Lessons from the witch with the emerald-green face...

I have an extremely theatrical family -- we love to be on the stage (well Dad doesn't...), we love to be in the audience, we love to read plays, and I even have a budding director in the lot. But when we made our children's first trip to New York city in November, not one of us had ever seen the critically-acclaimed musical, Wicked.

Arriving in Times Square!

But almost everyone we know had. Seriously, our friends in theater had seen it, loved it and often played the soundtrack for us; our friends on Facebook had documented their show-goings often; and we had heard Idina Menzel sing in person. Suffice it to say we were extremely excited to see the show on Broadway. 

Me and my crew in Central Park.

And let me say right here that we loved it. The show was fabulous and we dream about getting to see it again one day.

But I do have a small question: how in the world did not one person, not one of our large number of friends that I mentioned above, ever, not even once, mention that the Elphaba's sister has special needs? That Elphaba's sister is in a wheelchair because she was born too early? That Elphaba's sister has what I am certain is Cerebral Palsy?????

Dad and our crew on Liberty Island in New York Harbor.

I don't want to spoil the show for the one or two people in America who may not have seen it yet....but I have to admit that every time I hear the soundtrack I ponder how I possibly had missed that pretty significant plot point prior to entering the theater?

But perhaps the point that is really rattling around in my head is much more serious than plot points. Perhaps the point rattling around is more about the very real issues facing siblings of special needs children; of the very real issue of over-coddling by parents of special needs children; and the very real issue of finding the right balance between meeting the needs of the child without completely over-compensating for the fact that he is in a wheelchair/is sick/needs surgery/etc.

Ready for the Show!

As a family we walk a tight-rope. We choose vacations based on accessibility. That means there are probably places that the girls might enjoy going that we will not visit because it would be too hard with the wheelchairs. 

When Benjamin had his year-o'-surgeries last year, we let him have first-pick of rides at Disneyland.

People readily remember the boys -- leaving their triplet sister sometimes feeling like "hey, I'm part of the group too." They get attention -- positive and negative -- when we enter a room. I imagine it is sometimes hard to be the triplet without a special need.

Day-to-day life requires a Team Shrader effort. Claire carries more than her share so that I can take care of her brother who requires more.

Cate was only two-years-old when she climbed out of her high chair, climbed up on the wheel of Benjamin's wheelchair and wiped the ice cream off of his chin to help. She already knew that it was important that we all work together.

A no-doubt well-meaning adult once told a young young Claire that she felt sorry for her because her Mommy was so busy with her brothers. I may have lost my cool that evening when she told me. Not with her -- but in defense of her, her brothers and our family dynamics.

Because the bottom line in non-Fairy Tale real life, is that everybody gets a choice about how we handle our personal journey.  Since they were very young I have told my boys that they get to make a choice every single morning: Will I feel sorry for myself today? or will I use today to glorify God in whatever He gives me?

The night the well-meaning adult expressed pity for Claire, I realized she also had to make a daily choice: Will I feel sorry for myself? Or will I ask God to be glorified in everything I do today?

Dear Elphaba and her sister will continue to rattle around in my head -- I mean we sing along with the soundtrack almost every morning -- but they will be a good reminder that Benjamin, Mason and Claire are not alone in having to make a daily choice. No. I also get to choose joy every single morning. I get to choose to give God the day and ask for the wisdom He promises in order to meet the physical and emotional needs of these amazing four He entrusted to me.

I get to choose to count my blessings.

Hold tight to the tether...

Oh, I love a parade. Love love love a parade. I remember marching with my little bitty baton in my hometown parade when I was six. I really believed I was a star. I remember the pride with which my frozen little arms twirled and twirled that baton.

Later, I would organize another hometown parade as part of my job. I have the sweetest memories of hours at work each year determining the parade line-up, examining the entrants and praying for good weather.

And when the triplets were born, we began a tradition of watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade every single year. They were three the first time they really acted interested. Of course, I had built it up all week. Telling my boys all about the huge Spiderman balloon that would fly. Of course, Spidey didn't fly that year. I am not sure we ever learned why but we sat glued to that television waiting and waiting.

Nonetheless, a tradition was born and we never miss the parade. So making our way down 6th Avenue in New York City this year was a treat. Finding our spot through an organization that specializes in making the arts accessible, was a gift. And freezing our little tootsies off....well, that was just a bonus. :)

This week as I sort through the many (many, many) photos I took of the parade (think flip book!), I am struck again by the number of handlers each balloon employs for safety.

An hour before this year's parade, we were uncertain whether or not the balloons would be allowed to fly due to high winds. The authorities decided to let the parade move forward but insisted the balloons fly lower to the ground than usual.

Each balloon is anchored by two vehicles and anywhere between 50-100 handlers each -- with a minimum weight requirement of 125 lbs. per handler. Macy's goes to great lengths to anchor those balloons safely to the parade route.

We were amazed at the choreography of the handlers' movements. Each balloon had a "director" marching backward in front of the balloon and the forward-facing handlers. At the director's indication they moved as one, either letting the tethers longer or reeling them tighter. They walked in-sync with each other and made the balloons travel at a seemingly smooth cadence.

When the superhero that we watched intently for all those years ago turned the corner, we noticed immediately that something was amiss. His arm had a tear, an injury. My boys joked that Lizard might be loose...but what we would later learn was that because the balloons were having to fly so low to the ground, a tree in Central Park actually did the damage to Spiderman right before he made the turn to see us!

But when SpongeBob passed our way, we noticed something unusual with his handlers:

One had fallen behind. She was walking briskly to catch up but the distance was growing.

We felt frustrated for her when the police allowed cars to pass during the parade lull blocking her from crossing the intersection to close the distance between her and SpongeBob.

It probably wasn't an emergency. There were after all somewhere between 49 and 99 other handlers of that balloon. But still, I wondered if her absence left the sea creature a little less anchored to the parade route, a little less secure. I'm thinking yes.

And the mental picture tonight is huge for me. I think one -- or 50 -- of my handlers may have dropped a tether this weekend. 

We returned home from this memory-making trip Tuesday night with the biggest smiles and fullest hearts and we had to hit the ground running. School work had to be done; the house needed to be decorated for Christmas; laundry had to be done; and groceries purchased (ok, I haven't actually done that one yet...but the stress of needing to is quite enough!)...my to-do list seems unending.

My grumpy started to surface Friday night as we purchased our trees. By Saturday morning I was beginning to crack under the imagined pressure of needing to make every single minute from tree selection to decoration, to cookie-making and present-opening some perfect Norman Rockwell memory, a Pinterest-worthy memory.

Oh mercy.

I took a little break from everyone and just lay across my bed. What in the world happened to me? How could I get so out-of-sorts and beside myself so fast? As I pore over these photos tonight, I am taking a deep breath. Because the answer is so obvious, so right here in front of my face: my tether slipped.

Oh, there are no handlers to blame. I alone dropped the ball on this one.

See, Christmas is a wonderful season and I love love love the tree, the cookie-baking, the lights and ornaments, tinsel and all the other trappings. But at the heart of the season, at the heart of why we celebrate is the ONE who is our real tether, our actual anchor:

"We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf..." Hebrews 6:19-20 (ESV)

Oh my dear ones, we have so many options of anchors today. We can choose to use Social Media to hold us steady. It won't. We can focus on our football team. It can't. We can expect it of our spouse, our children, our friends. They will fail.

Only Jesus. Only Jesus can serve as the anchor of our soul, as our steadfast hope.

My prayer for you -- and me -- tonight, is that we will find the balance of navigating the joys of the season while staying firmly anchored in Jesus. Isn't it a blessing to know that no amount of turbulent wind can cause him to lose grip on our tether?

Deep deep sigh.

Thank you.

Dear New York,

My Mama raised me to write my thank you notes immediately (or sooner) after receiving a gift. And so as the rest of my house sleeps tonight, I don't want to waste one more minute before expressing my most sincere gratitude for the gift you gave us this past week.

Usually when I have anticipated something for a long time, my expectations get all in the way and the long-awaited event can not possibly live up to what I so desire it to be. You should know I had anticipated this trip for a long long time!

One year ago, two days before Thanksgiving 2012, we learned that our Benjamin would require a major spine surgery. With one x-ray, our plans for a family vacation in your city -- the first for our kids -- would have to be canceled. We were all utterly disappointed.

Desperate to find our holiday joy, we tuned into the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade -- our annual tradition. When a commercial offered a number for wheelchair-accessible viewing for the parade, my husband and I looked at each other over the children's heads. Could we? Was it possible to spend Thanksgiving in New York City?

I only waited until the Monday after Thanksgiving to call:

"Yes, I would like to talk to someone about accessible seating for the parade."

"Um. What parade?"

"The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, of course."

"Ma'am, that was last week."

Once I explained, my little family became first on the list for a pass to the viewing area. And Dad and I began to plan.

Waiting for the parade to begin!

Please do not doubt my sincerity, when I tell you that throughout the holidays last year, every time I felt weighted down by the grief of this pressing surgery, I would think, but next year we will celebrate. We will go to New York.

When Benjamin had his first of three surgeries in December last year, I thought "New York, next year."

When I bought Christmas presents last year, I shopped for big coats for the girls. We would need them next year in New York.

When my Mom crocheted me a new scarf, I asked for one to match the new coat....for New York next  year, I explained.

It was a coping tool to be certain. It was something to look forward to when all of the worry, surgery and recovery would be just a distant memory.

And when November approached this year -- three surgeries behind us; rehab behind us; countless doctor appointments, pre-checks, and post-checks and all sundry of checks -- behind us -- I began to get giddy with excitement.

My darling hubby was wary. And while he made excuses for his wariness -- freezing temps, crowds of people, inaccessibility issues -- I knew that he was really just worried that my expectations were too high. He was trying to protect me from disappointment.

Thanksgiving dinner in a New York restaurant...me and my Benjamin!

But oh New York, you did not disappoint. From your beautiful parade and majestic sights to the talents on Broadway and beauty of Central Park, you exceeded my every expectation. You exceeded the imaginings of this really really good imaginer.

Me and my guy at the Statue of Liberty -- with New York behind us!

You opened the arms of your city and let me ice skate with my girls -- making sweet memories with two amazing young ladies who held me through this year, supporting me and their brother with baking, laundry and love!

You displayed the talent of your shining stars in Wicked, Newsies, and Once. And the joy of watching my four who love the theater soak all of that in was a priceless gift!

You gave me a scare when Times Square was bigger and brighter than I had remembered. I feared that would cause some anxiety for Benjamin, especially with the crowds. But oh, New York, instead you allowed him to realize that in all that glimmer and shine, the excitement of what might be around the next corner left no time for being anxious, no need to pause and worry, and he pushed himself and loved every minute. Every single minute.

Me and my crew before Newsies!

Please know I am taking each memory and holding it in my heart. I will savor and enjoy and pore over all 3,000 photos again and again. And every time, every time, I will thank you in my heart, New York. I will thank you for being a beacon to this scared and weary Mama for 12 long months and then for exceeding my hopes and dreams with every avenue, restaurant and street vendor.

With a grateful heart,
Carol