05/27/2026
This season of life has felt like one long cycle of appointments, scans, blood work, therapies, and unexpected hospital trips.
Just recently, while I was at a homeschool convention in Winston Salem, my husband took the boys to a nearby children’s museum. Suddenly I missed a phone call… then got a 911 text… and couldn’t get my husband to answer. My keys were back at the hotel and the car was parked blocks away, so I literally ran to the museum in a panic.
I met the ambulance there and rode with Foister while Daniel took Riggsbee to get the car and meet us at the hospital. Thankfully, Foister was okay overall — but he had tripped on his own feet, face planted on a stair, and ended up with a pretty deep cut above his eye that needed glue and Steri-Strips.
I jokingly told my husband, “You had one job!” even though he already felt terrible. But honestly, moments like this are exhausting and terrifying all at once.
But in the middle of all of this, God has continued to show up in the sweetest ways and remind me that He is guiding us through this journey.
At Camp Royall and at the Thrive homeschool convention put on by North Carolinians for Home Education, I had the opportunity to help so many families navigate insurance and resources for their own children’s care. I also attended several incredible sessions focused on homeschooling children with disabilities and autism and connected with curriculum representatives and local support groups that truly understand this life.
One huge blessing was finding a grant that completely covered our convention tickets and hotel stay. After the unexpected hospital visit, I ended up missing several of the conferences I had hoped to attend. I really wanted to purchase the recordings on a jump drive so I could still learn from them, but the full convention package cost $180. Honestly, I wrestled with the decision because it felt selfish to spend that money when it could go toward the boys.
I called Daniel and talked it through, and ultimately decided that investing in resources that help me better support our children was worth it. So I bought the recordings, walked into the bathroom afterward, and immediately received a text saying I had won one of the convention’s grand prizes — $250.
I just stood there and cried.
It felt like God gently reminding me that I was exactly where He wanted me to be and that He sees every exhausting, overwhelming step of this journey.
And while we’ve been navigating all of this with Foister, we’ve also been facing increasing safety concerns with Riggsbee. He has started bolting unexpectedly and thinks it’s a game, but it’s become genuinely dangerous — especially in parking lots and other unsafe places. We’ve been working closely with a developmental pediatrician to figure out how best to support him, and we’re even having difficult conversations about whether medication might eventually help with impulse control and safety. Things have gotten serious enough that we were approved for a handicap placard simply because of how quickly he can run without awareness of danger.
What makes it even harder is constantly fighting to explain that these things are NOT just random toddler accidents or typical childhood behavior. Foister has low muscle tone, global developmental delays, balance and coordination difficulties, wears SMOs, and still trips constantly — even while wearing them. Riggsbee’s safety struggles are also far beyond what most people realize. Yet we continue hearing from some providers that Foister may not need his braces anymore or that certain concerns will simply resolve with time.
At the same time, we’re navigating autism, speech delays, sensory struggles, safety concerns, therapies, developmental evaluations, neurology workups, metabolic testing, and trying to figure out what support both boys truly need to thrive.
The good news is that many of Foister’s recent blood work results and scans have been reassuring overall, and several major metabolic concerns are looking less likely right now. We are incredibly thankful for that.
But this journey has also reminded me how invisible developmental disabilities can be to people on the outside. Many only see cute little boys. They don’t see the constant supervision, the fear, the appointments, the advocacy, the exhaustion, or the emotional weight parents carry behind the scenes.
Right now, we’re just taking it one day at a time — focusing on helping our boys stay safe, supported, regulated, and loved exactly as they are. God is so good even in the hard times! 🤍
