falcon family. for real.

Usually, when someone offers an affirmative, it's a good thing. I mean, unless you've just said "I look fat in these jeans," but that's an issue for another day. 

The other day though, hearing a dear work friend agree with me elicited a visceral reaction in my deep that almost buckled my knees. He had come into my room and - as typical for him- asked if I was doing ok. Poor him, though- sometimes he probably wishes he hadn't asked.  I've had a run (the last few weeks) of drowning in life, starting I think with the sickening realization that Disney isn't fun for me anymore, and culminating with- well, I don't know. It's still happenng. So when he asked, verbal emotion-purge. Most of the word barf I covered him with was about Bonham and my heart for his school-success and his life-happy. I told him how we had been going through some evaluatons/ assessments, and that I thought he was on the spectrum. 

He said "I think so, too."

Funny, that. 

                                                   

I've thought for years that my kiddo has some spectrum characteristics. It's not like it's a surprise. And, B may not have a diagnosis. I get that, too. But when someone- who isn't super sensitive to ASD symptoms and hasn't spent the last 20 years of his career in the special ed field and hasn't worried about seeing stuff that may not be there because that's what he's used to seeing- says that he's thought and wondered the same things I have- that's life-and-perspective rocking. My breath was stolen, and the last few weeks ran salty streams down tired, day-worn cheeks.  I wanted to smash my face into his not-my-husband shoulders, simply because he just happened to be standing there and was the one who gave me the honest. He notices the different. He notices the quirky. He notices the fun and the silly and the gift and the frustration and the tears- from Bonham and his mama. And he isn't an EC teacher. That speaks volumes. 

 

Sometimes, the people at work are the people we lean on. 

We're with them tons of waking hours, and at our school, we are so unbelievably fortunate to be able to hug each other, cry with each other, and quite literally pray with each other. 

I get to partner with my child's teacher, as a professional colleague. 

I have a work bestie, who's also a life bestie. And a grammar co-weirdo. 

I’ve got a workmate classmate sweet sweet soul sister friend. I whine, Jesus, homework and EC meeting with her. 

We have church. At school. An intentional gathering of like-minded, smashed and broken, on-our-faces-for-Jesus, sisters and brothers in Christ, seeking Him, singing to Him, loving Him. At school.

And there are days when stress fills and the Savior-siblings with whom we point sad and hopeful eyes heavenward are what we need. The Christmas carols, the sweet teacher harmonies singing of the birth of that Bethlehem babe, and the Linus moment where we pause chords and read verses. Phone call worries turn into an apple cider muffin embrace, and smothering stress turns into cucumber laughs and a pb&j during 3rd block. Oh, my work friends. My work family. My people. 

It’s the “hey, you seem off, you ok?” dings from the pocket. A high schooler’s “do you need a hug?” A colleague’s head on my shoulder as harmony rings during worship. The chocolate in the mailbox, the “I’m sorry” from a boss, and “Let me pray for you” right before the loud streams in. And mostly, it’s all the Jesus, all the light on our paths, and the “I get it” from the family who most certainly does.