Redirecting my 90%

What would you do? How long can you smile and turn the other cheek? Why does it have to be so hard at times? Why can’t we be left alone – at least part of the time? Why did I let my guard down? Why didn’t I put my game face on? Why can’t we have one day – just one day – to our selves? Will her life outside of our fortress always be a stage?

Wow. I started this entry last night. It was late. I was tired. Luckily, I shut off my computer not too long after our nurse arrived and stared at the TV for a little while trying to regroup. Finally I went to bed.

The top paragraph is proof that all things are better dealt with after sleep.

I do keep a journal. Some things make to Ivey’s blog if they predominantly concern her, but most of my thoughts stay tucked away.

Lately when it comes to our little world around here things have been average. Like any family we have the good days, the yucky days, the irritable days, the fun days, the busy days, but mainly they are just ‘normal’ days for life with three kids. You know – I often wonder what the FedEx man hears when he sneaks to our door to drop off a package. Anyway, I (we) have become accustomed to life with our three sprouts – they are nothing but ordinary. Well, take that back I think they are extraordinary, but I am a little biased. I am loosing my point to this; let me redirect.

Even though this life that we are in is plain ole’ normal for us, there are still moments that have the capability of breaking me. I have tried to keep them in the pages of my journal. This is very hard to put into words – its one of those emotions that you can’t quite describe, but it is there everyday of my life, and I NEVER experienced this emotion until Ivey was born. It is a lone emotion that stems from having a special need child. I think parents with special children will understand, and others with special needs family members or friends can identify, but even that is still different.

If you know our family then you know that Ivey is not a child who is harbored in our home. We take her everywhere we go, no matter what. Nurses that have come into our home have often commented about how happy they are to see how we care for Ivey and incorporate her into every aspect of our lives. At first I was taken back by those comments, but the longer I walk this journey I understand why they comment on this. The reality is that many children like Ivey are often forgotten and excluded; they remain home and miss out on Life. Not my Ivey.

I have a game face. You know the one – smile, hold your head up, and grit your teeth, no matter what punch or play is called. Hide the emotion, and what ever you do don’t let them see your weaknesses or your pain. The internal struggle within the game face is mentally draining. Like it or not, that is what I do when ever Ivey and I go. When we go as a family the game face is almost nonexistent, Matt is there. When Ivey and I are out with friends, they act as a cushion, yet I still feel the pressure to have the ‘it’s the way the parent handles the situation’ game face. When it is just me and my three companions, the boys add in a certain distraction. However, when Ivey and I go alone it is up to me to respond and make right and good decisions. I hate sounding weak, but sometimes it is hard.

A couple of days ago my friend Lowery read quote to me that I had read before, but had long since forgotten about. It said life is 10% what happens to you and 90% your attitude. I must remember this and redirect my attitude. I must teach Ivey that she is in control of her 90%, not their 10%.

You see, yesterday I left my house without my game face. I was too excited about our girls’ day together – one of our first. It was one of those days mommas dream about with their little girls. So, I had my genuine smile, not my game face smile.

First, Ivey was going to her first cheerleading competition. I was so excited. I would be back at the school where I taught and coached; I could watch the girls compete; Ivey could hear some loud music and enjoy a new environment. Most importantly, we were going to support my best friend – Ivey’s godmother. Ivey’s godmother is one incredible coach and we wanted to be there for her. So we went – just the girls – to a girly event. My guard was down.

There we were surrounded by people we didn’t know, some from here; some from there. Either way, they did not know Ivey – so there was some staring, which is normal. There were many ‘Oh, poor thing’- just part of this normal life. While standing in the middle of a crowd some teenage boys (not from here) walked by, looked at Ivey and said ‘What the h_ _ _?” I wasn’t ready. I found myself fighting back tears. Instantly her future flashed before my eyes. {Her teenage years} What hurts the most is that Ivey may be blind, but she is not deaf. Eventually, she will know the statement was directed toward her.

As a mom I hurt for her. I don’t want her to be any different than she is. I do want her to have normal experiences. I don’t know how to exactly describe what I want for Ivey. I do want her to be happy, and she is. I want her to feel loved, and she does. It amazes me that she gets a certain response from people, yet they fail to see her accomplishments or the fact that she literally wakes up every morning with a SMILE on her face. Every morning! Everyone could learn from her.

Selfishly, I want a day where my heart doesn’t hurt for her.

Some people will have advice like ‘you have to deal with it’ or ‘don’t take it personally’, but those same people have never and will never experience their child being the one ridiculed – on a daily basis – for being different. I do deal with it. However, that does not take the sting away. And in the future, how will I heal the sting when it affects her – when she knows that the questions are because something is different about her, yet she can not even see the difference? Will she have friends, her own friends, who will stand with her and let these same things that hurt me bounce off of them without hesitation?

Those few seconds yesterday hurt, but they did not stop our girls’ day. We went on. What kind of mother would I be if we didn’t go on? What kind lesson would Ivey have learned if we ducked our heads and went home? I have waited for a long time to share special moments with my daughter, just like my mom and I did. We went on to window shop downtown. Literally, at every corner there was someone who knew Ivey, speaking to her, touching her so happy to see her. They reminded me how blessed my little girl is and how great this world is just because of her presence.

Last night I was hurt and confused and allowing a few short seconds to dictate my attitude, my 90%, and Ivey’s life. Today I see that Ivey will be fine. There are so many people who love her and will protect her along the way.