Healing

Yesterday marked a year since our son, Chase’s injury.

Ironically, and providentially, the day before, Chase was extensively evaluated and determined to be fully recovered.

This past week, my husband and son flew to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for an assessment at the University Of Pittsburgh Medical Center Sports ConcussionProgram. Through an intensive series of tests and evaluations, a team of six specialists examined Chase thoroughly over a period of two full days.

The conclusion these physicians reached will always make me weep in gratitude. This final determination will forever remind me of  how far we have come.

Chase had completely healed.

The past year has been a struggle, but a good one. It has been full of worry and angst, yet also full of joy and abundant blessings.  I have grown, my son has grown – our family has grown.  While the lessons have been many with details we will continue to share,  the summary of it all can be best written as this:

I’ve learned that I can’t parent in fear because Chase can’t flourish in it.  But I can parent in faith and Chase can walk in it.

That result alone was worth every step of our journey.

Behind

We are in a season of which other experienced moms have warned. It is when days fly by quicker than the law should allow, schedules are fuller than the reasonable should permit, and children growing faster than surely the Almighty intended.

Changes of all sorts have happened quickly –a new teenager, another in middle school, and an eight year old with continued flair for the dramatic. Additionally, I have taken a part time consulting position that requires a little travel as well as a writing project conducted during early morning hours that can only be seen as ungodly.  

A further change worthy of note is this:  my eyelids have begun to fall. I’ve been watching for new wrinkles, examining the folds of my neck for unwelcomed creases, and placing voodoo curses on the parentheses marks between my eyes. Who knew that aging kryptonite would be my weary eyebrows, dropping its hold on delicate skin like a twitchy wide receiver losing grip on a touchdown  ball?

My eyelids have fallen, and they cannot get back up.

Ours is a household in perpetual motion, one that requires intentionality, detailed calendars and an absurd amount of coffee just to keep pace. However, what I have learned over the past few months is that there is not enough intravenous caffeinated fluids to prevent the inevitable from happening, the unavoidable from taking place, the inescapable from occurring right before my droopy eyes:

I am behind.

Behind in blog entries, household duties, in empty photo albums that mock my very existence.  Behind in daily interactions with friends, in connections with siblings, in that lunch date just for laughs and frivolity. I am behind in thank you notes, in a well-stocked pantry, and in laundry that overflows to the street.

I am behind.

It happens. And when it does, it causes paralysis in the present because of all the junk involved as it pertains to your behind. (Not intended as a shout out to J-Lo.) I recognize these circumstances because this is not my first domestic rodeo where I find myself bucked about in the air and tossed haphazardly to the ground. 

What I know from experience is this: when you find yourself behind, begin again right where you are. Even if it means from where you lay on the ground.

Start with the friend you haven’t called in three months, the Bible unopened for longer than you would like to admit, the conversation that begins with asking forgiveness. The small group you always wanted to join, the encouraging note you would like to write, or the appointment you have avoided with your doctor, dentist, pastor or manicurist.

 Don’t let that which is undone behind determine how you will proceed  forward. Begin again right where you are.

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."    
                                                                  - Theodore Roosevelt


And  this is where we are:

Chase is doing well. He has regained about 90% of his mobility....

...while maintaining 100% of his quick wit. 

                                                    

Picking up food from a busy restaurant in toboggan and rat tail wig is just an ordinary day for him.

Chandler is in his first year at middle school and doing well.

We have also discovered that he may just give Justin Bieber a run for his money:

(The annoying percussion courtesy of his dad)

(The video will only remain up as long as it goes unnoticed by Chandler.)

Mary Mac continues to bring us joy.

She plans to provide the Barbie Head some competition as well.

(The picture will only remain up as long as it goes unnoticed by Mary Mac.)

As for the two of us, we are doing great. I still try to get him to fire me  from working at his medical practice. He still pretends that I am not exceptionally  inept. It works.

The Honk

It really is unbecoming to brag. It is unflattering to shamelessly boast. Blowing your own horn, flying your own kite or singing your own praises are all examples of self-serving demonstrations that eventually lead to an empty audience.

But, I’m going to do it anyway.

Recently, I developed a discipline strategy that is nothing less than genius in nature.  It is particularly useful in redirecting the wayward attitude of a pre-teen or teenager, allowing for almost immediate behavior modification. It is similar to the shock collar used for dogs minus the mild discomfort and release of bladder.

Never let it be said that we are not humane in our household.

The simplicity of this method makes it available to all parents. Classes don’t have to be attended; manuals don’t have to be read.  Personal aptitude does not influence its effectiveness and commitment to consistency almost irrelevant.

It will snap straight the most circuitous of attitude and remove the sizzle from a sassy tongue. Improvement in disposition is instantaneous, leaving a peaceful environment that makes prescribed sedatives seem unwarranted.

The breakthrough discipline technique I have created is a little something I like to call THE HONK:

                                        Hindering Orneriness of the Nearest Kid

The HONK method is used in our household to remind a misbehaving child that we are not above using embarrassment as a tool for correction.  Recent implementation of this breakthrough technique occurred when driving my oldest son to an after school activity at the varsity football field.  I explained that infractions like unnecessary squabbles with siblings, sarcastic responses to simple inquiries or the polluted condition of his bedroom would each earn a resounding car honk when dropped off at a desired destination.

To reinforce the objective, I offered a free demonstration honk as Chase exited the car. “But I haven’t done anything yet!” my oldest exclaimed over his shoulder as he scurried away from the noise. 

 “I love you, sweet boy!”  I joyfully bellowed in front of his staring friends, further emphasizing a rather well made point.

Throughout the day, honks can be given or taken away depending on the behavior exampled by the child. Because this is a program designed for flexibility, parents can improvise their own method of honking, adding very long honks for more serious offenses or multiple honks for repeated transgressions.

It is crucial to deliver the child to their destination in a vehicle possessing a horn with a sound that carries. Timing is also important in that the discipline is most effectual in front of a crowd of peers or group of upper classmen.  Remember, this hurts them more than it does us.

 As a final thought, I wonder if Proverbs 22:6 would have proven even more useful to parents if wise old Solomon had written the verse like this: 

“Honk to train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.”

Letting Go

This wasn’t my first showdown with summer camp. In fact, I have gone through the experience twice before, hugging the knees of my children as we exchanged goodbyes, protesting loudly as camp counselors unwrapped my arms from their little bodies. It is never a good experience for anyone in our household – particularly my spouse who rolls his eyes so far back into his head that he is unable to see to drive us both home.

So, no, this was not my first rodeo, but I was thrown from the horse anyway. Our daughter, Mary Mac, is eight years old, which really doesn’t mean much. As the youngest child in the family and the last to exit my womb - one that still jealously quivers in the presence of other newborns - she is still considered the baby. A term that when spoken out loud, either as one of endearment from me or as a taunt from her older brothers, sends Mary Mac straight into orbit.

Our daughter wanted to attend camp last summer. Her request was declined because we thought that she was not old enough, and my husband knew that for me, pharmaceutical companies had yet to concoct a sedative strong enough.

This summer was a different story. After attending a mother/daughter weekend at Camp Skyline a few months ago, my husband and I decided to give in to our daughter’s pleas to attend summer camp. Owners Sally and Larry are good friends of ours, and we knew that Mary Mac would not only be safe, but have a great time at this fantastic, Christian camp.

Plus, I was relying on the fact that my friendship with the owners may prevent phone calls to the local law when they found me stalking in the woods that surround their camp. It was a risky assumption, but I was going with it.

A camp trunk was ordered, complete with polka dotted cubes for storage, and comfortable bedding was purchased, color coordinated with accenting pillows. Mary Mac and I had so much fun ordering all of the camp necessities online, but knew we might be in trouble when my credit card began to smoke with overuse.  My husband just wanted to know how many extra patients he was going to have to add to his schedule to support all the summer camp cuteness.

Drop off was as hard as I expected. On arrival, Mary Mac walked into a cabin where all was unfamiliar – the counselors, the campers, the lingering parents. She didn’t know anyone.

 Luckily, I had not yet unpacked her trunk, and began calculating the best way to sneak my daughter out of the cabin and back into the car. We would always have the next year to try out this over hyped camp thing.  Holding tightly to Mary Mac’s hand, we walked quietly to the front door.

“MARY MAC!” a blonde, bubbly counselor suddenly exclaimed. The counselor looked like she belonged in a sorority composite or parading in the back of a convertible car, complete with beauty queen sash and wave.

“I am so glad you are here!  We have been waiting for you all week! This is going to be the best week of your life! We have to get the fun started, so go ahead and tell your mom goodbye.”

And that quickly, my daughter switched allegiances, releasing my hand for the one of the pretty stranger.  She was off to have the best week of her life, and my clinginess was only going to hold her back.

It was a great week. Mary Mac tried new things on her own and made friends with those she didn’t know. She came home taller, both in stature and in confidence, proudly relaying all that she had learned and accomplished apart from yours truly. As I listened to my enthusiastic and joyful  child, I was again reminded of this painful truth:

They can only grow if I let go.

And I don’t want to. But I am called to.

It is a lesson that I am forced to live out with my oldest, Chase, as he recovers in physical rehab. I want to prevent the discomfort and the frustration he feels as he encounters physical limitations. But my intervention will only impede the progress, prohibiting my son from experiencing how all things are possible with God.

I want to push my son, Chandler, towards those talents he doesn’t quite see, knowing that circumventing the trial and errors would lead him quicker to the destination.  But my plans are not God’s plans, and interference would only serve as a deterrent for the purpose he has for my son.

I want to be the hand that is held when my daughter tries something new. But the reality is I am occupying the use of one when she really needs two for her next adventure. God holds all of her, and if I am brave, that will be enough.

 I have a feeling that the Almighty is going to keep allowing situations that challenge innate spiritual reflexes that have a tendency to cling.  It is an area of growth that God wants me to earn an “A” in when he knows I am perfectly content with the mediocrity of a “C”.  I don’t know if I will perfect my responses this side of heaven, but I know I will wholeheartedly try.

Because no guts on my part, means no glory for Him.


“Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.” 
                                                                                                                                               - Corrie Ten Boom

New York City:Day Three

On our final day in New York City, we decided to culminate our trip true to our nature, as shameless, full fledged, Southern tourists. Loading up on a double-decker bus in barely double digit weather, we took in all the sights with wide-eyed appreciation.

Statue of Liberty:

Wall Street



Empire State building. Please do not leave backpacks unattended.


Protesters. Don't get me started.


Smurfette walking along Park Avenue. Huh?

After our tour came to an end, we headed back to our hotel to thaw. Later that night we went to the Minskoff Theatre to see the Lion King, a spectacular production we will never forget.





Our trip was all that we had hoped for and then some, creating lifetime memories in a city we came to love. As we headed to the airport the next morning, I couldn't help but smile at one final sign that offered this last, fitting reminder:


I believe I will.

New York City: Day Two

Rockefeller Center
Top of the Rock

It is a phenomenon that seems to follow us wherever we travel. While some may say that we attract unsolicited commotion, I maintain that it is a haphazard stumble upon circumstance, a coincidence if you will, that finds our family in the middle of bizarre events.

The fellow on the right witnessed a sweet marriage proposal during our visit to Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center. The hyper-aware one on the left almost had to make a citizen's arrest.

While most were watching the man on bent knee profess love and devotion, I noticed sudden activity among the security guards around us. I followed one guard who was speaking frantically into a walkie-talkie, hurrying in a direction opposite of the proposal.

Surely, my help was needed. And I had three children to protect on top of a VERY tall building.

The security guard and I raced around the corner to find five other officers circled around a suspicious looking backpack lying ominously on a bench. As they called for police back-up, I asked the guard closest to me if we should start handing out parachutes to all of the visitors.

He did not think that I was funny.

And I was not trying to be.

I reminded the concerned guard of our location of 70 stories high on top of a building. And that I had small children on top of said building. He used his capital letters voice when responding, "MA'AM, I'M GOING TO NEED YOU TO STAND BACK! WE HAVE THIS UNDER CONTROL!"

What is it about my personality that brings out such emotion in others?

Clearly, he did not appreciate the potential skills of yours truly when sniffing out a crime. Or the lengths a mom will go to in order to protect her offspring. Once, again, my hope for a citizen's arrest would be squashed.

After spending several minutes in a law enforcement huddle, the officers concluded that the backpack was not a bomb, that it had been irresponsibly left by a knuckle-headed teenager who was trying to get to the real life, Bachelor version of a wedding proposal taking place on top of the rock. The only drama it lacked was the rose ceremony and the tear-streaked leftover riding home in the limo of broken hearts.

So, it all ended well. I didn't have to assist the security guards with their almost emergency, which is a good thing, because I don't know a thing about parachutes.

Santa Land at Macy's

We rode escalators past eleven stories of retail. I hadn't felt that much temptation since fighting the urge to break out into the Charlie's Angels two-handed pistol stance at the top of the rock that morning.

Gum ball joy.


Santa had better get his game on. Only 23 more days until Christmas!


We weaved through a line that took us through a holiday forest. This picture was taken moments before seeing Santa. The kid in the brown sweater is gritting his teeth in this photo. He will find coal in his stocking this year.


I was told that my Christmas list was unreasonable. Apparently the jolly old man can't accommodate plastic surgery or heavy sedatives. He also said that he can't do a thing about the stalker who follows me everywhere - Mr. Double Chen. Maybe I should have brought it up to the security guard?



American Museum of Natural History

After Santa Land, we took a taxi to this museum. My heart rate was elevated throughout the entire ride. Never once did I see the driver's hands in the safe two and ten position on the steering wheel. He was too busy honking at the innocents and running down the elderly.



I forget the educational significance of this picture. It just makes me laugh.





In fact, I wish that I could offer more insightful facts about each of these photos...



...but I was a little distracted by these three when trying to engage in the learning process.



He is a very friendly child.




Pretending to hold the head of a skeleton.



A spontaneous moment where everyone is acting like they have some sense.



It didn't last for long.



A genius design. I could really benefit from having an extra head.



We ended our day in the Nintendo store......

and the American Girl store.

She had to be restrained. : )

New York City: Day One

After a shaky start to our trip, we grabbed our luggage and jumped into the van with our driver. The kids were wide eyed as they encountered for the first time the sights of the city. I was wide eyed as we weaved in and out of traffic in a manner that resembled the poorest contender in Mario Cart. While the driver’s eyes appeared to be open, he drove as though they were shut.

Through God’s mercy we made it safely to our hotel. As we exited the van, Chase asked me why I kept stomping on the floor of the van during the roller coaster ride. “I was using imaginary brakes, “ I replied, receiving a well-earned eye roll from my twelve year old.

We dropped off our belongings and headed to Times Square. Loaded down with cameras and backpacks, we all craned our necks towards the sky as we walked, clearly identifying ourselves as tourists.

And we didn’t care.

Hard Rock Cafe

(Please excuse the creepy finger in the corner)





Toys R US



The clouds parted and the angels sang:



These are my people.



Times Square





I loved this dude's hair. Mary Mac said I was "soooooooo embarrassing."



Taking it all in.



The M&M Store



This is what Chandler hopes heaven will look like:



Bottom's Up!



What a joyful job! These folks eat candy all day and dance all night! Maybe my husband's practice should adopt this policy.

The sign above us reads, "Inside everyone there's a little nut." How fitting.

Radio City Christmas Spectacular with the Rockettes -



My Peeps





Ellen's Stardust Diner

Our waiter singing on top of a table - the family version of Chippendales.



Yes, his fingers are lit. And no, he's not a descendant of ET.








The day was full and fun, and ended just as exciting as it had begun. At midnight, we made our way back to the hotel, and fell into sound sleep.



And double-dog dared anyone to wake us in the morning.