I know what it’s like in the trenches raising Twice Exceptional children. But I promise it gets better. Our children know us better than we know ourselves.
Last Friday afternoon, I put myself in time out. The girls and I had butted heads over school all morning and the little guy had refused his nap. To compound it all, the house had reached critical mass mode – you know, the one where you begin to wonder why the health inspector hasn’t shown up.
So I took Daniel Tiger’s advice and counted to four, staring out my bedroom window while I listened to the kids play downstairs. I tried to pray but watched the wind wreak havoc with the trees instead; it seemed a fitting manifestation of the chaos in my heart.
My back was to the door.
I heard her footfalls before I saw her.
“Mom,” she said, her voice cheerful, “I thought you could use a SNACK!”
My willowy girl stood in front of me, her Roman nose wrinkled under sparkling gray eyes. Her left hand pinched the stem of a slightly-overripe banana, peeled from the bottom up the way a monkey would have done. In her right hand, she held a piece of toast, its blackened edges surrounding the last scrapings of peanut butter from the jar.
I swallowed. She sniffed. My mouth opened and closed a few times, wordlessly.
“I’ll just leave it here,” she said, setting her gift down. “We’ll be downstairs…..” she called out behind her and bounced out of the room.
She left me dumbfounded, alone with my thoughts and my iPhone.
I snapped a photo of her snack and cried.
The thing is, my kids are smart.
Really smart. And I don’t say this to brag.
Their intelligence comes with a whole lot of baggage, so much so I’ve wished that my kids were normal. It’s like Newton’s Third Law of Motion, but for the gifted: every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Typically, the reaction isn’t good.
My kids are afraid of lots of things.
Cloudy skies.
Movies they haven’t seen before (which means pretty much every movie until they’ve seen it, putting us in some strange Moebius loop of terror and acceptance).
Large gatherings, both inside and out.
Empty rooms.
“Big boy” pants.
Sheets.
And peanut butter and bananas.
At least until last Friday.
Before that exchange in my bedroom, G hadn’t touched either of those foods in eight years.
Eight years, people.
We lost peanut butter to the disclosure of her aunt’s life-threatening allergy when at 18 months, Gray equated any contact with the stuff to premeditated murder. It wasn’t long before bananas followed suit: she was done after one viewing of Horton Hears a Who, wherein the Wickersham brothers fling the fruit like missiles.
There are other foods she won’t dare to eat, like sandwiches, meat of any kind, and pretty much every vegetable known to man. It’s all lost in a vortex of sensory aversion, anxiety, and photographic memory. But my girl knows her mama, and she’s well aware of my weakness for peanut butter toast with banana. So on Friday when I languished in my bedroom in need of support and an overdue nap, she dropped bread in the toaster, scraped peanut butter from the jar, and peeled a projectile banana.
For me.
That’s huge, folks.
Huge.
Raising 2E kids isn’t easy.
Their exceptionality has colored some great moments, from “relaxing” family outings to Christmas card photo sessions (in 2008 AND 2012, because we didn’t learn our lesson the first time). But through the process of mothering three of these exceptional gifts, I’ve learned a few hard, sweet truths:
They are called Twice Exceptional for a reason
They’re gifted. But so what? It’s their vulnerabilities that help us see life more clearly: its fears and its joys, its complications and its triumphs. Their victories are made all the sweeter because of the challenges they face to get there.
Our kids are quirky. What child isn’t?
It’s an issue for 2E parents because the breakdown is so violent and public. But if we give everyone else the benefit of the doubt, why can’t we do the same for ourselves? Our experience teaches that every parent fights a battle we know nothing about. Honestly, the same courtesy extends in our direction. We need to be ready to accept that.
Our kids know what we need when we need it.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. They see their own traits reflected in us and eventually, when we need them, they rally – because we have rallied for them.
2E’s see love and acceptance as great motivators.
They feel deeply. They love ferociously. And they thrive when we respond with that same sort of devotion, even if most of the time we’re too spent to freely give. The truth is, we don’t have to understand someone to love them. Our children know that better than we do.
Friends, I know what it’s like.
I’ve removed my ten-year-old from a bounce house birthday party by force.
I’ve hoisted my writhing six-year-old across my shoulders, slogging half a mile up a crowded beach in desperation.
I’ve been accused of child abuse while my two-year-old melted down in a big box store.
But I’m here to tell you – it gets better.
And they bring you peanut butter and banana, right when you need it most.
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Enjoy this post? Read on:
I Wanted My Daughter to Be Normal. Here’s What I Realized Instead
Is Your Child Twice Exceptional? Here are 4 Ways to See It, And Why You Absolutely Need to Know
Afraid of Grace: Preparing an Anxious Child for the Sacraments
When Picky Eating is More than a Phase: The Truth About Problem Feeding
I know I say this everytime I read your posts you bring me to tears. I love the way you are being an awesome mom to your kiddos, through the awesome stuff and the not so awesome stuff. Keep it up. And Keep sharing, I have lots of kleenexes 😉
Oh my goodness. Thank you! That is so sweet of you. I just want other moms to know they aren’t alone. I’m grateful for your support.
This was absolutely beautiful. Such a great reminder – of your struggle, and how, in the smallest moment, a glimpse of light can brighten the outlook.
I was close to tears last week when you posted this on social media – getting the in-depth insight has brought me even closer.
And, keep in mind, even on the most difficult days you may have as a parent, you are doing some pretty awe-some work!!
Thanks, Anni. It’s hard to remember sometimes!
Yes, it’s a very topsy turvey world with 2e kids. It’s definitely not the easy or fun some days. Great post!
Thanks!
How sweet. You are obviously doing a phenomenal job in the parenting department. Love it and feel inspired!
Thanks, Heather.
How sweet is that?! I love that you advocate for the gifted. It’s one of my passions. <3
Thank you. It’s become one of mine as well.
WOW! that was so moving! That really is a big moment for you and your daughter. I’m so proud of her right now, I think your feelings are shining through your writing.
And I’m proud of you for stepping away when you needed to. I know how hard that can be… I get so emotionally embroiled in the chaos around me sometimes.
Children’s intuition is amazing, isn’t it? I can tell she just blew you away with her sensitivity, and those moments with my kids make me cry too.
God bless you, what a wonderful mom you are!
I don’t think we give kids enough credit, nor ourselves, really. Mothering is HARD.
Thanks for the kind words, Sara.
Aww that’s so sweet and wonderful! We had a similar moment this weekend ourselves (2e son gave his juice box to his dad who didn’t have a drink) and I wanted to sit down and cry because it was so huge. We 2e parents ignore the mindblowing accomplishments and celebrate wildly for things neurotypicals think are silly. Because they’re the big victories – the things that give us hope.
Loved this!
So true! It’s hard to celebrate the victories when we’re wrapped up in the struggles.
<3 Beautiful. I remember a similar moment with my son. I turned into a sobbing mess of happiness. You are a great mama, and you're raising one awesome daughter there.
Thank you <3
What a sweet, brave girl. My son (who was described, to his disgust, by the school counselor as “lacking insight,”) can always tell when I am upset and is often the first to offer comfort.
Thank you – and I’m sorry that counselor said that about your son.
This made my heart so happy! I needed this as your story is so beautifully told! This world is so lonely and hard sometimes and stories like this help me stay positive and know we are doing the best thing for our beautiful intense daughter! Thank you for sharing your tough journey and helping us to all remember these small moments are huge mountains our poppies have climbed!
You’re welcome, and I’m glad it made you feel a little less lonely. I think we tend to focus on the negative, just because we’re always in it – you know?
This is so wonderful, and I know what a leap that must have been for your daughter. 🙂
I am finding your blog several years after it was written, but I feel compelled to tell you that I felt so “seen” by your stories that I literally cried. Especially about the fear of movies she hasn’t seen! I don’t feel so alone. I also have more evidence that she is, in fact, 2E; that that is a unique type of special need; and that there is hope that comes with understanding. Thank you for sharing your experience with the world.