Slurping Life

Getting By With A Little Help From My Friend

 

Visit friends and photos of Wordless Wednesday.

Afraid To Write The Words

Afraid to write the words.  Once you write the words they are real.  Other people may read them.  Then you have to own them.  Then you are known by the words.

The sobs come and leave slowly and come again until I fall asleep.  I miss the comfort of my bed, but it seems wrong to take this noisy sorrow there.  So sleep comes on the sofa...alone, where no one will be disturbed.  Wake, muddle through the day, repeat.

It has been years in the making.  The realization that my words have not agreed with my heart.  In reality my heart has been in mourning for years.  It was only a few days ago that my mind, my body and my heart - together - awakened to the truth.  Mourn...

...then move forward.

I love my children.  I pray for them...for me...for us...that their limitations strengthen them...that they not be limited by my limitations.

We move forward...just like always...

...with hope

...with love...

...with tears...

...with laughter...

...and did I mention...

...love?

We're good...thanks for asking.

When Harry Met Sally At Our House

It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. 

After the mating ritual on this very spot Sally single-handedly single-beakedly built their home.

She gave birth to their children and awaits their emergence into the world.

While Harry watches, pacing fluttering to and fro, ever the protector.

And each morning they greet our family with cheerful songs.

Thank you, Harry and Sally, for choosing to make your home with us.  For bringing chirping, a reminder of instinctive love and renewal to our hearts.  We needed that here...in our home...where the days have been a bit trying for weeks.

We can hardly wait to see the babies.

The Great Novel

"Mom, are you ok?" asked Lee.

"Yes, sweetheart.  Why do you ask?"

"You just haven't seemed to have much fun lately."

"I know.  But I'm ok.  I promise."

"I was just checking because I love you."

An exchange of hugs and he walks away to continue the harassment of his younger brothers and the struggle of functioning as a teen living with Bipolar Disorder and ADHD.  Amidst his personal turmoil Lee was concerned about me...the mother.

I have been out of sorts for several months.  Obviously I was not hiding that fact as well as I thought.  Never wanting to be the cause of anxious moments for my sons, I have always tried to shield them from what I believe to be unnecessary concerns.   But then if children do not learn the realities of life from parents...what's the alternative?  Not knowing until a stranger slaps them in the face with reality?  I think a gentle poke from mom and dad is best.  Still I have to work on me and the flux I'm experiencing.

Mothering special purpose (needs) sons is a blessing, a gift, but it is also one difficult gig.  Many of you understand because you live the life.  Several posts have been rolling around in my brain for weeks discussing the current challenges with the boys.  The words just do not come.  I think maybe my brain is literally exhausted, stressed...it just wants to forget everything for a couple of hours each night.  Fine by me, really.

Perhaps I have been working too hard to bring the boys into the normal realm of life.  The truth is having them function in society is a huge hope that I have.  But is it really a goal for my personal satisfaction?  Am I trying to escape social scrutiny of myself or of the boys?  Honestly, behaviors of Bipolar, ADHD, Cerebral Palsy and Asperger's Syndrome children are weird to the unsuspecting eye.  Also, the boys are immature for their ages, especially Lee who recently turned thirteen.  He is not emotionally or socially a teen...far from behaving even as a young thirteen year old.  But is that a bad thing?  I have never wanted the boys to be secular children...to follow the popular crowd...that is one reason we homeschool.  But...

Am I trying to write a book of their lives rather than read the book that has been written?  I believe children come to us with a definite purpose for their lives, and we must love them, study them, and decode their strengths in order to help them fulfill their purpose.  I do not believe we are to mold them into clones of ourselves or others.  Children often spend their entire lives trying to overcome what we make of them.  I do not want that for my sons.

God doesn't give parents manuscripts to write, but codes to decode.  Study your kids while you can.  The greatest gift you can give your children is not your riches, but revealing to them their own.  ~~Max Lucado

Go.  Caress the cover...gently turn the pages...allow the plot to unfold... your child is the great novel.

Spirited and Loved

Theme Thursday and Love Thursday...

*I could not be there.  Dad snapped this photo with his camera phone.  Yeah, I edited.*

Wil...spirited and loved. 

A few weeks ago Wil's dad took him to a Paralympic day camp which was presented by Paralympic athletes with assistance from U.S. Army and civilian volunteers.  My husband was impressed.  So was Wil.  Gold medal athletes guiding and cheering for him...serving as strong, able role models.  Wil came home pumped and determined to compete in wheelchair races. 

We want his dreams to come true.

We want Wil to proudly say "I'm an athlete".

We want to thank the challenged athletes who inspire our child...who inspire us.  Thank you for sharing your spirit of perseverance and your love of life...amazing awaits.

Your Heart Hurts A Whole Bunch

Right there...I was right there beside him...walking leisurely along the road in front of our house.  Yet I was completely helpless.  For years I have taught him one foot in front of the other...stand tall...move forward...watch for obstacles in your path...take your time.  Yet he fell.  Flat on his precious face...he fell.  I had no control.  He tried his best...he fell while strolling down the street with me...his mother...who could not help him.  I cried.

As a parent who has raised one son to adulthood, I know full well you love them, you teach them, you pray for them, and you let them go...and you just keep praying that all through their lives the falls are few...and that they get up.

Still...whenever they fall...your heart hurts a whole bunch.

Enjoy the beauty of photography and words at Best Shot Monday.

To Concentrate Attention Or Energy ~ Theme Thursday ~ Love Thursday

Focus...to concentrate attention or energy

 

Yesterday my baby, Wil, celebrated his tenth birthday.

He hasn't a conscious clue as to the boundless attention or energy which has for years been focused upon him.  And that's a good thing.  He simply knows that he is a boy...who is ten years old...who has brothers...and a father...and a mother...and extended family...and a God...who love him...and that he loves NASCAR.  He has no clue that he is a miracle and that God gave the gift of him...and gave him a gift.

But I know.  Someday he will know.  And he will do great things for others.

If the button link above does not take you to Theme Thursday...focus...use this link.  You will definitely want to take a few moments to visit.

This photo and post is also for Love Thursday...go on over...feel the love of sisters.

What If

"Mom, do you think that Jesus is getting excited about his birthday yet?  Do you think he's decided what kind of birthday party he wants to have?" asks Wil.

Oh, does he have to grow up?  I mean really...what if all Christians thought of Jesus in such a tangible, approachable manner?  What if we each held on to such delightful thoughts forever? 

What if...

A Couple Of Things I Love

They were abused and broken in infancy.

They are rough, calloused and crooked when he stands. 

They are clumsy, heavy and loud when he walks.

They spend most of their time in AFOs. 

They know well the touch of a surgeon.

They feel the misery of pain.

They never give up trying harder and harder.

They were never suppose to walk.

They not only walk; they run.

They are the most beautiful feet I have ever seen

...and tickled...and kissed.

Seeing Wil's bare feet as he sat by the little Christmas tree in his room made me smile.

What made you smile today?

Special Squishy Moment

"Mom, they left me."

"Mom, they said I can't play because I can't run fast enough."

"Mom, they laughed at me."

"Mom, they called me that boy who walks funny."

"Mom, they said my eyes were weird."

"Mom, they pointed at me and laughed."

"Mom, they were mean to me."

"Mom, I want someone to play with."

"Mom, I don't have many friends."

"Mom, they don't like me."

Often I hear these words from Wil.  Although his cerebral palsy is on the higher end of moderate and he walks, talks and is as sharp as a tack...that almost makes it more difficult.  At first glance he looks like any other all-American little boy who can talk, run and play.  But clearly he struggles.  His bike has special training wheels.  He legs have braces.  His eyes don't always align just right.  His mind gets stuck in a place.  He sees...and hears...and feels...the differences. 

This past week was full of family fun with Halloween activities such as cookie baking, carving pumpkins, reading stories, making and eating caramel apples, trick or treating and sorting candy.  We do much as a family on a daily basis and are rarely apart.  But my husband and I also strive to spend time with each child individually.  The boys have varied needs and interests.  As parents, we work hard to meet each. 

This week Wil was having a particularly difficult time, finding it almost impossible to connect with the neighborhood kids.  Often he is left out because he cannot keep up, falls just short of the criteria to enter a game or neighborhood activity, or is just viewed as different.  Wil plays best with children who are two or three years younger than himself and this week they were just not out and about.  He turned to me.  To me, his mom.

We bought a basketball goal this week and Wil was thrilled.  He is desperately searching for "what I am good at".  Right now he doesn't understand that the gifts he has are more than physical, so we work with and encourage whatever his current interest might be.  Right now it is basketball. 

I was in the throes of cleaning the refrigerator.  There was a rank smell in there which none of us could identify...we had each sniffed every item in the frig.  Nothing seemed to be the culprit.  So I diligently removed every item, dismantled the shelf components and washed it all like a mad woman clearly on a mission.  Then Wil walked in from outside and asked, "Mom, will you play basketball with me?".

Dropping everything...vegetables, fruits, meats, soy milk...everything left to spoil...it didn't matter, I took his hand and said, "Yes".  We went outside and shot hoops.  He attempted to dribble and I pretended to struggle to steal the ball from him.  I dribbled and he quite aptly slapped the ball away from me.  Then we sat and had a drink of water and talked.  I asked if he would like to practice his shooting while I took some pictures of him.  He said, "Yeah, I want to practice and get my first goal."

You have no idea how completely perfect the moment was...THAT moment...when my son... who struggles...got his first basketball goal...and I was there to capture it...after snapping shots of countless misses.  Just as the ball sat on the rim...just before it dropped...I snapped the photo.  The smile and triumph on Wil's face wasn't captured because I dropped the camera and embraced him as he screamed "Yes, yes! I did it!  I did it!"  And we high-fived and danced with relentless joy.

It was a precious, squishy moment.

Someplace Else

Right now...at this moment...I cannot possibly respond to each comment or email personally. (Wow, the emails.)  Please accept my sincere "thank you" for your words of support, prayer, understanding and "I'm there, too."  You are in my prayers, also.  So many of you deal with much more than I...you are amazing and inspirational.

My family is currently faced with issues and decisions that I never could have imagined.  We are dealing with those.  I'm someplace else.

Bottom line...thank you for caring.

comments are closed...go hug your family

At Which Point The Seams Unravel

In one moment
the togetherness
that was me
has come undone.
No longer loosening
one stitch at a time.
Rather,
every seam
has unraveled.
The garment that once
clothed my composure
has come undone.
My soul lies naked.
There is no cover
to
warm
me.

The phone call came Thursday afternoon.  We now have a new doctor on our roster...a Pediatric Cardiologist.  I literally came unraveled.  It was as though someone pulled loose that last dangling thread that was holding me together.

I had not planned on a phone call revealing my Wrapped Emotions project this week.  When Phyllis, our guest blogger, posted her intriguing project, I knew what I would do. 

But I don't care what you use (the ideas above, or paper or fabric is fine or even cookies if you'd like - the sky's the limit)...break something or cut something or separate something and then put it all back together into a new and beautiful whole. Breaking something changes it, perhaps irreparably, but it gives us a new opportunity, a new chance, a new beginning, to create something different and something whole.

(You should read the entire post.)

But then literally, I became unraveled by the one more thing, the one more diagnosis, the one more problem placed in our family's life.  One more issue with which my child must deal. One more issue with which our family must deal.  I never try to explain here how truly difficult it is navigating and nurturing the needs of my sons.  It is so tiring to live it, emotionally and physically, that I can't even think about delving deeply into words of explanation.  Plus I do not like to whine...yet, here I am, whining.

I took my favorite t-shirt and cut it up.  I sloppily brushed gesso across a page of my art journal.  I pressed the irregular squares of pink fabric into the gesso, leaving my fingerprints on each one.  When I finished I noticed that down the center was the seam of the T-shirt...cut, broken, but almost together...almost together.  This was unintentional, done without thought.  Seeing it made we wonder.  Will our life always be "almost together"?

I honestly don't know how to feel right now.  I can't even cry.  I want to disappear.  Is this how it feels to lose one's mind?

He Can Walk

Walk...Thursday's Theme...

It's not a graceful walk. 
It's not a pretty gait to the detached observer. 
It's not easily accomplished.

The falls are as numerous as the fall-nots. 
The painful steps are as frequent as the painless. 
The therapies are as permanent as the scars.

And every day,
together,
Wil and I
smile and
thank God
that
He can
walk.

Autism, ADHD, Cerebral Palsy ~ Share The Planet

Our first week's prompt for fun is up at Wrapped Emotions (The prompt was edited 12 noon).  After reading here, come over and express yourself.

~~~
Mac, my son with Asperger's Syndrome, is an avid reader.  At age ten he reads on a high school level and reads very fast.  Although he reads books considered much above his age capabilities, Mac still loves the easier-to-read children's picture books and devours multiple books in a brief sitting.  Mac is a methodical person, not uncommon for an Aspie, and carefully prepares for his reading time...

Lee, who at age twelve has been reading on high school level for several years, also loves reading, but not with the same obsession as Mac.  He also enjoys pulling out the easier children's books for a bit of fun reading.  Lee lives with severe ADHD and his method of reading time organization is a bit different than Mac's...

Wil is nine years old and not only lives on the Autistic Spectrum, but has struggles due to moderate cerebral palsy.  He has learned to read and reads on a first grade level, which means he is not as independent a reader as the other two, but still loves books.  When given a choice of reading material, Wil always chooses one of his many NASCAR books.  He sits and speedily flips the pages making race car sounds and speaking a NASCAR language I don't understand...and all I see is a blur of motion...

I smile and cherish the many ways my boys are completely different from one another...how they love and tolerate one another.  Wouldn't my house the world be stiff and boring if we all did things the same way?  Wouldn't it be a wonderful world if we each tried a little harder to understand those who share the planet, but live in a different world?

~~~

Who Needs Feather Pillows Anyway

Earlier this week our darling Ursula (who is now much larger than those photos) was spayed.  The boys have been lovingly concerned about her well-being.  They have made certain that she had a soft bed consisting of my best feather pillows, comfort food such as Goldfish crackers and raisins, a family heirloom blankie to chew on, more attention than a celebrity and have reminded me numerous times to check her "intestines"...also known as her incision.

But the cutest moment (of which I have no photos because I was caught up in the preciousness) came when they wrote get well cards for Ursula...got on the floor with her...held the cards to her face...and read them to her.  I have no doubt that she understood every word.

   

Yes, these are the same boys who wrestle one another to near death and make fake farts.

Autistic Fade Away

And sometimes, I don't know where to find him...

Thursday's Theme is up at Picture This.

Give Me That Attitude ~ Best Shot Monday

When you adopt a baby boy, age one year, who is developmentally a newborn and the size of a three month old due to abuse, neglect and health issues...and you are told he will probably never walk, talk or have measurable intelligence...and he proceeds to develop amazingly (although with great difficulty)...and then spends years copping a bold attitude and verbalizing his discontent...you cheer "give me that attitude"...but you cheer within...because outwardly you have to exude the parent persona. 

I had my camera in hand yesterday when Wil asked at a late hour may he ride his bike.  My answer was no.  His reaction was this look...

Notice the tight lips, because Wil's are almost always relaxed and smiling...here they are not.  His expression is saying "I'm not happy with that answer."

Visit the fun of Best Shot Monday for photos of fun and inspiration.

Note:  While editing this photo I noticed it was not crisp, clear and wondered "huh"?  I had last used my camera at the Fourth July fireworks and the ISO was set at 1600...duh, a real photographer checks her settings before shooting.  Anyway, I decided I liked the noise of this one.  It seemed a bit symbolic of the "noise" Wil gave me.

Do A Good Thing, Win A Good Prize

I have a HP digital camera-printer prize package valued at over $430 to give away.  It's all for a worthy cause, and your donation will earn you the chance to win this prize and more.  Stay tuned...

A (ADHD, Autism) B (Bipolar Disorder) C's (Cerebral Palsy) Of Moving A Family

Our family is in the process of a move which is a difficult task for the typical family.  Our family falls within the atypical category by a landslide.  How many families do you know who live with autism (Asperger's Syndrome and PDD NOS), attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, bipolar disorder and cerebral palsy along with asthma, various allergies, vision difficulties and more all wrapped up into three darling boys.  (That list does not include the parental oddities.)  Thought so.  We are having a ball...not.

Up to this point the boys' reactions to the move have been varied and pronounced, and the mood changes from moment to moment.  I do not have a clue what mood the boys will exhibit when they awaken each morning.  I have switched back to real coffee...the stuff with caffeine...because I need it for the mornings.  Some of the negative verbal feedback from the boys regarding the move:

• I'm staying right here and living in the woods.  I don't need a house or a mom or a dad.
• I'm calling Grandmama.
• I'm calling Granddaddy Ed.
• I'm moving in with A. (Their 26 year old brother who, by the way, lives in the city to which we are moving.)
• You are just mean parents.
• Who will take care of B.J.'s horses when she has to go out of town?
• How will I find my socks?  (Do not ask me why socks are harder to find in a different house.)
• Ursula doesn't want to move. (She's our dog.)
• I don't want my own room.
• There is no water in _______. (Referring to rivers and creeks because we live next to both here in the mountains.)
• I can't pee outside if I live in a neighborhood.
• I can't take my clothes off outside if we live in a neighborhood.
• There are not enough trees there.
• I don't want to move because I don't want to move.

In a later post I will share the positive verbal responses as the boys are playing Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde with us.  In the meantime here are a few photos of the new, horrid home where we will be forcing the boys to live.

It's not the outward appearance of a house I would build if I had the time and money, but it does have four bedrooms, two and one-half baths, a living room, dining room, family room, great kitchen with a bay window breakfast nook and a seating area in front of  a fireplace.  The fireplace is open between the family room and sitting area of the kitchen.  It has a stairway from the front foyer and one from the kitchen leading upstairs to the bedrooms.  I love that you do not have to go to the front of the house to walk upstairs.  It means when I am in the kitchen, I can get upstairs quicker to investigate all the mysterious sounds.

The house is one of the few on the market in the suburbs which actually has a yard.  The yard is nicely landscaped with a sprinkler system.  The back yard is terraced.  There is a spacious deck.  The house sits on a hill with a deeply sloping front yard...can't you see it now...boys rolling down into the street below...bikes screeching into the street below...can't you imagine a Slip'n Slide on the front lawn?  Thank goodness the house sits on a cul-de-sac with minimum traffic.

Yeah, it is sheer torture indeed that we are forcing the boys to live in such conditions.  Just call us terrible parents.  Did I mention the boys will each have their own bedroom?  That they have the choice of what color we paint their individual rooms?  That there is a humongous neighborhood pool?  That there are several green areas designated for play, walking and exploration?   How could we be so cruel as to force all of this upon them?  I expect child protective services to show up on our doorsteps any day now.

Seriously, there are many issues to deal with when moving children who do not adapt well to change because they are wired differently from the majority.   I would like to explore those issues in later posts...in between packing boxes and a little sleep...and maybe a meal or two.

Please feel free to offer your moving advice.   All help is greatly appreciated...greatly appreciated...and greatly needed.

Wordless Wednesday...Water Play Gone Bad

Disclaimer:  No child was harmed emotionally or physically during the making of this photo.  Apologizing to his brother isn't one of his favorite activities.

Visit the home of Wordless Wednesday for links to many more photos of the day and learn how to join the fun.

Kids Languages

Kids languages - expressive and receptive - can sometimes be quite confused.  Sprinkle the children with combinations of ADHD, Asperger's Syndrome, Bipolar Disorder and Cerebral Palsy and confusion is certain...a parent may as well learn to laugh at it...

By most standards I'm a good communicator.   For example, when I say "No!" the family knows I mean no.  As in No!  I will not go into the woods and stay the night in a flimsy nylon tent with three little boys and a grown man and wonder what is going to bite my butt when I have to go out and pee in the woods in the middle of the night.

I'm also a good listener...I hear the real message.  A boy standing in the middle of my kitchen whining "I'm so huuunnnguhrrrreeeee" does not mean please prepare for me a nutritious meal.  He means I want to eat a dozen chocolate chip M&M cookies NOW.

Finally, I am a fairly capable interpreter.  Mac and Wil each have a speech impediment which no speech-language pathologist has been able to defeat.   Unfortunately, Wil learned to speak exactly like Mac, and Mac cannot pronounce the digraph "ar" properly.  It has always been "aw", as in fawmer's mawket (farmer's market), cawt (cart)...you get the audio of this, right?  The speech problem also extends into some, not all, of  his "al" pronunciations with the result being words such as mart (mawt) and malt (mawt) sound exactly the same coming from Mac's mouth.  Fast forward...

It is bedtime, and we are having Bible study with the boys in their shared bedroom.  The topic of the evening is forgiveness,  and after the scripture reading and story there was, of course, discussion.  Kids love a good discussion if it prolongs the physical act of crawling into bed and lying quietly.  Mac speaks up and says "Like Wil should forgive me for hitting him in the head with the baseball bat because I didn't mean to do it?"  So we acknowledge that yes, it was an accident because Wil wasn't paying attention and walked up behind Mac as he began his swing.  So Wil should forgive Mac.  Lee joins in as other scenarios are shared, more drawn out discussions followed, and prayers are said.  Everyone is over the fault issue...everything is all lollipops and gumdrops...so we think.

As C and I are tucking the boys into bed  Wil loudly proclaims "Mac, it's your fawt!" 

Mac snaps back "Is not!  It's your fawt."

Wil blurts back "Your fawt!"

Mac again snaps "Is not!  I don't even smell anything."

Then silence.  Wil's expression shows that he is completely lost.  And honestly, C and I were lost at this point.   What does not smelling anything have to do with determination of fault?  So we ask  "Mac, why are you talking about smell?  What does that have to do with anything?"

With a most exasperated expression and a pronounced sigh Mac replies, "Because Wil said I fawted, and I did not fawt!"

Seems fault is to fawt as fawt is to fart...

If you have any kids languages stories to share leave a link in the comments so that everyone may visit and read.  I would love  to read what your kids have to say.

The Gift of Motherhood

The boys are sleeping, snuggled in their beds with dreams of planes, trains and race cars.  The husband is traveling, worlds apart from his family and home.  The woman is sitting...alone...just sitting...

A day began, a day ended.  Somewhere in between words were spoken, things happened, time passed... and the woman ponders a blur of events, a heart full of memories.  Did she mother?  Did she?  She searches the bottomless gut of her soul, but she is unsure of the answer.  Did she mother?

She remembers ducking the objects that flew, ignoring the words that hurt, dodging the punches that came.   She remembers the small body that trembled, the eyes that pleaded, the mind that anguished, the arms that reached.  But did she mother?

She remembers stretching the limbs of constriction, hearing the cries of frustration, lifting the body that stumbled.  She remembers the hands that tried, the thoughts that withered, the feet that faltered, the arms that reached.  But did she mother?

She remembers stroking the face that ignored, asking the unanswered questions, explaining the readily known.  She remembers the lips that mumbled, the being that recoiled, the stare that withheld, the arms that did not reach.  But did she mother?

She remembers caressing the babies that came, loving each new life, accepting the responsible role.  She remembers the joy that consumed, the purpose that revealed, the spirit that encompassed, the arms that received.

She remembers...God gave her the gift of motherhood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Mothers Day

A blog blast -What Makes You A Mother- at The Parent Bloggers Network in honor of the launching of Light Iris

I am A Good Mother

Tributes for Mothers:  A (re) definition

  Thanks Jen!

Boy, That's Using Your Noodle

Mac:     You put spaghetti sauce on my noodles.

Wil:      You put noodles in my spaghetti sauce.

Lee:      Mom, is it okay if I mix my spaghetti sauce and noodles together?

Good grief!  Spaghetti is easy to cook.  Who knew it was so dang difficult to serve.

After finally getting the serving styles sorted, look at this...

Wil formed his first and last name (I have shown only the first initial of our last name) out of his spaghetti noodles which did NOT have sauce on them.  To fully appreciate the yee-haw moment of this, you would have to understand Wil's struggle with fine motor skills and his mental processing difficulties.  He can now verbally spell his complete name, write his full name with pencil on paper and -mama mia!- he can form his first and last name with spaghetti noodles.   Well, his complete first name is William, but he is called Wil and I'm counting this as he spells and writes his full name.   You would not argue that point with a proud mom, would you?

Adjective Children

A child

is

not an adjective --

bipolar child

ADHD child

asperger's syndrome child

cerebral palsy child

adopted child --

a child

is

a child.

just my thoughts, Melody

Purple, Purple, Purple

First, thanks again to each of you who commented or emailed that you were praying for Wil regarding his appointment on Friday.    I cannot believe that I forgot to come back and post an update.   Well, maybe so, I get a little lost sometimes.

Everything seems to be alright.  Apparently a purple foot and toes do not always mean the appendage is about to rot off.  Wil does have a circulatory deficiency in the foot, but it is expected to correct itself.  We will not discuss the ho-hum details other than to say the ultrasound showed no blockage and x-rays showed no orthopaedic complications. 

So we're on Purple Parts Patrol to make sure nothing worsens, only improves.   I wish there was a recording of Wil saying "purple"...it makes me smile.   Instead here is a pre-purple photo.

We Interrupt the Adoption Story to Bring You A Special Announcement

Well, not necessarily an interruption, more like a detour.

Today my youngest miracle child, who doctors said should not have lived due to being beaten, broken and starved during his first year of life...AND who was to never walk, talk or have measurable intell