French Bread

Noah, Julia & Anna getting ready for our holiday tea at the Drake over Thanksgiving break.

When Jonah is feeling well, he's nothing short of a goof.  Here he's "trying out" slinky hair.  We're also working on patching his "good" eye to help his brain realize it should start using the other eye too.

She didn't know, she was just trying to sympathize with me, but with six words our waitress at a little diner nearly undid me - "It's ok, you've got 3 kids".  I had meant to order french toast, but said "french bread".  I just said the wrong thing, it happens sometimes, so I made those "silly me" eyes and our waitress tried to connect, likely a mother herself, and for a minute I couldn't breath.  I don't want to spill our story everywhere we go, I want to be "normal", but I want people to see Jonah too.  I don't want to be seen as a "mom of 3 kids" when I'm a "mom of 4 kids".   I guess I should be surprised it's taken so long for someone to assume I'm the mother of 3.  For most of the last 20 1/2 weeks I've looked like a mother of 3 to people who don't know our story.

This journey is just weird.  I'm sure there's a better, more descriptive word, but weird is the most encompassing word I can think of right now.  I honestly fear becoming 1-dimentional as Jonah's story defines a lot of who I am right now.  When I don't talk about Jonah, or how Jonah's diagnosis is effecting the rest of the family, I often don't have anything to say.  I want to be "normal"- to have lots of things to talk about - but the second a stranger doesn't see the truth of our family I want to right their understanding of us.  That opposite pull of being "normal" but being "us", makes me think of our 2 different friends who lost their sons this fall.  There is a great pull for them to establish new norms and routines, rhythms and rituals, but there is equally a great pull to remember, to speak the names of their sons, to remember the silly and mundane routines, rhythms and rituals of their lives.

Other than realizing that I may have an addiction to using "quotes", I'm not sure there's a great take-away from the weirdness of always being pulled in different directions.  Sometimes, no often, I stumble as we navigate this journey and I'm again reminded that I'm called to live step by step, moment by moment, and so I smile weakly at the waitress, wipe my eyes and enjoy breakfast with the 3 kids (and my husband) who are at breakfast with me.