Imagine me pounding my fists...

It is happening again. Another medical crisis forcing us to react, research and work to uncover what could possibly be going on with my boy. I have always said the boys were very healthy -- in spite of the Cerebral Palsy that affects their motor skills. Very rarely have they required doctor visits for non-bone-related issues. Very rarely that is until the last year.

I hope I was grateful for those serene years of worrying only about the muscles and bones. Oh, I hope I didn't take them for granted.

Because this is the pits. Really. I want answers. I want them now. But I also want the answers to be an easy fix. Something that can be cured and not bother Mason again. Oh, I want that but fear it is not the case.

And that coupled with Benjamin's upcoming hand surgery has me doing what I do periodically -- spiral into a full-on pity party. Full on meaning that I want to jump up and down, scream at the top of my lungs and hit something really really really hard.

And so the alternative to that is to type. Pour out my heart and as I do, pray that the exercise will purge the tantrum and help me once again, see the glass as half-full.

Little Red is playing soccer again. And in my current state, I look at these photos and think of how much I am doing wrong with that. Soccer Mom is a new role for me and I am not very good at it. I started her first season without chairs to watch the game in. I didn't know. Then I fix her a little water bottle. Little. I didn't know to get a big ole water jug. I don't have a cute Soccer Mom shirt. I don't have an umbrella for the sun. I don't bring the right snacks. I have no idea how to do this. How to be the sports mom.....and yet, I must learn. I am excited to travel this different road with her and absolutely LOVE watching her play but today, in my pity party state, I want to scream about how many kids on those fields are perfectly fine. Perfectly fine. Not spending half of every week at doctor appointments,  getting medical tests, and having physical and occupational therapies.

I want to scream.

So right now, I must choose. I MUST choose gratitude. I must thank God for this girl of mine -- this precious gift.

Pretty much that is the story of my life -- your's too, probably. We have a choice every day. We can wallow in our pity -- stomping, screaming, thinking completely horrid thoughts like I want to do today -- or we can choose by an act of our very WILL to embrace the good stuff -- like the fact that my Little Red loves soccer and doesn't mind that I do not have the soccer mom thing down yet. Like the fact that she was so grateful when I took her to pick out a big ole jug for her water. And like the fact that she  gets tickled when I put on her team colors for the game! What a gift she is.

And this guy -- mercy, his attitude alone sets the bar for how I respond. He gets up early for appointments without complaint, gets his schoolwork done in waiting rooms and car rides and between appointments....and really never moans or whines about the issues causing all the grief. He never ceases to amaze me.

How we really felt about being at the hospital that early...

And so I will follow his example. I will lay down my desire to pitch a fit to end all fits. I will lay it down. I will instead start counting my blessings -- and I'll start right here:

One. Two. Three. Four. Goodness, I am just getting started -- this could take a while!