Oh, the things we do as parents.  My mom tells me, when I was a child, I would only wear clothing from Sears with a Winnie-the-Pooh tag.  She eventually started cutting the tag out to put in other clothing.  She didn’t have to do that, but it was a simple solution to keep peace.  I was slightly spoiled.  

In watching the Olympics this evening, I heard the commentators mention the family of a young gymnast who recognized her talent, uprooted their family, and moved to be closer to a gym to best fit their daughter’s needs.  I couldn’t help but think about Charles and I who made the decision to move, from the only community I have ever known, to the city.  We wanted Caden in a centralized location and  close to our work, so we could attend school parties, IEP meetings, etc. during lunch hours.  

As parents of special needs children, we have even more “things” we have to do.  We have more doctors’ appointments, more tests, more medical worries.  We attend more meetings at school listening to our child’s struggles and accomplishments.  We spend more money on therapies to help ensure progress to maximize our child’s potential.  Some parents get to stop fundraising when their children progress out of the educational system, but we must continue fundraising for our causes.  Many special needs parents continue to coach athletic teams until physically impossible to do so.  We fight for inclusion, advocate abilities, research, and work toward financial security for our loved ones. I suppose these “things” keep us youthful. 

We trudge to amusement parks, buy tickets to the biggest events, buy all the necessities and more, and are rewarded with hugs, smiles, and sometimes non-verbal “I Love You’s.”

Oh, the things we do.  Oh, the places we go.  We recognize what our children need.  And, to some, our actions may seem crazy.  Caden will say the alphabet when cheerleading.  So, Charles and I practice our cheerleading to get the verbalization.  “T-O-P-S, Tops Tops, Tops” is a favorite, as we teach Caden to cheer on our WKU Hilltoppers. On our latest trip to Florida, we decided to take Caden’s favorite stuffed animal to help him sleep at night.  When the magic side door opened on our new minivan, a wide-eyed Caden produced a grin.  Waiting for him, securely belted in the passenger seat, was a 3 ½ foot, 5-8 pound stuffed “Hippy.”  The stares on the interstate were priceless as Hippy bounced down the road.  After all, for Caden, a hippo’s gotta ride.

While dozing on the couch, I hear quick, youthful footsteps moving with excitement toward me.  Then, I hear “Shhhhh,” Caden’s gentle reminder to himself not to laugh and spoil the surprise.  I dare not open my eyes to ruin his carefully plotted attack.  When we are nose to nose, I hear, “Ah-Boo.”  I have to wake up wide-eyed, jump, pretending to be startled.  Now is the time to laugh; his plan was successful.

Charles and I enjoy playing Caden’s frightful, little game.  We are happy to hear his voice and partake in his sense of humor.  While this is a game to Caden, this exercise has served as a vivid example of being prepared when something rotten approaches.  Caden’s tactics tell me something is about to happen.  I need to get prepared. 

I wish I had more opportunities to prepare for some rotten things in life.  I didn’t receive any warning about Caden’s diagnosis before birth.  While I would have accepted the responsibility willingly, I would have liked to better enjoy his first two weeks.  Charles and I have taken Caden to the doctor’s office for a sick visit only to return home from the hospital a few days later.  I read the obituaries and see someone I know has passed away. Without warning, these things have come my way.

Wouldn’t it be nice if before rotten things happened we received a warning of some sort?  For storms, we have sirens, scrolled warnings on the television, and announcements on the radio, but for life’s storms we are often left to pick up the debris, stumble on, and promise to develop a plan for next time.  Then, the next time comes, again, without warning.  And, we aren’t prepared.

So, Caden’s little game affords me the opportunity to lay in wait of my “rotten” boy sneaking up for a scare.   His “Ah-boos” are always worth the anticipation.  I know no matter what rotten thing comes my way, the next time I doze on the couch I will hear animated footsteps followed by “Shhhhhh.”

“I’ve always been crazy but it’s kept me from going insane.”  Words of the immortal Waylon Jennings.  Words that summarize my life.

After Caden was born, I found myself in a conundrum.  Many of the mothers I talked with stayed at home with their child. I knew Caden would need support; I knew he would receive frequent therapist visits.  I wanted to support him; I wanted to be involved.  My seven weeks of maternity leave made me ponder going back to work.  My heart told me to stay at home.  My mind (and Charles) told me to go back to work.  I was wallowing in misery, and I needed my professional life back. 

I have several friends and acquaintances that stay at home, and I envy them from time to time. But, the truth is—I’m not a good housewife.  Charles and I would be in financial distress, if I stayed at home.  I am an extrovert who needs to be around people.  Caden wouldn’t be independent either.  I’m not sure I could step away and let him grow up. I learned quickly that Caden was more productive in therapies without me watching him. 

Of course, going back to work meant going back to school.  I was one semester away from earning my graduate degree; I couldn’t give up.  Caden attended my commencement ceremony and “Outstanding Graduate Student” reception.  I am working on my doctorate now.  And, I won’t lie—balance is difficult. 

However, I have bountiful encouragement. Charles is incredibly supportive.  But, Caden gives me strength.  On Saturday mornings when I have class, Caden is usually up when I Ieave.  I tell him “Mommy has to go to school.”  He blows me a kiss, waves, and tells me “bye.”  When I return home after a long day of learning, he greets me at the door with a hug.  That’s real.  That’s balance.

So, I work, take classes, belong to professional organizations, get involved in community events, cook, clean, do laundry, sleep—because my family is my balance.  Of course, I must prioritize.  I have taken Caden to professional conferences. I have put off dusting to write a paper.  I have stayed late at work to finish a project and ordered pizza for dinner.  I have skipped meetings to attend a holiday party at Caden’s school.  It is crazy—but, it does keep me from going insane.  It keeps me from dwelling on things I can’t change.  It keeps Caden (and Charles) independent.  It keeps Caden always “ready to go.”  And, with him, I am sure we will be balanced–yet go far.