Last night I had the most vivid dream that I've had in a long time. I was on some sort of "American Idol" type of show as a contestant. There was a whole production set up with producers, make up people and tech assistants swarming around. I was getting prepped and it was almost my turn. Suddenly I was hit with the (true to real life) realization that I CANNOT SING. I am not just being humble. I think I am the only non-musical Korean-American in the whole country. I do not play any instruments, I can barely plunk anything out on the piano. I am not even good at listening to music. I, seriously, do not have a good singing voice. I do not even karaoke, ever. I cannot imagine having a voice that’s good enough for public consumption in any way. It's really not my thing. Am I getting my point across?
So there I was, waiting to go on. I was desperately trying to think through all of the songs that I know to find one that I could sing in a decent range (I think I came up with a kid song from Barney or Raffi or something). I woke up really nervous.
I also woke up being tackled by two of my three children so I promptly forgot the dream. However, the dream came back to my mind in vivid colors during the musical worship portion of our Sunday morning church service later this morning. I asked God, "What was that dream all about?" Here was His response:
"You think that you have a bad singing voice but to me, your voice, especially when you are worshiping me in song, is the sweetest, most beautiful voice possible, because of who you are to me. You are my precious daughter and everything that you do in love, I love. And, by the way, this is how I feel about your parenting. You think of yourself as a mediocre, struggling, “this is not really my best area of talent” mom but I see your mothering as delightful and gifted. You see all of the ways that you don’t hit the right notes, but I receive what you do for the children that I created as a work of art.”
So how’s that for affirmation? God thinks that I rock as a mom. I know, in my heart, that it’s only partly true but, hey, I’ll take what I can get.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
A Bit of a Rant
Warning! What follows is the frustrated rantings of a very, very, very tired mother of a kid with special needs.
My question for today. Is it too much to ask that a child who is almost 8 years old would take responsibility for his own toileting? Is it too much to ask that this child not poop in bed and wipe that poop all over his room?
In my current, not completely rational state, I feel strongly that the hundreds of non-insured dollars poured into behavioral psychologists and autism specializing pediatricians should result in some strategy that leads my child to be potty trained.
My emotions tell me that the billions of prayers that I've prayed to a God, who I know cares about me, should have some sort of result along the lines of not having yucky poop accidents.
My thoughts flit around the fear that I will be cleaning up after my son in this way when he is 30 (though even in my exhausted state I know that I cannot go there tonight). Have some thought discipline, girl.
Well, the laundry is going. The room has been cleaned. The shower has been cloroxed. I have vented here on my blog. The child has been kissed and sent to bed. My emotions are settling down and perspective is seeping into my worn out little brain. I'm beginning to remember that there are a lot of reasons for Josh to be slow in learning many things in his challenging life. I am holding onto the truth that Josh is one of the greatest gifts of my life and I wouldn't know how to live if I ever lost him.
Ah, big sigh. Good night.
My question for today. Is it too much to ask that a child who is almost 8 years old would take responsibility for his own toileting? Is it too much to ask that this child not poop in bed and wipe that poop all over his room?
In my current, not completely rational state, I feel strongly that the hundreds of non-insured dollars poured into behavioral psychologists and autism specializing pediatricians should result in some strategy that leads my child to be potty trained.
My emotions tell me that the billions of prayers that I've prayed to a God, who I know cares about me, should have some sort of result along the lines of not having yucky poop accidents.
My thoughts flit around the fear that I will be cleaning up after my son in this way when he is 30 (though even in my exhausted state I know that I cannot go there tonight). Have some thought discipline, girl.
Well, the laundry is going. The room has been cleaned. The shower has been cloroxed. I have vented here on my blog. The child has been kissed and sent to bed. My emotions are settling down and perspective is seeping into my worn out little brain. I'm beginning to remember that there are a lot of reasons for Josh to be slow in learning many things in his challenging life. I am holding onto the truth that Josh is one of the greatest gifts of my life and I wouldn't know how to live if I ever lost him.
Ah, big sigh. Good night.
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