I always have grand intentions for Valentines Day. I have the greatest sugar cookie recipe known to man and I envision myself baking up a storm and piping the clean crisp names of each potential owner on their cookies. Then reality sets in. Oh, well. Several of Parker’s friends with special needs can’t eat by mouth anyway, so I instead need to search out special needs friendly Valentines Day.
Instead I am usually, a bit frantically putting together Valentines of my kids. Actually, it’s just kid now. Parker is the end of a long line of Hodson kids in this generation. It still doesn’t meant that I’m any more prepared when the big love fest comes rolling around.
Our Valentine’s Day took an unexpected turn when, after noticing a funky smell to Parker’s wet diapers I finally insisted on some testing on the kid’s pee. It came back showing an infection, but without the cultures growing out they won’t put him on an antibiotic because of his ulcerative colitis. So while we wait for the culture to grow out we watch for a fever to spike. Parker’s immune system isn’t the best and there’s a bit of worry this infection could get out of hand before the culture tells us what we are dealing with.
And people actually wonder why I live at the tippy top of the stress level.
Needless to say our tradition of stopping by the homes of neighbor hood friends got waylaid as we got blood work pulled, urine collected and waited for the results.
Deep inside me I found myself wishing that maybe one of the neighborhood friends might stop by with a Valentine for Parker. Someone to let us know that while we do most of the friendship initiating around here, that maybe, just this once someone else would make the first move.
It didn’t happen.
I spent a few minutes feeling kind of sad. It would be nice to have Parker included in something that I didn’t have to orchestrate. But I know I’m not the first parent of a kid with special needs to feel this way, and I won’t be the last.
Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck.
My neighborhood is wonderful. Big wonderfuls. Huge wonderfuls. I couldn’t ask for better neighbors.
But I realized on Friday that sometimes the little things are even more important than the big things like dinner during a hospital stay. Sometimes it’s the little things, like getting a Valentine from someone else FIRST, or an invitation to play, that makes leaves the best impression.
I recently made an off the cuff (trying to be funny) remark that we always hear from people when the ambulance shows up in the middle of the night, but it can get a little lonely the rest of the time. Someone read this on my Facebook page and proceeded to rip me a new one, when in reality she hadn’t understood my meaning at all. Then again, I think you’d have to be a parent of a medically fragile child with special needs to really get where I was coming from.
It’s all good though. Even with totally typical kids a Mama’s heart gets hurt when they get hurt. You learn to not focus on the sting, but rather to focus on what can be done to make sure the next outcome is more favorable.
And anyone who knows me also knows that I’m already on it.