Compassion Fatigue

My baby has a fever.  I think he's teething (finally!).  He's crabby, droopy-eyed, and a little sluggish.

Mostly, though, he just wants his Mama.


And man, do I feel bad for him.  I want to snuggle him.  Rock him.  Love on him.  Make him feel better, even though he's being a bit of a pain in the backside.

Even though he kept me up half the night last night....the eve of the busiest week of my year.

I'm exhausted this morning.  I'm a bit crabby myself, and I'm having to make a concerted effort to function in a regular kind of way.  Yet here is little Baby K, clapping his hands and smiling his giant still-toothless smile at me, and there's no way I can be mad at him.  No way I can take his actions personally. 

It's easy to forgive him; I know he's not being crabby on purpose. 
He just doesn't feel right. 
He's sick.

Know what I wish?  That I could always have the same perspective with my RAD kids.

I'm stuck in a funk of what we parents of traumatized kids call Compassion Fatigue.  I know what my older kids went through as babies and toddlers, I have a pretty good idea of what caused them to be the way they are, but their endless annoying, disrespectful, controlling behavior is blocking all of that out right now.

Frankly, I want them to just knock it off and act right. 

But just like my tiny teething baby, I have to remember:

I need to forgive them; they aren't being controlling on purpose.
Their brains just don't work right.
They're sick.

And when all else fails, it helps to visualize them as crabby, droopy-eyed, fevered little babies, crying their hearts out for someone to pick them up and comfort them.  Snuggle them.  Love on them.  Care about them. 

When they were babies, there's a good chance that no one ever came.  And that makes me sad....makes the compassion flow a little easier, when I think about them being sick or teething or hungry or cold or wet or dirty or scared and crying out in vain.  Left totally, completely alone to comfort themselves.

When deep down, all they really want is their Mama.

Her Own Two Cents

Our five-year-old daughter, Miss J, is very gifted at thinking of reasons to get out of bed.  Sometimes we can tell that she's been using all her powers of creativity to come up with what she thinks is the perfect plan to escape the prison of bedtime. 

Over the past two years or so, Miss J has had countless "tummy aches", a few "fevers", and several phantom aches and pains.  One time, she happily announced that she had broken her ribs.  The problem (or the good thing for us) is she's a really bad liar.  She prances out into the living room and announces quite nonchalantly,

"My tummy hurts!"        

Or, she knocks at our bedroom door and says with a little smile,

"I fell out of bed!"  
                            And you're obviously not injured, so climb back in!   
"There's a cat in my room!"  
                            And I know for a fact that you let him in, so let him back out!  
"I think I might have a headache!"   
                            You think you might have a headache?  And you're happy about it? 

At times, even her genuine pleas have been hilariously self-incriminating, like two hours after she's gone to bed, she comes out crying that she broke her necklace or lost her toy down the back of the bed, which naturally leads to the question "Why on earth are you playing with a toy or a necklace when you should have been asleep two hours ago?!" 

Although she's duped a few well-meaning grandparents and babysitters, as you've probably guessed by now, my husband and I rarely fall for any of Miss J's little schemes.  She's usually told to go immediately back to bed and not to get out again, which she does without complaining, turning around to quip "Goodnight, Mama!" as she skips back to bed.  Little putz of an actress. 

However, when she comes into the room with eyes full of tears, like she did last night, we try to take her seriously.  Something was truly bothering her, we could tell.

"Maybe something really is wrong this time," we wondered. 

"Maybe it's not just something silly."

Or maybe our daughter has just swallowed two pennies because she was trying to clean them with her mouth.

Makes perfect cents to me.



P.S.  Don't worry.  We called the doctor, and Miss J will be fine.  Most objects less than an inch in diameter (except for batteries, magnets and sharp objects) usually pass quite easily through the digestive system.  However, she will probably suffer some emotional damage for being teased mercilessly about always having to put in her own two cents.

The Walk

I got in a  car accident  today.

                                                   Not a BIG one, just a teeny tiny one...

...but  t o t a l l y  my fault.

This morning was one of those mornings that refused to wake up and take the day by storm.  It wanted to meander and daydream and pause, all the while expecting the minute hand on the clock to follow suit.  It refused.  As the minutes sped by, the Queen of this humble green castle (myself) became restless and crabby.  Her demeanor reflected the panic of impending tardiness, and she began barking orders to her lowly (only because they're short) subjects, which didn't succeed in motivating the morning (or the subjects) one bit.

The morning did, at the very least, offer up sunshine and beautiful frosty blue skies, which were fully appreciated as we climbed into the Royal Minivan nearly an hour past the start of kindergarten.  Knowing that the morning's antagonism had already dampened the spirits of her subjects, the Queen spent several minutes entertaining them as a "fire-breathing" (or frost-breathing) dragon, restoring the laughter and smiles to her little kingdom.  Well worth being five minutes later, and after kisses and hugs, Princess J skipped happily into school.

Off we went to deliver shoebox gifts to our church, which were supposed to have been turned in yesterday, but were being loaded into shipping boxes this morning.  One shoebox filled by each of our children (and their queen)...full of toys and pencils and toothbrushes and trinkets of all sorts...and a sixth unexpected shoebox filled with the overflow of the other five.  Shoeboxes, full of the love of Jesus, sent to six children in third-world countries who are desperate to know of their treasure-status in heaven. 

The morning's lack of motivation nearly caused our shoeboxes to "miss the boat", so to speak, but also afforded us the special opportunity to pray over all the boxes stacked down the hallway (about seven hundred altogether) and ask God's blessing on the little lives that receive them for Christmas.

A few hours and a few errands later found Princess M, Sir C (my valiant knight), Baby K and the self-titled Queen all strapped into the Royal Minivan on our way home. 

Oh, impatient Queen. Will you never learn? 

The cars in front of us were stopped.  There was a long line of cars.  Far too long of a line of cars for me to wait through, I thought.  In the time it takes to act without thinking, I was swerving into the right lane, intent on going around them.

The problem was, there was another car already there. 

So often, I beat myself up for the bad example I set by not being perfect.  I'm horrible at being submissive.  I'm late for everything.  I say things without thinking.  I make mountains out of molehills.  I lose my temper.  I don't do the laundry when it needs to be done.  I don't clean the house when it needs to be cleaned.  I have trouble resisting anything loaded with carbohydrates. 

And even this morning:     no patience,     late for school,                     
                             nearly missed the shoebox shipment,        
frustrated by insignificant things,
                                                  drove into other peoples' cars.

Today, though, my kids also saw their mom (feeling less queenly than ever before) admitting her mistake, accepting complete responsibility for her actions, apologizing to an upset driver, humbly asking for forgiveness, praying to thank God for protecting us, respectfully talking to a police officer, telling the absolute truth regardless of consequences, and accepting those consequences without whining or grumbling.

And though I fail miserably every day to set a consistent Godly example, I know this one incident spoke volumes to the impressionable children that witnessed it....a lesson that is well worth the price of a ticket.

I don't want to be one of those Christians that talks a good talk, I want to be one that walks the good walk.  Today, in those moments, I actually did it.  I walked the good walk.

After the driving skills I exhibited today, maybe I should be walking more often anyway.