There are days, weeks even when I can forget that my children exist in a bubble. That I have created a safe haven for them, a place to nuture them and encourage growth. A childhood greenhouse.
Then there are those days when an overheard conversation or the entreating look in my sons eye will catch me off guard. I will realize they don’t understand, they don’t know the neighborhood children are making fun of them, they don’t know they are being ignored or worse. I realize this even when they don’t. I realize that though we have made huge strides, we aren’t done yet and the scary part is we may never be.
My daughter asked me tonight, “What if I’m not a good mother?” I’m sure that she will be a great mother, a wonderful wife, but still there is that fear…what if she isn’t given the opportunity? What if no one gives her the chance to see what a beautiful, kind and loving person she really is?
Will my son be able to control his anger and live with his sensory issues enough to allow him to work, to have a family, to be autonomous?
Tomorrow I will cuddle my children in bed, eking out a few more minutes of sleep and thank G-d that they have another day in the barrel, another day where they aren’t subjected to the taunts of ill trained children and frustrations and misunderstandings of educators who don’t know them at all, another day to grow, to learn, to dream. When the day gets away from me and I realize it truly is a barrel of monkeys I will try to remember, “I have seen the village and I don’t want it raising my children.”