Rant. (Hey, it's been awhile!)

Everyone has a story. Everyone has crosses to bear. A set of circumstances that make them the people that they are. People in their lives that have influenced them. A set of genes that may have predisposed them to certain behaviors.

I have to remind myself that. A lot. Too often, (but, lately, not as much...thank goodness), I get wrapped up in my own junk. This blinds me to other people's junk which then causes you to judge and not cut any slack to those that need lots o'slack. See?

Betsy has changed my life. (Here she goes again!) I will never, ever, ever be the same person. Good? Bad? I'm not sure, yet. Given the average life span, the wound is still fresh, and I am really unable to determine how this will all end up. I have to tell myself that if a child like Miss Bets was given to someone else, the wound may have just grazed their skin. Still, others may have been cut much more profoundly than I.

I know many of you think all I do is whine about the negative in this situation. And, if you only know me through this blog, you are undoubtedly correct. This is my therapy. The place I CAN whine about it. All of it! Life. If all I did was tell you how great my kids are (they are), or how in love with my husband I am (a ton), or how great our lil' house is (it's pretty fantastic), or how God has abundantly blessed my life in ways too numerous to count (He has), then you would be bored and where's the fun in that?

With an ounce of perspective, it's not bad at all. Betsy is happy, silly, loving, smart, cute, awesome, and generally one of the coolest (okay, THE coolest) kids I've known. But some days I can't find perspective. Even an ounce. I look everywhere...the fridge, cracks of the couch, under my pillow. Nothin'. These are the days that I sink. I sink in that hole in my chest that I am not sure will ever be filled, and I mourn. I cry for the girl that could have been. The girl with the promise of the world at her feet with no limits in sight. I sob for the little girl before me. The one that works 5 gagillion times harder to execute the simplest of tasks. The girl that cannot utter the words I know that are in her mind. The words she desperately wants to shout. Even if they are, "Mom, you stink. Get over it!".

And, yes, sometimes I weep for myself. For the life I thought I would have had. The retirement that my husband and I would share. Sans kids. The loss of a life where our children, all of them, would no longer depend on us for their basic wants and needs.

Here's the irony, Betsy doesn't need the tears. This is MY problem. Not hers. She is perfectly and utterly content living the life that our gracious God has laid before her. She seems to know her purpose. I can handle the stares from strangers in Target, the snubbing she sometimes gets from other kids at school (sometimes even her own siblings and cousins), the dirty words used to describe kiddos like Betsy, because when I look at her, she smiles. That's it. That smile seems to say all of the words she's ever wanted to say.

Did I mention she smile a lot?

Seriously, my kids ARE freakin' awesome!

Vacay pics coming soon...