I had papers from all three of my "big" school kids the other day. It's an unusual treat that they all remember to show me. Usually, it's a week later and something will finally make its way to me only to realize that it should have been turned back in already. I'm sure this surprises nobody... I maintain a she's-got-it-together vibe for the most part, but I'm pretty sure you could ask any of my children's teachers and they will nod and smile and not acknowledge the flaky parent that I am every now and then... (and nobody wonders where the Queen Bee gets it from...)
The Feisty one brought me some artwork from one of his preschool centers. He told me with great excitement how the stampers worked and how he had made this particular picture with me. Lots of blue, lots of stamping in a sort of blobby oval shape. He was proud of it, and I was proud of him.
The Queen Bee had some artwork to show me as well. This particular day, it was as it often is... cartoon woodland animals in various habitats. It was burrowing squirrels this day as I recall. If it's small and furry and "adorable", it's her style. And so we talked about her charming renditions of the squirrels and their burrows and the backstory that accompanied them (because what piece of art is really anything without a backstory...) and it was good. And I was as I always am. Proud of her and her gift of creative expression.
And Son Number One had work to show me also. A few math worksheets that were finished, which are some of his favorites, something that he had "drawn a volcano" over (which to my untrained eye looked like a lot of black scribble), and a couple books that he'd made. The first one was a book about vehicles (vehicols). He'd taken great care to draw a variety of different vehicles, one per page, and for a 6 year old, it was good stuff. And there was his family members book, with one family member to a page. "Sloth is cute. Queen Bee likes fuzzy animals. Dad likes to snuggle. Mom is warm. Grandpa gives me rides in the semi. The feisty one goes to preschool. A is my cousin. I have diabetes." His cheerful figures were charming, with the Sloth in a sweet stroller and Dad with some impressively prominent facial hair. I was proud of his work, and as always, of him. But his self description struck a nerve.
"I have diabetes."
I totally get that we are still in the first mile of what will be a marathon journey with all that being a Type 1 family entails. We get that. We are all adjusting. But it breaks my mama heart a little bit to know that instead of saying something like "I run fast", or "I am a good friend", his fact about himself is the diabetes one. One of my (many) fears for him is that people will look at him and see his diagnosis instead of seeing him for who he is as a person. And I know deep down that I shouldn't worry about that, not only because we surround ourselves with people who are awesome and wouldn't be that way, but also because he is way more awesome than that... but moms worry. And for my little first grade guy to list that as his identifying fact... well... it just sucks.
Being a parent is that thing in life that's a hundred times harder than you imagined and a hundred times better. The good times are the easy ones. The birthdays and holidays and vacations and moments of pride and gratitude. The wet kisses and hugs around your legs and snuggles at night and "I love you"s that don't quit just because the lights go out. Those are the good times. The movies with popcorn and the kid who wants cold hot dogs, and the kid who loves cheesecake and the kid who loves his brother more than anything and the kid who will talk transformers for hours and hours and hours and.... Those are the good times.
The times when you can't fix things, though? Those are the times that make mamas lose sleep. The nights spent awake with sick babies, the nights that you want to sleep more than anything but the baby wants his mama more than anything... The low self esteem days when friends are being unkind... the overtired days when one wrong look and they all dissolve into tears... the days when my patience level is at zero, but my babies demand more... the weeks when the hours of sleep can be counted on the fingers of one hand... when your six year old sees himself as a kid with diabetes instead of a kid who has so much more to offer.
What do I take away from all of this lengthy musing? Think of what you'd want to be on your paper as a metaphor for your life. Like my feisty one, make sure it's colorful. Like my Queen Bee--Make sure that it's something you love, whether that's fuzzy animals or something else equally awesome. Like my Son Number One? Choose wisely the one thing what you want people to recognize about you, and don't allow something to define you that doesn't.
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