A couple of weeks ago I thought I’d be the Fun Mom for the day (it had been the obligatory several months since the last time), and hauled them all to the Barn.
We even packed a picnic and everything.
As my kids get older, some things are getting easier. And some things are getting decidedly harder. Mainly the fact that the two littlest want nothing to do with that expensive double stroller in the back of my truck.
So this is how we do.
They pair off.
Always like this.
And I say “Remember guys: Four kids. One mom. You have to be helpful and you have to give me grace.”
And always they say it with me. Because it’s always the same words. And I hear sarcasm in their little voices. And I smile. Because I know they will remember this. And I smile because I know they will say this to their own someday.
I’m okay with that being part of my legacy.
The Brother always helps with the Sister.
Sometimes she screeches at him for touching her.
Siblings do that.
Some things remain constant even when circumstances look different.
And the Sister always takes Baby Duty.
And he dutifully holds her hand.
Bee-lining for the promise of saltwater taffy and hand churned ice cream.
And all those serene photos you see of families sitting on pretty afghans, heads thrown back in joyous laughter?
There’s that. For some families.
But the Gibsons…we do it different.
We stuff faces and lick fingers.
And we act goofy for mom’s camera.
And show her your half chewed sandwich.
And I laugh a big hearty laugh.
One so deep and real because I love that she is showing me her nasty food.
Because sometimes I forget.
She’s really just four years old.
Just like them.
Just like all of them.
And they feed the animals and I pine for this chicken coop.
Something I never, in one million thousand hundred years thought I would pine for.
A freaking chicken coop.
But this one?
Want it.
Lots.
And I watch them interact.
Away from the me’s and mine’s and squabbles of home.
And I giggle at this scene.
Because Twins.
As I snapped this picture, I remembered one I took a year ago.
Almost to the day.
In this same spot.
And in this same place.
And I remembered that that one year ago, was the first time she had used her walker at The Barn.
That might even be the same goat.
All grown up.
And my girl so much bigger and stronger and more confident.
And that year feels like lightyears away.
The journey long and hard and frankly, exhausting.
But damnit if it wasn’t worth every step.
And then, just a week later, this girl had a seizure.
A seizure that just. wouldn’t. stop.
A seizure that lasted five hours.
Not a typo.
And Andy and I, terror in our eyes, searched each other. Both knowing exactly what each was thinking, but too scared to say the words and ask the question out loud.
As hours ticked by and meds kept being poured into her system with no change, my focus moved to “Don’t scream, Jeannett. Don’t scream. Hold it together. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. They will haul you away if you scream. And you need to be here.”
Because I just couldn’t understand.
WHY WASN’T IT STOPPING?
But it stopped.
Eventually.
Five hours later.
And she is here.
And she is on the mend.
I’m still waiting with baited breath to see how she has fared from such a long episode.
Our nurse in the PICU also has a daughter with epilepsy. A daughter who had her first seizure at 4 and a half. A daughter who knew her letters and numbers and colors and shapes. And who’s near constant, little seizures took all of that away. A daughter who is now 10, but stuck at 4 instead. A daughter who must sleep in her parent’s bed because the seizures often come in the night. The cruelest kind.
I know she was trying to be helpful and find connection. But.
A week out from her biggest and longest, my girl seems shakier than usual. She’s always had a tremor to her movements, but it seems much more pronounced now.
I don’t know if that will get better with time.
A week out from her biggest and longest, she isn’t walking unassisted as much. Just a week ago she was taking 10-20 steps throughout the house. We all hedged bets on how long until we could mostly retire her walker.
By the end of the year. For sure 2015.
But today it feels like we’ve taken several steps back.
I don’t know if that will get better with time.
But I do know that she is really just four.
Just like them.
And no matter how arduous it can feel some days, she will still show us her See Food and she will run her hands along the barrier that yells Don’t Touch in its neon way.
It’s a road.
It’s a really really hard one some times.
But it’s really got the best scenery ever.
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Beautiful, beautiful. And I’m stealing the phrase about helping and giving grace, just to let you know. I will pray for Jill’s recovery and her precious, precious brain. The Gibson kids are a delightful crew!!! (I didn’t want to overuse “precious,” but now I sound sarcastic. sheesh.) I’m smiling thinking about all the ways they bring joy and exuberance into life!
Tears. This is beautiful. I have been thinking of you, and praying for your family. A lot of times, when people read something like this, they think to themselves, “I can’t even imagine.” But the thing is, I can. And I feel your experience as if it were my own. I wish we lived closer so we could sit and drink coffee (or wine!) and watch them and commiserate, and be angry and sad and happy and grateful and weak and strong all at the same time. Together. Please know you are constantly on my mind. Big hugs and much love to you, mama!
The Gibsons rock! You have so much going on, yet you continue to plow through, and I know you would always give God the thanks for His strength to do this together. I wish I still lived near you to watch your little grow and get to know them better, but I love to see them through your blog and to be able to know how to pray for you and your family. Love you guys and I will be up on Sunday. I will try to look for you with my package for you. hugs
The Gibsons rock! You have so much going on, yet you continue to plow through, and I know you would always give God the thanks for His strength to do this together. I wish I still lived near you to watch your littles grow and get to know them better, but I love to see them through your blog and to be able to know how to pray for you and your family. Love you guys and I will be up on Sunday. I will try to look for you with my package for you. hugs
Just…gracious. You guys are loved, and lovely, and always in my prayers.
The scenery and the kids are beautiful! What a great place to make memories at. Your daughters are definitely going to mimic you when they are moms!! Praying for you guys <3
So much beauty from ashes. Thank you for sharing the real – the true, the painful, the scream inducing, and the lovely all at the time time. That’s how it is and I am so encouraged every time you share it. Praying for you and yours and grateful for your little slice of the blog-o-sphere. What you do, here and especially in the day to day moments, it matters.
So much beauty from ashes. Thank you for sharing the real – the true, the painful, the scream inducing, and the lovely all at the same time. That’s how it is and I am so encouraged every time you share it. Praying for you and yours and grateful for your little slice of the blog-o-sphere. What you do, here and especially in the day to day moments, it matters.
Tears. I’m guessing this was the post that was supposed to go up earlier? Either way. Being stuck at four isn’t all bad. I promise. Plus, there’s plenty of learning and growing that can be done. Sometime in the last couple years John learned what “scoot down” means. He tends to get in bed and lay too high on the pillow. We used to pull him down a little on the bed, but now if we tell him “scoot down” he will try to wiggle down a little lower on the pillow. Its the small things. Also, cake. :)
I have been in a spiral of doubt and frustration since my daughter’s most recent surgery last month. This post spoke to my heart. Thank you. I linked to your post on my blog today to let my readers know why I was exiting my funk of ingratitude and choosing grace instead.
http://twinkletoesandninjaboy.com/2014/05/06/mothers-day/
ya got me today.
as the tears roll down my cheeks, and my heart aches for all of this, all your words, i’m …overcome.
I, too, am overcome with all kinds of emotions on this one. I’m amazed, awed and inspired by you and your family, truly. Hugs to you!
p.s. Jilly is SO much bigger in the 2nd picture with the goats. Amazing!
So much to overcome, in this world. Sometimes it seems insurmountable. But, it isn’t. Keep on keeping on. With love to you.
Jeanette, beautiful and real and messy and…. more beautiful. I pray that God will continue to be glorified in you and through you. In Jill and through her. I pray. Pray for peace, for wisdom, for truth, for hope, for knowing.. knowing deep.. as you say “God is good. All the time. No matter what.” In the mighty and good :) name of Jesus, Amen.
Hugs.
with you in prayer.
I really need to teach my daughters about grace and when they get up each morning. These pictures make me anxious for summer with my girls.
Oh, Jeannett, both laughing and crying with you today as you help your little ones through the struggle of life. I cannot even imagine living with that sort of uncertainty from day to day. Lots of prayers and good wishes.
http://livingtherealworlddream.blogspot.com/2014/05/in-which-we-fall-off-cliffs-get-eaten.html