Matthew is SEVEN!

Darling Matthew,

Before you were born, seven years ago tomorrow, I loved you. I loved feeling you move in my belly, watching as an elbow or a foot or maybe your hand pushed against me from the inside, there under my heart.

And then you were born, at the end of one last desperate push and I loved you even more. I loved you more even before I could murmur your name, before I saw your fiery hair, your serious gaze, your perfect tiny toes.


The day after your first birthday, you took your first steps and I could barely contain the rush of pride and awe and more love that filled me, even as I held out my arms for you to tumble into them, grinning.

 

Days after your second birthday, your brother was born and when I saw you at the door of the hospital room, where I sat waiting for you and Daddy to come and bring me and Luke home and you smiled at him first and then me, I loved you even more.

Blink.

When you were three, we uprooted our tiny family and began a new life here in Belleville. But on the last day in Newcastle, as I watched you and Luke move about the empty rooms of the only home you'd ever known, whispering, "Goodbye, House!" I thought I might melt with love for your bravery and your trust.

When, months later, I watched you put a trusting hand into the one offered by your JK teacher and bravely march off into your new role as a student, I melted all over again. And I loved you even more.

Blink.

At four, you discovered your own fire and I struggled against your will and your fierce new need for independence. Every night for a year, I snuck into your room long after you'd fallen asleep and prayed for patience and the courage to let you go, just a little bit. And then I offered up my thanks that you had chosen me and that you felt my love strongly enough that you could rage against it, knowing that it would never change. Realizing that, I fell in love with you all over again and again and again.

Blink.

I lost you when you were five, remember? For five, agonizing minutes, at the mall. When we were reunited at the Information Desk and I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around you, I remember feeling overwhelmed with pride that you had done all the right things to ensure your own safety, as I taught you but had never been certain you understood. And it overwhelmed me - this fierce, mama-love, as it sometimes can. Without you, I would be lost. Because of you, I have been found.

Blink.

Six. I don't think there's anything in the world more amazing than seeing it through the eyes of an inquisitive, sensitive six-year-old Matthew. All year long, you have challenged me to view the world we share through your heart - and what a view it offers. You are an amazing big brother - patient, giving, parental. You are wise and good and fair and as I have often thought, when I am grown, I want to be just like you.

Your sixth year has given me so many glimpses of the man you might one day be. And though we hold hands less often than we once did, I cherish those moments and I love you just a little bit more.

Tomorrow, you will be seven and I cannot wait to see what's in store for you, this year. And to see how loving you transforms me into the kind of mother you deserve. From you, I have learned my greatest lessons in forgiveness and patience and kindness, because you exemplify all of those qualities each and every day.

Happy Birthday, Matthew!

Thank you for choosing me. Every day, I love you more.

Mummy

The Stuff That Matters

*Today marks the official end of my first year of college, studying Developmental Services.

 I have learned so much these past nine months: from passionate, wise and dedicated professors who challenged me every day, and from passionate, empathetic and hilarious classmates who did the same.

A month ago, I began a work placement - a short one, offering a brief glimpse into what it ACTUALLY means to support people with disabilities, once books and tests and grades have been tucked away.

This is where I learned the most important lessons:

I've been doing a placement (work-study thing, for my American readers) for my college program. For the past four weeks, I've spent my day at a "Day Program" for adults with developmental disabilities.

Yesterday afternoon, I said goodbye to these incredible people  - some 50 men and women who've taught me so very much about developmental services. About resilience, courage, strength and life.

For the past four weeks, I've had my heart touched and broken, every. single. day, sometimes in the same moment. I cannot describe those I supported here, because it would be a violation of so many things. But I can share the lessons they tucked into my heart -  some by speaking, some by not, all by welcoming me into their lives, if only for a little while:

1. The power of a smile - be it wide, shy, beaming or toothless - is beyond measure:

I was nervous, that first day. Terrified, actually, until a woman I'd never met - and who does not speak - gently placed her fingertips on either side of her lips and pushed up, grinning. Understanding, I burst out laughing and stuck out my hand to shake hers in thanks. Instead, she brought my forehead down to her lips, kissed me soundly there and then, without a word, shuffled off.

Imagine the strife we might avoid if this was how we, as a society, offered welcome...

2. We are all of us, the tellers of our own story:

Some people will spill every thought in their head within minutes of meeting someone new. Others keep their stories close and dole them out slowly, carefully, with learned wariness. Some tell the stories of their lives without words.

All of them - indeed all of us - deserve to be heard by a rapt and loving audience. All of us deserve to be heard, even when - perhaps especially when - we are silent.

3. Connection matters:

Sometimes, the most incredible moments are the small, seemingly insignificant ones. Last Wednesday, I took a dance with M, who cannot hear and doesn't speak,  but whose eyes held mine intently as we swayed to the music together.

I do not sign, officially, but instead motioned for him to relax his hand in mine and to move my body with gentle pressure on my hip. Something sparked there, in his eyes, as he realized that I was asking him to lead me. I was trusting him to guide me, instead of the other way around and for once brief, brilliant moment...he smiled. Had I not been looking directly at him, I might have missed it. For that glimpse of his heart and that single moment of absolute grace, I am so thankful.

4. Love matters:

Within days of beginning placement,  I was gobsmacked to realize that I could tell - from among these strangers - who had been well-loved in this life...and who had not. I have no words to describe how that looks, unloved-ness, except to report that it is common in many devalued groups, not just those who are disabled. Unlovedness is a state of being for many, especially foster children, people who are homeless, the desperately poor, our forgotten elderly...

Of everything I've learned, will learn or will ever otherwise know in this field, in this life, I have seen that love truly matters. It really does change the world - for better and for worse - one person at a time.

And you?

How has a stranger offered you a glimpse into their heart...and changed yours?

On Cottages, New Love and Being Grateful

The Reds and I have just returned from a Lake Erie cottage, having spent the week being spoiled rotten by friends-who-are-like-family.

I left my camera there, which is sad because I got some truly amazing shots of the boys in the pool. They're still awake upstairs, which is also sad, because I am exhausted, but I am glad to be home, so am pretending not to notice.

We had the time of our lives: eating, laughing, swimming, drinking, repeat.

To sum up:

Dear Inventor of Water-Wings,

God bless you, you-who-are-clearly-a-parent. The Reds had a blast, hurling themselves into the deep end, learning to hold their breath underwater and proudly sporting their brand-new goggles and flutter boards. I enjoyed paddling about without a flailing bodies climbing onto to my head in a panic.

Happy Paddling,
A Grateful Mother


Dear Smirnoff,

Bought coolers for the first time in 20 years a long time. Was delighted to find "Blueberry Lemonade Vodka" coolers. 

Was not AS delighted to drink one.

Perhaps you might consider renaming the drink, "Blueberry Muffin Mix-Mosquito Repellent-Purple 'Thrills' Gum", for that is exactly how it tasted.

Sincerely,
"Pina Colada Vodka Mudshake" Lover


Dear Baileys,

You know how much I  love you. But I have also found myself spending a great deal of time with "Pina Colada Vodka Mudshakes." I wish I could say I feel guilty, but they're far too yummy for that.

I hope you're OK with that.

Love,
Me

Dear Matthew and Luke,

Thank you for not fighting (much), for surviving 10 hours of driving cheerfully and without peeing in your car seat (Luke). Thanks for great manners, snuggles at dawn, laughing so hard, swimming so happily and for at least trying new foods (Matthew). You make me very proud.

Every day, you bring me great joy. Thank you, especially, for that.

Love,
Mummy


Dear Telfords,

You are wonderful, wonderful friends and consummate hosts. Thanks for great food, awesome drinks, soft beds, Fruit Loops for my gobsmacked "Mummy-only-let's-us-have-Cheerios" kids and for letting me sleep in EVERY morning.

Thank you for sage advice, chatting until dawn, not freaking out when my son (who-shall-remain-nameless-but-might-be-called-Luke) peed on the brand-new couch and for making each moment relaxing and easy.

Love,
Belly and the Reds