A {{special needs}} mom

I shared this photo the other day on FB. As names of friends who "liked" this pic popped up... friends who have their own special kids... tears filled my eyes, thinking about each one of them and the strength they have. Some are close friends and some I know only through online groups. But we all know. We all get it. The things we go through that only other special needs moms and dads know about.

Good ol Rosie the Riveter

45 lb. 7 year olds throwing tantrums on the floor and needing to be carried to bed. Putting on your 9 year old's socks and shoes because he never gets the socks straight or the shoes on the right feet. Shedding silent tears because your 2nd grade daughter is telling you something about her school day and though you've asked her to repeat it several times, you still don't understand what she's saying and you're both frustrated. The knot in your stomach when a special education teacher emails to say they want to make an "IEP addendum".

But there's another thing we parents have in common. The indescribable high of the child you fight so hard for... accomplishing something new. Being a little more independent. Sure, other kids their age did it long ago. Your younger children did it long ago. But when you've sat for hours on the floor of a therapy room with a baby in leg braces, anything she accomplishes in life makes you want to jump up and cheer and then stop to ugly cry.

Micah and Abby ride the special ed. bus. Every morning at 8:05 we go out to our porch. They settle in to wait on the top step, adjusting the weight of their backpacks behind them. And I look up, 2 houses down and watch the group of kids and parents waiting at the bus stop together. Their bus comes first and I watch it load up and pull away as a few moms linger and talk.

Then our bus comes. It pulls into our culdesac, backing up a time or two to make it around the circle, stopping right at the driveway. Micah runs straight to the bus door while Abby and I walk the long way around on our sidewalk because she has an aversion to getting her shoes wet in the dewy grass. The size, noise and vibration of the bus are overwhelming to their senses, so it makes Micah extra hyper and it makes Abby extra scared. Because of her fear and low muscle tone, I help/push Abby up the steps onto the bus and tell Micah to settle down in his seat. The full size bus is nearly empty, its just the driver, an aid (sweet Mrs Joyce) and two other kids besides mine.

"I love you, have a good day!!"  I stand in the yard and wave at the two pieces of my heart on that bus. 

And then its gone.

And I hope that their aids will give me good updates in their communication log so I can know how their day goes.

But this year, I've made a goal of getting them to walk to the bus without me. Every day this school year, I've been trying to slowly stand back and encourage Micah and Abby to get on the bus themselves. First I only took them to the mail box. Then a few weeks (with a few days of exception, when Abby wouldn't have it) of just taking them as far as the yard.

Today I stayed on the porch...
they walked together...
got on the bus...
and it pulled away without any assistance from me.

Accomplishments for Micah and Abby mean a world of unspoken joy, pride and tears for Mom. And I go back in my house feeling like I am, in fact, Rosie the riveter.