I was reminded that I hadn't posted in awhile.
~ On the baby end of things.....The little Buddy is busy, busy. He's very sweet and happy and funny, but busy, busy!! He's on the cusp of walking. He's learning to eat more and drink less milk. He's now sleeping through the night. There's a lot of messes and a lot of diapers, and a lot of trying new things. There are well-baby check-ups and social worker visits (today) and family visits (also today). And a couple of trips to town to get needed clothes for him.Thankfully, he is picked up and delivered for his family visits.
~ On my end of things..... I'm sick. I fought hard and long. It took 5 days of being on the verge before my body caved. I have a head cold.
~ On the twin end of things.... Not so good to the naked eye.
1) The twins were very sick for a whole week and I required NOTHING of them except to get well. Now that they are well, I am expecting them to be contributing members of the family. I expect them to get up and get dressed... and on down the list. It shouldn't be this hard, but TRANSITIONs are their enemies.
2) There's a new baby in the house. The twins are no longer the youngest, etc... They like the baby and all, but it's another TRANSITION. Not only that it stirs up some thinking. How they relate it to their own lives and such, I have no idea. I won't put words in their mouths or pretend to know what they are thinking. I can only hear what they are saying. Things like....
Missy, "Why him's mom not want him?"
You can tell her all you want that his mommy does want him, but she'll never understand addiction. The best I can do is tell her that his mommy and daddy are sick. The Buddy will go home when his mommy gets well.
So.... we are dealing with regression. Nothing is working right now. Anything I ask them to do is met with resistance, mind-games, pure stubbornness, pee and even some strange foolishness.
The mildest examples I can think of....
* I asked James to get me some home canned tomatoes from the fruit room. In a rare moment, he went before he could think of argument. Anyway, he likes to eat.
James: "Here's your potatoes."
Thanks but those are not potatoes. What are they?
"Hmmmmm, well, they are round and red."
Never mind, James. I'm not going there. Please, no words!
It doesn't seem like anything... except that there is no exchange where this kind of thing doesn't show up. He knows what a tomato is... we're self-styled tomato farmers. If he hasn't seen a thousand tomatoes he hasn't seen any. I don't buy that nonsense.
* We arrive at school. I pull into the spot I usually do. Look back at Missy and tell her goodbye.
She doesn't acknowledge me.
She moves not a hair. Her eyelashes don't even flicker. Her jaw is tight and set.
Someone else needs to pull into the drop off spot. I know she's looking for a scene. I'm not into it. I know full well she wants to be in school, but she wants to play her game more.
I pull away and head towards home. She still hasn't moved a breath. One mile from the school she adjusts her head slightly so that she is looking forward. Her pupils grow larger and larger. I say nothing. There's not a sound between us.
An eighth of a mile from home she suddenly looks stricken. "Where are you going, Mommy?"
Oh! Why, I am going home. What are you doing in here? Didn't I drop you off at school? Why didn't you get out and run to your class?
She lost that battle and she sits in the car a good ten minutes in the driveway very upset. I carry on with my day. When she comes in I set her to work, folding clothes, arranging the shoe closet, etc... She's angry.
"I'm not going to school anymore. I am not old enough."
No words, kiddo. You are mad right now. No talking.
* I try to do some learning games... I try to make it fun. It lasts 5 minutes. They are looking for battles. I just want them to learn something. We try jumping jacks, and stairs and I play tag... they cry and scream and act like I'm killing them.
I burst into tears.
It feels so hopeless.
Perhaps they are broken beyond repair.
I am the enemy.
James' teacher expresses how much he's craving hugs and how he presses in while she reads... all the while he holds me at bay. Affection is on his terms only.
I cry out my fear on the phone to Steve.
Just when you think they are doing so well...
it all slips away and you wonder that there's no lasting effect.
They are damaged... and love doesn't fix it. Family doesn't fix it.
All the HARD, HARD work you've done... the hours and hours of devoted energy doesn't change it.
Snatches of the CD playing on the stereo reaches my consciousness.
"Waiting for a miracle of Grace. . .
I believe in miracles
I believe Your Word
I can't distrust the promises of a faithful, loving Lord.....
though it's hard to see right now,
I trust that in the end
I'll find out how Your love was working while our hearts were searching....
waiting for a miracle of Grace."
"The Lord is not slack concerning His promise as some men count slackness.... He's not willing that any should perish."
And it's what I have to hold onto.
What my eyes see,
What my heart feels,
I can't trust.
It would be destructive. . .
The CD continues.
"If I'm called to suffer
and if I'm called to die
may those who bear me witness
see Jesus in my eyes."
Waiting for a miracle of Grace.