Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.~Matthew 28-29, ESV
Always so much to do and so little time.
Dishes rinsed, dishwasher loaded. Laundry sorting. Dishwasher's running, washing machine and dryer spinning... time for sorting. Keep this. Toss that. Where are we going to put this?
Rollicking pretend crashes through the kitchen. Cowboy Woody, Jessie, and Bullseye thunder along on their way to catch some criminals.
Adulthood looks into the rearview mirror... or what it assumes is the rearview mirror... into the eyes of childhood.
I don't have time. Not enough time.
Will you play princesses with me, Mommy?
Still not enough time. Clean dishes and clothes call; dust bunnies answer with their plea for attention. Who wins this time? The call to a clean and well-put-together home is next to a happy home.
Or is it?
So we attempt a balance. Yes to princesses, yes to books... and yes to clean and organized. Maybe decorated too. Is this possible? Has anyone completely, always, consistently struck a perfect balance here? Ever?
Between keeping therapy, school, band, and church schedules and the attempt to maintain a Ryan-happy routine, all the while keeping the home-maintenance and chef duties, where do we find time to be kids? We try getting away. But the away for us is never really away. We take autism and it needs wherever we go. We are who we are wherever we go.
Autism is we. It is not he. I cannot pretend to turn it off. I am mom; I am autism mom. I know that there is a me in here somewhere... I know I have interests, I know I have God-given talents, I know I am capable of more than autism mom.
But like I said, I love my boy... we love our boy... our brother... and so complete inclusion with what we do as a family is essential. We are his schoolroom, though he goes to school. He learns through our interactions constantly, good and bad. I say the therapy schedules are killer; but it is really the constant-ness required of changing the way we do things to keep up with how he changes. And fight to not miss how they and we change as well.
Every now and again, we do get away.
We pull up, exhausted, packed and prepared, to the white-ish brick house with green trim.
We unload, physically first.
The gears of running to keep up grind with the sudden slowing of pace. We can breathe. They know us here. They love us here.
We can be us here.
As we unwind, we remember that our identity isn't in what we can do or what that (albeit important) piece of paper says we are capable of doing. It's much, much bigger than that.
The nourishment we find around the table is certainly not limited to food. That's just the beginning.
We air our wounds and show our scars. The way we're able to converse... discuss... share... in a way that cuts through the noise to the heart of living. The hope of life.
We're able to play and laugh with abandon. The task list remains on the table at home. And home is good. The tasks are good. The struggles are good! But if you can get it, restoration through rest from that hamster wheel of tasks is so very nourishing.
Through being family, we remember the even greater tie that binds.
Eventually, not so long from now, we will go back to all those good things that life requires. But we will return with our ears perked, eyes afresh, and with a renewed sense of purpose and hope.
Thanks be to God for Mom and Dad, Grammy and Grampy.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a blonde, curly haired boy who needs to snuggle and watch Kipper.
Always so much to do and so little time.
Dishes rinsed, dishwasher loaded. Laundry sorting. Dishwasher's running, washing machine and dryer spinning... time for sorting. Keep this. Toss that. Where are we going to put this?
Rollicking pretend crashes through the kitchen. Cowboy Woody, Jessie, and Bullseye thunder along on their way to catch some criminals.
Adulthood looks into the rearview mirror... or what it assumes is the rearview mirror... into the eyes of childhood.
I don't have time. Not enough time.
Will you play princesses with me, Mommy?
Still not enough time. Clean dishes and clothes call; dust bunnies answer with their plea for attention. Who wins this time? The call to a clean and well-put-together home is next to a happy home.
Or is it?
So we attempt a balance. Yes to princesses, yes to books... and yes to clean and organized. Maybe decorated too. Is this possible? Has anyone completely, always, consistently struck a perfect balance here? Ever?
Between keeping therapy, school, band, and church schedules and the attempt to maintain a Ryan-happy routine, all the while keeping the home-maintenance and chef duties, where do we find time to be kids? We try getting away. But the away for us is never really away. We take autism and it needs wherever we go. We are who we are wherever we go.
Autism is we. It is not he. I cannot pretend to turn it off. I am mom; I am autism mom. I know that there is a me in here somewhere... I know I have interests, I know I have God-given talents, I know I am capable of more than autism mom.
But like I said, I love my boy... we love our boy... our brother... and so complete inclusion with what we do as a family is essential. We are his schoolroom, though he goes to school. He learns through our interactions constantly, good and bad. I say the therapy schedules are killer; but it is really the constant-ness required of changing the way we do things to keep up with how he changes. And fight to not miss how they and we change as well.
Every now and again, we do get away.
We pull up, exhausted, packed and prepared, to the white-ish brick house with green trim.
We unload, physically first.
The gears of running to keep up grind with the sudden slowing of pace. We can breathe. They know us here. They love us here.
We can be us here.
As we unwind, we remember that our identity isn't in what we can do or what that (albeit important) piece of paper says we are capable of doing. It's much, much bigger than that.
The nourishment we find around the table is certainly not limited to food. That's just the beginning.
We air our wounds and show our scars. The way we're able to converse... discuss... share... in a way that cuts through the noise to the heart of living. The hope of life.
We're able to play and laugh with abandon. The task list remains on the table at home. And home is good. The tasks are good. The struggles are good! But if you can get it, restoration through rest from that hamster wheel of tasks is so very nourishing.
Through being family, we remember the even greater tie that binds.
Eventually, not so long from now, we will go back to all those good things that life requires. But we will return with our ears perked, eyes afresh, and with a renewed sense of purpose and hope.
Thanks be to God for Mom and Dad, Grammy and Grampy.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a blonde, curly haired boy who needs to snuggle and watch Kipper.
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