The Signs

"The signs are there." How can those words sound so reassuring? As Cindy spoke them today, I found myself almost relieved. Russ went for his "testing" this morning at the Dyslexia Center of Tennessee. Cindy and I have chatted many times over the past week or so, first about Caleb and now, ultimately, in regards to Russell B himself. She spent and hour and a half with him this morning, talking, building block patterns, spelling words and reading. Through all of this fun and excitement, she was able to unofficially tell us that the signs are there for dyslexia, but it is not a severe case. He struggles with processing as she put it, has a very low phonics base and gets lost in the details of things. She might as well have said everything in German or Latin because it all sounded foreign to me. The only thing that was loud and clear is that she is able to help him. Honestly, I don't know that I even need to know more, but we'll be in her office again next Friday to get all of the official results and create the plan. What a blessing that the Lord used my little punkin-headed-five-year-old and his backwards letters to bring us to the answer for possibly him, but definately, his big brother. It might be silly, but today, I'm celebrating "the signs".

The Heart of a Big Brother

"I don't want kids to make fun of them" is what he muttered through sniffles and watery eyes. Derek busted me working on the paperwork for Russ' testing on Wednesday when he snuck up on me at the table after his nightly 3-miles. He grabbed the paperwork and began mouthing to me "Does Russ have this?” not wanting to alarm his little brother. Equally as quiet, I shrugged my shoulders and hoped his lip reading skills would allow him to understand "We don't know, but it's possible; it’s possible they both do." This began a frantic scanning of the material as he rushed to understand what this might mean and lead to an equally frantic escape to his room where, behind closed doors, he sobbed as hard as he had when we told him my Grandmother was having her leg amputated last year. His heart was broken. I tried to comfort him, but all he could envision was his baby brothers being harassed and made fun of because of their circumstances by uncaring, ruthless peers. I told him, "this is possibly the beginning of their freedom, this is the how they learn to succeed, how to be in control of the situation. This is a good thing Derek." Maybe, I was again reassuring myself as much as I was him, but it is the truth. Derek looks at me, tears steaming down his face, "Mom, Russ does most everything on that paper." There was no argument to be had and any questions or second thoughts that I might have had ten minutes earlier, were eliminated by the words of a heartbroken 14-year-old brother. Russ does struggle with most everything in the pamphlet and this is where we get help. This is where our Lord provides a guardian angel. This is where our journey begins! This is also where you learn the true heart of a big bother!

An Old Dog Can Learn New Tricks

Well, she's not actually an old dog, but she sure has learned some new tricks. This post is just a good-old-fashioned shout out to my hero. She's spent the last year ramping up to start her own business and today, it's up and running. It might not have all the kinks worked out and there are many, many more ideas to ponder and experiment but she is officially in business (for a month now). I'm not sure her stomach will ever be the same or that she'll ever stop being the nervous nelly, but I couldn't be more proud of her. Way to go Mom!!! I love you.

The First Decade

For better or worse, that was our pledge. We had no idea what that meant, no idea of the "worse" that could come out of nowhere and knock you of your feet and completely unaware of the blessings that the better could bring. We were just kids, 22 and 23. Derek was 4 and probably as ready to make such a commitment as we were. I look at the pictures today and think, we look like babies; we were.

There have been ups and there have been downs. I can't tell you how many of either or that the better outnumbers the worse, maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't. There isn't a day that's easy and there isn't a minute that doesn't take work. The laughter is still there and the joy that we found in each other which lead to those vows hasn't disappeared, but sometimes, sometimes it gets lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday life...in the hectic schedules, the struggles at school, the laundry, the bills, the ballgames, the jobs and the stress of keeping it all going.

We were able to get away this weekend for four days, four days with no need to find someone else's socks, no lunches to pack, no ballgames to rush too, no bills to find in the mailbox, no work to report to, no major crisis to respond to. "Do you hear that?" Chris asked, "No" I replied, "isn't it great!" We spent hours doing little to nothing, I think I slept 18 of the first 24 hours of our trip. It was rest, it was rejuvenation, it was wonderful! There wasn't anywhere to be, anywhere to go, nothing that had to be done and no one waiting for some completed task or depending on our next move. It was relief, it was the opportunity to regroup, refresh, breathe again. We didn't do anything really, but that's the beauty of being with someone that completes your soul, someone that gets you...you don't have to do anything. You don't even have to talk.

As I look back on the events that have occurred over the last decade which have earned us the right to take this four day hiatus; I laugh, I cry, I cringe, I roll my eyes, shake my head and I am thankful. Thankful that through it all we were together. Maybe not always on the same page, maybe not in the same place, but always together. It's the together that gets us through (and sometimes the apart, but I am giggling as I write that).

I don't always know why, but he is the love of my life. When you're a little girl, you spend days, months, years dreaming about that one man that will sweep you off your feet and bring your fairy tale to life. You have to know that I grew up witnessing the fairy tale. Joe and Pam Loftin are as "cheesy and happy-ending" as it gets. Watching and longing for that your whole life creates big shoes to fill. I don't know that we anywhere near their cheesy and we're still writing our "ever-after" but in the grand scheme of things, we've got the "happily" down-pat. I tell him all the time, I couldn’t get through this life of ours with anyone else.

We’ve earned lots of badges of honor as they say and we’ve done it together. It wasn’t always easy and wasn’t always fun, but it was ours, our first decade.

The Meeting

Bright and early, well maybe just early, we rolled into Chapman's Retreat Elementary School's parking lot; waiting for our appointment with Russ' teacher the morning after receiving the 4th two-page note (this one type-written) from Caleb's teacher. I'm not even sure we're both awake at this time but I know we're both nervous. Nervous because we're not sure what to expect. Not sure because we've not crossed these bridges before and we're not sure if we're be realistic (I'm sure that Chris is and I'm probably not, but that's beside the point), if we're asking too much, if we're over-reacting (again, I probably am) or if there really is a problem. We only know that this year is turning out to be a very hard year.

Russ works very, very hard at his homework and studying at home; he works harder than I ever did and 100 times harder that Derek does, has and/or ever will. Yet, his grades and frustration level don't reflect his effort and work. He has been blessed with a very kind and gentle teacher this year; one with whom Chris and I were both impressed at open house and who immediately fits us into her schedule to discuss our concerns. We meet her at the front doors of the school at literally, 6:30am before we're heading out for our mini-anniversary trip. I have graded papers in hand, not that I really even know what I'm going to do with them. She smiles that warm and welcoming smile and we try to respond with the same.

Sitting on the couch across from her, I feel like the student, the nervous and anxious student and my heart breaks for my sweet Russy who feels this way every day. She is very quick to remind us of the great transition period between 2nd and 3rd grade and tells of the overall immaturity of this year's 3rd graders in general. There is discussion of it being "early in the year" and "just not getting it yet". She is encouraging in her tone and choice of words. While she discusses all the extra things that we can do to help him, I continue to hear a common theme, the theme is "modify to show success." I am the first, very very first, to pray for my children's success and self-esteem. There are many, many prayers that sound identical to "Lord, please let this be a positive experience for him. Let him feel successful and give him confidence." I do not under any circumstance want any of them, or any other child to feel defeated. However, I am concerned about this modifying everything. "If he can't spell all 15 words, we'll drop him down to 10", "Stop studying so hard, spend 20 - 30 minutes and be done, otherwise, he'll hate school"...this is all good for the moment, but at what point are we going to get beyond the here and now and the feel-good? When are we going to find out what is causing this struggle? When do we begin to help him overcome this obstacle and achieve true success? "We won't let him fail third grade." Thank you, but is that really the worst thing that can happen here? No, I don't think so. The worst thing that can happen here is that we continue to cover-up the underlying issue that is holding him back, frustrating him to his core and causing him to fall farther and farther behind.

Please excuse me while I get up on my soap box and excuse me if I offend you in anyway. My comments are not toward any of Russ' teachers and not toward any teacher that I know. I know that each and every one of his teachers have loved him deeply and they have worked and worked to help him and each year he has made great strides, but at this point, he is realizing he can't do the work the other kids are doing. He needs hero, he needs an answer, he needs someone to step outside of the typical success model and think "one day, Russell Barton Woodard is going to be responsible for taking care of himself, functioning in society, obtaining gainful employment and hopefully, supporting and providing for a family of his own." He and many other children, and there are many of them, are still responsible for 100% of the information and skills that are being taught them, they will still be held accountable for this knowledge but yet, someone somewhere is making it okay for our teachers to "remove" these elements from their daily workload in order to make sure the child(ren) can feel successful and reach the necessary goals to promote to the next level. I appreciate the time and concern that Ms. F spent with us at school I believe that she is genuinely concerned for Russ specifically and wants what is best for him, but our system has taught our teachers to modify until there is success. I want them to go back to teaching until there is success. I have to say that I believe 100% in modification for students who need the modification, but until testing has proven that there is no other option, we need innovative, out-of-the-box teaching that reaches our children where they are an pulls them up to their potential.

I left the meeting more concerned and exhausted than when we entered; not at Ms. F, but at the situation. I am depleted of all thoughts outside of helping my son; the answers we received cannot be the right answers, not at this time anyway. My heart is heavy and my thoughts are leaden with the struggles of my two boys and all they are going through this year...how to help them, how to find the answers, how to be their hero. I am consumed with their needs.

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens (Psalm 68:19). Without him, my burdens, I could not carry.

Hope

Caleb, that is what my precious baby wrote on the top of his paper. Only, it was from the right-hand side of the paper moving across to the left and all the letters were formed in his kindergarten handwriting, completely backwards. In my most calm and unconcerned voice, I praise him "Caleb, you did such a great job writing your name; I am very proud of you." His face beaming with a victorious smile. "When you write your name at school, don't you start from this corner (pointing to the left)?" A confident reply of "No ma'am, Ms. Pantall says we start right here."

This was the first glimpse of backwardness that Caleb showed me, to be followed in a few days by putting the letters of his brother's name on the refrigerator in magnetic letters backwards. After some quick research on the internet, and yes, I know that you should NEVER go to the internet for information, but seriously, what else was I supposed to do in a panic, I came to realize that out of 32 general behaviors and characteristics of a dyslexic, Caleb is a dead-ringer for 16 of them. The report says that most dyslexics would exhibit ten. As I read, goose bumps cover my arms and my heart beats faster; I feel like a window has been opened and the light is shinning for possibly the first time in several years.

I speak to his teachers who do not mention "the word" and encourage me to give him more time to develop. His pediatrician immediately refers me to the dyslexia center in Brentwood. This is where I find my guardian angel and my hope.

Cindy Loftin, by coincidence and not relation, answers my call. She hears all that I have to say and offers many suggestions and encouragement. Her voice is soothing and confident, never concerned or shocked. She confirms that what I have witnessed and explained to her sounds very much like text-book dyslexia but discusses the possibilities and the limitations they have at this time due to Caleb's age and offers direction as to assistance he should receive at school. Then, she begins to give me other warning signs to watch for as he develops over the next year to two. It is this description that catches me completely off guard.

She talks of struggles with reading, reading that is consistently right at or below grade level and frustration that exists in the process. She mentions that teachers might not feel the problem is severe enough to warrant additional support from the school. She warns me that work might begin to become overwhelming and he might become unable to complete the assigned tasks in the allotted time frames even though he is working diligently and is on task. He might continue to spell based on pronunciation versus actual spelling and could possibly excel in math but struggle with word problems.

As her words continue, a picture of someone else very near and dear to my heart is revealed and I sit almost unable to speak. I have to stop her in mid sentence. She is talking about my Russ. My sweet, quiet “Russell” who has struggled and fought his way to 3rd grade. Who spends at least an hour and usually an hour and a half each night on homework and studying that should really probably only take about twenty to thirty minutes. My precious punkin who has continuously told me this year "I'm the dumbest kid in my class" to which I have demanded is absolutely NOT dumb and endlessly encouraged to continue to study hard and be less harsh with himself. This tactic is not really working though, as hard as he is working, he is bringing home grades that should be representative of a student who pays no attention in class and cares very little about his/her work.

I have been at a loss of how to help him; I have cried and been broken-hearted, I have stressed about it with my Mom and with Chris...and now, now this angel has brought hope to us. She has offered a possible solution to his struggles, to both of their struggles. Solutions that will require work, but will provide tools and opportunities for success that are, at this point, evading us. My heart is bursting with emotion. While none of this is in concrete and is completely untested at this point, I just bask in the faithfulness of our Lord who always brings us hope.

The Fever

The fever has struck at the Woodard household. The second Chris walked in the door from church traffic this afternoon, TVs were blaring and commentators echoed throughout the house. It's not enough to just watch the Titans' game, oh no, we must see them all! How else will we know how the fantasy teams are doing? No, that isn't a misprint, I did say teams. This year, "He Hate Me" is only participating in two leagues; I guess I should count my blessings. It would be bad enough if only Chris caught this awful fever, but oh no, it spreads like ragweed through my house and anyone of the male persuasion becomes glued to the television. I guess I neglected to include professional sports in my official band this year....I'll know better next time!

Far from the Red-Rubberband-Gun

For years, I hunted with my Daddy. We hunted birds...quail, dove and on the rare occasion, duck. I realized on my very first, uneventful and unsuccessful duck hunt that regardless of how cool it was for me to tout it to the boys, it was way too cold! Quail hunting was my favorite; I loved the time that Daddy and I spent in the woods walking and talking. I am sure that is why I have such a long stride in my step today because at 12, you had to bust it to keep up my 6' 2", long-legged father! I loved to watch the dogs work and I loved the sound that only a flushed covey of quail can make. I will never, ever forget the first time I heard that flutter. I couldn't even shoot, I jumped just about all the way out of my three layers of clothes! We had great times together those days and those are the memories I will always treasure.

It soon became evident that quail had no where to live in our area so as the dogs passed, so did our time in the woods. By the time I was in high-school, dove hunting was my only opportunity to sport my camo. Note that when I was hunting, you didn't find a "ladies fit" camouflage anything, anywhere. That Mossy Oak fitted ladies hat with a pink insignia that I wanted so badly yesterday, was nowhere to be found while I was picking off birds!

By this time, Jenny was becoming quite the experienced shooter as well and people took notice when "those girls" entered the field. What the boys didn't know is that we started early. As soon as Henry Horton opened for the season, we were blowing through shells and targets making sure that we'd be on fire come September 1st. It wasn't really about being better than the boys; it was about making Daddy proud. It was just icing on the cake when our trophy pile was bigger than theirs.

When Derek was little, he spent many an hour outside shooting at anything that moved with his little red rubber band-shooting-wooden-shot-gun and we were positive he'd follow in our footsteps. We knew he'd have the passion and the love for the game that we did. At five years old, we even took him with us to the dove field. By this time his red gun had shot its last rubber band, but he fashioned himself a new one with a nearby tree branch and shot up the sky. He fetched downed birds all afternoon and could have given even the best trained four-legged-retrievers a run for their money. Back at Mom and Dad's, he climbed into the back of the truck where we were cleaning birds. This particular season, I was a million months pregnant with Russ and the size of the truck itself. Derek just burst out in tears; "Mom, what if that bird were pregnant like you?" What do you say to that? My sweet little 5-year old boy couldn't imagine loosing his mom and his soon-to-be bother or sister for what he considered "sport" and he was positive that the bird families felt exactly the same. For some reason, the standard, "population control" and "habitat" speeches just didn't really work for this objection. Derek's bird-hunting passion ended right then and there.

Fast forward to fourteen years of age. The boy has decided that as long as they are going to be eaten, it's okay to pluck a few birds from the sky and protect their habitats and control their population. He wanted to hunt last year and in true Loftin-form had practiced and practiced. His name was drawn for the TWRA juvenile hunt and he was ready. The rain was ready too and the only thing that fell from the sky last year was water! 2008 is a different story and we're calling it the inaugural season. Today, Derek and Grandaddy took to the field at the invite of Aunt Ninny and Unc. He looked so old decked out in his mix-matched camo, toting gun cases, stools and coolers. My mind dashed back 19 years ago when I was doing the same and those memories flooded my thoughts. I so badly wanted him to have the same experiences, the same memories, the same love for the sport; I wanted it to be a great day in the dove field.

Hours passed and I was nervous to even call and ask. Finally, I reached Dad and asked the fateful question. Spirits were high and dove were on the ground! I asked quickly, "His dove or my and Jenny's dove?” You see another Loftin trick was that on our first few trips to the dove field, Dad would shoot right along side us and often "we" killed birds that there is no way we were able to. That was Dad for you, always encouraging us and always building our confidence. There was no doubt that he would be willing to do the same for my boy. This time though, there was no need, the birds on the ground belonged to my baby, my very big boy who has come so far from his red-rubberband-gun.

He Will See Us Through

I watched as my friend's sister buried her first-born child today. I hurt for her, I cried for her and I begged God for strength for her. As I listened to the words of the three pastors that spoke at Ricky's funeral, I reflected on the events that I had experienced since Sunday. I went back to the pain and sorrow in Terrie's voice on Sunday morning as I spoke to her minutes after hearing the news, I reflected on the shock and anger that she voiced and that echoed in Chris' words when he told me. I remember the rushed and frantic conversation we had as she hurried out the door to reach her sister Sunday afternoon when they returned home from the Lake and the painful silence that filled Terrie's house Monday afternoon. The red, swollen eyes that replaced her bright brown ones and the hurt and quiet spirit of her mother. I thought in amazement of the thousands, literally, thousands of family and friends who lined the parking lot, sidewalks and walls of Williamson Memorial on Tuesday to love on Ricky's family and say their good-byes and the hundreds more who did not even have a seat to sit in during the service today. The agony that wept from Melissa's soul was inconsolable and Ricky's despair was crippling. Matt stood so strong for his parents, supporting both of them through is own sorrow and disbelief. Then there was Precious Anna Grace who questioned “where did my Daddy go” after they closed the casket. Ricky was loved; he was deeply loved by his family, his friends, his co-workers and his community.

This is the second funeral I have attended this year for officers that have taken their own lives, both whose actions created a wake of anguish and bedlam for those who knew and loved them. I find myself searching for the answer to why and how they could reach the point that they do not realize their importance, their impact and their significance in the lives of others…others who love them, others who depend on them, others who so desperately need them and will never be able to regain their sense of completeness without them. I cannot help but think that this can only be the work of Satan himself. Only the Evil One could work his way into the mind and heart of our loved ones and friends to leave them with such feelings of futility.

My thoughts are scattered and I cannot seem to finish this as I don’t have any answers. The Bible tells us that “all things work together for the good…” (Romans 8:28) and who are we to argue with His word? We may not understand, but we aren’t supposed to always understand, we are to love and serve our Lord and each other. He will see us through.

The Weekend

My computer has been down at home and I wasn't able to update anything all weekend...completely without access to the internet. I can't even remember the last time that happened. It was kind of crazy; at some point, we had to turn the house upside down looking for a phone book - which I was amazed we still owned. There was a lot that went on in the Woodard household this weekend and looking back at it, I'm not sure how we packed it all into the weekend, good thing we had an extra day.

Thursday, Derek ran again, this time finishing 61st out of over 100 runners. He was so disappointed, but as I told him, it was 92 degrees outside, the fact that he could finish the race was a huge accomplishment. Grandaddy D was in town from Tampa to cheer him to the finish and Mimi made it there too. As he rounded the last turn and headed for the finish line Caleb yells "turn on the heat Bubba"...my thought was "if it gets any hotter, no one is going to finish" but of course, Derek stepped it up and passed several kids, one who did not appreciate Derek's NASCAR style moves and abruptly "bumped" him back a position. I think he actually ran better this time, it only took him a minute or two to catch his breath after the race instead of ten or twelve...it was success as far as I am concerned.

Friday, Grandaddy D picked Derek up for a short visit in Murfreesboro because Aunt Terrie was getting married but only after a quick trip to the shoe store for dress shoes...in a size 9. Looks like my little boy might actually grow a few inches sometime soon...he will be so excited! Caleb got some serious Mom & Dad time because Russ then left to spend the night at Mimi & Grandaddy's for a fishing trip on Saturday. Caleb loves it when he gets all of the attention. He even finagled a 9:30pm trip to Marble Slab for some ice cream...you know, the baby thing again!

Saturday, Russ fished with Grandaddy, reeling in a massive 3 ounce fish! Derek witnessed the exchanging of vows between Aunt Terrie and now Uncle, Jack. Caleb had one last splash at the rec center. I made it out of the house with no boy of any sort in tow and managed lunch and shopping with Marisa while Chris drafted yet another fantasy football team.

Sunday, we were awakened by tragic news that Ricky Headley, Jr, "little Ricky" to us, had passed away Saturday. My heart aches for my friend Terrie and her family. Please pray for them; they have been through so much. Melissa will bury her first-born tomorrow, I don't know how you even get out of bed to do that. Ricky has a 2-year old daughter, Anna Grace, who I pray will remember how she was the light of her Daddy's eye, please pray for memories of him for her as she grows up. This is a time of suffering and grief for the Headley family, please ask for God's healing touch for them.

Monday, we rose very, very early and headed into Franklin for the Franklin Classic. Derek and Chris ran the 5K and Russ and Caleb tackled the Kids Kilometer. Derek finished his 3.2 miles in 29:52 and Chris followed right behind in 29:54 each having an average time of 9:38 per mile. I'm pretty sure they are still sore today! Russ knocked out the kids kilometer in a mere 4:47 (which was 8th place by the way) and Caleb (with Derek's help) finished up in a little over 9 minutes. We might still be waiting for him if his biggest brother hadn't given him a piggy-back-ride for 100 yards. Derek is our hero, he chugged that last kilometer with Caleb after running 5 of his own! Everyone had a great time and while Chris looks really thrilled to be there in the picture above, he had a good time once it was all said and done.

After the race, there was laughter over the following conversation that has been declared my quote of the race:

C - (beginning to walk instead of run at approximately 2.5 miles) "D, run on if you want to, but I've hit my wall"
D - (immediately stopping as well)"that's okay Dad, I've hit your wall too!"

I know the secret to their record times; they are both so competitive that neither one of them wanted to let the other get a leg-up so they both ran until they couldn't function any longer!! Going into the event, Chris had the advantage on the distance (running 4 miles at least 5 days a week) and Derek had the speed (running a mile in 8:30). Russ and I were placing wagers on who would cross the finish line first (but we'll never tell who we bet on). It was great to see them coming up the street on the last leg together. It was a day they will both remember and cherish.

This Labor Day weekend brought both sorrow and joy, while we will always remember this weekend as a tragedy in the life of our friends, we will also remember the joys that our family experienced. Life is a journey through which we will encounter both, but never more than we can bear, and that's a promise!