IMG_6547It’s weird to actually ‘get’ my kids. I mean REEEAAALLY get them, but I do.

It’s hard for me to bite my tongue when Jett says he refuses to work in groups. It’s excruciating to force Dane into social situations when he’d rather just hang back in his room and let the company come to him. I mean – it’s raining outside, the temp dropped 20 degrees and there are 10 of them (THEM!), under the age of 7, running amuck! AND his wheel chair kinda sucks on bad terrain and he just got a new kick ass app for crying out loud!

Nope, back in the day I was never diagnosed with anything besides a big ole dose of disrespect (if that’s a clinical term). I spent the 70’s and 80’s as a difficult, yet extremely creative child, but no one, at any time, felt the need to pigeon hole me into some kind of psychological circle brimming with health benefits and therapeutic options.

My mom just smiled, parented the best that she could and hoped that when all was said and done her youngest daughter would turn out to be the best adult version of the ‘Oh-So-Uncontrollable Teen’ that she had managed – beautifully – as long as a sane person could.

Now I have my own hyper creative, over contemplative, non-conforming, stubbornly realistic little boys challenging me (and everyone else we encounter) whenever possible.

Deserved – to say the least.

Unexpected – I’d like to think so, but that would be a lie.

Mine – Forever, always and gratefully.

I hope it is genetic. I hope they are a product of a long line of ‘This ain’t gonna be easy but it sure will be worth it in the end” sorta folk.

I’m proud to be one, parent two and possibly pass it on. Bet one day they will be too.