Advocate.

    I thought I was ready for children when I wanted them. I thought I would just somehow be ready. I'll get it I'm sure.  Parenting was hard from the word go. I carried Joey in agony. I hurt every day of it. He came. He could not eat. I was unequal to the task. I loved him so much, I became neurotic I both loved and hated the job. It took so much--more than I had.
     Joey was difficult. Other moms just didn't have to do what I had to do. He hated socks. It was 30 degrees out. He wouldn't wear them. Coats, pants, grocery stores, he will not to this day have it. Jelly that is sticky, food that is lumpy, and do not get me started on broken routines. My love for him threatened to break me. Therapy, parenting classes, psychiatrists, medication, endless~~*ENDLESS*~~meetings now with three year old Ellanor in tow.
     We had reached a corner. We stood on a shiny new acceptable diagnosis and stood poised to have a successful school year. Until the school decided it would benefit itself with the funds a student teacher brings. They brought her to Joey's class. Trouble started from Day One. Anxiety, fear, depression all stemming from the loss of his teacher. Then the student teacher publicly humiliated my son.
     I put down my name, my pride, my decorum, my dignity, and only felt the familiar raging love that threatened to undo me. The email started simply, "I am Joey's mom. That is all you need to call me." I identified teacher, school and class. I ended with, "I will only care about your student if you care about MY STUDENT."
     The Dean of Education of Pudue University is calling me on Monday. Most of the time I recommend following appropriate channels. Most of the time I say, "Use your nice words." I always say that love wins. But sometimes that love will not be silenced, marginalized, or quieted.  Not until every piece of the puzzle fits into place.