Two days ago Toby turned nine years old. Thus bringing to a close the month of birthdays.

Toby is my sensitive, tender-hearted boy. He often gets hurt in that way where your heart gets big in your chest and you have to fight hard not to break into tears. I remember feeling that way a lot as a child. It is always painful to watch him when he feels that way. Often it is over a small thing that would be insignificant to other children, but Toby feels it deep in his soul.

He is also a wonderful friend. Both for me and the kids. He is chatty and inquisitive and observant. He knows where everything is at my house, his dads house and even his classroom. His teacher commented to me recently that she wouldn't be able to run her class so well if it wasn't for the help of my little guy.

His friends at school adore him. I watch them interact and it makes me feel all gooey inside to see him leading a group of boys in one fort building project or another.

Reading and writing are still a struggle for Toby. The hardest part is not letting him get discouraged. He so badly wants to be like all the other kids and feels ashamed when he can't keep up. He doesn't understand that his Apraxia makes it difficult for him, not any incompetence on his part. He's a really clever boy and compensates for his learning disability in creative ways.

He often sneaks in bed with me and i know he's there as he digs his feet into my back. He always wakes up with a smile. The mornings are the only time i can get a hug out of him now.

I love him and am so proud of him. I hope life gets a little easier for him this year.

Toby has been having trouble. I should have known, actually i did know, that this would be very hard for him.

He is angry one day. Slamming doors and refusing to talk. The next day brought to tears by everything. Hiding under his school desk, holding his breath, red-faced, trying not to cry.

I have been feeling a little lost. My patience tried to it's very last thread. My heart torn apart by my little man who has pulled atthose same heart strings his whole life.

I spoke with his teacher, his principals, his dad. We all agreed that he was having trouble. At first i thought about counselling. It seems like a good idea, but a little pricey. Then i found out about a program in town called Rainbows for kids just like him. Kids from broken homes, kids who have lost a parent. All that lovely stuff. It's all about the kids. They sit around and talk. And apparently, and hopefully, it makes them feel better.

So, starting this thursday we will all be going to Rainbows together. Me and my four kids.

It seems a little awkward to be sending them into therapy, or group therapy, when i hate therapy myself. But, i will do anything to help my lovely and perfect boy.

Happy birthday Toby.

I hope you enjoy you're birthday. I hope it lives up to all the expectations you've been struggling with for the last few weeks. I know how important you're friends are to you. That's why we have 8 boys sleeping over.

I am proud of you for remaining confident this year in the face of so many frustrations learning to read and write. I hope things will come easier for you in the next year.

I am proud of your tireless energy for playing and creating games. The inventions all over our yard make me happy.

I love you very much.

As toby got in the car to go to school this morning he looked down at his feet, in sandals! but, that's another story, and shouted:

"Oh my god! That is evil!!!!"

"What?" I asked him looking down at his feet.

His toenails had been painted blue.

"You painted your toenails?"

"NO!!!"

I looked over at tristan and she is covering her face to hide how hard she is laughing. She painted his toenails while he was sleeping, knowing he insists on wearing sandals.

We gleefully walked into school telling everyody to look at toby's feet.

It was a day and what a day it was.

Last night going through my old photos i was struck by that old cliche of how time just sneaks by you. The days are so long, but the years so fast. Three kids in school. How the hell did this happen to me?

Eliza was fine, great. Excited and ready. Full of anticipation. When i asked her about the best part she said;

"I'm excited to learn new things."

Really. It was a perfect day.

We spent the afternoon at the lake enjoying the last few hot, hot days before fall comes. Playing with friends. Balancing on logs. Building (and wrecking) sandcastles.

Dinner of tacos, everybody's favourite, and toasts of high points of the day, and the best parts of summer, and the most exciting thing about school starting.

Last thursday night i was sitting beside a lovely pool, surrounded by palm trees and feeling like i had finally, found, some friends. Some parents who could sit and listen to me tell my story about my oldest son. My child who has filled me with so much joy and happiness, and grief and regret. My toby.

Although my weekend in san jose was filled with meeting wonderful, fun, intelligent women, the conversation i had that night will always be the highlight of the weekend for me. Because i felt okay to talk about how difficult it has been. How hard it is to spend so much money on one of your children, on their therapy, and feel lost in a system without a diagnosis that stands up to any governmental criteria.

Toby is a big question mark. When i got off the plane and greeted my children i was struck by toby. At how bad his speech is. When i am with him everyday it becomes so easy to lull myself into believing that he is getting better. That he sounds like all the other kids. But, for the first time, i was away from him. And with the distance of time i was grief stricken to really hear how bad his speech is.

And then i watched him while we were in vancouver. How he was constantly berated by other adults for being too loud, too rough, too much.

And so now, today, i am back at home. And i will follow the advice of some new friends and find him a diagnosis that will help him, help us, to get every single bit of help we can.

As i've said before shane has been recording songs at home. The kids have watched with a keen interest and have spent many of our quieter summer days forming a band.

In singing class* at school they learned the apology song by The Decemberists. Since then every single time we are in the car we have to listen to it and we ALL sing it at the top of our lungs. We are the popular choice for carpools.

So, with Toby on bass and electric guitar, parker on vocals and eliza on acoustic guitar they have been rehearsing. Parker mostly sings the ABC song, but it has been a highlight of the summer so far for me. While i am away next week shane has promised me that they will record it and i will definitely post it for all of you upon my return.

* I made a CD for the teacher with that song on it and he liked it so much he taught it to the kids.

** My camera is still wonky. I was able to get a couple photos off it, but i'm going to go get a new memory card tomorrow and hopefully that will work.

Today was report card day. As i expected, in a locked away corner of my heart, toby didn't meet the requirements for grade one.

In a fit of motherhood hysteria (which i promised myself i would never do) i raced off to the school to talk to the principals. The minute i started talking i burst into tears. I just couldn't help it.

Luckily for me they are the nicest, gentlest souls around and they eased me through a lovely and difficult conversation. They reassured me that everything would be okay. That toby is doing well and has come a long way. That because our school uses multi-age groupings toby would remain with his peer group and be given every opportunity to catch up and would never be singled out. Probably, he won't even notice.

It was so hard though. Being vulnerable that way. Letting them know how much it hurts me that it is hard for him. That he is having trouble. That the road ahead of us will be difficult and long. That their kind words really didn't make the sting go away.

Somehow, i have made it through. My kids are now 2,5,7 and 9.

2,4,6 and 8 was much more fun to say.

I kind of feel like we faked our way through toby's party as i am completely exhausted and keeping up the exuberance for a whole month of birthdays is exhausting.

But because toby is toby his party was the funnest of all. We had a boot camp party for him. All the kids dressed up in camo and we ran them through an obstacle course, some laps of the house and a couple games of capture the flag. Shane and i got to wear whistles and yell at them.

What could be better?

Toby occupies a large space in my heart and my worries. He's such an amazing little guy. Friends to everyone. He wanted to invite every boy in the school to his party and i'm sure they all would have gladly come. I had to limit him to the boys from three classes. His teacher often tells me she adores him and that she goes home every evening and her husband asks her what her "toby story of the day" is.

He has this disability which in the grand scheme of things is very minor. He is healthy, he is happy. It's just that speech is such a fundamental thing. It's how we communicate. I almost wish he couldn't talk at all because then we could say "he doesn't talk" when people question us. Instead people look at him like he's something "less." Kids tease him. He is often frustrated by people not understanding, or worse, pretending that they do by nodding their head "yes."

I just worry. I want the world to know him like i do. I want the world to experience all the little things that make toby, toby. I just love him.

Shane is away. He's away and i'm really enjoying it. We had and easy dinner, a frolic in the woods and the requisite giant slumber party in my room.

As i was laying there waiting for parker to go to sleep i was struck by the little moments. Tristan was reading her archie comic busting a gut. That girl has the strangest sense of humour. I frequently hear her cracking up in her bedroom to books. In a way i think it's her letting us know that she's up there awake. A little jubilant "hi!" from the eight year old girl.

Toby and parker were both lost in their own little dream worlds. Parker was singing something along the lines of:

twinkle twinkle little truck
abcdefg
all us travellers in the night
itsy bitsy dumptruck
now i know my abc's
thank you for your tiny light.

Toby was squeeking away in a high pitched whisper yell about "cougars in the box...(something, something)" followed by a raucous "in the hole little mouse...(something, something.)"

Eliza was asleep. She was suffering from post-birthday stress all day. Twirling her new gold chain with a heart pendant non-chalantly in front of everyone. Hoping for it to be noticed. She fell asleep before she could finish "Toby and parker are keeping me....(up)"

How wonderful. How lucky i feel during those moments and not just because i know that they are almost asleep.

Shane and i have both been overwhelmingly busy with our own things. We are getting along fine, really well actually. We are just not connecting in that way, the way that husbands and wives sometimes do. Some of them even get to do it in bed i hear. For us long term family bedders the pizzazz of the bathroom counter or rug burn inducing playroom floor has long lost it's sparkle and a good old bed in the missionary position sounds almost kinky.

*ahem*

What i meant to say was that we have no time together. Yet we sit side by side on the sofa at night laptops in, well, our laps and television on. Frankly it's boring and i welcome this little change to my routine. Except that all my favourite shows (sopranos, big love and huff) are not on this week because of memorial day. Stupid memorial day.

Part of the dry through the night success with toby has been midnight visits to the toilet, escorted by shane or myself (whoever stays up latest.)

Toby is so cute as he stumbles robot-like to the bathroom with a gentle hand guiding his way through the dark and silent night. He is really still asleep. So much so that we have to help him guide his penis in the right direction otherwise he just thrusts his hips forward and lets it fly all over the bathroom. Everywhere but in the toilet. I think being the cleaner of the bathroom makes me a little bit better at making the target and penis match up. Obviously though the extra attention to the details of target practice wake him up just a bit more.

The other night when i marched him stiff legged into the bathroom he was feeling chatty. Toby, being who he is, was oblivious to the fact that it was the middle of the night and the house was asleep so he spoke in his normal voice which is deep and loud and scratchy; "did anyone get drunk tonight?"

At first i had no idea what he was talking about and just said "no, nobody got drunk."

After i put him back in bed i remembered that he had spent the entire 2 1/2 hours at the baseball game collecting beer bottles and bottle caps and someone had joked that he would be drunk from the fumes. I didn't think he had even heard it.

I am always amazed at what they hear and what they choose to retain. The things that become memories for them.

When we were at a party after our fair the other night the kids were having log rolling contests on the lawn while the adults cheered them on from the balcony. I was overcome with the smell of freshly smooshed grass and beer on the breaths of all the men. It brought back my own flood of memories of nights with my parents enjoying themselves with friends while we played kick the can out on the grass.

The repetition of these memories amazes me. That i am doing the same things that my parents once did. That i am experiencing the same joys and happiness of friends and family.

I've been waiting to say anything because of that whole jinxing thing, but, toby has been dry through the night for two weeks.

I'm so proud of him on this success. In two weeks he will turn 7 years old. He can have friends over for sleepovers now. He has enough challenges on his plate, he really needed this achievement to boost his confidence.

I have this ongoing problem with toby. He's obsessed with guns and army. Somehow in his boyhood imagination the army and guns have become the most desirable answer to all of his questions.

"If there is an earthquake the army will save us."

"Apparently there IS such a thing as a net gun. Did you know that mom?"

When he brought home his pottery from his class a few weeks ago you can guess what he made right? Lots of guns. Except, of course, they were not guns when i asked. They were beavers and puppies that just happened to look like guns. Tristan though? She came home with puppies she had made and big piles of brown clay puppy poo. Of course, that was not poo either - just chocolate ice cream.

I always explain to him that i don't like guns. Guns kill people. We are lucky to live in canada because guns are not really a threat to us. People use guns for hunting, but we don't believe in hunting either unless it's for the purpose of survival.

I've even gotten upset, which i know is absolutely the wrong tact to take. It just really bothers me. I am strongly, no vehemently opposed to guns anywhere.

He is starting to get the message.

Yesterday, he came home with piles of boxes and other recycling stuff. He disappeared with his glue *gun* and an hour later came marching into the kitchen to show me what he had done:

"It's not a gun mom! It's a space shuttle!"

Right.

I know, i know. I'm all down, down, (boring) down and then happy, happy, (sore wrists) happy. I dunno. It's how it flies here. But, my wrists and fingers are still aching and burning, but my lovely sister-in-law hooked me up with some supplements and also some oil of oregano for my ugly cold sores. I'm waiting for improvement. In the mean time? Awesome! all around.

I'm feeling all bummed out again for a multitude of reasons, first of which is that i have so much to do in every corner of my life that i just. can't. get. started. So today i spent three hours outside collecting enough fallen branches for another bonfire and hacking down my kazillion ferns so that they would grow fresh and new for spring. Plus fern clippings burn like crazy.

Tomorrow? For dinner - hot dogs and marshmallows over an open fire. Awesome!

The biggest thing that is getting me down is my little toby. A few weeks ago his teacher prepared me for the fact that they would probably hold him back at some point before grade four (he's in grade one now). It's been keeping me up at night and causing me all kinds of stress. I just don't think it's the right thing to do. I really feel that the emotional burden on him will be more than his little tender heart can take. And then there's the guilt.

Guilt is something that i think we all deal with on many different levels every single day - especially as parents. With tristan, my oldest, i spent hours and hours teaching her to read, doing homeschooling programs, making whimsical art projects; but every time i added a new child to my family mix my time and energy for enriching activities has been depleted. I get caught up in the woulda coulda shoulda's when it comes to toby. If only i had spent more time doing his speech therapy homework back when he was two years old and completely non-verbal.

Guilt is a hard burden to bear when you have a child with a disability, no matter how insignificant that disability may seem. My son is having a hard time. He is frustrated and sad and ashamed. Those feelings burn through me at an exponential rate when i see them in him. And there is so little that i can do.

I just want to make it all better. I want to not be angry. I want to not be angry with him when he gives up so easily on everything because he knows from personal experience that trying to fix his problem is so damn hard and takes so long. How can i explain to my six year old that two hours every week of speech therapy will pay off in the end when he only sees it as time taken away from his classroom with his peers. Time when they are learning other things like reading and writing. Learning things that he needs to be learning too. How can i fit all this into the already busy day of a first grader. How do i explain to all my children that we can never take holidays or even go camping because we spend every extra penny we have on one child's speech therapy. How do i explain to our families how desperately we need financial help when we are re-mortgaging our house for the third time to pay for speech therapy?

Wallowing in it. And i'm sorry.