They exhaust me, they make me cry, they make me laugh, they snuggle up to me at night like warm little bunnies—Neil, the long, bony bunny, and Jared, the plump, soft bunny.
Neil is my difficult child, the one who challenges my parenting skills the most. With his AD/HD (attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder), he requires me to constantly find new pockets of patience and understanding, to help him interpret the mysteries of social interaction with us and with others. Just when I've run out of patience, he'll stun me with a profound insight into someone's heart. Just when I'm beyond exasperation with his bounce-off-the-walls wild-monkey behavior, he'll settle down at the computer and design a roller coaster of such intricacy that I can't begin to comprehend it . . . and he'll explain the physics of it all.
Jared is my child with the vivid imagination: He's a bird hatching from a nest made out of bed blankets; he's a kitten prowling the kitchen; he's a fierce Jedi warrior ready to protect his mommy from "the bad guys." He's soft and he's giggly and he has a heart that's wise well beyond his years. He delights in half-accomplishing the physical feats that his brother can do with ease. He's Daddy's boy these days, following Ed everywhere, inside and outside the house.
Neil and Jared are the night and day of my soul, its yin and yang, its industry and its playfulness. They teach me every day to be a better person.
motherhood parenthood
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