

Toddlers must be fed but won’t necessarily eat.

When you hear a toddler say “Bye, Bye Puppy” you’d better run for the gate.

I discovered that a four-year-old can, in fact, give himself a toilet swirly.

A puppy can chew up a shoe faster than you can say Amazon Prime.

When a child says “all done” it might mean:

  1.  I want a cookie
  2.  I want down but if you throw this away I’ll be back in five minutes demanding it or
  3.  Stand back, I’m about to hurl.

There is nothing like burying your face in the tiny curls of a grandchild, even in the middle of the night when you are desperate for rest. I knew that my days there were few and I made a point of enjoying those moments.

I also caught myself hollering. A lot. At the dog, at the child who was feeding his dinner to the dog, at the pair of vandals who found the one and only stray marker and were about to deface the walls of the living room.

I think you get the idea. Even when the Momma returned home, this mother’s heart was drawn to help. I truly wanted to be in two places at once.

As I poured my heart out and drove up the highway, I began to notice informational signs that were completely foreign to me. The cities listed were not in the direction of home. My sweet husband gently suggested I might be going the wrong way.

I hung up and opened the Maps app on my iPhone. I had made this drive many times during my daughter’s college years. How could I be lost?

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I typed our home address in the app and started again. As I did, nothing looked right to me. My internal compass continued to indicate that I was headed the wrong direction. The GPS? I stared at the blue dot and all that I could discern was my current location. That was not helpful! I could look around and know where I was. The obvious question was how do I get to where I want to be???

I turned the car around and immediately, my Australian navigator said “Proceed to the route”. Through tears, I shouted at him “I can’t see the route! Why doesn’t this thing show me a bigger picture?”

I couldn’t get my bearings. I knew the direction of home and I was sitting on the side of the right road. All that I needed to do was get on that highway and drive south, but when I did the landscape wasn’t familiar. I had clearly lost my bearings and my instincts were failing me.

After an hour of driving in circles, I gave in. Over and over, the familiar voice had repeated “Proceed to the route”. I needed to listen to that voice. I finally put all of my faith and trust in the satellite that could see me, even when I had no idea where I was.

I proceeded to the route and eventually I recognized familiar landmarks. I was on my way home.

The next day when I was less stressed and more rested, I understood where I had gone wrong. I had started my drive at the north end of the city; all of those other times I was south of town when I started home.

My heart quickened a bit as I thought of how often I look around and decide that I know exactly what I need to do next. I press on, even when God’s voice is clear. “Proceed to the route.” But Lord, I say, none of this looks or feels right to me. I am sure that I know the right way to go.

I proceed to go in circles, wasting time and resources, only to finally stop and choose to listen and follow his lead.

Oh Lord, when I get anxious and go in the wrong direction, nudge me until I proceed to the route that leads me to your best. Thank you for the assurance that you never lose track of me.

Where can I go to get away from your Spirit?
Where can I run from you?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there.
If I lie down in the grave, you are there.
If I rise with the sun in the east and settle in the west beyond the sea,
even there you would guide me.
With your right hand you would hold me.
Psalm 139:7-10 NCV

Proceeding by grace,

lorraine

Wait! I Have to Wait???

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Wait! I Have to Wait???

Last Saturday we got up at three in the morning for a one day road trip to a destinatIon four hundred miles away. There was a new baby at the end of that road and it was time to meet her.

I had waited a week and I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d kept reminding myself that there were others helping my daughter with the day to day; I knew it was my turn to wait. I didn’t like it, but I waited.

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When we arrived at the house, Nana greeted us, baby in arms. She whispered that the other children didn’t know we were coming. I couldn’t wait to surprise them!

The five older children were in the backyard with Mom, enjoying some play time before the sun was high and hot. I paused to watch them play and then turned to my daughter. She looked tired; with a newborn and a four month old in the house, she hadn’t had much sleep. Wait, what?

You read that right. The youngest, just about four weeks old, was just visiting; her foster parents were on vacation at the beach and were getting a respite. My daughter was willing to cuddle a newborn for a short ten days to give them some time of refreshment.

A call came on Friday; Mom was enjoying caring for the wee one and they were all looking forward to Dad and their oldest brother returning from camp the next day. When she heard the request, the answer was an immediate yes. Yes, they would foster the baby, a four month old, currently in the hospital and a sibling to their adopted daughter.

Mom would be spending the next day at the hospital to meet with doctors and begin bonding with the precious girl. Hospital time; she waited to take her home.

The following day, a little girl who had been living in an unsafe situation moved into a house filled with children and love. The details aren’t mine to share; her story is still being written and by the grace of God, I am only part of it.

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The troops were rallied; friends, neighbors and family began showing up. Thirty-six hours isn’t much time to prepare for a new baby.

In the meantime, Dad and older brother were experiencing some delays of their own. Homeward bound and anxious to reunite with family, their bus broke down in the middle of nowhere. They weighed options and waited.

I’m a doer. Over the years as my daughters gave birth, I helped. I loved to pop in with food and while I was there do some laundry or a little cleaning.

This time, when I said “I’ll come”, she said “Others are here. Just wait, mom.”

You know how your “heart” is the seat of your emotions but your actual heart is pumping blood and keeping you alive? How is it then, that when your heart is aching the pain is in your chest? I struggled for a week with putting my finger on the emotion that was bringing me so much discomfort.

Was I jealous? Was I suffering from a severe case of “fear of missing out”? After all, other grandmas were there, in my daughter’s home, doing all sorts of things to help her. Oh dear Jesus, take the wheel, I wailed. Am I jealous? But when I got still and honest, I felt nothing but gratitude and love for those women who were there to help.

On Thursday afternoon, as I cleaned the break room kitchen at the office, I prayed (a great thing to do while taking care of mindless chores, by the way). Give me some clarity, I asked. Help me sort all of this out.

Suddenly it was clear. A new grandchild was waiting. I needed to hold her and speak words of hope and love over her. “It’s time…go” HE said.

For the fifth time in just three years, I took a baby that might leave in my arms; I opened my heart without holding anything back. I will gladly surrender it in exchange for the assurance that this little one will know the love of a grandma.

Waiting. This very minute, I have two grandchildren in waiting. Oh, not in my heart; they are sealed there forever, but the courts are still doing the legal stuff and so we wait for the day their names will be written in our family Bible just as they have been etched in our hearts.

In the waiting there is a beautiful picture of God’s waiting for us. He loves us even before we have all of the legal stuff (our sin) figured out and he loves us first.

Teach me to wait with your patience and steadfast love, Lord.

In this is love, not that we have loved God but that He loved us… 1 John 4:10a ESV

But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8 ESV

 By His grace alone,

lorraine

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From Out Here: A Grandmother’s View of Autism

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I pen this as an observer; I claim no expertise. I’ve never parented a child with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). I don’t go to therapy appointments, I don’t visit the neurologist or the behavioral specialist and I don’t deal with the inevitable daily challenges of raising a child with a neurological disorder.

However, I love a child with ASD. He’s my grandson.

I also don’t have type 1 diabetes. I don’t prick my finger eight or more times each day to test blood sugar. I don’t position a spring loaded device on my belly and push the button to insert a cannula to deliver insulin – to literally keep me alive. I’ve never woken from a diabetic coma, surrounded by paramedics and feeling rotten. I’ve never been hospitalized with Diabetic Ketoacidosis.

But I love a man who does, who has. He’s my hubby.

It’s been a journey. So here I am, twenty years after his diagnosis, still clumsily discovering how to be an encourager and advocate while maintaining my primary role as wife and lover. I avoid being the “diabetes police” but I’ve said the wrong thing and responded in the worst way when he most needed compassion.

diabetes-528678_1920I cannot express the highs and lows (no pun intended, but it’s so true) of dealing with diabetes. You can do the same things day in and day out and get wildly different results. Just last Saturday, the excitement of finishing a 5k was clouded within minutes when his blood sugar reading was high. There is big potential damage to vital organs from exercising with high blood glucose. But there are so many factors outside of his control, and virtually none within mine. There were many emotions that surged, from aggravation to fear, but the truth is that you just deal with the present. Adjust, course-correct where possible, and keep living life with this person I love with all of my heart. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

ASD makes normally simple things hard for our boy. He struggles with waiting. Changes in routine are upsetting; he doesn’t like to share certain toys and he’s not especially affectionate. Many times he’d rather play alone than with his siblings. Some days are just hard for him to deal with normal stuff.

He’s learning and developing skills to cope through therapy and the efforts of his parents. They are his champions.

 

Watching him run and play outside makes my heart soar. He’s brilliant, this little guy. He loves books – he will sit with anyone who is willing to read. When he is having a good day, he is delightful. His joy is pure and wild and unfiltered.

Since his diagnosis he has made significant progress. I have high hopes for this boy, confident that he will reach his potential because he is surrounded by people committed to building a strong foundation.

So here I am, clumsily discovering how to be an encourager and advocate, while maintaining my role as his grandma and my daughter’s mom. I am not an expert on ASD and I’ve said and done the wrong thing. I’ve responded with impatience when I should have been compassionate. I’ve already made some monumental blunders in dealing with him. Without a doubt, I’ve annoyed his parents by saying the wrong thing or reacting inappropriately to his behavior. I’ve misunderstood and been misunderstood because I didn’t know enough about his symptoms and limitations. We’ve learned to extend grace to him and each other.

I don’t know what our sweet little grandson’s experience will be. I’ve read lots about autism, pretty much everything I can get my hands on; I listen and ask questions of his parents. And what I’ve learned is to expect the unexpected. The things that worked yesterday (or the last time that we were together) don’t always work today. Regression can occur and expectations have to be adjusted. But at the end of every day, the little boy who lies down (possibly after jumping in his bed for a bit) and sings himself to sleep is a gift from God, fearfully and wonderfully created.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. – Psalm 139:14 NIV

May we ever grow in compassion and joy for every life.

April is Autism Awareness month. The Autism Society has issued a challenge of sorts. Awareness has been mostly achieved, so they encourage friends to become partners in the movement toward acceptance and appreciation. During April I’ll share some ways that you can take that next step.

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Average or Extraordinary?

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“The truth is maybe we are just average. But the way I see it — families where parents get up every morning and go to jobs that are hard so they can get their kids through school and through life, and struggle to make it all work and manage to do it with dignity and a little humor — well, that’s not average. That’s extraordinary.”
Frankie Heck, The Middle

cafeteria-662458_1920There she stood, her jet black hair in a perfect Laura Petrie flip. Unlike Rob’s wife in the 60’s sitcom, her features were harsh. She had a nasally voice and when she saw me she smirked and demanded an explanation. After all, students weren’t permitted in the cafeteria before school unless they had business there.

I had strict orders from my mother that I was to hand the sealed envelope to anyone but her. I must have been all of ten years old, and a most compliant child. I was torn between obeying my mother and respecting the Tasmanian she-devil adult in front of me. I have no idea what happened next.

Honest. It’s blocked from my memory and while I’m sure that spending precious time and money with a counselor might help me remember and sort it out, I’m not sure I that I want to go there. It was mean-spirited but I did learn at a tender age that I never wanted to make another person feel like that.

She was the mother of my friend, our neighbor across the street. And she thought our family had too many kids. Even I realized that. And I knew that the envelope contained an application for free lunches. Handing it to anyone else was safe, but handing it to her just confirmed her opinion.

Strangely, I admired the perfect little playhouse that was situated in the perfectly manicured back yard. Her children, one boy and one girl, completed a perfect family. They were even born in the correct order, boy first. Her home was so clean it shined.

I never, not even once, felt welcome or wanted there. I did feel shame and judgment, not able in my immaturity to fully comprehend the strong opinions behind them.

Hubby and I married young. It was our choice. I was ready for my own home and family. The reality of the cost of providing for a family and the social norm of the 70’s to have 2.5 children were a big part of our choice to limit our offspring to two. In fact, I was so naïve about the heart’s capacity to love that during my second pregnancy I worried that I could never love another child like I did my first.

I am incredibly grateful for my two daughters. The real joy in having lots of children is giving them siblings. The truth is, our brothers and sisters know us as we always were. They share family secrets, feuds and jokes. And they show up. Good times, bad times, hard times. Two daughters, born six years apart, with four hundred miles separating their homes. And yet, their hearts are in tune. And while I wish I had given them a larger family, peace floods my soul when I realize they have each other; that they will drop everything and run from everything else to each other.

Sometimes life comes full circle. As of this moment, I have eight grandchildren; my mom would be so proud of her granddaughter’s house full of babies and children. Yesterday, the youngest turned a year old. He’s a foster but he just might stick and that would oh so wonderful, because you see, I love him like crazy.

When the whole crew arrives for a visit our normally tidy home is cluttered and loud within minutes. Babies cry and toddlers act like, well, toddlers. The kitchen stays busy and the door to outside slams loud when the windows are open and the weather is perfect for outdoor play. There are disagreements over sharing toys and someone skins a knee and because we have a five year old girl in this mix, there is drama. Lots of drama. And poop – with three in diapers, someone always has poop. We deal.

But that’s not all. There are moments of baby snuggles and reading to toddlers. There are five year old secrets to share and hair to braid. Big boys build Lego models and share their favorite things about the new Star Wars movie. There are showers and tubbies every evening and lots of stern warnings about staying in bed, even at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I sneak in and warn them about nice Mommy being done for the day before she confirms that she’s not kidding.

The truth is, it’s a lot of work to manage a large family. Things that some families take for granted are not possible. The budget may allow for a meal out, but seriously, why wrangle so many littles to a restaurant when it’s so much easier to feed them at home? I marvel at the way that the older boys take responsibility, whether making sure all of the diaper bags get to the van or buckling and verifying everyone is safely seated.

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I’m mostly a spectator in the life of this big family. I can’t speak on their behalf and I have no experience parenting so many. I freely acknowledge all of that. But I am so thankful for a second chance at a big family.

When I think about them in twenty years, I can only imagine how great Thanksgiving will be at their house. I sure hope I live long enough to see it.

As it turns out, this heart of mine does have the capacity to love more than one child.

 

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