is the ability to correctly express what I am feeling. Whether in person or on my blog or over the phone. My mind is always so jumbled maybe, I have some ADD. Aw heck who am I kidding I know I do, too bad its not OCD, I would love to have a perfectly clean house everyday hahaha! But all kidding aside, I need to get somethings off my chest. But first please go to this blog and read it.This man puts it into words I wish I had. http://www.modernmormonmen.com/2011/05/im-his-dad.html#more
You will have to copy and paste the link
After I will show you the word that come out of me. Not nearly as nicely put. This is not aimed at anyone or to attack anyone. We appreciate all of the advise we are given IN LOVE. Not when it is something that is being forced on us and we arent being heard.
Did you read it??? No. well go do it. I will wait........
Ok, here is the deal folks. I am his mom. He is not in any danger being home. We are having some struggles with the school here. We are having struggles with money. We are having struggles with the Navy. In about 30 days we will know whether or not we will be asked to stay in the navy here in va, relocate, or just plain get out. Those of you we feel need to know about the reasons know. Those who dont know. I am sorry. Its our choice who we need to tell and when the time is right to tell you. And as if this Navy bump was not enough there will be another one after we cross this hurdle because the Navy is downsizing. SO AGAIN Vernon will have to prove he is worthy to stay in. But this post isn't about the Navy. Its about Kaden. HE is HAPPY! He is making progress! He is LOVED and SAFE and Secure! And he is home with me until the kinks life has thrown us are settled! I am sorry if you do not feel this is the right choice and I am not doing enough or right by him. I am doing my best with what life has given me at this time. He is not simply plopped in front of the tv or ignored all day. We play, we color, we work on pecs and signing, and we work on trying new food. Dalton calls it fixing his Moe Moe. And speaking of Dalton, have you had the pleasure of speaking to him lately? DO you know how smart that kid is? DO you know why he is that way? BECAUSE HE HELPS ME WORK WITH KADEN!!!!! And if you ask me he is dang smart for a 3 year old. Just now as I am crying my eyes out trying to quit feeling guilty over things I do not feel i have control over. Dalton comes in and asks why are you crying mommy, and I tell him because I feel like a bad mom. to which he replies. I think You are a good mommy. And I tell him yes but what about Kaden? to which he replies He loves you mommy don't cry. So this mommy isn't going to cry anymore. I cant tell you what tomorrow holds, I cant tell you what he will be like at 12, 13, 25...... But what I can tell you is I will ALWAYS do what I feel is best for him, I will NOT give up hope. I will not let him down. Thank you to those who give us your support. For those who have different opinions or think we are not doing enough I am sorry. But remember this IF he were normal he would not even be in Kindergarten here. He didn't make the deadline! If the way he behaves bothers You I am sorry we dont have to come around and you do not have to visit us. Change is hard for him, new places, new people, new smells, new routine it all makes his life hard. There is no magic pill, diet, teacher, etc who can fix this. But a loving supporting family can make his life better. And having a parent who is trying their damnedest and still has to battle guilt everyday doesn't help. I am sorry if offend but I have been offended to the point I felt this was necessary. Please feel free to call me, facebook me, email me,text, or come see me in person if you have something you need to say to me about this matter. All I can say is I am trying my best. and that is all kaden asks of me. There is no teacher in the world who can climb in the shower with him and work with him because that is where he is most safe and secure and relaxed. Oh except me and his father! Thank you and love you all ~Care
BTW Veron wants his voice to be heard too :)
Like Carolyn I am no wordsmith, but I have read the works of those that are. There is a passage in Patrick Rothfuss’ book “The Name of the Wind” that I connect with every time I read it.
“My common sense did a rapid turnaround, and I headed cautiously downward. At the bottom of the steps were a few rotting planks, all that remained of a broken door. Inside I could see a short hallway opening out into a dimly lit room. A young girl with hard eyes pushed past me without looking up. She clutched another piece of bread.
I stepped over the broken pieces of door into the chill, damp dark. After a dozen steps I heard a low moan that froze me where I stood. It was almost an animal sound, but my ear told me it came from a human throat.
I don't know what I expected, but it was nothing like what I found. Two ancient lamps burned fish oil, throwing dim shadows against the dark stone walls. There were six cots in the room, all occupied. Two children that were hardly more than babies shared a blanket on the stone floor, and another was curled up in a pile of rags. A boy my age sat in a dark corner, his head pressed against the wall.
One of the boys moved slightly on his cot, as if stirring in his sleep. But something was wrong with the movement. It was too strained, too tense. I looked closer and saw the truth. He was tied to the cot. All of them were.
He strained against the ropes and made the noise I had heard in the hall. It was clearer now, a long moaning cry. "Aaaaaaabaaaaaaah."
For a moment all I could do was think about every story I had ever heard about the Duke of Gibea. About how he and his men had abducted and tortured people for twenty years before the church had gone in and put an end to it.
"What what," came a voice from the other room. The voice had an odd inflection to it, as if it wasn't really asking a question. The boy on the cot jerked against his ropes. "Aaaahbeeeeh."
A man came through the doorway brushing his hands on the front of his tattered robe. "What what," he repeated in the same not-questioning tone. His voice was old and tired around the edges, but at its center it was patient. Patient as a heavy stone or a mother cat with kittens. Not the sort of voice I expected a Duke-of-Gibea type to have.
"What what. Hush hush, Tanee. I wan't gone, just stepped away. Now I'm here." His feet made slapping sounds against the bare stone floor. He was barefoot. I felt the tension slowly spill out of me. Whatever was going on here, it didn't seem nearly as sinister as I had originally thought.
The boy stopped straining against the ropes when he saw the man approaching. "Eeeeeeaah." He said, and tugged against the ropes restraining him.
"What?" It was a question this time.
"Eeeeeeaah."
"Hmmm?" The old man looked around and saw me for the first time. "Oh. Hello." He looked back to the boy on the bed. "Well aren't you the clever one today? Tanee called me in to see we have a visitor!" Tanee's face broke into a terrific grin and he gave a harsh, honking gasp of breath. In spite of the painful sound, it was clear he was laughing.
Turning to look at me, the barefoot man said, "I don't recognize you. Have you been here before?"
I shook my head.
"Well, I've got some bread, only two days old. If you carry some water for me, you can have as much as you can eat." He looked at me. "Does that sound all right?"
I nodded. A chair, table, and an open barrel standing near one of the doors were the only furnishings in the room aside from the cots. Four large, round loaves were stacked on the table.
He nodded too, then began to move carefully toward the chair. He walked gingerly, as if it pained him to set his feet down.
After he reached the chair and sank into it, he pointed to the barrel by the doorway. "Through the door there's a pump and bucket. Don't bother to hurry, it's na a race." As he spoke he absentmindedly crossed his legs and began to rub one of his bare feet.
Inefficient circulation, a long-unused part of me thought. Increased risk of infection and considerable discomfort. Feet and legs should be raised, massaged, and swabbed in a warm infusion of willow bark, camphor, and arrowroot.
"Don't fill the bucket too full. I don't want you to hurt yourself or spill all over. It's wet enough down here." He eased his foot back to the floor and bent to gather up one of the tiny children who was beginning to stir restlessly on the blanket.
As I filled the barrel I snuck glances at the man. His hair was grey, but despite that and the slow, tender manner in which he walked, he wasn't very old. Perhaps forty, probably a little less. He wore a long robe, patched and mended to such a degree that I couldn't really guess at its original color or shape. Though nearly as ragged as I was, he was cleaner. Which isn't to say that he was clean exactly, just cleaner than me. It wasn't hard to be.
His name was Trapis.The patched robe was the only piece of clothing he owned. He spent nearly every moment of his waking life in that damp basement caring for the hopeless people no one else would bother with. Most of them were young boys. Some, like Tanee, had to be restrained so they wouldn't hurt themselves or roll out of their beds. Others, like Jaspin who had gone fever-mad two years ago, had to be restrained so they wouldn't hurt others.
Palsied, crippled, catatonic, spastic, Trapis tended them all with equal and unending patience. I never once heard him complain of anything, not even his bare feet, which were always swollen and must have pained him constantly.
He gave us children what help he could, a bit of food when he had some to spare. To earn a little something to eat we carried water, scrubbed his floor, ran errands, and held the babies so they wouldn't cry. We did whatever he asked, and when there wasn't any food we could always have a drink of water, a tired smile, and someone who looked at us as if we were human, not animals in rags.”
I will not suffer any of my children a dark prison that some call “homes” that are meant for those who can’t find the means to care for their blood. Nor will I suffer a soft prison at the hands of those that masquerade as “educators”. A prison is a prison no matter what guise it wears. If I don’t feel comfortable with a school, teacher, or friend that tie will be swiftly and permanently cut.
for choosing me to be their mommy. I thank God EVERY day for you. I don't know know how I got so lucky. You truly are the best gift I have ever been given. I hope you guys made the right choice! I hope you all know I would do anything for you and I will always love and support you!
