A Smile Held Captive

Carter, where was your smile? 

Watching home movies of you and Danny this weekend, I watched with new and different eyes.  I was completely present in the movies - doing all the filming - trying to capture your sweetness and your gorgeous eyes and chubby little toes and kissable little cheeks.  I wanted to bottle or save you in a time capsule to savor you and Danny as you were then...forever.  But watching, I am floored by the naivete, the lack of understanding that woman behind the camera had.  She didn't know.  Maybe she did.  But oh my!  She had so much to learn!

I watched and looked at you and listened to you on the screen.  You were gorgeous and happy.  Right?  Weren't you?  Happy, I mean.  Like, how can you tell?  I thought you were happy.  You were loved and adored and you were thriving.  Right?  I was there.  I was with you.  Loving you.  Hugging you.  Squeezing you.  You were happy, right?

You never smiled.  Fast forward.  Find a smile.  Sure, there's got to be a smile.  Well, no.  Rewind.  C'mon.  Just a simple grin.  Seriously?  You just never smiled.  You seemed content and so very, very busy.  But there was no simple expression of happiness.  Let's fast forward again.  No.  No smiles.  No look at mommy with "the look" a mommy gets from her baby.  Climbing and crawling, yes.  But, no reaching for me for a hug or a squeeze.  No.  it just wasn't there.  Busy.  Busy.  Busy.  But, something was missing.  Something big.

And I know that I knew something wasn't quite right.  I knew.  When I watch, I can remember a sense inside my body - deep, deep, "denially" deep down.  Something wasn't quite right.  As I watched, I was captivated and moved and I kept wanting to reach into the tv and hold you and tell you that I was going to figure you out.  It was all going to be OK.  Because it is.  But I'm haunted with thoughts of you and I back then and how we were both in the dark and how we both needed so so much.  So much to learn and do and practice and experience.  Damn, it's been hard, but you are so different now.   And it's all been sooooooooo worth it.  But I can't help but be sad for you and for me.  We missed out on some stuff because we had to go searching for that smile.  Maybe I should shift the sadness to hopefulness and gratitude.  You and I have learned the value of a smile, and how it doesn't come easy for some, and how it means more from someone who's learned to work at it.

FFW to today.  January, 2011.  You smile so often.  You smile when I wake you (sometimes).  You smile over the simplest of life's pleasures.  You frequently smile and giggle in your sleep.  There's so much that makes you smile.  But mostly, you smile at me and for me and about me and with me.  I am so grateful that we found your smile my precious boy.  It is a beautiful smile.  It was just being held captive, maybe fermenting like a fine wine.  And oh, how fine it is. 

I shall never take that smile for granted ever again.

Did you know I was WHITE?

It's a cold Friday evening in January.  I pick up Carter from day care, and as always, the mostly one-sided conversation begins the moment he lays eyes on me.  Mom, mom, mom.  I had a great day!  No melt-downs!  Mom, mom, mom, why do you pick me up so late?  Why can't you pick me up at 4:00?  You used to pick me up at 4:00.  Didn't you mom?  Mom, is your boss so mean that you can't leave mom?  Mom, mom, was traffic so bad mom?  Did you miss me so much mom? 

If I could draw a picture of the scene in cartoon form, you would see a puffy cloud over my head with the starts of words, "Hi Car.., well that's gre.., it's not...well, I jus...No!..."  and so on.  Carter rarely waits for my reply before the next question comes, but you'd better believe he's expecting an answer for each and every question - even if he has to repeat them a dozen times over.  All the while, I'm trying to get him to focus on putting on his coat, hat, and gloves.  "Carter, we need to zip.  Look at your zipper Carter.  Buddy, stop walking and look at your zipper.  Zip your coat.  Honey, focus.  Stop, Carter.  Look at Mommy.  'You need to stop talking for a second and zip your coat.  There.  That's it!'   (Really, you could tape record us tomorrow evening, and I guarantee you'd hear this same deal almost word for word.)

Yes!  We're on our way out the front door of the day care.  Out into the dark, frigid cold January night.  When out of the blue (and barage of questions), "Mom, mom, did you know I was WHITE?  And YOU are WHITE?  And my friend Tamia is BLACK???  Did you know that mom?  Did you know there were schools where only black kids could go?  And only white kids could go to the other school?  Why mom, why did they do that?  Did you know that mom?" 

The rapid fire statements and questions continued, but I stopped listening for a minute to consider what my six year old child just asked me and told me all in the same question/run-on sentence/paragraph.  He had no concept of his "whiteness."  He had no concept of Tamia's "blackness."  None whatsoever.  Carter Ackman was truly experiencing a revelation on a level that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. truly dreamed of. 

I am so grateful that my very precious child was unaware of his "race," and that the concept of segregation was so incredibly alien to him that he had trouble believing it had been a reality.  It made no sense to him whatsoever.  Why would people be separated from one another? 

Throughout that weekend, Carter shared more facts about Dr. King and Rosa Parks, all things he'd learned in Kindergarten from a fifth grade presentation.  "She didn't want to sit on the back of the bus, mom.  Do you like the back of the bus or the front of the bus mom?  When is Dr. Martin Luther King Senior's birthday mom?  Do we get that day off too?  When's the senior's birthday?"

No, Carter, we don't get that day off too.  Let's google it because mommy doesn't know anything about senior.  (And heaven knows we'd better find you some answers!)  And Carter, thank you for making this MLK day mean more to me than any other.

Ouch, the Wimp

Sunday morning.  Church.  Routine.  Good for the soul. 

Helping out after church.  Stacking chairs.  Stacking chairs high.  Following directions from tear down team.  Stacking them high.  Stacking them straight.  Adjusting the high stack to be straight.  Smash!  OWWWWW!  Don't look.  Oh my gosh is it still there?  Is my finger still there?  Don't look.  Just feel.  Yes!  It's there.  I can feel it.  Really, really feel it.  Feel it so bad I can't breathe.  Yes, I can.  I'm a mom for heaven sakes.  Look at it.  Oh my gosh.  It's bleeding from the middle of the nail.  Crap.  Crap.  Crap.  Ow.  Go wash it off.  Squeeze it and stop it from bleeding.  Why does my whole hand hurt?  Squeeze.  Walk.  Go back to find children.  Look around the room for sympathy.  Looking.  Looking.  Oh, thank you God.  Deb.  Sympathy.  Compassion.  Gonna passsss out.  maybe?  no.  don't.  leeet's siiitttt dooowwwnnnn.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Boys?  Collecting envelopes.  Oblivious.  Good.  Breathe.

Hurts a lot.  A real lot.  Like Oh My God hurt.  Seriously?  Am I a wimp?  No.  I've been told I'm not.  By professionals.  Really.  Like they couldn't believe how much pain I'd withstood.  I'm strong.  Right?  Oh my God this hurts.  It is bad bad bad.  Going for an xray.  There must be at least six or seven broken bones.  Or one really important bone.  Why else would the whole hand hurt so darn much?  OK, OK, OK.  Boys, let's go.  Danny, pack up a bag.  OK, Carter go potty.  Let's go.

Kind people at Quick Care.  Patient and nice.  Sympathy.  Xrays.  Waiting and knowing it's going to require surgery.  Hurts so much..................  Nope.  No break.  Just sprained.  Just bruised.  Nail is damaged.  That must be the source of your pain.  Really?  Seriously?  What's worse: my embarrassment or my pain?  OH.  The combination is worse.  Great.  Great!  Really.  No break.  That's good.  But that's bad.  All this drama and no break.  Just a wimp.  A big ole wimp with LOW pain tolerance.  What does this mean?  I'm a wimp.  Yeah.  It's true. 

Nothing's changed.  My wimpiness didn't change my life yet.  Will it?  Fewer friends?  Less respect?  Less value? 

No.  It means that I'm feeling pain.  Really feeling it.  Have I always?  Probably not.  That's OK.  I hate pain and I don't want pain.  But feeling is feeling, and that's not bad.  I'm OK with being a Wimp now.  At least for today.

Carter's Vines

The other night, I arrived at the day care to pick up Carter shortly before 6PM.  He was sound asleep (with the creepy 1/4 open eyes asleep) on the mini couch in the kindergarten room.  The teacher told me that he'd fallen asleep after spinning.  "Spinning?" I asked.  Yes, he was spinning for about ten minutes.  (OK, seriously, WHO lets a kid spin for TEN MINUTES????  I spin once - yes, just once - and I practically have to sit down and sip gingerale.)  She explained that he felt sick so he laid down.  Sick?  WHY would he feel sick?!? 

I woke him because as much as I like to think he is my "little baby," he is fifty pounds, and while I have the mother bear fortitude to carry him on an as-needed basis, this did not qualify.  It took a lot to wake him because he was OUT cold.  He, like his big brother, always speaks rapidly and continuously from the moment he wakes.  Carter began to explain why he felt so sick.

"Mom, mom, mom, the vines in my back.  You know all the vines?  Well, the vines got all sick when I was spinning and they carried all the germs to the branches and they practically broke.  Then the germs went to my head and I got a baaaaad headache and then the germs went to my tummy, and oh, I fell soooo sick.  I'm never spinning again until two thousand twelve."

Christmas is all about...

Direct quote from Carter three minutes ago.  "Christmas is not all about the presents.... .Christmas is about joy,....about Jesus being born,..... about family,....and love."

Hanukkah

"Mom, how will we celebrate the eight days of Hanukkah?"  "Carter, we don't celebrate Hanukkah."  "Why not?"  "We're not Jewish, we're Christians.  We believe in Jesus."  "Wasn't Jesus Jewish?"  "Yes....."

Pony the Pirate

Riding home from the Special Recreation Association/Knights of Columbus luncheon with Santa, Carter continued his usual barrage of questions about anything and everything.  "Was Christmas the very first holiday we celebrated?"  "When was the first holiday before that?"  "What is the first principle of Hanukkah?"  "Why don't we celebrate Hanukkah?"  And then... "Why did Pony the Pirate not like Jesus?  Why was he so mean to Him?"

Pony the Pirate?  Pony the Pirate.  Pony the Pirate.  OK, was this Veggie Tales or what?  AAAHHH!  It finally occurred to me.  Pontious Pilate.  When I asked Carter, he confirmed with another question. 
"Why was Pontious Pilate so mean mom?"  Well, I wanted to answer, but had to know, "How do you know about Pontious Pilate Carter?"   He couldn't really explain, and truly, what difference does the origin of his historical knowledge really matter?  (Well, to me it really matters.)  But, there's no time for an explanation, only time for another question about the Shepherds.  "Why did they get to see Jesus on His birthday?  Was Jesus one of the Wise Men?  What was your very first present you got for Christmas mom?" and on and on and on...

I know that God smiles when Carter asks me questions.  After all, just a few years ago, there were no questions, and so little conversation.  I prayed and begged and read about encouraging the wh questions and conversation and consulted with his OT and Speech Therapists and never ever gave up.  Here we are.  I've got exactly what I prayed for AND THEN SOME. 

I've got to go look up where all the frogs go in the winter now and then I'll be brushing up on my understanding of Pontious Pilate and Hanukkah and before I'm finished I'm sure there will be more questions and more answers to be found.  I'm the luckiest mommy in the world.