My kids are amazing. They're finally becoming humans. I can't believe that I created these people and, under my parenting, they're thriving, interesting kids. I know in a few years I'm going to be frustrated about this but right now I'm pretty pumped that they have their own ideas and a mind of their own. Charlotte in particular, who has the gift of gab, a way of putting things, and a really uncanny ability to articulate things unlike most seven years old, entertains me daily. My kids are both definitely what I would call "characters". Since I am weird, I am particularly proud that they are, too.
A lot of my parenting time is spent considering ways that we, as a family, can better support Caroline with her life goals. While it is hard, I am at peace with having a child with a disability because it has made me a better person, a stronger person and a more empathetic human being. But I'm an adult and I'm able to reflect on my life experience in a different way than a child: a child like Charlotte.
I go to bed many nights thinking that I haven't been a good enough parent to both of my kids but I especially feel this way about Charlotte. She has little say and very few choices in life right now. As the sibling of a kid with a disability, she sometimes fades into the background because she can hold her own and she doesn't need my constant and continual guidance. Or does she? That's what keeps me up at night.
As busy parents, we have a tendency to focus on putting out fires or giving our time and attention to the greatest problems in our lives. On a daily basis Charlotte causes less fires and smaller problems, therefore, in turn she receives less of our attention and time. However, in the past year I have been astonished at her ability to articulate how being the "easy kid "feels to her and also how she has taken steps to put herself in a position where she isn't the easy kid in the family.
Over the last year Charlotte has started to act out more than she used to. She makes poor choices, says things to get a rise out of us and lashes out at her sister. Some of this may be because her older sister isn't particularly a stellar role model for appropriate behavior. And, honestly, when it comes to a potty mouth, I am not a stellar example of appropriate behavior. Yet, at the end of the day, I know that these negative behaviors are her way of sharing with us that she is hurting or she is sad or frustrated or needs us more. Yes, she can get herself out of bed in the morning and she can make her own breakfast and pack her own backpack and do her homework without any help and who knows what else that kid could do without a parent around. I'm pretty sure that she could drive a car if her feet could touch the pedals. But she's only seven so, despite the fact that she could to do these things by herself, she doesn't want to.
I haven't had to figure this out on my own through observation or reading articles about siblings of kids with disabilities. I haven't had to do this because Charlotte tells me. At night, when we're laying in bed together, reflecting on our day, she openly and so eloquently tells me that she doesn't like that her sister gets to do different activities than she does. She doesn't like that her sister gets to work with an adult one-on-one after school. Or during the summer. She doesn't understand why all of these people come to our house and have meetings just about Caroline. During these conversations, held under the warm blankets, in the protective dark of her room, her space, I am reminded that, while I am in meetings with groups of other adults, focused on creating an environment for Caroline that is as supportive as possible, Charlotte is always in the other room, quietly playing with her toys or coloring. And she's listening. She's always listening.
Any of us with a sibling know that sibling rivalry is completely natural and often develops despite efforts made by parents to make everything equal and fair. I can only imagine how unfair all of this feels to my seven-year-old. Unfairness must feel so overt to her and I am on able to say to her, "yes, you're right, but -" because I've tried that before. I have tried to explain to her that Caroline is different than she is and she's different than I am and she's different than Daddy and, while right now it seems like Caroline has everything and has more opportunity than Charlotte has, someday it may be the other way. How do you explain to a second grader that all you are trying to do is make sure that their sibling has the same opportunities that they have? How do you tell a seven-year-old that you're worried that her sister might never be invited to the prom or go to college and all you're trying to do is help make those things happen if they're meant to happen? How do you tell a seven-year-old that you're not worried because you know she'll go to the prom and you know she's going to go to the college and she'll be whatever she wants to be when she grows up because she was born resilient and smart and equipped to tackle life's problems without any help from her mom or her dad?
She can't see the future. All she sees is right now and all she wants is for her mom and dad to look at her look at her drawing, look at her doing a cart wheel, look at her knocking over the board game or making inappropriate parts sounds at the restaurant. She wants them to look at her. She just wants to be seen.
I go to bed at night knowing that, while I may not have gotten it right yet for Caroline, I'm going to do everything that I possibly can to make sure that I do. But I don't go to bed thinking that I've done the same for Charlotte because I just haven't figured out yet how to balance out giving them both the time that they need from me. I wish, with each new day, I have the energy and ability to try harder than the day before and maybe, one day, I can strike a better balance.
When I write my blog I like to read it out loud to someone because that helps me but the editorial process. Last night, Andy was engaged in drafting his political Facebook post, so I asked Caroline and Charlotte if they were interested in listening to what I had to say. Reading my piece, I realized they probably weren't the most appropriate audience and, as a matter of fact, I tried to leave out some key phrases, but they were actually sitting next to me on my bed reading beside me. It never gets old to watch kids read to you but you have to remember that they can read things that you might skim over and I had to try to explain to them what the word BIOTCH means and how they were never to call anyone that ever. Nevertheless, they seemed to enjoy listening to my story and they even laughed and some of the places I hoped people would laugh. When I finished reading I was about to do some additional editing and I told Charlotte it was time to get in the bath tub. Before she did she said, "Hey your blog is named A Mom's Life. Can I start a blog and can I call it A Daughter's Life?" and I thought, oh, there she goes again. In her smart and insightful way she has told me how I can help her and how she can process her own feelings. I told her I thought it was a great idea and we would set something up for her very soon. I can't wait to read what Charlotte has to stay in her own personal narrative, a daughter's life.
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