Goodnight Moon

Unless you live with it, you will never know. That can be said about a great many health problems, social issues, and personal trials. What I've been given to shoulder in this life is no more painful than anyone else's trials; who knows, I might have even gotten off easy. But there are plenty of days that don't feel easy. Like yesterday . . . It was half day. Need I say more? Any parent with kids (although they love them dearly) knows just how hard having everyone home can be on one's nerves. They were giving it to me good, all except Joseph, who for whatever reason was really kind to me all day long. Jalen Andrew had been clingy all morning, which didn't give me much of a chance to get anything done, let alone get dressed (I hate that!). Joseph gave me the funniest, one eyebrow raised look when he came through the door around noon, and I was glad that he found that odd, and not normal, that I was still in my pj's. There were some good moments in the day, like going to the park, and reading folklore stories with Joseph for his Cub scouts, but mostly the afternoon was filled with accusations and derogatory comments aimed at me by some "well meaning - think they're almost adults" people in the house. Those fun conversations were randomly laced with James' refusal to do what was asked of him - like eat any kind of dinner at all. At 7 p.m. I found myself at Bashas' with the whole brood, in an attempt to quickly pick up some milk, bananas, and bread for the next day. That was fun. I rushed through the store with lightning speed, all the while trying to drone out James' grating, high pitched screams of, "She just doesn't care about me!" That was his response to me not buying him M&M's. No dinner. No M&M's. I sent James to bed, when we got home, his face streaked with lines of dirt. He had also refused to take a bath, stating simply, "I'm not going to do that you stupid, fat, mean mom!" "Good-night my smart, skinny, nice son," I responded and left, not having any more energy to fight with him. I put Jalen Andrew in his crib, obviously a little more hastily than he wanted, for he was soon standing up and calling out to me (That's not usual. He generally just goes right to sleep). I retrieved him from his caged world, and pulled out of somewhere, a little reserve of compassionate motherhood that I had left, and took him to the blue chair to read with him. "In the great green room, there was a telephone, and a red balloon, and a picture of the cow jumping over the moon . . . Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon. Goodnight light and the red balloon . . . " (Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown) I've read that story so many times over the last 14 years, that I have it memorized. As I sat there, with Jalen Andrew's sweet little head resting against my chest, and his small hand in mine, as we finger traced the pictures, and pretended to eat the mush, and say "hush" like Momma Bunny, I began to cry. I cried for James and all the moments like this that we had missed sharing together - not because I didn't try - not because he didn't at some deep level want that kind of closeness - but because of the soul connection, the being lost together in a moment in time, the understanding of each other, and the synergy that comes from sharing experiences together that was - that is - stolen from us each day by his bi-polar, ADHD difficulties. Life with him is so much better than it used to be a year ago, but it is still not easy. What will life for him - for us - be like? I don't know. How many moments of human connection will be stolen from us? I don't know. We'll just take it one moment at a time, and trust that in the eternities, all that was denied us here in this life, will be made up to us ten-fold. ". . . and goodnight to the old lady whispering 'hush' goodnight stars, goodnight air goodnight noises everywhere."(Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown) "Be still, and know that I am God . . ." Psalms 46:10 I'm trying. I really am trying.