Humility

Word for the day: weary. When I picked Hannah up from school today Ann, Hannah's teacher, said while shaking her head back and forth, "We tried the weighted vest with Hannah today."

"Did she need it today?" Immediately after asking, I realized it was a stupid question. Yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question.

"Yes, she spaced out during her seatwork today. The vest didn't phase her. How did the doctor appointment go Monday?"

"I liked the doctor and left with a good rapport, but I only took Hannah to him so I would have my foot in the door if she should ever require medication. She doesn't need medicated at this point," I paused. "Does she? Do you think I should consider medicating her?" I value Ann's opinion. She's not a doctor, but she's been in the trenches teaching special-needs kids for at least twenty years.

"No," she thought for a moment. "No, we can keep working with her through this year and see how she's progressed when school starts next year. Maybe after the first nine weeks of next year we can re-evaluate that decision. Right now, though, her spaciness is effecting her ability to learn."

Ugh.

Ann continued, "Hannah could make lots of changes before next year, though. It might not even be an issue at that point. Hopefully she'll grow out of it."

Score one for positive thinking. Hoping.

In this blog I've called Hannah The Destroyer and our Barometer...among other things. Today she is my humbler. Katie and Hailey are excelling in school, making friends, adjusting. We've had little issues pop up here and there, but both girls have bounced back quickly. I enjoy talking with their teachers because I know that the report will be a good one. The couple of times that teachers have approached me with a problem, the solution presented itself clearly to me. I feel like a pretty good mom when my mom mirror reflects off of them.

Hannah humbles me. The reports from school are more often negative than positive. Though the problems are not extreme, the rain of day-to-day downers sits heavily on my shoulders like a wool blanket in a thunderstorm. Today I can't seem to wring it out. Hannah forces me to remember that each of my children are little humans unto themselves, gifts from God for me to shape from partially pre-determined molds.

Without Hannah I might be unbearably full of pride, the bad kind. I might still be a my-kid-will-never-do-that kind of mom, even though I like to think I have learned that lesson by now. Hannah reminds me that I am charged with the responsibility of doing my best while being given no guarantees as to the outcome. Do you know how frustrating it is to work towards a goal when the primary reward is the lesser-of-two-evils prize? The imagine-how-much-worse-it-would-be trophy?

On another note: I have an appointment for myself with a new doctor on February 15. I plan to begin an antibiotic protocol for my rheumatoid arthritis, a treatment I began and quit five or six years ago, but have been anxious to begin again. The doctor I see happens to specialize in hormone treatment, a serendipity I didn't expect when making the appointment. My arthritis went into remission with two of my three pregnancies, so I've always wondered if a hormonal connection existed. Not only that, but I've suspected that my mood swings and feelings of being overwhelmed are exacerbated by hormone problems. Now I get to find out for certain.

Hopefully the word for tomorrow will be refreshed.