The Other Stuff

I fear that I may not yet have the hang of this whole blogger thing. The gaps grow longer between posts because sometimes, I must subscribe the the old adage, "If you don't have anything nice to say, than don't say anything at all." If that doesn't tell you how recent weeks have gone...


I will, to save myself, start with the good stuff. Ethan continues to improve everyday, despite some low test scores on his "nonsense words"---and if you're going to call them that, they don't mean much anyway, if you ask me. He is happy and sweet and adores his little sister. He also gives excellent, break-your-ribs-becasue -I love-you, bear hugs.  His latest feat is something I would like to call "exercising his eyebrows", which consists of making as many funny faces as possible in the mirror, at the dinner table, or anywhere where I am attempting to be serious. Hilarious.


My sweet Andru, on the other hand, is having a tough time of it. The specifics don't matter, and as I have mentioned before, my little boys don't need their secrets splattered across the Internet. But, in an effort to be wholly honest about this whole process, I suppose the tough stuff must be addressed. The truth is, I am exhausted. I spent the first three weeks telling myself that any mother of three is tired (so suck it up), but the truth is, this isn't the same, not at all. I basically had twins, with a four-day maternity leave, who had already developed habits without my ever having a say in them. My children are not comparable to children people have raised since birth. We have a lot to undo, and a lot to learn, and I, in my infinite impatience, am just going to have to realize that some people will never understand that and that this is all going to take a very long time. 


Andru and Ethan are both ecstatic to have a family that loves and cares for them. The difference is that Andru has spent the lats nine years being "Dad", and he now has very little idea how to be anything but the boss. Turns out, that doesn't fly to well with his new parents, who also would like to be the boss. There have been things said about him at school that make me want to alternately cry and sock the person who said it. Everyone wants their children to be loved by everyone else in the same way that you love them. And when that doesn't happen, it hurts. Physically hurts. I know what kind of kid my boys CAN be---and I want them to act like those kids right now so that they can avoid the hurt of acting any other way. News flash---not going to happen. 


Today...sucked. (eloquent, I know) I was on the phone with a teacher three minutes after I dropped Andru off, and watched my little boy be angry? sad? embarrassed? on a field trip that should have been fun and enlightening.  I pray every night for the courage, the light, the right words, to show him what kind of little boy he can be. I hope that someday soon, one of those things will come to me. For now, I will just be a mom who loves my children so much it hurts.