"Like A Ballerina"

Last summer, Ava and I tried one Mommy and Me dance class. It was a disaster. She was in the mist of her terrible "fits" {which she still throws, but not as often, thank the good Lord}. This year I decided to give it another go, but this time in a pre-ballet class. No mommies allowed. She was fantastic for the first 10 minutes...and then she realized what a beautiful ballerina she was, and how large the mirror in the studio is. She also decided that playing is more fun than dancing. We now lovingly refer to her as our ADHD Ballerina. 

She has now been to dance class three times, and her teacher says that her attention span is improving....I'm not exactly sure that I agree but it's best to be optimistic! 

An unexpected plus of ballet is that we can now we have a super sneaky and cool parenting trick that helps us get Ava to obey when she is being difficult...which is quite often. I feel so smart and overly excited about this silly line....

"Ava, eat your dinner, like a ballerina!"

"Ava, go potty, like a ballerina!"

"Ava, get in your car seat, like a ballerina!"

"Ava, please let Mommy brush your hair, like a ballerina!"

"Ava, don't hit your brother, LIKE A BALLERINA!!!!!"

Getting Away

I often don't realize how nasty (for lack of a better word) the emotional climate of our home can become. It's largely due to me, and the difficulty that I've had in dealing with this situation. It's no secret...I hate all of this. Alas, not every day can be a terrible one, so on Labor Day we packed up the car and headed for the beach. I don't think any of us realized how desperately we needed to leave the house, to leave our misery behind. I sat upon the beach, bundled up (it was freezing), listening to our babies squeal with delight. I felt peace. I was able to sit and write, to work on a project that will take our business somewhere amazing...but more on that in a few months. 

Last year, Ava wanted to nothing to do with the water. She sat in a chair, or in my arms, and scowled at the ocean for 8 hours. This year, our girl explored....but just a little bit. She is lovely, and mysterious, and sensible, and outrageous all rolled into one tiny three year old. Sometimes....I wish I was her. 

(A wave tumbled my little boy within minutes of arriving, not a happy moment, but he recovered)

Confused Much

None of this is my fault. I didn't do it. Today was a good day, until I had to speak to my mother. Her words are icy, but then again, they typically are. Why do I let thirty seconds of child like conversation affect me? I suppose when the woman who raised you, who cared for you and loved you to life, hates you, you'll be affected. 

I don't like being confused. I don't like being in the dark, and not knowing the answers to a thousand pressing questions. If there is one thing that Autism has taught me, it's to expect the unexpected, but this? THIS is ridiculous. I'm raising her children because she has a drug problem, and that makes me the bad guy. That makes me the bad guy? How did that happen? Our babies are blooming and so is our business. Life should always be this amazing...and yet I'm drowning in these muddy waters. I'm suffocating in this sea of pathetic confusion. 

Tomorrow I wil not open myself to ridicule. I will silence my phone. I will tune out of social media in order to tune into my family, the ones who love, the ones who depend on me to be strong for them. I will drive our mini van and smile. I will sing. I will sit at my antique piano and play, just because I can. I will take my daughter to the dentist, meet with clients to go over last minute wedding details, and meet with yet another new couple who are head over heels in love with one another. Tomorrow I will live this life without heaviness, without fear, and without confusion.

Tomorrow I will not speak to my mother.

Tomorrow I will not speak to my mother.

Tomorrow I will not speak to my mother.

Tearing Down Walls

Scott and I have temporary custody of my three little sisters. Jeffrey and Noelle have temporary custody of my two little brothers. At first, it was "panic" mode. Get the kids. Get the kids. Get the kids. Now, it's "get 'er done" mode. Hurry and sign papers, apply, phone calls, DR, dentist, school registration, hand me downs, meal deliveries, little pink bras and new socks. Am I a mother of five? I feel too small, too young in my life to be dealing with all of this. I'm no match for a broken 13 year old. 

A judge has ruled that we'll have these sisters of mine in our care for at least 6 months. If my mother can get her life together within that time, she can have them back. 

I'm angry, but that's another blog post. 

In order to keep these kiddos here, we have to add another bedroom. Scott and I have been talking about modifying our home to better suit our business for over a year. We're moving forward with a remodel...a temporary bedroom...a safe haven....an eventual office and studio. The girls have opened up and shared so much with us in these past few weeks. At times, it's too much for me, but I know it's what they need. 

We're tearing down walls in the McGihon home...lots of them. 

Families...Part One

I never knew how easy it was, how wonderful life as Mrs McGihon, wife and mother of two was. The chaos, the bills, the messiness, the laughter, the joy, the clients, the giggles, the children. The amazing and beautiful children. These images were taken three weeks ago, before life changed. 

More to come.

Our Family Grew....A Lot.

This will be a quick one. We currently have all five of my little brothers and sisters staying with us. We'll be granted temporary custody soon. It's surreal. They're happy, they're safe, they're loved and well taken care of with us. Blogging Monday may not happen as often as I'd like. 

Prayers are appreciated!

I Want To Be A Sap

Whilst editing a recent engagement session, I stumbled upon this lovely image.

"He has made everything beautiful in it's time..." Ecclesiastes 3:11. When I saw that frame, this verse came to mind immediately. When I saw that frame I felt hopeful. Hopeful that my mother will survive her life, that my brothers and sisters will come out on the other side, healed, and that I will somehow remain soft. I fear the "hardness" that often overtakes people when their lives change, when their realities shatter. I still cry during sappy movies. I want to stay a softy, I want to be a sap. Forever.