I am getting tired of all the academic writing I am doing today – working feverishly on competency written prompts in preparation of oral competencies – so I thought I’d come do some vent writing as a break.

The metro had its first snow that stuck overnight. Just a dusting, really, not any significant amount. Very pretty if you have the ability to just hide inside and not go anywhere.

If only.

School drop-off was a frustrating experience that brought many exasperated huffs to my breath and stinging tears to my eyes. Someone explain to me why a parent would choose to park in the middle of the parking lot aisle, blocking both accessible (handicapped – I am intentional with the language I use but want everyone to know what I’m talking about) spots? And then, despite NEVER wanting to be confrontational even in the slightest bit, after someone pulls up behind you, honks their horn, gestures they need to turn in, and points to their placard giving them the legal right to park in the spot you’re blocking…nothing happens. They just sit there.

I went around. Thankfully, going to the next aisle over, there was an accessible spot available (not always the case). But come on – don’t block these parking spots and pretend to be oblivious to what’s going on around you. If it was Eric dropping off, he would have gotten out and approached them. I am still working to develop that backbone.

I took pictures today of the snow situation in the accessible spots. Every year, the snow removal crew chooses to pile the snow up on one side of the van accessible parking spots, making the space smaller and rendering it essentially unusable for us now that our van has been modified. It wasn’t an issue today, but I don’t want it to be an issue in the future. Sometimes I come and there is only one accessible spot left, and if that is the case, I need the full space to be able to let down the side ramp and wheel Kiran out of the vehicle. Thankfully, the principal (who ADORES Kiran, which helps) took my email seriously and had a conversation with the custodial supervisor and assures me they will be sure to have these spaces fully cleared.

So two things right away – I’m on edge, right? This is enough mild confrontation and reluctant advocacy work for someone like me who is so uncomfortable with all of it –

I’m going to start ramming your children with Kiran’s wheelchair. When it is cold, I wheel Kiran into the school building to wait for his associate when all the other kids are allowed to go in (after the bell rings). I probably had one dozen kids come up behind/beside us and cut us off as we were trying to get in the door today. As if Kiran is invisible, which is impossible, because we are like a freaking train with all his stuff, his wheelchair, and his mounted eye gaze device that sits well in front of him. I was frustrated with the educator holding the door because I feel like she should have been the one to direct the students to not cut him off. I didn’t have it in me nor did I know the appropriate way to handle the situation. I won’t really start running into your kids, but I won’t lie and say there wasn’t a part of me today that wanted to.

These are the extra jobs I get as Kiran’s mom. Reluctant advocate, who must make people aware of our family’s accessibility needs and help ensure we are VISIBLE to others in the community. I’ll keep doing it – but anybody reading this, feel free to educate and advocate in your little slice of the world.

“Give thanks with a grateful heart”

Best I can do is to give thanks with an overwhelmed, aching heart.

I am pausing today, as best I can, from the responsibilities that have felt so monumental and insurmountable lately.

I was thinking this morning about the message I want to send my grad cohort in our active discord channel. We have a specific channel just for wellness, where we open up about difficulties and encourage one another. And I think what I want to say is this:

I know it feels like the competency we are all feverishly working on right now is the most important thing, THE piece from our grad school program that matters the most.

But it’s not.

While it IS important (and while I AM overwhelmed and anxious about it all), the most important thing I am taking from this program is this:

Look what I did. Look what WE did. We persevered through some of the most challenging, busy times of our lives, juggling so many balls. And when they fell, which they inevitably did, we had each other to pick them up and hand them back to us. I will take a lot away from this program, but my most important thing are the lifelong friends I made along the way.

Relationships. We learn a lot about developing rapport and building relationships with the people we work with in our field. You can’t help people unless you are in relationship with them. It’s the foundational thing.

In life, too. It’s what everything else is built upon. The most important piece of this existence.

The greatest of these is love.

Kiran did me a favor this morning by not waking up with a fever. He has still hung onto a gunky cough from his illness two weeks ago, and he woke up last night a couple hours after going to bed. Which is exactly what happened two weeks ago before he woke up with a fever the next day.

So I was bracing myself to lack balance once again during a busy and stressful time.

He has also been acting weird about putting weight on his right leg. But only periodically and only at home/for us (school hasn’t noticed, not even when he was working hard for PT and respite care providers haven’t noticed). I have taken him to the pediatrician so many times for this type of symptom, to have a partner in the detective work, but I am giving it more time this time.

Then, this morning, he was the most feisty he has EVER been while I was trying to brush his teeth. So now I need to investigate to see if there’s a loose tooth or a sore or if it’s that darn front tooth that won’t break through the gums bothering him.

When you have a non-speaking child with intellectual disability who is still working on vocabulary and communicating, you find yourself in the detective role a lot.

And it’s exhausting.

Fall is my favorite.

Walking the dog today, crunching through the colorful fallen leaves, I was reminded of the beauty of the season.

There is beauty in change. There is beauty in shaking off the parts of yourself that will not serve you in the season of life you’re in. There is beauty in regrowth.

I took a mental health day yesterday. I didn’t look at my computer once.

Our competency prompts dropped on Wednesday at 6 pm, and I haven’t even read them yet. This is my final big academic piece for my masters program.

I am so burnt out.

I am so unsure of what I was ever even thinking, doing this.

I have no idea what it’s going to look like, logistically, for my family, for me to work full-time.

My brain keeps reminding me we have figured it all out, every step of the way, and we will keep figuring it out.

I am not alone in this. I wonder why that still feels so foreign to me?

I thought passing the Praxis and crossing that off my list would feel more monumental. It seems like everything is just falling flat lately.

So I took time to breathe and rest yesterday. Reset my brain and jumpstart my heart.

And it wasn’t enough – but it’s what I could do.

Am I enough?

It is that question I think we all hold deep within ourselves.

Am I doing enough as a mother? As an advocate for my son?

Am I giving enough…to my partner? To my family? To my friends?

Is what I am studying and striving for important enough?

If I fail… Will I still be enough?

Sometimes, after you nap, I crawl into bed with you. I let you pull me into a big hug with your assertive insistence, and we snuggle. I sing along with whatever song Echo is playing (we had to name the dot in your room Echo because calling her Alexa made others in the house answer), and you insist on me singing straight into your ear.

And I memorize the moment.

I think about all the sweet heart warriors – and other warriors we know battling other difficulties – that have since become angels, and the tears already in my eyes from joy quickly get mixed with tears of heartache.

I don’t think you will ever outgrow your mama’s snuggles, but there may come a time when they aren’t possible anymore nonetheless.

So I take an extra moment, sometimes. I realize somewhere in our snuggling that you are actually holding me instead of the other way around. Slowly, skillfully piecing back together the places life has torn me apart. Your love is one of purity, with not a single string attached to it. With your hugs comes healing.

And I memorize the feeling.

In case anyone was curious, rain is the bane of my existence.

Now that we got that drama out of the way…seriously, rain is annoying. If me and mine are at home and don’t have to leave said home, bring it on. I love a good thunderstorm when snuggled up dry and warm.

But school drop off or pick up? No thank you. I’ll pass. I quit. Rain is the worst with a wheelchair, and we’ve leveled up in difficulty with the addition of a super expensive communication device that shouldn’t get wet.

I’m slightly unprepared today, which just means I will get soaked as I use my rain coat to protect the boy and carry the carrying bag for said communication device.

This is really just a vent, as I’m sitting in my car in the school parking lot gearing up for this wet adventure.

I need to invest in some new inexpensive adult ponchos that I can just put over him, his backpack, and his wheelchair. And figure out a better solution for his device than just the bag it came in.

I cannot place a finger on a for-sure reason why I find myself in this season.

But here I am.

Feeling overly emotional about caregiving lately. Standing at school pickup having to blink back tears as kids run out yelling for their parents. Feeling overwhelmed very quickly with basic, daily caregiving tasks.

Pouring from a near-empty cup, even as I am being more and more intentional about finding ways I can keep it full.

Striking a better balance than I have in a long time, but growth comes with growing pains, I think.

Perhaps I could blame the identity work being done in my current grad school class. Reflecting is necessary but painful.

Or I could blame Kiran’s upcoming IEP meeting. As he gets older, these feel more important – and more difficult.

Or I could blame the never-ending barrage of adult experiences, like what should have been the installation of our new dishwasher today turning into a broken shut-off valve and wet mess.

Maybe.

Maybe, sometimes, I’m just going to be more emotional about the realities of life. I think that’s okay. I think I don’t have to always overthink or understand every nuance of the experience.

Sometimes, I’m just going to feel overwhelmed and sad. Sometimes, I’m just going to grieve heavily the life I imagined for myself.

And, even in the midst of it, I find peace and joy. I think that’s the piece that matters most.

Though days may pass where I can’t find the light, I know its return is imminent.