The Nightmares Have Started

The nightmares have started.
I was told they would come. I was told that we needed to watch for any signs of distress with our son, watch to see if his sleep was getting disrupted by thoughts of what happened.
His sleep has been restful and...better than ever actually. Mark and I have to still remain vigilant; but for now, we are celebrating that his sleeping moments are peaceful ones for his little mind.
I, on the other hand, have started having nightmares. It hit me last night. Each time I would wake up, realize it wasn't real, then fall back asleep, only to have the same nightmare again.
In my nightmare Zachary is out with his friend Dylan. Dylan's mom, Sarah, came to sit with the boys and she noticed air bubbles coming out of a basin, and Zachary was missing. She quickly realized Zachary had fallen into a very narrow hole and she had to save him. In my nightmare she acted quickly and saved Zachary's life, reaching deep into this hole and pulling him out before he drowned. And in my sleep I kept reliving what had happened to Zachary in my dream. Wake up. Fall back asleep. Repeat. Over and over and over throughout the entire night. My prayer, is this torment never reaches Zachary's innocent mind because it's awful, and feels so real.
Fortunately, this is a nightmare I am able to wake up from; and Zachary falling through the ice into an icy pond is a nightmare we are also fortunate enough to not relive all the days of our lives.
The moment he was brought home, wrapped in towels, and cold to the core was a moment I will never forget. It was like the entire sky broke into a million shards of glass and came crashing down around me. When bits and pieces of the horrific story come out over time we all realize how truly miraculous it is that he is still with us. Falling through ice, unable to touch, treading water and then swimming 20 feet to the bank of the pond, punching the ice the entire way to make a path for himself, all the while carrying the weight of layers upon layers of snow clothes and boots saturated in icy/frigid waters is miraculous. Our child who has low-tone, where endurance and stamina and strength isn't a strength, was able to have the presence of mind to solve this awful problem he found himself in during those terrifying moments. His head never submerged, AND IT SHOULD HAVE! There is no reason it didn't. It's a miracle from Jesus.
However, as I have been processing what happened, I wrote to friends and family about God's mercies being on our family that day. But then realized, that had Zachary died, had our outcome been very different, God's mercies would have still been on our family that day. Our suffering on this earth would have just looked very different, and been much more heart wrenching and painful. And my heart breaks for parents that have a very different outcome than we did. And to them, I am so so sorry.
For now, we continue to talk about what happened. Continue to try and help Zachary work through his fear and shame. However, it's a lot. A few have minimized what happened. That's painful for us, as we were the ones that could have lost our son that day. Although we know the horror of that day through our eyes as parents, grandparents, family, and friends, one of my oldest and beloved friends wrote this to me about Zachary:

"No one but Zachary, in that moment, had the intense experience of feeling as if their own time might now be here. Fewer children than we realize actually ever experience this. Most of us do horribly dangerous crap, but we walk away not realizing the danger that we escaped. The adults all freak out and we are wondering what is wrong with them. Why they do that. For Zachary, this experience was totally different. He likely saw the terror and fear on everyone's faces, felt the weight of his clothing, the breathlessness and stiffness from the cold. And within all of that, he was completely alone. No one else was experiencing what he was, no one else was fearing for their lives. It was him and only him out there.  And only him who was going to have to find whatever it was that he needed to save himself. What a heavy heavy weight for him to carry at such a young age. What an extreme moment of loneliness, if only for a minute."

And it was this that caused my heart to break again. His fear. Oh his fear. We will not focus on his fear, but we must acknowledge it for his healing, and for our own.
Please pray for our son as he tries to live like this never happened, all the while internally processing what happened and what could have been. We want this to one day not have power over him. Not be something that causes him pain. But be part of his story that will save lives. And we want him to one day rejoice in that.

Forever Grateful,

The Joyful and Tired Mom

What Anger Really Looks Like

Writing has always been a special kind of therapy for me. Regardless of whether people read what I write, it has always been a place where I could escape and clear my thoughts and make them concise and offer myself clarity. Writing helps me sift through the junk that clutters my mind, and delve into what I am truly thinking and feeling behind everything that clouds my perceptions.
However, there is something that is weighing so heavily on me, that I cannot seem to begin to process what it is that is so bothersome. It's just this dark, heavy cloud that has made its home surrounding me. I can't see around it, above it, below it, or through it. It's just there. It's existence is making me crazy. But more than that, the fact that I can't articulate exactly what is embedded in this cloud is what is truly frustrating.
This has been a very challenging week for our family. Everyone has times like this in their lives whether you are raising children or not. But it has seemed exponentially worse this week than the normal "hard day." Our children, as wonderful as they are, have made life more complicated. What I mean by this is, they have some very real needs. Trying to determine how to meet those needs, and failing time and time again, and not being able to help them is both frustrating and heartbreaking at the same time. And please, I am not even going to get into the exhausting piece of trying to solve this intricate puzzle with constantly shifting pieces.
What I will say is that Mark and I have been seeking counsel from those that love us and love our boys, daily. We are trying strategies to help them, some offer respite for a moment, others fail miserably. But we are trying. And we will never cease trying to meet each of their needs so they feel loved and secure.
But...and there is a big, fat, BUT...last night I read a blog that a mother had written about tools she uses to help her child process her anger. The example she used was her daughter calling her sister a "stupid egghead." (You can read the blog here.) For a long time I couldn't even dignify this blog with a response. That was her example of a child with "anger issues." Now, this may be what is challenging to this husband and wife. To have a little name calling may be what exacerbates them in their home. From a parent whose child actually struggles with real anger, I perceived this blog as petty, and felt as though it undermined and trivialized what we, and many other families, actually go through.
I know that people will say I shouldn't take this woman's blog so personally. Or that I should be gracious because she is struggling too in her own way with her child. And yet, I still can't comprehend that what she considers challenging would be like a vacation day for us.
For years, and years, and years we have been working with one of our children who, at times, has an explosive temper. Screaming, growling, irate, out of control, can't calm down, sobbing meltdowns that can last over an hour. My child who is known for his kindness, and recognized by his teachers as one of the most caring and considerate children they know, far beyond that of most children his age...can become so frustrated with himself that he loses his ability to take a deep breath and walk away. His anger is directed at himself more often than not. He punches himself. Screams that he is so stupid. Won't let others help him. Can't begin to see reason beyond his emotions.
Yesterday, I ended up picking him up from school because it wasn't beneficial for him, or anyone else, to stay there. He couldn't be redirected. He couldn't focus. He couldn't pull it together.
And while I agree that the woman's 2 strategies in her blog are good, and meaningful...I do not see them as anything more than laying a foundation that my child will, hopefully, one day draw from in his moments of frustration. Yes, pray first. Yes, your hands and mouth are to be used for good, not evil.
But when you have a child that truly struggles with his anger. That hates himself when he fails. That is a perfectionist to the "t" and can't allow himself any room for error...well, those 2 strategies aren't going to be enough. And developmentally, I am not even sure that abstract concepts like this would be understandable at this age.
So there it is...a mildly, albeit, disjointed post about anger.
I don't have all the answers. I can tell you we are working on them, along with a wonderful counselor, that is trying to help our beautiful son see himself in a kinder light than he sees himself.  We are taking deep breaths daily and trusting that God has a plan for our child. Seeing His goodness flow through him 95% of the time, and working our way though the other 5% that's a minefield. And acknowledging that just because it is hard, and we want to cry, does not mean we have a lack of faith. To the contrary...we are constantly reminded of our ever growing, and desperate need, for our Savior.
To other parents with children you want to rescue from the mires of anger, you are not alone,
The Joyful and Tired Mom

Real Stress Regarding Youth Sports

Two days in a row. Holy cow folks, it's a new record! Have I blown your socks off yet?! I'm trying to sit down and gather my thoughts, but it's difficult with my boys in the background farting on one another. But I will persevere!

This morning I woke up and started reading an article about youth sports (you can read the article here). The expectation, attention, and time we spend focused on youth sports, and specializing in sports at such a young age is astounding, and for me, heart breaking...for both parents and children. It is not like it used to be.

I loved growing up and playing any and every game I wanted to play. It was so much fun! I don't remember who scored goals in soccer. I do remember I was terrible, that we ate oranges every half-time, that my dad was the coach, and that every year he named our team "The Force." I remember swimming every summer on the swim team with all of my very best friends. I don't remember who had the fastest times, or if I ever had a PR in the IM. But I do remember hanging over the end of the lane cheering for each of my friends, and they doing the same for me. I remember the city swim meet where we all gathered in the same spot year after year, with all the parents, and had the greatest day having fun with kids from all over the city. And I especially remember eating Jello powder before races for that extra burst of energy.

As I got older I was a cheerleader, ran cross country, and played lacrosse. As a freshman I decided to play lacrosse because my ex-boyfriend's mom said she would come to see me play if I made the team. I had never played before. I walked onto the team, discovered I was fairly good, became best defensive player of the year, went on to play in college, and loved team meals that my mom and Sue Sanders hosted time and time again, eating spinach bagels at the Faila's, and laughing together and building friendships that are still strong 20 years later.

My senior year I decided to run cross country. I had never run for a team. However, I didn't want to get a job in the fall so I decided to run just to get out of working! I walked on to the team, as a senior I ran JV the entire year, and it was the greatest experience I had in high school. The friendships that were born from this team are friendships I can't even describe. We were together 7 days a week. We couldn't get enough of being around one another. Supporting each other. The parents became close friends with one another. Through this season of togetherness there wasn't an intensity of competition for many of us. There was for the Varsity runners, but even still, the focus for many of us was friendship, fun, being a part of something greater than ourselves. It was awesome. I will forever be grateful that I had the opportunity to try my hand at something new when I was 17. Those relationships changed my life, and continue to bless me today.

The problem I find today with youth sports is the hyper drive to compete and be the best. But while many assume parents are just driven to have their child earn a scholarship in college, I don't necessarily agree. Many of us are finding that if our children aren't competing at the top level of youth athletics when our children are in 3rd grade and up, then our children can't begin compete in middle school or high school. When we want our child to desperately be a part of a team, have fun, and experience camaraderie with people that have the same goals as them, it is a tough pill to swallow that the days of just walking onto a team to "give it a try" are gone. A child being good is no longer good enough. They need to be exceptional. And what we find in our community is many parents trying to help their child make a path for themselves in a world that is unkind. Give them the opportunities to be a part of something if they want to be.

So as a parent, my heart hurts for all of us. All of us breaking our backs to provide opportunities for our children. Opportunities that are 10 years in the future. For Mark and I, our children at this age aren't seen as great athletes. One son isn't an athlete now. One son is to some degree. One son loves all things sports. But one day our oldest may find that he loves to run, and wrestle, and play hard. My hope is that because he wasn't driven at 9 to be the best, he will still have the opportunity to play and be a part of a team if that's what he wants. For the other two rugrats, our hope is that with Mark and I unable to spend the money to travel and stay in hotels, and pay for elite teams for them, that we are not robbing them of future opportunities to compete in middle school and high school athletics if they want to.

The pressure is astounding. I do not pass judgment on parents. We all want what's best for our children. However, youth sports has become a monstrous beast. We are all in this crazy, fast moving current, and until people choose to jump out of the river, and stop trying to "keep up" and survive, nothing will change. But my hope is that enough parents will say "enough", and we can go back to the days where parents aren't breaking the bank and emptying out their retirement so their 9 year old can play for a travel baseball team.

Hoping this is a coherent piece considering my boys rolled around at my feet like cats while I wrote this,

The Joyful and Tired Mom

 

Having fun at the City Meet. Clearly, we are very focused on our competition.

Our team placed 3rd, but we had more fun than anyone!

I couldn't tumble, but my arms were sharp and I always smiled. That's how I was put on the cheerleading squad.

Junior Year Cheering. Some of my best friends to this day. P.S. I still couldn't do a hand spring.

My very best friends made while running cross country. And they are still some of the most integral parts of my life, and the lives of my family.
JV3!

 

 

 

Go Bobcats. Never went to a lacrosse camp. Decided to just try it in high school. Ended up playing for a Division I college.

 

After an early morning reunion run with xc friends, we still couldn't spend enough time together at our reunion.

 

 

Baby Steps

I often think that I just don't have time to do anything significant with my days. And if the truth be told, many times I don't. Or rather, I am doing things that are significant for everyone else, like feeding them, keeping them in clean clothes, protecting them from their own stupidity...you know, little things. But for me, I feel as though this longing I have in my soul to write and teach and share, this thirst, is never satisfied. I always claim in my mind that I don't have time.
Then this afternoon my parents took the boys on a day date with them and we have been alone for almost 5 hours. I walked 6 miles, talked to a few friends on the phone, ate leftovers for dinner, wrote a lengthy email to a friend, read the bible, watched the rest of an episode of Psych, got ready for bed, washed my face, started reading a book, and then started piddling on facebook, pinterest, yummly, and other time-suckers. I was feeling very dissatisfied. And then I lifted up this prayer, "Lord, I have enough time in my day to do all you ask of me. Why am I making excuses? Why is it so hard for me to start something? What am I supposed to do?"
That is when I grabbed the computer and decided that regardless of if I have something earth shattering/mountain moving to share I am still going to write. I want to believe that this daily habit I hope to become disciplined in, is preparation for something God has in store for me in the future.
He is moving in our lives. We are excited. And we want to continue to listen to His soft voice.
Today at church our pastor was talking about ways God can speak to us. I began thinking how so many people tell me I should write a book; or that Mark and I should write one together. I laugh, but it is the longing in my heart...to write a book that people will read, and be encouraged and empowered. How am I to expect that a wonderful book deal would easily fall into my lap, if I have not taken the baby steps to one day reach that calling? Maybe God has been speaking through others to encourage me to start actively putting one foot in front of the other and just write.
I just always want what I write to be received well. But when much of your day consists of weiner and butt jokes, I'm not sure how far that message in a broken world will carry me!
Brace yourself for penis jokes,
The Joyful and Tired Mom

A Big Announcement

I am so excited to finally write this! The Allen's are moving!!!  Where? Good question...here's the relatively short answer:
Several months ago Mark and I began discussing moving. We had had a very swift and drastic change of heart and mind about the direction we wanted to take our family. For those that believe God speaks to us still today, you can appreciate this...others may think I am a total whack-job (I'm ok with that-I'm sure people have said worse-ha!). We believe that God placed this desire in our hearts, there is no other explanation for this. He led us in thoughtful discussions and decision making. And we chose in September that we would move.
However, we don't know where yet! I know this sounds crazy; but let me explain why we are at peace with the unknown right now.
In the book of Genesis God tells Abraham to leave his home and He would then take him to the land He is giving him. Abraham had to act on faith, and then God took him to his new land. If we believe that God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, like scripture tells us, then why would we believe that this isn't something he would ask of us today.
A few months ago this scripture popped into my mind, and it seems to be what we keep coming back to as we try to make decisions about where to move? What house to buy? Land or no land? Small or big? Old or new? As my realtor so lovingly said to me, "Lindsey, you are insane right now! You're all over the map!" And he's right. And I firmly believe it is because God has not made it clear what the next step of our journey will be, and so we can't decide.  And so we wait.
In the meantime, my incredible parents have opened their home to all of us to live with them until we know the "where" in this next part of our family's journey.
We want to stay close., but we will be leaving our amazing school district. We know things need to change for us if we want to live a life that honors God with our finances, our time, and our talents.
So here we are, stepping out in faith to go where God has called us to go. We are excited! We are working hard to get our house ready for the next family that will move here and make wonderful memories for themselves.
We can't wait to share more as God continues to lead us. No one has ever said following him would not require sacrifice. But anyone who follows Him can tell you it is worth it. He is worth it.

Onto the Next Adventure,
The Joyful and Tired Mom

 

Kids reactions:
Zachary-"Yes, we finally get cable!" And, "I want Uncle Matt's old room."
Drew-"Can I bring my desk?" And, "I want to move tomorrow."
Nate-Does it really matter? He would be angry no matter what.

Merry Christmas from the Allens 2014

Merry Christmas!!!!!

What a wild and wonderful year!

Zachary: 2014 was a very transformative year for Zachary physically, mentally, emotionally, and academically. He has grown several inches this year and is close to surpassing his grandmothers in height. He no longer has braces. He now wears glasses. He is mastering new concepts in math and writing; and becoming quite the little swimmer. The truth of this year is that we have invested a lot of time and energy into Zachary’s needs, as there have been many. So one day Mark and I will be able to lovingly say to him, “”Sorry Zachary, we don’t have a college fund set up for you; but we got you through 3^rd grade! Woohoo!!!”

Drew: 2014 has revealed a lot about our not-forgotten middle child. He, too, loves all things related to school and learning. Mark and I are so thankful! He especially loves math, reading, and anything that allows him to be creative. He can sit for hours on a project to give to others. He is just so thoughtful! He has also mastered the “art” of whining and complaining. An example of our day at Disney (the happiest place on earth) this past winter: He complained about the weather, being thirsty, not buying enough souvenirs, Mickey’s ears being too big, everyone eating ice cream but him, why does he have to walk at Disney, why does he have to stand in line at Disney, why is the sun so hot AND why can’t he look at it, his feet hurt, now his legs, etc.
He takes the responsibility and job of complaining very seriously, and no one, I assure you, absolutely no one, does it better.

Nate: Well last year we wrote about him trying to kill me.  The same is true this year. He has yet to be successful, but the year isn’t over yet. Nate is becoming much more articulate in his speech. He is coming out of his shell more and more every day. It’s been extremely fun to watch him grow this past year. If truth be told though, Nate is not mastering concepts like letters and numbers in school. However, and I don’t mean to brag, he is mastering the ability to play “hard-to-get” with anyone who wants his attention…much to my mother’s dismay.

Lindsey and Mark: Surviving and thriving through the daily challenges and triumphs of raising 3 incredible young men.

We have so much to be thankful for: our incredible family, our dear friends, our health, the laughter that fills our home and our lives, and that Nate has not mastered his fine motor skills and cannot intentionally give us the finger just yet.

Each day Mark and I recognize and acknowledge how richly blessed we are. We are so thankful for this beautiful life we get to live this side of heaven.  We are truly so very thankful. We are grateful that Jesus has called us his own and we get to know Him and love Him, and most importantly, be loved BY Him both now and forevermore.
In closing I would like to leave you with one of my most favorite pieces of history and lyrics written long ago.

~Christmas Day, 1864. With the Civil War still raging, his heart heavy in the wake of his wife’s death, and his oldest son’s severe battle wounds, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow penned these words, “And in despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on earth I said. For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men. Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, God is not dead, nor doth He sleep! The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to man. God is not dead indeed. To the contrary, unto us a child is born. Unto us a Son is given. Let the bells of praise ring loud!”~

Much love, peace, joy, and hope for 2015,
Mark, Lindsey, Zachary, Drew, and Nate

When Joy and Pain Meet

Nothing in this life prepares you to be a parent. Nothing. I am convinced of this, because each new day opens your eyes to joys you never knew existed, or depths of pain you never believed you could experience. I have one foot in each world today. Joy...because this summer our family has made new friends, been intentional about time together, and enjoyed each other and each day to the fullest, making amazing memories along the way. Pain...because we are seeing the ugliness of bullying with kids that we welcomed into our home and into our lives for years. This place of pain and sadness is where I sit today...and it sucks. I wish I could be more eloquent about it, but that's the bottom line. It. Sucks.
One of my boys is actively being ignored by kids in our neighborhood. They run and hide when they see him. They think it's funny. He, by the grace of God, is unaware. I, on the other hand, am not. My heart is shattering into a million pieces as I watch it happen in front of my eyes. They don't even hide their meanness anymore in front of adults.
So last night, Mark and I sat down over a wonderful glass of red wine...I should have poured a goblet...to talk about this awfulness called "Bullying." I needed perspective. I felt like I was being swallowed up by anger and sadness; and I know that isn't where my God is leading me, so I wanted help getting out of this pit.
As the conversation progressed, my own wounds, from decades ago, were opening again as I recounting my own stories of being bullied, the shame and embarrassment I still feel because of what people did or said.
- Asking a boy to "go with" me and having him tell me he would give me the answer at recess. So while playing on the jungle gym he brought a hoard of people over with him, dodge ball in hand, and yelled, "I would never go out with you bitch!" And then he threw the ball at my head, hit my head, and it bounced off the jungle gym (my head, not the ball).
- Drinking water out of the water fountain and having a boy come up behind me and say directly into my ear, "hey Chunk." When I turned around quickly, he said, "See, look! She responds to her name!"
- Having another kid sit at lunch and make a pig face when I ate.
- Having 2 friends run away from me as a chased them to play with me. These girls were my friends, every day, but that day, I was a target.

I am sharing snapshots of memories from times when I was hurt by others. These are isolated incidents that happened decades ago, and yet, I have allowed these moments to define pieces of me for years. And so I started to question why.
Why?! Why on earth do I still feel pain from these experiences. Or as I explained to Mark last night...

I feel no sadness or pain when I think of your affair years ago, and I was betrayed by the man I love the most in this world.  It isn't a wound that scabs over and opens from time to time.  There are reminders, but no sadness. No pain. So why do I feel like wounds from childhood hurts still aren't healed?  Why are those scabs that keep getting scratched off whenever I see more injustice done to my child, or someone else's sweet baby, still plaguing me!?

Mark thought about it for a moment and just said, "Lindsey, I bet I could ask my 92 year old patients if they were ever bullied; and they would remember the names of people and what they said to them. I'm not sure those wounds ever heal."

But I don't think I believe that. God heals, God redeems, God reconciles. He has done it in my own life in mighty, mighty ways. So I don't believe he would leave people hanging to heal their own childhood hurts, or to just "deal with it", all the days of their lives. 

So how do we move past our childhood hurts and start guiding our children to the place where they can love their enemies, and handle mean kids with dignity and empowerment?

I would love your thoughts. I'm not searching for cliché's. And I know this is somehow character building. But I do want some truth to sink my teeth into while I try not to wallow in my own sadness and disappointment and hurt.

Life is Messy and Beautiful and my Youngest is Screaming,
The Joyful and Tired Mom