Happy Mother's Day From Beirut

"From all of the professionals here I want to commend you for taking on this responsibility."

I squirm uncomfortably in my chair while the "responsibility" contentedly plays with her doll and rolls her eyes.  I never quite know what to say when people act like I just done the ultimate act of sainthood.  Bless them with lands of sheep and cattle?  Say, "Why yes I know we are better than the average human how walks the earth.  Our household overflows with milk and honey."  But I just squirm and wish the earth would swallow me up. 

I get tired of being told that my life is tulips and windmills or that God only gives "special children to special people".  Horse manure!  

In truth, we did make a choice.  Not once, but twice.  We choose two kids with dynamic needs.  But I didn't go in with my violin and sob about how they need a "special mommy" who would pave their walkway with gold.  We adopted them because they were a part of us we didn't know we were missing until we met them.  I didn't "save them".  We wanted kids and we wanted to adopt.

I was and am a regular mom.  I'm just a regular mom who happens to have kids who need more than regular kids.  I'm in yoga pants at 5am getting meds ready, blending food, and planning what therapy exercises are on docket for the day.  Not because I'm Saint Amy of Bumpass, but because this is our normal.  This is what we do.  

I'm not special.  I'm impatient, have a strong type A personality, and would rather everyone just do it my way in the house to save hours of trouble (ask my husband about that, ha!).  

I'm not the mother I thought I would be, but like so many other moms we have become the moms our kids needed us to be.  We juggle doctor's office visits instead of playtime, argue with insurance, ask questions and spend hours researching medical conditions.  We are regular moms who have learned how far we can be bent without breaking, cried in hospitals, cheered every inch-stone, and learned to never give up when so many other do. 

I live in a landmine of medical diagnosis, scary outcomes, and lots of caffeine.   The last tulips I saw were dead and the windmill blew down in our hurricane lifestyle.  

I'm not a saint, I'm not special, I yell at my kids.  I forget that my son needs school supplies and wait, how many days since I changed bedding??  Or ask my son about the sentences he has to write or ask my daughter about how I have the nerve to make her help out around the house and interrupt her I-Pad time.  

But I am just the parent my kids need and in case you need a reminder so are you.   

Happy Mother's Day.