Dear Jacky-Jack,
I can't bring myself to write "Happy Birthday," as it's been months since the actual day. This is more of a catch-up. We are in the middle of a very hectic move during your actual birthday. We had just moved into our temporary apartment. You were happy as a clam, riding your scooter around and around the shared driveway next to the lake. It was nice and hot, just the way you like it. Since then, things have only improved...But that is the story of your 8 year old life. Let's backtrack a bit.
Year seven had many ups and downs. School was tough. Staying in the lines (in the hallway and on paper) proved challenging for you. You had a lovely teacher, Mrs. Stickle, but testing was hard, reading was tedious, and the cold weather took its toll. Just before school ended we decided to meet with the teachers and consider an IEP (individualized education plan). It didn't get completed before our move, and that was just as God planned. (That is another story for next year's post!)
In March you faced the heartbreak of losing your very best friend, Graham, to a move. Usually, we are the ones to move away. Losing this dear boy, this kindred spirit full of creative energy and make-believe magic, rocked your little world. You two could play for hours, engaged in secret worlds and ever-changing rules only the pair of you could decipher. Our backyards were only separated by a path through the woods, so you were often together after school and on weekends. We were so very sad to hear they were moving. We had only met a few months prior. He was like a bright little butterfly that flitted through our lives, and we will never forget him.
Though you faced many changes and challenges in your seventh year, there were many blessings not to be overlooked. We finally cracked the code of the morning routine! There were mornings, not just any mornings, but cold, winter mornings, where you actually didn't cry! Thanks to the techniques taught to us by your occupational therapist, you managed your body and feelings and were able to leave for school with a smile on your face.
Your day would begin up in your sea-mural room where you would be wrapped in your stretchy blue blanket. I would place the large exercise ball on your feet, apply pressure, and begin to "make the pizza."
"What do you want on your pizza?" I would ask as I leaned gently on the ball and rolled it up to your chest.
"Sauce," came the sleepy reply.
"What else?" I'd ask, rolling it back down to your toes.
"Cheese." This would continue until the ball had been rolled up and down your body as many times (and toppings) as it took to wake those big sleepy muscles. Then I would grab your ankles and wheelbarrow walk you to the top of the stairs. There you would walk (or sometimes I would carry you) all the way down to the basement where you'd be put in the swing for as many pushes and turns as you felt you needed. Next we'd head over to the small, indoor trampoline for about 10 jumps. By the time we headed up the stairs for breakfast, there would be no hint of tears or whining. You'd eat your breakfast, get dressed, and head out the door. It was a magic formula that was worth every extra minute.
Thanks to your new found ability to regulate your body via jumping, swinging, headstands, and other movements, you had more confidence. You decided you wanted to sign up for basketball again - and you loved it. You also really loved baseball. You became a fantastic swimmer. It's as if you grew into your body this year. It was a beautiful thing to behold.
I couldn't be more proud of you, son. You are so special and unique. I know in my heart that you have the ability to make this world a better place. But will it let you? my mother's heart asks, anxious you may not be understood or appreciated. Then I remember the lovely people God has already placed in your life who shatter that fear - Mrs. Stickle, Graham, coaches, your grandparents, your siblings. These people see the real you and love you deeply, making my heart sing and worries fade. As you skip through this life, I hope and pray that your focus will be on those who build you up and cherish you. Know this, dear boy, you are loved and cherished and worthy, always. Love, your momma.
I can't bring myself to write "Happy Birthday," as it's been months since the actual day. This is more of a catch-up. We are in the middle of a very hectic move during your actual birthday. We had just moved into our temporary apartment. You were happy as a clam, riding your scooter around and around the shared driveway next to the lake. It was nice and hot, just the way you like it. Since then, things have only improved...But that is the story of your 8 year old life. Let's backtrack a bit.
Year seven had many ups and downs. School was tough. Staying in the lines (in the hallway and on paper) proved challenging for you. You had a lovely teacher, Mrs. Stickle, but testing was hard, reading was tedious, and the cold weather took its toll. Just before school ended we decided to meet with the teachers and consider an IEP (individualized education plan). It didn't get completed before our move, and that was just as God planned. (That is another story for next year's post!)
In March you faced the heartbreak of losing your very best friend, Graham, to a move. Usually, we are the ones to move away. Losing this dear boy, this kindred spirit full of creative energy and make-believe magic, rocked your little world. You two could play for hours, engaged in secret worlds and ever-changing rules only the pair of you could decipher. Our backyards were only separated by a path through the woods, so you were often together after school and on weekends. We were so very sad to hear they were moving. We had only met a few months prior. He was like a bright little butterfly that flitted through our lives, and we will never forget him.
Though you faced many changes and challenges in your seventh year, there were many blessings not to be overlooked. We finally cracked the code of the morning routine! There were mornings, not just any mornings, but cold, winter mornings, where you actually didn't cry! Thanks to the techniques taught to us by your occupational therapist, you managed your body and feelings and were able to leave for school with a smile on your face.
Your day would begin up in your sea-mural room where you would be wrapped in your stretchy blue blanket. I would place the large exercise ball on your feet, apply pressure, and begin to "make the pizza."
"What do you want on your pizza?" I would ask as I leaned gently on the ball and rolled it up to your chest.
"Sauce," came the sleepy reply.
"What else?" I'd ask, rolling it back down to your toes.
"Cheese." This would continue until the ball had been rolled up and down your body as many times (and toppings) as it took to wake those big sleepy muscles. Then I would grab your ankles and wheelbarrow walk you to the top of the stairs. There you would walk (or sometimes I would carry you) all the way down to the basement where you'd be put in the swing for as many pushes and turns as you felt you needed. Next we'd head over to the small, indoor trampoline for about 10 jumps. By the time we headed up the stairs for breakfast, there would be no hint of tears or whining. You'd eat your breakfast, get dressed, and head out the door. It was a magic formula that was worth every extra minute.
Thanks to your new found ability to regulate your body via jumping, swinging, headstands, and other movements, you had more confidence. You decided you wanted to sign up for basketball again - and you loved it. You also really loved baseball. You became a fantastic swimmer. It's as if you grew into your body this year. It was a beautiful thing to behold.
I couldn't be more proud of you, son. You are so special and unique. I know in my heart that you have the ability to make this world a better place. But will it let you? my mother's heart asks, anxious you may not be understood or appreciated. Then I remember the lovely people God has already placed in your life who shatter that fear - Mrs. Stickle, Graham, coaches, your grandparents, your siblings. These people see the real you and love you deeply, making my heart sing and worries fade. As you skip through this life, I hope and pray that your focus will be on those who build you up and cherish you. Know this, dear boy, you are loved and cherished and worthy, always. Love, your momma.
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