This morning I faced the usual Monday morning trouble. Despite some promises Sunday night, Maddie just wasn’t getting up for school. I somehow managed to get her dressed, but then she wrapped herself back in her blanket. She had made a choice. Her cab came and went. I emailed her special ed teacher about her missing school. I had said and done everything I could think of, so at 7:15 I was just looking up the attendance office phone number for school.
Then my son came into my room. I have so much to say about him, but my almost-13-year old gets upset when the stories I relay come back around to him. From me to my friend to their kid to him. Boy, have I heard about that. Even when the story as about something astoundingly clever that he said. I hope he forgives me for telling this one (also if I know you, shhh!):
When he came my room, I learned he had taken it upon himself to try to motivate his sister. He gave her a pep talk, and then a HUG. He’s generally not fond of hugging his sister, which interestingly has made those hugs a valuable commodity. I’m not sure what he said, but the next thing I knew, Maddie was in my room, dressed and ready to go. I drove her to school and she was on time. Henry is pretty sure he’s solved the problem for the entire semester. I certainly hope so.
Maddie and I said our goodbyes and hopped in the car. I had to drive her today. On the way to school, I pointed out that her brother loves her and cares about her. “He really gets you,” I said.
“I know,” she nodded.
He hasn’t always been willing to show his affection for her. Times have been tough for him at times. But my husband and I have always had faith that one day he would truly appreciate what a wonderful person he has for a sister. And today there was clear evidence.
I then I reiterated to Maddie the importance of having better mornings that this one. “It’s hard on the whole family,” I said. Then I turned to my right and saw her looking straight ahead. Tears were forming in her eyes. I was afraid I had upset her.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” I said.
“I’m crying because of Henry,” she replied. “I never thought he would make me cry tears of joy.” A couple tears broke away and fell.
Sometimes my family feels so splintered and stressed and dysfunctional because of our special needs kid. But today I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude and pride and relief and hope. Hope that my two kids are finding, early on, that they need each other. They do. And they always will.
Good night, everyone. Sweet dreams.
The Year of Living Hopefully 