Scared

I wrote this last week, but I couldn't get myself to post it. The unknows were to many and the fear was to high. We now know who but will probably never know the why.

The smaller one is in bed, taking a much needed nap after “helping” raking leaves all morning. The bigger one is sitting on the living room floor playing video games. The video game that we use as an incentive and punishment for those green and red days at school. Green days is what we want…we will even work with yellow days, but one red and no video game that weekend. It has been a couple of weeks since he last played. He is learning and adjusting, making friends, reading full pages to us at bed time, wiping glue on classmates’ hair, skipping, conquering the monkey bars, bringing snack money so he can make his own choices, handing out baseball cards. He is growing up, but still so much a little boy…my baby.

And I just want to crawl over to the living room rug where he is sitting, fold myself around him, tightly, and never let go. Instead I sit here, listening to him explain the game to me, snickering at me when I don’t get it, smiling at him when he looks over. And I hope and pray that he cannot see the tears in my eyes, cannot hear the slight tremble in my voice.

I project calmness and confidence, and that is the mask I am wearing right now. The mask that he needs from me; “I got this, I am in charge and you do not need to worry about anything”, and I will be damned if he sees the other side, the side that is roaring with grief and anger.

But I am angry, so angry. It is the anger that is mixed with stifling fear and the;”please, please just make it go away” silent cries. The anger is easier to deal with it, driving away all other feelings. Kind of.  Making it a little easier to breathe.

Last night we took some of his innocence from him. We had to sit him down at the kitchen table and tell him that there are bad people in this world. We had to tell him that there is a bad person walking around right now trying to take little children. And there are certain things you need to know, certain things you need to be aware off, and if you ever end up in a situation, this is what you will do. We had decided before hand not to mention the word kill or death. He is too little and shouldn’t have to hear crap like that. And I am sad for him, sad that we have to do this, sad that we have to make him fearful, that he cannot linger in the bubble of safety for a little longer. To stay in the world of “Batman was the coolest superhero of all times yesterday, but today it is all about Spiderman, and he is awesome!” Where the greatest injustice imaginable is that his brother’s book was read last two nights in a row – watch and hear me wail!

I have fought this conversation tooth and nail. I knew the stranger danger conversation was inevitable, but I kept holding off, not wanting to put that on him. Not yet. But the scary was getting too close to our home and my hand was forced. The point that we kept repeating to him over and over again was;” it is mommy and daddy’s job to keep you and your brother safe.”  That despite everything we told him please understand that you are not carrying this on your shoulders, we are in charge. And we would not be doing our jobs if we didn’t prepare him for what is out there, to make him aware of certain dangers lurking.

It was so hard. Heartbreaking. He was scared and he cried. I hope we told him the right things, used the right words, did the right thing.  We promised him we would tell him as soon as the police found the bad guy; this seemed to help a little.

And I am keeping my eye on him, judging his emotional state, letting him talk about whatever is on his mind, letting him lead. He is such a sensitive boy and I am not sure how he is going to handle this one.

This fear is also mine. I am terrified. This ugly world is closing in on us, and I am letting it consume me. My mind cannot even formulate the “what if”. I can’t. It would destroy me and I don’t know if I would ever get up again. So I am trying to breathe through it, moving through the day, keeping with the chores at hand. Busy will keep my mind quiet.

Despite all this fear, today I am grateful. I have both my boys’ right here with me. And tonight I get to tuck them in, kiss their cheeks and tell them I love them.

And as I sit here in my selfish fear, I think of Jessica’s parents, of all the parents whose children never came home. And how can your heart not break, over and over again? Madness and evil robbed them of the chance to tuck their babies into the crooks of their necks, hold them tight and whisper;”it is alright, mommy is here!”

But today I can, and I will honor that. I will hold my big boy’s hand when he is scared, I will walk with him through the fear and hopefully come out lighter and laughing on the other end.  I will have this conversation with my little one when he is big enough to understand, I will let him cry and hold onto me tight. And until then I will not let either one out of my sight.

So for now, I keep the fear at bay. I hold them tight when they crawl into my arms. I kiss them gently at last bed check and leave the night light on, making sure the door is open for the middle-of-the-night-crawling-into-bed-with-mommy-and-daddy. I will tell them, and I will tell them again how much I love them, and my hand is always available for holding.

 

 

This is what we did today!

The one where you get to know me!

My little paparazzi (Noah) was following me around the other day, trying to capture the essence that is me. When he didn't turn the camera the wrong way and blinded himself for a good minute, he managed to get some great snapshots.

 Remembering to lock the door in private places was raised to a whole new level. Norman Bates had nothing on this kid when it came to sneaking up on you in certain places!

He then sat down at his light table, pulled out the magnifying glass and spend some time choosing just the right ones. His work was gonna represent!!

I asked him if he was sure......and he was. These three pictures were the ones he wanted to showcase.

So without much further ado, please meet............me.

The angle is what makes this shot!

Take a wild guess?

 

Power of the Gun

I am an advocate for gun control. Not in the “out loud and preachy” kind of way but I don’t like guns and I don’t think the regular citizen should be able to own one.

Guns cause problems… people!  Just look around at some situations that could have been avoided or minimized if the darn guns were not so readily available.

I know the common argument is that “guns don’t kill people, people kill people”. Yes, but do we have to readily supply the tools that make it easier for someone hell-bent on hurting another human being? At least in a fist fight physical exertion is required and one might get too tired before causing too much irreversible damage. Someone cuts you off in traffic; you will have to chase this person down, get out of the car and throw a fit. Chances are, in this situation, you cool off or keep it to the verbal tantrum.

I also hear the argument, “I have the right to protect myself, what if someone broke into your house?”  What I don’t like about this argument is that is puts us all in a mindset of “you gonna hurt me so I am gonna hurt you back” which I think only creates hostility and detachment. The mindset of perceived violence is already there, and I don’t think it is a good place to be.

Wouldn’t it be better if we all just got along? Please insert flowers and unicorns, maybe an old geezer with the beard and headband. Dude!

 Well, let me kind of step off my soapbox.

We spent the summer in Sweden, re-connecting with mormor, morfar, aunts, uncles and cousins. It was a little bit of heaven.

On the first day of arrival, morfar declared that he was taking the boys to the toy store, and they got to pick one toy each. Morfar might have advanced to super hero status before he finished that sentence.

So we made our way to the local mall, guided by a bright blinking beacon of joy; gently whispering our names.

The choices were many and the angst to make the wrong one was high. Glittering things on the top shelf and noisy vehicles on the bottom shelf were considered and put back, could there be something better in the next aisle?

Then, Oliver spotted the Holy Grail. A cap gun! Like the ones cowboys used to have. It was silver and shiny. And could I really turn him down when it was a gift from beloved morfar? Let’s turn on the Puss n’ Boots eyes just to be safe!

And I gave in. I said yes and I let him walk out of the store with a cap gun wrapped up and glowing in his very own bag. The bag that was carelessly thrown over his shoulder. He was cool and he knew it. And I might have been cool as well; I let him have a gun.

And you know what; he is a five-year-old boy who has turned everything into guns for a while now. Don’t all kids (boys) play with guns at a certain age? Would me depriving him this timeless fascination with guns backfire and turn him into an obsessed teenager and/or adult? If he gets it out of his system now, when it is age appropriate, he will surely grow up to be a well adjusted citizen who just happens to have the best mom in the whole world. Right?

Ground rules were quickly established, the gun stays in morfar’s house and yard, we are not waving a gun in people’s faces, and you just watch what happens with that gun if you fight with your brother!

Morfar did not want him to bring the gun to the communal playground- we don’t know how other people feel about guns and their kids – and I agreed. I am against guns after all!

There are two boys and three girls of Oliver’s age living on morfar’s street. All hanging at the communal playground, knowing each other and playing together every day. And here comes my boys; outsiders trying to fit in and make friends. They were totally shunned by the girls and the boys glared suspiciously, before hopping on their razor scooters heading to someone’s house instead.

This lasted for about two days and no progress was made. I started to resent the little turds for not wanting to be best friends with my angels. I was about to bribe them with cake and gold coins if they at least said hello.

Then Oliver sneaked the cap gun out of the house. Before we caught on he hopped in front of the two boys, waved the gun and yelled: “Upp med händerna!” (“hands up”)

And you know what? Within three seconds, introductions were made, giggles erupted  and alliances formed. They turned into the Three Musketeers for the remainder of our stay – with the smaller sidekick doing his best to keep up. They came calling at the door “can Oliver come out and play?” Oliver was invited over to their houses and two months after we left they still ring the doorbell at morfar’s, asking when Oliver is coming home?

And I am grateful. Grateful for that shiny killing machine. It gave them friends and they had so much fun this summer. Who knew a cap gun held so much power?

I am still against guns. Let me reiterate: the real thing – BAD, the plastic toy – OK if owned by a young child who secretly still thinks Dora is pretty cool. My boys will never own anything more advanced than a cap gun. No machine guns, rifles, AKA’s, or anything looking too much like the real thing. And there are certain places that gun is not allowed. “No Oliver, it is not a good idea to bring your gun to the bank/on the plane/to school!”

 But enjoy that piece of boyhood, go and chase some bad guys, stick up morfar for some expired coins. Have fun and then come back to me so we can read a book together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Balance

I love it when this:

 

 

 

 

Is balanced by this:

 



Beautiful Joy

He is sitting behind a wall of water. By himself.

The water is gushing around him, but just softly splashing him.

The sound of the water is drowning out all other sounds, disconnecting him from the rest of the world.

He is cocooned in his own bubble and all he has to do is feel.

He is happy, and has a smile on his face.

His twitching hands and flailing arms give him away. He is different.

After my first glance judgment of “why is he acting that way? That is not appropriate behavior for someone his age!”   I catch on really quick. He IS different.

Not different as in lesser or weird.

Different as in the way he senses things. Different as in the way he expresses his feelings.

And at this moment he is having the best sensory experience ever. I don’t know if it the soft licks of water on his body that feels good, or if it is the loudness of the water that is soothing to his ears.

At this moment he is expressing pure joy. He is feeling good and he is happy.

His caretaker is sitting on the edge of the pool, watching him. He has a happy smirk on his face, and something else…… I can’t quite put my finger on it but I think it is pride. 

He probably knows this young man better than most people. He knows what his daily struggles are, what scares him and what hinders him. Who knows the work involved to get him to the pool today. The young man taking care of him does, and at this moment he is proud of him.

I find myself not being able to look away. Not because he is different. Not because he is not acting “appropriately”.

I cannot look away because he is beautiful.  It is beautiful to watch such joy.

I look around the pool and realize that everyone is watching him. And every single person has a smile on their face. He is sharing his joy with the rest of us. Without even knowing he is making all our lives a little better today.