Oh My Gee!

Dear Grace,

I've been thinking about you all morning ever since I dropped you off at school today where you hugged me goodbye and flashed your million-dollar grin. We've had a rocky week but you amaze me with your indefatigable spirit to keep going at school despite your difficulties. I wish I knew how you felt inside when the letters of your beautiful name don't appear on the page like you know they should or how it feels to not be able to leap across the living room because your legs won't do what you'd like them to. I do understand, though, that you have to work much harder than many kids your age just to do the things that kids your age do. And it truly blows my mind how positive and interested you remain in school, an environment that I'm afraid is going to get increasingly frustrating as time goes on.

I wish someone, an expert, could tell us exactly what you needed, but I'm finding that the experts don't always agree. There's the whole private therapy versus public school services and the cost/benefit involved with both. And the dilemma, ok, I'll say it--guilt--I feel by being away at work and school when perhaps I could be spending more one-on-one time with you...but then understanding the reality that my working allows us to better pay for the sky-high private therapies that some of the experts are recommending. I want you to understand that nothing is more important in my life than you (and Johnny and Daddy) and I will never give up in the quest to figure out what makes you tick.

I'm fully committed to doing my part, but you need to do your part too. I know you're frustrated and this completely frustrates me as I see you reacting by throwing scissors because cutting got difficult, shattering full-length mirrors because Johnny made you mad, and hitting me and telling me I'm the "worst Mommy you never had" because we ran out of gum. Understanding the roots of your outbursts makes it a bit easier for me to deal with, but come on, your part has got to involve something other than shards of dangerous broken glass.

So much of life with you is pure pleasure like pretending to live on the Weatherby Farm, discussing with you your school-girl crushes, hearing you adopt new phrases (currently, it's "Oh, my gee!") and sharing with you funny things that you used to say, like "Beef" for "Steve" "dat-dowel" for "girl" and "purple circus room" for "multi-purpose room." Seeing you delight in all of this and everything else that a 6 1/2 year old, long legg-ed, skinny girl delights in totally delights me. As we were walking up the sidewalk to your school door a few weeks ago, you said, "Mommy, you're my favorite lady." Hearing that made my heart so happy. I know that's not always going to be true and I want to take advantage of it while it is true and "plaaaaaaaay" doll-house, and school, and animal doctor, and everything else you want to play when I can. One of my New Year's resolutions is to stick to firmer boundaries of when I can and cannot play with you at any given time. That and also to play with you more.

You don't understand this yet, but your name, Grace, is very important to those of us who believe in the Methodist tradition. God's grace is a gift of pure love from God given freely and unmerited (meaning, we didn't have to do anything special to deserve it) to those who have faith. You, my little "Oh my gee!", are a complete gift of love that I did nothing to deserve and you will forever be my favorite lady.

Love, Mommy