Sweetboy’s stim is hopping; and he’s done more than his fair share of it lately. We assume it’s anxiety over the transition as we end the current school-year. And, frankly, we’re a little concerned that we’re going to wake up one morning and find that this kid has sprouted long ears and a fuzzy bunny tail. Sir-Hops-A-Lot frequently tells us that his legs or feet hurt, but he insists that “It’s NOT because of the hopping”. It’s a veritable conundrum wrapped in a quandary.
This is another one of those moments where I’m torn in emotion. No, that’s not right. My emotions feel shredded like so many ribbons tonight. Why did God give us a child who can trample all over my heart with a few errant hops? And then again, why the hell am I so ungrateful for the pure unadulterated beauty that this child brings into our lives? I’m sorry. Crass. I know. I’m feeling some pent-up angst. I blame it on the rain. And now, I have that stinkin’ song in my head. It’s entirely possible that you do, too. I’m not sorry for that. Someone should share the agony of having a Milli Vanilli song planted in their head with me. Misery loves company and all that jazz.
But now? Now, I’ve written some of the vitriol out and it feels better. And instead of pretending that I didn’t feel raw enough to write about it, I’m going to leave it right here. Right where I can find it when I need to be reminded that, “Ah, yes, I’ve felt this way before. And I lived to feel like that again.” Or even better, so that I can be reminded the next time that there most certainly is sun after rain. It’s usually in his hug. Or his gorgeous guffaw. And I’ll remind myself anew that I live under an umbrella of grace that is bigger than any emotional tirade on my part. And I will be thankful. Oh, yes indeed. I will be thankful.