The house is so quiet.
Sure, there are snoring bulldogs who occasionally boof in their sleep. The exhaust fan is running inthe bathroom - one of our secret tricks to help the little one sleep. The TV is on with the volume turned low for background. The creak of my chair, the clacking of my keyboard...
Still, it seems absolutely silent when compared to the rest of the day.
Stimmy McStimmerson the Whirling Dervish visited us again today. She was not in a particularly bad mood, but - good Lord - can that girl go. And scale an adult as if he or she was an indoor rock wall and the Dervish was an accomplished climber just returning from a leisurely stroll to the top of Everest and back. If I had half of her energy, I think it'd kill me. Maybe I'd like to start with about 3% instead and work my way up from there.
And, boy, can she eat. The day I figure out the method behind her eating madness will be the day pigs fly. One day she won't touch a thing, and then the next day she's shoveling things into her pie-hole so quickly I swear I can actually see her getting bigger as I sit back and watch in astonishment.
Running back and forth, bouncing off the couch and then the bedroom door: couch, door, couch, door, couch, door. Taking breaks from this gross motor stim to indulge her eyes and finer senses, holding handfuls of pinto beans and pom poms millimeters from her eyes and fluttering her fingers to make them fly everywhere. Then back to the running. Always with the running.
Pulling on our shirts, yanking, and finally threatening to do actual damage if we don't react that very second.
Whining. Pushing that bottom lip out, implying that we've done something hurtful. I swear, she knows that kills me, and she milks it for all it's worth.
Clinging. Swinging. Spinning. Running. Stimming. Eating. Whining.
Every attempt at redirection was met with noodle legs, sinking to the floor in a puddle of near-meltdown. So she ran and stimmed and ran and stimmed.
And now...sleeping. The line between awake and asleep is not always this defined. On these days I like to take a moment to be thankful for the reminder...and to revel in the comparative silence.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
To Those Of You
To those of you who have ever brushed your child:
To those of you who have mastered the art of swinging another human being without assistance or apparatus:
To those of you whose purses and pockets are loaded with disaster-prevention stimmy objects:
To those of you who have mastered the geography of this scary new world:
You are not alone.
To those of you brave enough to wear your hearts on your sleeves:
To those of you kind enough to lend a shoulder when needed:
To those of you strong enough to take on the nay-sayers:
To those of you sure enough to stand your ground:
Thank you.
To those of you who have fought for the rights of your children as well as others:
To those of you who have found ways to adapt the world to fit your child’s needs:
To those of you who have become advocates for these special little people:
To those of you who have jumped in with both feet and never looked back:
You are not alone.
To those of you eloquent enough to convey even a small part of how this feels:
To those of you ballsy enough to put your foot down, even when no one else will:
To those of you selfless enough to put these children first:
To those of you patient enough to explain the situation to those who may not otherwise understand:
Thank you.
To those of you who have endured the stares:
To those of you who have endured the flagrant disregard for the feelings of your child and yourself:
To those of you who have endured the heartbreaking ignorance and self-righteousness:
To those of you who have had the grace to take the moral high ground:
You are not alone.
To those of you who entered this journey before me:
Thank you. You are not alone.
I certainly wouldn’t be where I am today, had you not helped to pave the road for me. I can only imagine what it must have been like to wander into this wilderness unassisted, forging through unknown territory without a safety net.
Because of you, I feel able to stand tall and proud in my journey to help my daughter. Could I have done it on my own? Probably. But the fact remains that I don't have to, because I’m not alone. And neither are you.
To those of you who have mastered the art of swinging another human being without assistance or apparatus:
To those of you whose purses and pockets are loaded with disaster-prevention stimmy objects:
To those of you who have mastered the geography of this scary new world:
You are not alone.
To those of you brave enough to wear your hearts on your sleeves:
To those of you kind enough to lend a shoulder when needed:
To those of you strong enough to take on the nay-sayers:
To those of you sure enough to stand your ground:
Thank you.
To those of you who have fought for the rights of your children as well as others:
To those of you who have found ways to adapt the world to fit your child’s needs:
To those of you who have become advocates for these special little people:
To those of you who have jumped in with both feet and never looked back:
You are not alone.
To those of you eloquent enough to convey even a small part of how this feels:
To those of you ballsy enough to put your foot down, even when no one else will:
To those of you selfless enough to put these children first:
To those of you patient enough to explain the situation to those who may not otherwise understand:
Thank you.
To those of you who have endured the stares:
To those of you who have endured the flagrant disregard for the feelings of your child and yourself:
To those of you who have endured the heartbreaking ignorance and self-righteousness:
To those of you who have had the grace to take the moral high ground:
You are not alone.
To those of you who entered this journey before me:
Thank you. You are not alone.
I certainly wouldn’t be where I am today, had you not helped to pave the road for me. I can only imagine what it must have been like to wander into this wilderness unassisted, forging through unknown territory without a safety net.
Because of you, I feel able to stand tall and proud in my journey to help my daughter. Could I have done it on my own? Probably. But the fact remains that I don't have to, because I’m not alone. And neither are you.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Snickering, Snorting and Squealing - Oh My!
Sometimes a gal needs a quiet night in with a great friend. It's been months since we were last able to get together, so imagine my excitement over seeing T for my birthday this weekend.
We had a yummy home-made lasagna for dinner, with special bakery cupcakes for dessert…all compliments of our very generous guest. The Princess helped me with my dinner and dessert, and T and The Hubbs put a good dent in a box - that's right...I said box - of wine.
After a fairly relaxed evening in, we all hit the hay before midnight. Just before five o'clock in the morning, I awoke in a haze. I had a feeling something had torn me from my slumber, but I couldn't remember what.
Then I heard it: what I thought was a sob. A few minutes later, I heard it again. Not very gracefully, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and staggered to the princess's room. I gingerly opened the door and tiptoed to her bed, then sunk – again, not very gracefully – to my knees on the floor beside her, and I waited. There was no sign that she had been awake at all…her little chest was rising and falling with the even rhythm of uninterrupted sleep, and there was no other movement or sound in the room.
Just as I was about to write myself off as crazy, I heard it again…only this time, it was pretty obvious that the sound was not a sob. I turned to see my angelic little girl, eyes puffy with sleep, grinning. It had been a laugh. And in case I had any doubt in my mind, she reaffirmed this fact by looking me straight in the eye and cackling.
It was five o’clock in the morning, the house was dead silent if you don’t count the breathing of two other adults and three doggies, and my daughter was laughing so hard she was having a hard time catching her breath. By this point, she was sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her perfect little face as she repeatedly guffawed at nothing. Delirious after having woken so abruptly, and in such an odd fashion, I had no idea what to do.
After bringing her breakfast in her room, attempting to play quietly with her, and hoping beyond hope that she’d just go back to sleep, I realized I was going to have to change tactics if anyone in the house was going to catch another wink. Ushering The Princess into my room from hers, I grabbed A Bug’s Life from the DVD collection and popped it into my little thirteen-inch television set with the built-in DVD player. I had somehow maintained enough presence of mind to grab a couple of her favorite toys from her room on my way out, and we set up camp on the big bed.
All hopes of sleep dashed, I settled in with my Sookie Stackhouse novel while The Princesstore around the room like a Tasmanian devil. Who needs toys when you can terrorize Momma and Da’s room? She must have spent an hour straight in the closet, playing with all of the wonderful hanging things and peering through the lacy curtain that serves as a door. In case you were wondering, there was still much laughter…but it seemed to have died down just a bit since leaving her room.
Before long, everyone else had rolled out of their beds, and it was time to free The Princess and The Girls from our bedroom. All three of them shot through the hallway and into the living room like cannonballs, racing to see who could get to Auntie T first.
We all knew she’d have to leave and head back toward her city place eventually. It was a great time, and I hope to do it again very soon.
Even after Auntie T left, the princess was a giggly little goofball. She ran around the house snickering, caught my eye and snorted. We went outside to play with sidewalk chalk and take a wagon ride, and she hooted and hollered the whole time. We made a little family outing to the Home Depot to start our garden supplies for the year, and she happily dragged her daddy around the garden center at Mach 10, squealing all the way.
I don’t know what brought this on, but I’ll take a happy girl any day of the week. And – I’m glad to report – she was in bed by 8:30 on Sunday night…and I wasn’t far behind.
We had a yummy home-made lasagna for dinner, with special bakery cupcakes for dessert…all compliments of our very generous guest. The Princess helped me with my dinner and dessert, and T and The Hubbs put a good dent in a box - that's right...I said box - of wine.
After a fairly relaxed evening in, we all hit the hay before midnight. Just before five o'clock in the morning, I awoke in a haze. I had a feeling something had torn me from my slumber, but I couldn't remember what.
Then I heard it: what I thought was a sob. A few minutes later, I heard it again. Not very gracefully, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and staggered to the princess's room. I gingerly opened the door and tiptoed to her bed, then sunk – again, not very gracefully – to my knees on the floor beside her, and I waited. There was no sign that she had been awake at all…her little chest was rising and falling with the even rhythm of uninterrupted sleep, and there was no other movement or sound in the room.
Just as I was about to write myself off as crazy, I heard it again…only this time, it was pretty obvious that the sound was not a sob. I turned to see my angelic little girl, eyes puffy with sleep, grinning. It had been a laugh. And in case I had any doubt in my mind, she reaffirmed this fact by looking me straight in the eye and cackling.
It was five o’clock in the morning, the house was dead silent if you don’t count the breathing of two other adults and three doggies, and my daughter was laughing so hard she was having a hard time catching her breath. By this point, she was sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her perfect little face as she repeatedly guffawed at nothing. Delirious after having woken so abruptly, and in such an odd fashion, I had no idea what to do.
After bringing her breakfast in her room, attempting to play quietly with her, and hoping beyond hope that she’d just go back to sleep, I realized I was going to have to change tactics if anyone in the house was going to catch another wink. Ushering The Princess into my room from hers, I grabbed A Bug’s Life from the DVD collection and popped it into my little thirteen-inch television set with the built-in DVD player. I had somehow maintained enough presence of mind to grab a couple of her favorite toys from her room on my way out, and we set up camp on the big bed.
All hopes of sleep dashed, I settled in with my Sookie Stackhouse novel while The Princesstore around the room like a Tasmanian devil. Who needs toys when you can terrorize Momma and Da’s room? She must have spent an hour straight in the closet, playing with all of the wonderful hanging things and peering through the lacy curtain that serves as a door. In case you were wondering, there was still much laughter…but it seemed to have died down just a bit since leaving her room.
Before long, everyone else had rolled out of their beds, and it was time to free The Princess and The Girls from our bedroom. All three of them shot through the hallway and into the living room like cannonballs, racing to see who could get to Auntie T first.
We all knew she’d have to leave and head back toward her city place eventually. It was a great time, and I hope to do it again very soon.
Even after Auntie T left, the princess was a giggly little goofball. She ran around the house snickering, caught my eye and snorted. We went outside to play with sidewalk chalk and take a wagon ride, and she hooted and hollered the whole time. We made a little family outing to the Home Depot to start our garden supplies for the year, and she happily dragged her daddy around the garden center at Mach 10, squealing all the way.
I don’t know what brought this on, but I’ll take a happy girl any day of the week. And – I’m glad to report – she was in bed by 8:30 on Sunday night…and I wasn’t far behind.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Magnificent Sook Sook
March 26, 2006: A very special little girl was born.
May 21, 2006: That same little girl became a member of my family.
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May 21, 2006: That same little girl became a member of my family.
Very quickly thereafter, she found her place in our hearts...as well as in our home.
March 26, 2010: The Magnificent Sook Sook turned four years old. In the grand tradition of our family, the birthday girl becomes a princess for the day...
...Complete with a parade for her adoring fans - everyone knows princesses don't have to walk, right? They have faithful subjects (in Sookie's case, that would be the humans) to do that for them.
Sadly, we didn't get any pictures of the birthday princess chasing thousands of Glinda bubbles across the back yard and chomping them...but this was also a big part of our celebration, so I feel it must be mentioned. The birthday girl was also showered with extra treats and lots of lub, including a mid-day nap with her mom. Feeling refreshed, the party continued...
Every princess needs a little bit of bling:
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As if one shot wasn't enough, here's another:
Happy, happy birthday to my wonderful little Princess Sookie. You are the most obliging and photogenic puppy I've ever met, and I wouldn't change a thing about your cute little face for all the tea in China...even if your nervy foot does tend to go up a little more than absolutely necessary.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Me Again
I used to be so cool. No, really, I mean it. My hair has been every color under the sun, as well as every style imaginable. I was edgy with my clothes and makeup. I fancied my every move "sticking it to the man" in some way or another.
And then I "grew up". I stopped coloring my hair and let it grow into a corporate cut. I removed the "Who lit the fuse on your tampon?" bumper sticker from my zippy little red car. I started dressing like a corporate drone, and even traded the zippy little red car in on a minivan. It snuck up on me, and if I wasn't careful I was bound to end up with a soccer ball sticker in my back window...heaven forbid.
I don't know what brought on these changes. Maybe it was the job. Maybe it was the stereotypical implications made by society that people of a certain age should stop "acting like children" (read: having fun). Whatever or whoever was the culprit, something had to be done.
As many of you know, I turned 29 on Wednesday of this week. It was not a particularly hard, or even eventful, day in my life. I quite enjoy my birthdays, actually. Weird for a gal my age, I know, but I don't understand why that should be. I'm almost thirty...why should that bother me? I want to celebrate the fact that I've made it this far, and that I am where I am. I have no room in my life for dreading an inconsequential number like my age.
So I'm taking charge. Last May, I traded in the clunky old minivan for a zippy little stick-shift maroon hatchback. Which. I. Love. That was step 1.
Step 2 was visiting Old Navy and stocking up on some excellent clearance merchandise to spice up my wardrobe.
Step 3: wake up that tired old hair. Why do I ever even think about growing it out? I never make it past the pain-in-the-butt stage where it gets all bulky around my ears. And it just looks better short. And maybe with a little bit of purple thrown in for good measure. Just sayin'.
Step 4: Nose. Piercing.
And then I "grew up". I stopped coloring my hair and let it grow into a corporate cut. I removed the "Who lit the fuse on your tampon?" bumper sticker from my zippy little red car. I started dressing like a corporate drone, and even traded the zippy little red car in on a minivan. It snuck up on me, and if I wasn't careful I was bound to end up with a soccer ball sticker in my back window...heaven forbid.
I don't know what brought on these changes. Maybe it was the job. Maybe it was the stereotypical implications made by society that people of a certain age should stop "acting like children" (read: having fun). Whatever or whoever was the culprit, something had to be done.
As many of you know, I turned 29 on Wednesday of this week. It was not a particularly hard, or even eventful, day in my life. I quite enjoy my birthdays, actually. Weird for a gal my age, I know, but I don't understand why that should be. I'm almost thirty...why should that bother me? I want to celebrate the fact that I've made it this far, and that I am where I am. I have no room in my life for dreading an inconsequential number like my age.
So I'm taking charge. Last May, I traded in the clunky old minivan for a zippy little stick-shift maroon hatchback. Which. I. Love. That was step 1.
Step 2 was visiting Old Navy and stocking up on some excellent clearance merchandise to spice up my wardrobe.
Step 3: wake up that tired old hair. Why do I ever even think about growing it out? I never make it past the pain-in-the-butt stage where it gets all bulky around my ears. And it just looks better short. And maybe with a little bit of purple thrown in for good measure. Just sayin'.
Step 4: Nose. Piercing.
If you know me in real life, you probably remember the first nose piercing from about three years ago. I'm adding to my list of resolutions for my 29th year by saying this: I will not play with my nose stud. I will leave it the hell alone for better or for worse, and I will allow the damned thing to heal. I will not mess it up this time.
Four months and five days after losing my long-time job, I'm beginning to feel like me again. I notice it a little more each day. It's amazing how much a job can affect every area of one's life, and I couldn't be happier with the opportunities with which I've been presented over the last few months. Sure, money would be nice...but it sure ain't everything.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A Pocketful of Happiness
So long, twenty-eight. It's been real, but it's time to move on now. When I awoke yesterday to another birthday, I began to catalog all that happened in the past year of my life. I'm thinking twenty-eight is a year I won't be forgetting any time soon.
Plenty of notable stuff happened, including The Hubbs' first time ever at my childhood vacation spot. There was also the Great ST Saga of Aught Nine and the (not-so) tragic loss of my job. The Princess's diagnosis is a big one, which prompted the decision to start school with the intention of becoming a COTA. Then there's all of the therapy scheduling, as well as our first IEP and the beginning of preparations to send her to school in April. Scads of smaller items made the list, but I'm not going to bore you all with them here.
Hello, twenty-nine. Welcome. I have a feeling we can be great friends if we just try. After all, I plan to stay acquainted with you for quite some time. This girl ain't turnin' thirty any time soon! Now, I'm not one for New Years' resolutions, but I think I'm going to try something new.
My resolutions for age 29:
Yesterday was spent taking a nice, leisurely family stroll through some of our favorite haunts. After lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings, we headed down toward our favorite shopping center. We all bummed around for a few hours, spending surprisingly little money. Big scores of the day were: The Princess's sand pail and shovel for a dollar; Mommy's $40 necklace, for which we only paid $5; The Princess's new big, pink ball (it's bigger than she is); The Princess's new multi-color beaded necklaces for $3.50. Anyone notice a theme here? We also scored a CD I've been hunting down for months, which I'm glad to say is awesome, as well as the new DVD in the Twilight series.
Oh, and the biggest highlight of the day, which I nearly forgot to mention: The Princess's first haircut. I've cut her bangs plenty of times, but have never gone further than that. When we all got home from shopping, I trimmed her bangs. She was being so cooperative, and I figured it was worth a shot...she turned her back to me and let me trim her locks so they're all even. In some spots I cut off as much as two inches, which seemed like so much. Every time I look at her now, I see how much shorter her hair is. But it's still long, falling around her shoulder blades when dry. And I'm proud to say I didn't cry. I may have misted up a little, but absolutely no tears escaped these here eyes.
My folks visited last night and brought pizza with them from one of our favorite joints. Bonus! Since Pop doesn't get home from work until about 7:00, it was definitely bed time when they left. We put the princess to bed, where she rolled over and happily snuggled into Dirt Pink for the night. The Hubbs and I, however, couldn't bring ourselves to cut the night short...so we started watching New Moon. Admittedly, we didn't make it very far, but we'll finish it at some point today.
All in all, it turned out to be one of those rare days. You know the ones - nothing earth-shattering happened, but I left it with a pocketful of happiness. I certainly couldn't ask for anything more than that.
Plenty of notable stuff happened, including The Hubbs' first time ever at my childhood vacation spot. There was also the Great ST Saga of Aught Nine and the (not-so) tragic loss of my job. The Princess's diagnosis is a big one, which prompted the decision to start school with the intention of becoming a COTA. Then there's all of the therapy scheduling, as well as our first IEP and the beginning of preparations to send her to school in April. Scads of smaller items made the list, but I'm not going to bore you all with them here.
Hello, twenty-nine. Welcome. I have a feeling we can be great friends if we just try. After all, I plan to stay acquainted with you for quite some time. This girl ain't turnin' thirty any time soon! Now, I'm not one for New Years' resolutions, but I think I'm going to try something new.
My resolutions for age 29:
- Take everything with a grain of salt. Most of the time, making a mountain out of a molehill accomplishes nothing but stretching my nerves into little bitty tight-ropes.
- Cherish the little moments. Take the time to get down on my daughter's level and play - really play - with her.
- Continue to wean myself off of the cell phone. I've gotten much better over the last couple of months, and my new goal is to be BlackBerry-free by June when my contract is up for renewal.
- Worry less. I want to be able to spend time with The Hubbs without mentally making a checklist of all of the things I have to do.
- Consult brain before engaging mouth. This is a biggie, an ongoing goal I've had since I was about eight. I spend so much time with my foot in my mouth, I'm beginning to consider the prospect of developing a foot cream that tastes of Japanese food. Kill two birds with one stone, right?
- Be kind. This includes situations involving other drivers who may or may not have remembered to engage their brains before acting.
- Continue to plug away at school, and take the time to enjoy the learning process.
Yesterday was spent taking a nice, leisurely family stroll through some of our favorite haunts. After lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings, we headed down toward our favorite shopping center. We all bummed around for a few hours, spending surprisingly little money. Big scores of the day were: The Princess's sand pail and shovel for a dollar; Mommy's $40 necklace, for which we only paid $5; The Princess's new big, pink ball (it's bigger than she is); The Princess's new multi-color beaded necklaces for $3.50. Anyone notice a theme here? We also scored a CD I've been hunting down for months, which I'm glad to say is awesome, as well as the new DVD in the Twilight series.
Oh, and the biggest highlight of the day, which I nearly forgot to mention: The Princess's first haircut. I've cut her bangs plenty of times, but have never gone further than that. When we all got home from shopping, I trimmed her bangs. She was being so cooperative, and I figured it was worth a shot...she turned her back to me and let me trim her locks so they're all even. In some spots I cut off as much as two inches, which seemed like so much. Every time I look at her now, I see how much shorter her hair is. But it's still long, falling around her shoulder blades when dry. And I'm proud to say I didn't cry. I may have misted up a little, but absolutely no tears escaped these here eyes.
My folks visited last night and brought pizza with them from one of our favorite joints. Bonus! Since Pop doesn't get home from work until about 7:00, it was definitely bed time when they left. We put the princess to bed, where she rolled over and happily snuggled into Dirt Pink for the night. The Hubbs and I, however, couldn't bring ourselves to cut the night short...so we started watching New Moon. Admittedly, we didn't make it very far, but we'll finish it at some point today.
All in all, it turned out to be one of those rare days. You know the ones - nothing earth-shattering happened, but I left it with a pocketful of happiness. I certainly couldn't ask for anything more than that.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Somehow
Who needs candy when you can pop Tums? I bet they’re even marginally better, nutrition-wise.
I’ve been working myself up into a nervy frenzy over the past few days. The Princess's birthday is quickly approaching, I have no job, and we have no insurance. Her one-on-one therapies will no longer be covered by the state, so we’ll have to find some way to continue those which we feel are really helping her…on top of school, that is.
Tuesday was our first-ever IEP meeting. I probably slept for a combined total of about 37 minutes on Monday night. My bedside notepad was covered in IEP-related scribbles when I awoke in the morning, about a quarter of which were legible. I spent time re-writing my list and trying to decipher some of the more cryptic scribbles. After putting in my best effort, I had one legible sheet of items/questions and a sneaking suspicion that I’ve learned to write in my sleep. I swear some of the notes made so little sense, there’s simply no explanation for them other than that they were written while dreaming…or in between dreams, and I just don’t remember writing them. They must have seemed important at the time, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t seem to understand how tomatoes, swimsuits, hippos, and flower gardens fit into the whole IEP theme.
I reviewed that sheet in my notepad no less than three hundred times before the meeting. I spoke with our EI service coordinator, who said it was 100% up to us whether or not The Princess would be joining the group for this meeting. Knowing our little princess, The Hubbs and I made the executive decision to give her some “time off” at Grumma’s house. We dropped her off and headed out to take care of a couple of errands before the meeting.
Errands done, lunch consumed, we headed to the elementary school one town over for the meeting. Naturally, we arrived twenty minutes early, so we had plenty of time to stew in the office before anyone else showed up. Finally, at a couple minutes before two o’clock, our service coordinator strolled in with a confident smile on her face. She sat down with us, waiting for the final program director to take us to the meeting room.
When we got to our destination, all I could think was how glad I was that we had dropped The Princess at Grumma’s house. She’d have destroyed this place in nothin’ flat. It was a small, boring concrete block box with a hulking table and a motley collection of discarded chairs. No toys, no books, no room for a little one to play. It reminded me of someone trying to cram an executive boardroom into an 8 x 10 garden shed, without any of the proper supplies.
There were about six people seated around the table when we arrived with our service coordinator, and a few more empty chairs waiting to be filled. Before long, there were four or five more adults in the room, and the door was shut behind the last of them. It was time to start.
I could smell my own armpits already – I kid you not.
I was prepared to enter this meeting with guns blazing, convinced that I would have to fight for my daughter to get her the care and attention she needs and deserves. I’ve talked to quite a few people who’ve been through these meetings the first time around with very poor results, hence the notepad. I started firing off questions, all of which were met with no less than eleven understanding looks and kind, patient replies from the professionals around the table. Suddenly, it occurred to me: this wasn’t their first rodeo.
I’m guessing that the unfortunate experiences I heard so much about happened in very different environments. I’ve heard that it can be difficult to get aides, one-on-one time, and any other special consideration for many kids. I was afraid that we’d be dealing with something similar. Also, I’m so used to facing groups on the offensive that it took me a while to realize that these people really were there to help. It's an odd feeling, knowing that everyone in the room understands. It was difficult at first to squelch my protective instincts, but it quickly dawned on me that this situation was special...unlike any I'd been in before. These people work in a special program designed specifically for autistic kids like The Princess, and this is what they’ve chosen to do with their lives. They understand. They want to help. All of them.
I'm just gonna go ahead and type that one more time: They understand. They want to help.
God, that felt good.
Once I came to this realization, I was able to relax a bit and try to soak up as much information as humanly possible. There’s no way I can relay it all here, though I know at least a few members of my family would love a transcript of the entire meeting. Sorry, y’all…I was a bit preoccupied, but I can give you the highlights.
The Princess will be starting school on Monday, April 12th, the day after her third birthday. She’ll be attending the program from 8:30 am until 11:00 am, Monday through Friday, until the school year ends in May. After that, she’ll be involved in the summer school program at the special education district. Bus transportation will be provided for all of this – they’ll pick her up at our door and walk her to her classroom. When the next school year starts, we'll begin transitioning her to a longer school day. Once a month, the class goes shopping as a little field trip; once a month, they go out to eat; and once a month they go swimming in the therapy pool at the special ed center where she’ll be attending summer school.
There are two teachers and a host of therapists, social workers and aides who will be in the classroom with the kiddos at all times. There are currently ten kids in the class – The Princess will be the eleventh…and the only girl. My guess is that she’s going to be pretty popular…or perhaps she’ll decide the boys need some bossing around. Either way, it should be interesting.
Now I just need to get on the state about her health insurance application from December…she needs a physical before she can start attending school, and I doubt we can afford to pay for that out of our pockets. I have faith, though, that it will all work out.
Somehow, it always does.
I’ve been working myself up into a nervy frenzy over the past few days. The Princess's birthday is quickly approaching, I have no job, and we have no insurance. Her one-on-one therapies will no longer be covered by the state, so we’ll have to find some way to continue those which we feel are really helping her…on top of school, that is.
Tuesday was our first-ever IEP meeting. I probably slept for a combined total of about 37 minutes on Monday night. My bedside notepad was covered in IEP-related scribbles when I awoke in the morning, about a quarter of which were legible. I spent time re-writing my list and trying to decipher some of the more cryptic scribbles. After putting in my best effort, I had one legible sheet of items/questions and a sneaking suspicion that I’ve learned to write in my sleep. I swear some of the notes made so little sense, there’s simply no explanation for them other than that they were written while dreaming…or in between dreams, and I just don’t remember writing them. They must have seemed important at the time, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t seem to understand how tomatoes, swimsuits, hippos, and flower gardens fit into the whole IEP theme.
I reviewed that sheet in my notepad no less than three hundred times before the meeting. I spoke with our EI service coordinator, who said it was 100% up to us whether or not The Princess would be joining the group for this meeting. Knowing our little princess, The Hubbs and I made the executive decision to give her some “time off” at Grumma’s house. We dropped her off and headed out to take care of a couple of errands before the meeting.
Errands done, lunch consumed, we headed to the elementary school one town over for the meeting. Naturally, we arrived twenty minutes early, so we had plenty of time to stew in the office before anyone else showed up. Finally, at a couple minutes before two o’clock, our service coordinator strolled in with a confident smile on her face. She sat down with us, waiting for the final program director to take us to the meeting room.
When we got to our destination, all I could think was how glad I was that we had dropped The Princess at Grumma’s house. She’d have destroyed this place in nothin’ flat. It was a small, boring concrete block box with a hulking table and a motley collection of discarded chairs. No toys, no books, no room for a little one to play. It reminded me of someone trying to cram an executive boardroom into an 8 x 10 garden shed, without any of the proper supplies.
There were about six people seated around the table when we arrived with our service coordinator, and a few more empty chairs waiting to be filled. Before long, there were four or five more adults in the room, and the door was shut behind the last of them. It was time to start.
I could smell my own armpits already – I kid you not.
I was prepared to enter this meeting with guns blazing, convinced that I would have to fight for my daughter to get her the care and attention she needs and deserves. I’ve talked to quite a few people who’ve been through these meetings the first time around with very poor results, hence the notepad. I started firing off questions, all of which were met with no less than eleven understanding looks and kind, patient replies from the professionals around the table. Suddenly, it occurred to me: this wasn’t their first rodeo.
I’m guessing that the unfortunate experiences I heard so much about happened in very different environments. I’ve heard that it can be difficult to get aides, one-on-one time, and any other special consideration for many kids. I was afraid that we’d be dealing with something similar. Also, I’m so used to facing groups on the offensive that it took me a while to realize that these people really were there to help. It's an odd feeling, knowing that everyone in the room understands. It was difficult at first to squelch my protective instincts, but it quickly dawned on me that this situation was special...unlike any I'd been in before. These people work in a special program designed specifically for autistic kids like The Princess, and this is what they’ve chosen to do with their lives. They understand. They want to help. All of them.
I'm just gonna go ahead and type that one more time: They understand. They want to help.
God, that felt good.
Once I came to this realization, I was able to relax a bit and try to soak up as much information as humanly possible. There’s no way I can relay it all here, though I know at least a few members of my family would love a transcript of the entire meeting. Sorry, y’all…I was a bit preoccupied, but I can give you the highlights.
The Princess will be starting school on Monday, April 12th, the day after her third birthday. She’ll be attending the program from 8:30 am until 11:00 am, Monday through Friday, until the school year ends in May. After that, she’ll be involved in the summer school program at the special education district. Bus transportation will be provided for all of this – they’ll pick her up at our door and walk her to her classroom. When the next school year starts, we'll begin transitioning her to a longer school day. Once a month, the class goes shopping as a little field trip; once a month, they go out to eat; and once a month they go swimming in the therapy pool at the special ed center where she’ll be attending summer school.
There are two teachers and a host of therapists, social workers and aides who will be in the classroom with the kiddos at all times. There are currently ten kids in the class – The Princess will be the eleventh…and the only girl. My guess is that she’s going to be pretty popular…or perhaps she’ll decide the boys need some bossing around. Either way, it should be interesting.
Now I just need to get on the state about her health insurance application from December…she needs a physical before she can start attending school, and I doubt we can afford to pay for that out of our pockets. I have faith, though, that it will all work out.
Somehow, it always does.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Cheated
Today is The Princess's IEP meeting. At school. Where she will be going - to school - starting in April. Did I mention the fact that we're talking about school? My almost-three-year-old - she turns three on April 11th - will be packed up and sent off on a school bus, which will drive her one town over, where she will spend hours and hours away from Mommy and Daddy under the care of someone else every single weekday.
My fingernails are gone. In fact, I think I may be biting my knuckles at this point. I have indigestion like you wouldn't believe. My attention span is nonexistent, but all I want to do is hang out with The Princess every minute of every day.
My time with her is limited. Okay, that's a little on the melodramatic side...I'll give you that. But my full-time mommy-and-daughter before-she-goes-off-to-school time is almost over. Where did it go?
When I found out I was pregnant, I started planning all the things I was going to do with my baby...all the places we'd go, all the activities we'd do together, all the fun we'd have in the five years before she had to go to school, and in the summers between school years...you know the drill.
And then we realized something was wrong. We jumped in with both feet, never looking back. We've spent the past year and a half in a neverending whirlwind of therapists, evaluations, diagnostics and treatment options. We've learned to deal with support, ridicule, and standing united as a team, protecting her from the world as best we can. Has it helped? Sure. Would I trade it for all the tea in China? Absolutely not.
We are fortunate enough not to know any different. The Princess is our first and only child, so this is what parenting is to us.
Still, there are some days on which I feel horribly cheated.
My fingernails are gone. In fact, I think I may be biting my knuckles at this point. I have indigestion like you wouldn't believe. My attention span is nonexistent, but all I want to do is hang out with The Princess every minute of every day.
My time with her is limited. Okay, that's a little on the melodramatic side...I'll give you that. But my full-time mommy-and-daughter before-she-goes-off-to-school time is almost over. Where did it go?
When I found out I was pregnant, I started planning all the things I was going to do with my baby...all the places we'd go, all the activities we'd do together, all the fun we'd have in the five years before she had to go to school, and in the summers between school years...you know the drill.
And then we realized something was wrong. We jumped in with both feet, never looking back. We've spent the past year and a half in a neverending whirlwind of therapists, evaluations, diagnostics and treatment options. We've learned to deal with support, ridicule, and standing united as a team, protecting her from the world as best we can. Has it helped? Sure. Would I trade it for all the tea in China? Absolutely not.
We are fortunate enough not to know any different. The Princess is our first and only child, so this is what parenting is to us.
Still, there are some days on which I feel horribly cheated.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Hope and Pray
November 20, 2009: I lost my job.
November 22, 2009: I put in for unemployment.
Every day since November 20, 2009: I’ve pounded the pavement, looking for something – anything – to get me back into the work force. Unemployment sure isn’t going to last forever, and I don’t want to be on that ship when it goes down.
December 17, 2009: I spent a good two hours on the phone with someone at our county DHS office, applying for health coverage for myself, The Hubbs and The Princess. I know we bring home too much on unemployment to qualify for cash assistance or food stamps, and I wouldn’t want to take those benefits away from anyone who truly needs them. I was told that we would have an answer within forty-five days regarding our eligibility for health coverage. Truth be told, I’m most concerned about The Princess. She was getting fairly close to aging out of EI at the time of this call.
Sometime in late February/Early March 2010: I received a letter from DHS saying that my application is still being processed.
Mid-March 2010: I called the number for All Kids to check on our application, and was told it’s still being processed. When I asked for a time estimate, the CSR told me it usually takes forty-five days. When I mentioned the fact that it was now going on three months since my application, he didn’t know what to say, stammering an apology.
March 20, 2010: I received a letter in the mail from another DHS office in a different county, asking for more information to be able to process my request. I. Was. Furious. The letter was dated March 18. Three full months after my application, and now they’re asking for records since the application was originally put in? Why didn’t they just process it the first time? And what the hell was my application doing in a different county?
March 22, 2010: I called the representative whose name was listed on the letter. She was not at her desk, so I left a message. I didn’t expect her to call right back, and was so grateful when she did. She was very nice, and walked through the requests with me, making sure I knew exactly what I needed to send to get our application processed as quickly as possible. She explained that our county’s office is extremely overwhelmed with requests right now, and that her office has stepped in to try to help. I’ve spent all morning dealing with this, and have just finished faxing all of the requested information to her office for approval.
April 11, 2010: The Princess turns three. That is the day she will age out of EI, and lose all related services. We have her IEP meeting tomorrow, but I would feel so much better knowing that we had health coverage for her to help with supplemental therapies that the school can’t provide. Lord knows she won’t be able to ride a horse to help her get centered at school.
Cross your fingers. Hope and pray with me that this woman in another county can help me to get this request processed in time for her third birthday. Hope and pray with me that the program director for the 3-21 program calls me back, and that we can get hooked up with a service coordinator who can come with us to the IEP meeting tomorrow. Hope and pray that we don’t have to be cut off from all of our current service providers, our guardian angels who are helping The Princess make such leaps and bounds.
Hope and pray with me. Please, hope and pray with me.
November 22, 2009: I put in for unemployment.
Every day since November 20, 2009: I’ve pounded the pavement, looking for something – anything – to get me back into the work force. Unemployment sure isn’t going to last forever, and I don’t want to be on that ship when it goes down.
December 17, 2009: I spent a good two hours on the phone with someone at our county DHS office, applying for health coverage for myself, The Hubbs and The Princess. I know we bring home too much on unemployment to qualify for cash assistance or food stamps, and I wouldn’t want to take those benefits away from anyone who truly needs them. I was told that we would have an answer within forty-five days regarding our eligibility for health coverage. Truth be told, I’m most concerned about The Princess. She was getting fairly close to aging out of EI at the time of this call.
Sometime in late February/Early March 2010: I received a letter from DHS saying that my application is still being processed.
Mid-March 2010: I called the number for All Kids to check on our application, and was told it’s still being processed. When I asked for a time estimate, the CSR told me it usually takes forty-five days. When I mentioned the fact that it was now going on three months since my application, he didn’t know what to say, stammering an apology.
March 20, 2010: I received a letter in the mail from another DHS office in a different county, asking for more information to be able to process my request. I. Was. Furious. The letter was dated March 18. Three full months after my application, and now they’re asking for records since the application was originally put in? Why didn’t they just process it the first time? And what the hell was my application doing in a different county?
March 22, 2010: I called the representative whose name was listed on the letter. She was not at her desk, so I left a message. I didn’t expect her to call right back, and was so grateful when she did. She was very nice, and walked through the requests with me, making sure I knew exactly what I needed to send to get our application processed as quickly as possible. She explained that our county’s office is extremely overwhelmed with requests right now, and that her office has stepped in to try to help. I’ve spent all morning dealing with this, and have just finished faxing all of the requested information to her office for approval.
April 11, 2010: The Princess turns three. That is the day she will age out of EI, and lose all related services. We have her IEP meeting tomorrow, but I would feel so much better knowing that we had health coverage for her to help with supplemental therapies that the school can’t provide. Lord knows she won’t be able to ride a horse to help her get centered at school.
Cross your fingers. Hope and pray with me that this woman in another county can help me to get this request processed in time for her third birthday. Hope and pray with me that the program director for the 3-21 program calls me back, and that we can get hooked up with a service coordinator who can come with us to the IEP meeting tomorrow. Hope and pray that we don’t have to be cut off from all of our current service providers, our guardian angels who are helping The Princess make such leaps and bounds.
Hope and pray with me. Please, hope and pray with me.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Sister
It is a beautiful summer day in the 1980’s. My exact age is not important, because parts of this conversation with my mom happened countless times over the years…but this is the first time I remember making such a plea.
My brother has just finished chopping off my right pigtail with the orange-handled scissors, but in such a way that it doesn’t become immediately apparent to my folks. After coming in for a snack, Mommy decides my hairdo needs a bit of an adjustment, so she removes the tie from my left pigtail. When she does the same on the right side, a handful of hair comes with it.
My brother is laughing hysterically, and I’m beginning to bawl my eyes out.
“Mommy, do you see what he did? He…(sob)…cut…(sob)…off…(sob)…my…(sob)…PIGTAIL!!!” From here, I progress to those huge heaving sobs - you know the ones - accompanied by desperate gulps for air in between. I may try to keep talking, but even I can't understand myself at this point.
Mommy hugs me to her and rocks me as I convulse with each gut-wrenching sob. She smooths what is left of my hair, singing so softly it is almost a whisper. I steal a glance at my brother, who has a look of such naked terror on his face that I’m glad I can’t see the laser beams shooting out of Mommy’s eyes in his direction. He’s gonna get it, all right.
After an eternity, I begin to feel as though I can breathe again. I start squirming in Mommy’s arms, and she loosens her grip ever so slightly. I turn so I can see her face, and I begin my plea.
“Mommy, why can’t you have another baby? This one would be a girl, and she would be perfect, and she would be my sister. You wouldn’t even have to do anything, really. I’d take care of her. I’d feed her and let her out, and make sure she has water. I’d give her baths when she needed them, and she could sleep on my bed with me. You wouldn’t even know she was here.”
I understand now how my mom must have felt, sitting there with her youngest on her lap, beseeching her to have another child...presenting her case as though she were requesting a new puppy, kitten, Guinea pig or goldfish. Looking back, I don't know how she didn't break down into hysterical laughter right then and there.
Obviously, my begging for a sister was not reason enough for my parents to go through all that is involved with a baby for the third time. My thinking was that I could train this new sister to be on my side, and that we could gang up on my brother so he couldn't pick on me anymore. It's the same thing every little sister wishes at one point or another: to have a comrade, someone to commiserate with, someone who understands every little thing without requiring a huge explanation.
Over the years, I'm glad to say, my brother and I have grown closer. We're both all grown up now, and I'm proud to call him my best friend. That's not to say that there weren't times along the way when I wrote letters to Santa Claus (published in the local paper, no less), imploring him to send my brother to Abu Dhabi or Timbuktu. We fought like cats and dogs, but Mom and Dad were right: no friend is going to stick around like a brother does. He has to...he's family.
Four and a half years ago, I married the love of my life. My brother dressed up in a monkey suit and stood with us at the altar. He beamed and told me how happy he was for me. He befriended my husband and went to great lengths to make him feel welcome in his new home, which is much more rural than where he grew up. He accepted my husband as his brother.
That day, I didn't only gain a husband. I also acquired a second set of parents, along with a wonderful new set of grandparents. They've all taken me in as one of their own, and the two families get along great.
But that's not all. At the age of twenty-four, I finally got what I had been asking for all my life: a sister. Some may argue that we're not real sisters, and to those people I stick my nose in the air and turn on my heel like a hoity-toity New Yorker. This is the real deal, folks.
We may not be blood relatives, but that doesn't mean we're not as close as those who are. Twenty-four years was a long time to wait, but - boy, oh, boy - was it worth it. This woman is funny, supportive, and fiercely loyal. She's everything I ever wanted in a friend, and oh so much more.
Jello: though we can't be there in person today to celebrate with you, I hope you have a fantastic birthday. Hug that hubby and daughter of yours for me, and have them snuggle The Belly and give you bear hugs from me, too. Love you, girlie.
My brother has just finished chopping off my right pigtail with the orange-handled scissors, but in such a way that it doesn’t become immediately apparent to my folks. After coming in for a snack, Mommy decides my hairdo needs a bit of an adjustment, so she removes the tie from my left pigtail. When she does the same on the right side, a handful of hair comes with it.
My brother is laughing hysterically, and I’m beginning to bawl my eyes out.
“Mommy, do you see what he did? He…(sob)…cut…(sob)…off…(sob)…my…(sob)…PIGTAIL!!!” From here, I progress to those huge heaving sobs - you know the ones - accompanied by desperate gulps for air in between. I may try to keep talking, but even I can't understand myself at this point.
Mommy hugs me to her and rocks me as I convulse with each gut-wrenching sob. She smooths what is left of my hair, singing so softly it is almost a whisper. I steal a glance at my brother, who has a look of such naked terror on his face that I’m glad I can’t see the laser beams shooting out of Mommy’s eyes in his direction. He’s gonna get it, all right.
After an eternity, I begin to feel as though I can breathe again. I start squirming in Mommy’s arms, and she loosens her grip ever so slightly. I turn so I can see her face, and I begin my plea.
“Mommy, why can’t you have another baby? This one would be a girl, and she would be perfect, and she would be my sister. You wouldn’t even have to do anything, really. I’d take care of her. I’d feed her and let her out, and make sure she has water. I’d give her baths when she needed them, and she could sleep on my bed with me. You wouldn’t even know she was here.”
*****
I understand now how my mom must have felt, sitting there with her youngest on her lap, beseeching her to have another child...presenting her case as though she were requesting a new puppy, kitten, Guinea pig or goldfish. Looking back, I don't know how she didn't break down into hysterical laughter right then and there.
Obviously, my begging for a sister was not reason enough for my parents to go through all that is involved with a baby for the third time. My thinking was that I could train this new sister to be on my side, and that we could gang up on my brother so he couldn't pick on me anymore. It's the same thing every little sister wishes at one point or another: to have a comrade, someone to commiserate with, someone who understands every little thing without requiring a huge explanation.
Over the years, I'm glad to say, my brother and I have grown closer. We're both all grown up now, and I'm proud to call him my best friend. That's not to say that there weren't times along the way when I wrote letters to Santa Claus (published in the local paper, no less), imploring him to send my brother to Abu Dhabi or Timbuktu. We fought like cats and dogs, but Mom and Dad were right: no friend is going to stick around like a brother does. He has to...he's family.
Four and a half years ago, I married the love of my life. My brother dressed up in a monkey suit and stood with us at the altar. He beamed and told me how happy he was for me. He befriended my husband and went to great lengths to make him feel welcome in his new home, which is much more rural than where he grew up. He accepted my husband as his brother.
That day, I didn't only gain a husband. I also acquired a second set of parents, along with a wonderful new set of grandparents. They've all taken me in as one of their own, and the two families get along great.
But that's not all. At the age of twenty-four, I finally got what I had been asking for all my life: a sister. Some may argue that we're not real sisters, and to those people I stick my nose in the air and turn on my heel like a hoity-toity New Yorker. This is the real deal, folks.
We may not be blood relatives, but that doesn't mean we're not as close as those who are. Twenty-four years was a long time to wait, but - boy, oh, boy - was it worth it. This woman is funny, supportive, and fiercely loyal. She's everything I ever wanted in a friend, and oh so much more.
Jello: though we can't be there in person today to celebrate with you, I hope you have a fantastic birthday. Hug that hubby and daughter of yours for me, and have them snuggle The Belly and give you bear hugs from me, too. Love you, girlie.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Short, But Oh So Sweet
The Princess's newest talent is climbing into the car by herself, clambering into her car seat by herself, plopping down in her car seat facing forward by herself, and waiting for Momma to buckle her in.
'Nuff said.
'Nuff said.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Goner
Toys "R" Us is one store we usually avoid like the plague. Not only is it one of those dreaded hundred-dollar stores...it also has the extra added bonus of reverting me to the mental age of five years old. While this is not always a bad thing, I have a sneaking suspicion that it has some kind of effect on the amount of loot flying from the shelves into my cart. I certainly can't take all the blame.
This past weekend was beautiful, as I'm sure you are all well aware. The Hubbs and I ventured out into the bright sunlight with our sweet little girl, headed to the guitar and yarn stores. We thought it might be nice to go somewhere that would pique The Princess's interest, so we made the trek over to the combination Toys "R" Us/Babies "R" Us for a little bit of fun.
The moment we walked through the door, I could feel myself getting more and more excited...and less and less logical. By the time we had procured a cart and secured The Princess in the child seat, I was a goner. The Hubbs took one look at me and knew it. There was an extra twinkle in my eye, accompanied by a spring in my step...and if I wasn't careful, that spring was going to turn into a skip. We were done for.
I stood in wonder, feet glued in place, not sure where to start. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, I made my way to the front display: bubbles. Bubble machines, gallon jugs, wands of every shape and size. The Princess and I were in heaven. One of our favorite toys is her no-spill bubble jars with the integrated wands...one of the best inventions ever. Imagine my glee when I realized they make bubble buckets. These things were a good ten times the size of the little guys we have at home, with four - count 'em, four - gigantic wands.
Score.
This was not, I repeat not, our only purchase of the day. We also procured a most excellent Play-Doh set, as well as a rhythm-gymnastics-style ribbon-on-a-stick that we're sure she'll love. What I should make perfectly clear, though, is that these purchases - every single solitary one of them - were acquired with the strict promise that they would be for her Easter basket.
That being said, we've been playing with the Play-Doh bucket since the day we got it. I couldn't very well come home with all these fantastic new toys without letting her play with at least one, could I? What kind of a momma would do such a thing? For days and days, The Princess has been climbing on top of us, reaching as far as her little arms will go in the general direction of the top of the entertainment center. This is where the Play-Doh set resides when it is not in use...my way of ensuring that all of the pieces stay together, and that a certain little lady's room is not re-plastered in primary colors. It's working well so far, and as long as we stick to our guns I think we'll be fine.
Yesterday was the nicest day we've had all year. Venturing out into the afternoon with The Hubbs and the princess, sidewalk chalk in hand, my mind started to itch. You know what I mean: that feeling in the back of your head that pokes and pokes at you until you just can't ignore it anymore? Yeah, that. It was telling me that there was a perfectly good bucket of bubbles sitting in the Toys "R" Us bag on the kitchen floor, mocking me. Poke, poke. What kind of a momma would make her little girl wait weeks and weeks for such a great toy?
Well! I can't just stand idly by while my conscience pokes and prods at me like that. What kind of a mommy, indeed?! I tromped back into the kitchen to get the bubble bucket ready to go.
Back out in the yard, we made a family decision that this is the coolest thing EVER. The Hubbs and I blew thousands and thousands of bubbles, watching The Princess happily chase and pop...Pop...POP them one by one. We broke the giggle record for a single day, and are currently planning to venture outside once again to see if we can set a new record. I'm thinking we can do it two days in a row...it just takes dedication, you see.
For those of you keeping count, we bought three toys for The Princess's Easter basket. The first didn't even make it a day. The second was busted out long before the first week passed. I solemnly swear to hold out as long as humanly possible before giving her the ribbon-on-a-stick. Any bets on how long I'll last?
This past weekend was beautiful, as I'm sure you are all well aware. The Hubbs and I ventured out into the bright sunlight with our sweet little girl, headed to the guitar and yarn stores. We thought it might be nice to go somewhere that would pique The Princess's interest, so we made the trek over to the combination Toys "R" Us/Babies "R" Us for a little bit of fun.
The moment we walked through the door, I could feel myself getting more and more excited...and less and less logical. By the time we had procured a cart and secured The Princess in the child seat, I was a goner. The Hubbs took one look at me and knew it. There was an extra twinkle in my eye, accompanied by a spring in my step...and if I wasn't careful, that spring was going to turn into a skip. We were done for.
I stood in wonder, feet glued in place, not sure where to start. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, I made my way to the front display: bubbles. Bubble machines, gallon jugs, wands of every shape and size. The Princess and I were in heaven. One of our favorite toys is her no-spill bubble jars with the integrated wands...one of the best inventions ever. Imagine my glee when I realized they make bubble buckets. These things were a good ten times the size of the little guys we have at home, with four - count 'em, four - gigantic wands.
Score.
This was not, I repeat not, our only purchase of the day. We also procured a most excellent Play-Doh set, as well as a rhythm-gymnastics-style ribbon-on-a-stick that we're sure she'll love. What I should make perfectly clear, though, is that these purchases - every single solitary one of them - were acquired with the strict promise that they would be for her Easter basket.
That being said, we've been playing with the Play-Doh bucket since the day we got it. I couldn't very well come home with all these fantastic new toys without letting her play with at least one, could I? What kind of a momma would do such a thing? For days and days, The Princess has been climbing on top of us, reaching as far as her little arms will go in the general direction of the top of the entertainment center. This is where the Play-Doh set resides when it is not in use...my way of ensuring that all of the pieces stay together, and that a certain little lady's room is not re-plastered in primary colors. It's working well so far, and as long as we stick to our guns I think we'll be fine.
Yesterday was the nicest day we've had all year. Venturing out into the afternoon with The Hubbs and the princess, sidewalk chalk in hand, my mind started to itch. You know what I mean: that feeling in the back of your head that pokes and pokes at you until you just can't ignore it anymore? Yeah, that. It was telling me that there was a perfectly good bucket of bubbles sitting in the Toys "R" Us bag on the kitchen floor, mocking me. Poke, poke. What kind of a momma would make her little girl wait weeks and weeks for such a great toy?
Well! I can't just stand idly by while my conscience pokes and prods at me like that. What kind of a mommy, indeed?! I tromped back into the kitchen to get the bubble bucket ready to go.
Back out in the yard, we made a family decision that this is the coolest thing EVER. The Hubbs and I blew thousands and thousands of bubbles, watching The Princess happily chase and pop...Pop...POP them one by one. We broke the giggle record for a single day, and are currently planning to venture outside once again to see if we can set a new record. I'm thinking we can do it two days in a row...it just takes dedication, you see.
For those of you keeping count, we bought three toys for The Princess's Easter basket. The first didn't even make it a day. The second was busted out long before the first week passed. I solemnly swear to hold out as long as humanly possible before giving her the ribbon-on-a-stick. Any bets on how long I'll last?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Three
To my brother and his wife,
Can you believe it's been three years? Some days it seems so much longer to me, and others it seems as though we watched you get married yesterday.
Three years, three houses, three Yorkies. Three trucks? I've lost count.
Three Christmases, three Thanksgivings, three Valentine's Days. Three birthdays for each of us. Well, except for The Princess...but she's close.
Three people (and two bulldogs) in this little yellow house who love you so very much.
Happy anniversary, my dears.
Can you believe it's been three years? Some days it seems so much longer to me, and others it seems as though we watched you get married yesterday.
Three years, three houses, three Yorkies. Three trucks? I've lost count.
Three Christmases, three Thanksgivings, three Valentine's Days. Three birthdays for each of us. Well, except for The Princess...but she's close.
Three people (and two bulldogs) in this little yellow house who love you so very much.
Happy anniversary, my dears.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Baby Steps
I’m sound asleep, snuggled up with Sookie and Dee, when I feel it: a nagging intuition that something is happening, something I won’t want to miss. I gingerly pry my eyelids apart, bracing myself for a cry, a yell, anything to indicate the reason behind my waking. Then it hits me: nothing is wrong. In fact, I think I’ve found the culprit who has ripped me from my peaceful slumber. It’s the sun.
Streaming in through the small slit between my bedroom curtains, the sun nudges me awake. I stretch my arms out over my head, extending my fingers to their absolute maximum length; I try to reach the foot of the bed with my toes. I relish the phenomenon of waking with such a feeling of peace, calm and rest. I swing myself into an Indian-style sitting position so I can open the curtains to witness the full glory of our very first real spring day.
There is no therapy today, no pressing appointments. I don’t have to be at school until five o’clock this afternoon. Indisputably, there are tasks that could use attention around the house, but my mind is singing and dancing to the beat of a beautiful day…one that should not be wasted on such drudgery. I want to dance around a May-pole; I want to take a bike ride with my little girl; I want to bust out of this house like a cannonball. The winter may not have been particularly cruel, but it was long. Months and months we’ve spent cooped up in this house, staring at each other and wishing for a better climate as if the mere thought would bring spring to our doorstep any sooner. .
My daughter – my sweet, bright, amazing little girl – will be turning three years old in less than a month, and she has never been to a playground. That’s right…never. We’ve had so many reasons not to go: her issues with crowds; her tendency to go into sensory overload with too much noise; my fear that the other kids and parents won’t understand her. If I’m being perfectly honest here, the last item in that list is the biggest, and the hardest for me to tackle.
This is a day for conquering fears. At lunch, our little family piles into the car and heads out to meet the day. We stop at the Polish buffet for a bite to eat, where the princess has the most interesting lunch I’ve ever seen: pickles, Jello and soft-serve ice cream…washed down by chocolate milk. Nothing but the best for The Princess! We visit the library, where we realize our little one has quite a bit of pent-up energy. We leave the library, tails between our legs (but giggling the entire way) after she decides to run full-tilt, squealing like a maniac, up and down the aisles.
We drive across town to the huge playground, the one we’ve driven past no less than five hundred times. The very same one I’ve wished I could bring her to more times than I can count, but I never had the nerve. We pull into the parking lot and find a spot. I cut the engine and set the parking brake. The Hubbs and I are getting out of the car, walking over to The Princess's door and releasing her. This is really happening.
She walks with us, hand-in-hand, not sure what is in store. She enjoys the swing for a few minutes – she’s never been a fan of swing sets so far, but I’m sure we’ll break her of that when we have one of our own – before going into a near-meltdown. Daddy nips it in the bud and gets her smiling again in no time.
We can do this.
I take her hand and walk her to the top of a small slide, about the size of Sakina’s. Daddy stands at the bottom, hands outstretched to catch her. Ready, set, GO! And she’s off. She squeals in delight, turning around to climb the slide so she can do it again…stairs be damned.
She plays in the sand. She takes my hand and we climb through the wooden tower to meet the curvy big-kid slide. Daddy, always our knight in shining armor, valiantly vows to catch her once again. I help her into the tube, and she looks back at me with a gut-wrenching mixture of excitement and fear in her eyes. She trusts me. She knows I won’t let her do anything that will hurt her.
I’m going to have to let go.
And when I do, she careens down the slide without Mommy or Daddy in sight. She pops out the other side into her Daddy’s arms, and is halfway between happy and terrified. We won’t do it again today, but at least we can say we survived it once.
Baby steps.
Streaming in through the small slit between my bedroom curtains, the sun nudges me awake. I stretch my arms out over my head, extending my fingers to their absolute maximum length; I try to reach the foot of the bed with my toes. I relish the phenomenon of waking with such a feeling of peace, calm and rest. I swing myself into an Indian-style sitting position so I can open the curtains to witness the full glory of our very first real spring day.
There is no therapy today, no pressing appointments. I don’t have to be at school until five o’clock this afternoon. Indisputably, there are tasks that could use attention around the house, but my mind is singing and dancing to the beat of a beautiful day…one that should not be wasted on such drudgery. I want to dance around a May-pole; I want to take a bike ride with my little girl; I want to bust out of this house like a cannonball. The winter may not have been particularly cruel, but it was long. Months and months we’ve spent cooped up in this house, staring at each other and wishing for a better climate as if the mere thought would bring spring to our doorstep any sooner. .
My daughter – my sweet, bright, amazing little girl – will be turning three years old in less than a month, and she has never been to a playground. That’s right…never. We’ve had so many reasons not to go: her issues with crowds; her tendency to go into sensory overload with too much noise; my fear that the other kids and parents won’t understand her. If I’m being perfectly honest here, the last item in that list is the biggest, and the hardest for me to tackle.
This is a day for conquering fears. At lunch, our little family piles into the car and heads out to meet the day. We stop at the Polish buffet for a bite to eat, where the princess has the most interesting lunch I’ve ever seen: pickles, Jello and soft-serve ice cream…washed down by chocolate milk. Nothing but the best for The Princess! We visit the library, where we realize our little one has quite a bit of pent-up energy. We leave the library, tails between our legs (but giggling the entire way) after she decides to run full-tilt, squealing like a maniac, up and down the aisles.
We drive across town to the huge playground, the one we’ve driven past no less than five hundred times. The very same one I’ve wished I could bring her to more times than I can count, but I never had the nerve. We pull into the parking lot and find a spot. I cut the engine and set the parking brake. The Hubbs and I are getting out of the car, walking over to The Princess's door and releasing her. This is really happening.
She walks with us, hand-in-hand, not sure what is in store. She enjoys the swing for a few minutes – she’s never been a fan of swing sets so far, but I’m sure we’ll break her of that when we have one of our own – before going into a near-meltdown. Daddy nips it in the bud and gets her smiling again in no time.
We can do this.
I take her hand and walk her to the top of a small slide, about the size of Sakina’s. Daddy stands at the bottom, hands outstretched to catch her. Ready, set, GO! And she’s off. She squeals in delight, turning around to climb the slide so she can do it again…stairs be damned.
She plays in the sand. She takes my hand and we climb through the wooden tower to meet the curvy big-kid slide. Daddy, always our knight in shining armor, valiantly vows to catch her once again. I help her into the tube, and she looks back at me with a gut-wrenching mixture of excitement and fear in her eyes. She trusts me. She knows I won’t let her do anything that will hurt her.
I’m going to have to let go.
And when I do, she careens down the slide without Mommy or Daddy in sight. She pops out the other side into her Daddy’s arms, and is halfway between happy and terrified. We won’t do it again today, but at least we can say we survived it once.
Baby steps.
Monday, March 15, 2010
While It Lasts
I've been having a hard time coming up with posts for the past few days, and I was feeling a little down about it. And then I realized something: I didn't have anything to post, because nothing earth-shattering had happened.
How cool is that?
There haven't been any end-of-the-world tantrums. No meltdowns in public. Or even at home. No near misses that have made my heart skip a beat.
What has been happening, then? Family time. Nice, quiet, relaxed family time...including an early birthday party for yours truly, where I procured some excellent new crochet supplies. Between the new book from The Hubbs's grandparents and the materials purchased for a few new projects, I should be busy for a while.
The Hubbs was able to accompany The Princess and me for our weekly OT session at Miss Sakina's place today. Believe it or not, this was his first time there...and boy, did he pick a good day. The Princess was attentive and productive. There was no screaming and very little protest to speak of.
I'd apologize for my lack of subject, but if you're reading this you're aware of how glorious an occasion that is. I think I'm just gonna kick back and enjoy the view while it lasts.
How cool is that?
There haven't been any end-of-the-world tantrums. No meltdowns in public. Or even at home. No near misses that have made my heart skip a beat.
What has been happening, then? Family time. Nice, quiet, relaxed family time...including an early birthday party for yours truly, where I procured some excellent new crochet supplies. Between the new book from The Hubbs's grandparents and the materials purchased for a few new projects, I should be busy for a while.
The Hubbs was able to accompany The Princess and me for our weekly OT session at Miss Sakina's place today. Believe it or not, this was his first time there...and boy, did he pick a good day. The Princess was attentive and productive. There was no screaming and very little protest to speak of.
I'd apologize for my lack of subject, but if you're reading this you're aware of how glorious an occasion that is. I think I'm just gonna kick back and enjoy the view while it lasts.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
My Daughter, My Husband and My Heart
This is the final draft of the narrative essay I turned in a few weeks ago for my composition class. My instructor gave me a rave review and suggested that I submit it to parenting magazines...I think I might go for it. Wish me luck!
Ask any parent and they’ll tell you that bringing up a child is the hardest, scariest, most rewarding experience they’ve ever gone through. When I became a mother, I was faced with a torrent of unsolicited advice from loved ones and even total strangers. I know they all mean well, but the fact of the matter is that every person – parent, child, sister, brother – is different. What people don’t seem to understand is that what has worked for them will not necessarily work for me. The most infuriating part is the implication that the advice-givers know better than I what is best for my child.
My daughter is everything and more than I ever could have asked for or expected in another human being. She is affectionate, funny and independent when she’s not needy. She’s so many other things, all wrapped up in the most beautiful little package I’ve ever seen. At nine months old, she had developed a vocabulary of four words: Momma, Dada, uh-oh and duck. By twelve months of age, nearly all of these vocalizations were mere memories. She was not picking up new words, and she had lost those which we thought she’d previously mastered. She refused to make eye contact with another human being, and was terrified by her own reflection. Something was wrong.
Many people took this opportunity to weigh in, yet again, with their opinions. It’s a phase, they said. Every kid is different. She’ll grow out of it. They were all right on one point: every kid is different. Though I knew they meant well, I just could not shake the feeling that this was more than my kid simply being a kid. I had to stop listening to the outsiders and spend some time with my family, listening to my daughter, my husband, my heart.
At her eighteen-month checkup with the pediatrician, my daughter was given a routine autism screening. This test combines information regarding the child’s day-to-day activities, obtained through a simple questionnaire completed by the parents, with firsthand observation of the child by his or her pediatrician. There are six points of concern monitored in this test, and if the child hits three or more, he or she is considered to be at risk for autism. My daughter hit all six.
Since that day, our family has been in touch with a local non-profit organization which works with special needs children, making sure they receive the care they need through available government programs. She began speech therapy immediately, but after a year it seemed to us that she was not progressing as quickly as she should. After we expressed our concerns, our service coordinator made an appointment for a medical diagnostic in Chicago. A team of professionals including a pediatrician, an occupational therapist, a speech pathologist and a developmental therapist analyzed my little girl by playing with and observing her. This team of experts informed us that same day that she was, indeed, on the autism spectrum. She is now receiving four therapies each week, and we have seen vast improvements in her demeanor. She’s making more eye contact and is able to look in the mirror for at least five seconds; her speech-type vocalization has picked up ten-fold; and she’s started communicating to us in her own language – a hybrid of signing and actions to indicate what she needs.
When other parents told me it would be hard, I nodded my head and smiled – my standard response to unsolicited advice these days. I had no idea what I was in for, but I wouldn’t change any part of it (or her) for the world. By blocking out the noise from the outside world and listening to my daughter, my husband and my heart, I’ve been able to provide The Princess the help she needs.
*********************************
Ask any parent and they’ll tell you that bringing up a child is the hardest, scariest, most rewarding experience they’ve ever gone through. When I became a mother, I was faced with a torrent of unsolicited advice from loved ones and even total strangers. I know they all mean well, but the fact of the matter is that every person – parent, child, sister, brother – is different. What people don’t seem to understand is that what has worked for them will not necessarily work for me. The most infuriating part is the implication that the advice-givers know better than I what is best for my child.
My daughter is everything and more than I ever could have asked for or expected in another human being. She is affectionate, funny and independent when she’s not needy. She’s so many other things, all wrapped up in the most beautiful little package I’ve ever seen. At nine months old, she had developed a vocabulary of four words: Momma, Dada, uh-oh and duck. By twelve months of age, nearly all of these vocalizations were mere memories. She was not picking up new words, and she had lost those which we thought she’d previously mastered. She refused to make eye contact with another human being, and was terrified by her own reflection. Something was wrong.
Many people took this opportunity to weigh in, yet again, with their opinions. It’s a phase, they said. Every kid is different. She’ll grow out of it. They were all right on one point: every kid is different. Though I knew they meant well, I just could not shake the feeling that this was more than my kid simply being a kid. I had to stop listening to the outsiders and spend some time with my family, listening to my daughter, my husband, my heart.
At her eighteen-month checkup with the pediatrician, my daughter was given a routine autism screening. This test combines information regarding the child’s day-to-day activities, obtained through a simple questionnaire completed by the parents, with firsthand observation of the child by his or her pediatrician. There are six points of concern monitored in this test, and if the child hits three or more, he or she is considered to be at risk for autism. My daughter hit all six.
Since that day, our family has been in touch with a local non-profit organization which works with special needs children, making sure they receive the care they need through available government programs. She began speech therapy immediately, but after a year it seemed to us that she was not progressing as quickly as she should. After we expressed our concerns, our service coordinator made an appointment for a medical diagnostic in Chicago. A team of professionals including a pediatrician, an occupational therapist, a speech pathologist and a developmental therapist analyzed my little girl by playing with and observing her. This team of experts informed us that same day that she was, indeed, on the autism spectrum. She is now receiving four therapies each week, and we have seen vast improvements in her demeanor. She’s making more eye contact and is able to look in the mirror for at least five seconds; her speech-type vocalization has picked up ten-fold; and she’s started communicating to us in her own language – a hybrid of signing and actions to indicate what she needs.
When other parents told me it would be hard, I nodded my head and smiled – my standard response to unsolicited advice these days. I had no idea what I was in for, but I wouldn’t change any part of it (or her) for the world. By blocking out the noise from the outside world and listening to my daughter, my husband and my heart, I’ve been able to provide The Princess the help she needs.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Miles Apart
Why can't you say
You'll always be mine
I know I'll always love you
Even though you break my heart
I'll always think of you
Till the end of time
I'll always dream about you
Even though we're miles apart
~from "Miles Apart" by The Bad
To our dear, dear friend:
Even though we're miles apart, we - The Hubbs and I - really do still think of you. You're in our thoughts more than you could possibly know, and it kills us to be so far away with such limited contact.
You are a true friend, a title I do not bestow lightly. It is an honor to know you and to be counted among those who you call friends.
Your son is a ray of light, comparable only to his Daddy. He is beautiful, bright, and - surprise of surprises - the life of the party. I wonder where that came from?
Your wife is devoted, and so obviously head-over-heels in love with you. And any fool can see that her love for you is rivaled only by yours for her. If ever there was a soul mate, my dear...
Though we're miles apart, we're still family. I know we'll always love you. And you should know that we are there in spirit, raucously celebrating your birthday just like old times.
Cheers.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Match
Okay, so most of you know by now that I've recently become obsessed with crochet. We're talkin' about the staying-up-all-night, working-on-projects-every-spare-moment, think-about-it-in-my-sleep kind of obsession here. Not necessarily healthy, but fun nonetheless.
I have another blog where I've been posting all of my completed projects, and have just recently started to fall behind in my creations. Heaven forbid I should skip a day or two!
But the truth is that I've been working like crazy on a couple of projects, about which I'm really excited. I'm happy to report that The Princess will be donning a 100% handmade dress for Easter, and I've got a little something for myself to match.
The dilemma? I don't want to post them on the blog yet, since they're for a special occasion. What's a gal to do?
Sigh...I suppose I'll just go to bed and dream of my next project. ;)
I have another blog where I've been posting all of my completed projects, and have just recently started to fall behind in my creations. Heaven forbid I should skip a day or two!
But the truth is that I've been working like crazy on a couple of projects, about which I'm really excited. I'm happy to report that The Princess will be donning a 100% handmade dress for Easter, and I've got a little something for myself to match.
The dilemma? I don't want to post them on the blog yet, since they're for a special occasion. What's a gal to do?
Sigh...I suppose I'll just go to bed and dream of my next project. ;)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Thaw
The Hubbs decided it was about time to meet Bear, so he came along for hippotherapy today. It was a nice change of pace to have Daddy along, and The Princess seemed to approve.
Spring seems to be here, at least for a while. It's so nice out today that we were able to drive around with the windows open, and we've even opened a few windows since we got home to let in some fresh air. It's nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, and it's still above sixty out there.
The first bout of nice weather after a long winter tends to make me a little giddy...hence the choppy little nonsensical post today. ;)
I'll be back to normal soon, whatever that is.
Spring seems to be here, at least for a while. It's so nice out today that we were able to drive around with the windows open, and we've even opened a few windows since we got home to let in some fresh air. It's nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, and it's still above sixty out there.
The first bout of nice weather after a long winter tends to make me a little giddy...hence the choppy little nonsensical post today. ;)
I'll be back to normal soon, whatever that is.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Joy
I call her name from across the house; she turns to look at me.
I smile; she smiles.
I speak to her; she looks me in the eye.
I come home from school and tiptoe to her doorway, singing hello; she whips her head around, grins, drops what she's doing and runs to me with her arms outstretched in the universal sign for "Pick me up."
I load a favorite movie; she sits with me.
She gets the nuances of the facial expressions, the music, the actions on the screen.
I say her name; she looks at me and smiles, scootching her little Pull-Up clad tush across the couch to give me a smooch. Unsolicited.
She goes back to watching the movie, not even realizing she's resting her hand on my lap. I don't have the heart to move until she does.
I live in this world which is inhabited by everyone and everything I ever loved before my baby girl came along nearly three years ago...and she's finally joining me.
I smile; she smiles.
I speak to her; she looks me in the eye.
I come home from school and tiptoe to her doorway, singing hello; she whips her head around, grins, drops what she's doing and runs to me with her arms outstretched in the universal sign for "Pick me up."
*****
I load a favorite movie; she sits with me.
She gets the nuances of the facial expressions, the music, the actions on the screen.
I say her name; she looks at me and smiles, scootching her little Pull-Up clad tush across the couch to give me a smooch. Unsolicited.
She goes back to watching the movie, not even realizing she's resting her hand on my lap. I don't have the heart to move until she does.
*****
I live in this world which is inhabited by everyone and everything I ever loved before my baby girl came along nearly three years ago...and she's finally joining me.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Ruby Slippers
The Wizard of Oz: a staple in my house.
My grandmother, Dorothy, grew up on a farm in Kansas. She didn't have a dog named Toto, but she did have a pig named Mupsy. She was fourteen years old when the iconic film hit the silver screen. Later in life, she began collecting memorabilia and ended up with an impressive selection. There were collector's plates, framed art, posters, purses, and an entire Christmas tree filled to the point of bursting with Wizard ornaments, perched precariously atop a yellow brick road tree skirt. Figurines and music boxes peeked out from every nook and cranny.
And the ruby slippers. I found them at a rummage sale when I was about nine years old, and I remember turning to my mom with a grin and announcing, "I know what we're going to give Grandma for her birthday this year!" We took them home and cleaned them with care. Mom made a special shelf to display them, and hand-carved There's no place like home! in the base. We proudly presented this to Grandma on her birthday, and she immediately pointed out a place of honor on the rec room wall...where they lived for nearly twenty years.
I had my own ruby slippers when I was younger, and to this day I feel I must own at least one pair of sassy red shoes at all times to honor this tradition. The Princess has had at least five pairs in her almost three years with us, and will never be without them as long as I can help it.
When my grandma passed away just over three years ago, the ruby slippers came to live with me. The hand-made shelf adorns the wall just above my computer monitor, where I'm sure to see it often. And it reminds me of her every time I catch even a peripheral glimpse.
Feeling nostalgic, I popped The Wizard of Oz into the DVD player this weekend to let it play in the background as I crocheted my little heart out.
Imagine my surprise when The Princess toddled into the room and stared at the television in wonder. This was during the opening sequence, before it switches to Technicolor. She stood in amazement for a couple of minutes before slowly backing up - never once taking her eyes off of Judy Garland - and plopping in her chair. She watched raptly as Dorothy and Toto rushed home, trying to beat the storm to get back to Auntie Em. Her attention did not waver, but her little hands grasped her Mega-Blok so hard her knuckles turned white as the house flew through the sky.
As soon as the tornado was over and Dorothy opened her front door upon Munchkinland, my munchkin's eyes got as big as saucers and an uninhibited grin spread from one perfect little ear to the other. Glinda spoke, and The Princess leaned forward, hanging on her every word. The munchkins came out of their hiding places and began to sing, and my little girl flopped back in her chair with one of those glorious head-thrown-back, mouth-wide-open, ain't-no-doubt-she's-the-happiest-kiddo-in-the-world laughs.
Then the wicked witch came on the screen. The Princess immediately made herself as small as possible and her knuckles went white again. Her eyes widened as she tucked her chin into her chest like a turtle. But she couldn't look away. I spoke slowly in a steady, calm voice, explaining that it was okay and that the witch would be gone in a minute. She visibly relaxed a bit, but her fear was not alleviated until that witch was gone in a puff of red smoke and the munchkins resumed their singing.
I don't recall the point in the movie where The Princess got up and went into her room to play, but I'll never forget the rapt attention she paid to the beginning. This is a little girl who has never - not even once - shown an interest in anything on TV beyond the fact that she obsesses over theme songs and a few select game shows. She has certainly never shown any signs of following a plot before. But I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she got this one. The facial expressions, the little nuances in the dialogue: she reacted to them just as I did when I was a kid. Just as every other kid I've known.
The Wizard of Oz has always held special meaning for me, ever since I was The Princess's age. And I will never forget this new meaning, added by my little girl, for as long as I live.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Welcome, Spring!
What a gorgeous day! We haven't seen weather like this in what seems like an eternity, so as soon as I got home from school this morning our little family decided to hop in the car and see where we ended up.
Surprise of surprises, we made our way to a few of our local shopping haunts...including the guitar place and my fave yarn store. Once we realized we'd just die if we didn't eat right that very moment, we hopped on over to Jimmy Buffett's place for a couple of burgers.
...After which we played for a little while longer before heading home. The Princess was an absolute doll all day. I can't tell you how impressed I am with her behavior, especially in some of the more crowded and chaotic places. She was a real trouper.
And now I'm busy with my newest crochet project and watching a fave movie. Hope y'all are enjoying your weekend as much as we're lovin' ours.
Surprise of surprises, we made our way to a few of our local shopping haunts...including the guitar place and my fave yarn store. Once we realized we'd just die if we didn't eat right that very moment, we hopped on over to Jimmy Buffett's place for a couple of burgers.
...After which we played for a little while longer before heading home. The Princess was an absolute doll all day. I can't tell you how impressed I am with her behavior, especially in some of the more crowded and chaotic places. She was a real trouper.
And now I'm busy with my newest crochet project and watching a fave movie. Hope y'all are enjoying your weekend as much as we're lovin' ours.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
All Choked Up
"Bear."
"What did you just say, baby?"
"Bear."
My heart jumped into my throat as I tried to catch my breath. Sitting in the car outside the arena where she rides Bear twice a week, this being her third visit ever, my daughter said his name. My daughter, who doesn't speak, and has just very recently started noticing the world around her. She said his name.
"Okay, baby. We're going in now. Let's go see Bear."
"What did you just say, baby?"
"Bear."
My heart jumped into my throat as I tried to catch my breath. Sitting in the car outside the arena where she rides Bear twice a week, this being her third visit ever, my daughter said his name. My daughter, who doesn't speak, and has just very recently started noticing the world around her. She said his name.
"Okay, baby. We're going in now. Let's go see Bear."
Friday, March 5, 2010
Seriously...
Can't we all just get along?
This saying ain’t just for tree-hugging hippies anymore. Seriously, people…aren’t we at a stage in our society where we can all just play nicely with others? No one likes everyone they meet, but does that honestly mean that we need to drag others’ names through the mud? What good does that do anyone? What could you possibly gain from such an act?
And when it’s done on the Internet, how do you stop it? If it’s about you, and it’s untrue and hurtful and just plain mean…how do you stop it? How do you even know where it originated? What can you do?
I hope and pray that our dear friend can come out of this smelling like a rose. I truly do, with every little piece of my heart. But I just don’t see how that could possibly happen. We still don’t know the extent to which this has been taken, or where it even started. And it’s bad. Really bad. And full of flagrant lies.
Sending oodles of love and support, and hoping beyond hope.
~One Mom
This saying ain’t just for tree-hugging hippies anymore. Seriously, people…aren’t we at a stage in our society where we can all just play nicely with others? No one likes everyone they meet, but does that honestly mean that we need to drag others’ names through the mud? What good does that do anyone? What could you possibly gain from such an act?
And when it’s done on the Internet, how do you stop it? If it’s about you, and it’s untrue and hurtful and just plain mean…how do you stop it? How do you even know where it originated? What can you do?
I hope and pray that our dear friend can come out of this smelling like a rose. I truly do, with every little piece of my heart. But I just don’t see how that could possibly happen. We still don’t know the extent to which this has been taken, or where it even started. And it’s bad. Really bad. And full of flagrant lies.
Sending oodles of love and support, and hoping beyond hope.
~One Mom
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Trying New Things
Days like this always seem to come just when we need them…right on the heels of those nasty wishing-for-a-reset-button days. They give us something to look forward to, and it sure is a wonderful surprise when they show up.
Tuesday of this week was one of these out-of-the-blue reprieve days. The Princess let us sleep in, and she woke up in a great mood. We all had a nice, relaxed morning before heading out to play. We stopped by the library to return some stuff, but decided not to go in since there were no parking spots. We ran over to Wal Mart to pick up some necessities (and some completely unnecessary fun bits for each of us). But that wasn’t all.
Mommy and Daddy needed haircuts, so we cruised across town to the cheapo place and plopped into a couple of seats in the waiting area. The Hubbs got called right away, and I opted to wait for my favorite gal. The Princess and I sat in the waiting area, playing with her keys and giggling.
Then I got called. The Hubbs was still in a stylist’s chair at the back of the shop, and The Princess was happily playing in my lap. I asked my gal if it was okay for The Princess to sit with me during my cut. She assured me it would be fine with her, so we headed on over. I crammed my hand into my purse, frantically digging until I found it. The magic toy: pony beads and a long, long string. I sat in the chair as the gal put my cape on, and lured The Princess up into my lap with the promise of beading. She sat there like an absolute angel throughout my entire haircut, stringing beads like a champ.
Until the gal started up the hair dryer. Why hadn’t I thought of this? Loud noises can be a big no-no in Princess Land. I froze.
I needn’t have worried. The Princess giggled and squinted, turning around to face the gal…asking for a blast in the face. She loved it.
Here’s to trying new things. Turns out they’re not always bad after all. Scary, sure. But not always bad.
Tuesday of this week was one of these out-of-the-blue reprieve days. The Princess let us sleep in, and she woke up in a great mood. We all had a nice, relaxed morning before heading out to play. We stopped by the library to return some stuff, but decided not to go in since there were no parking spots. We ran over to Wal Mart to pick up some necessities (and some completely unnecessary fun bits for each of us). But that wasn’t all.
Mommy and Daddy needed haircuts, so we cruised across town to the cheapo place and plopped into a couple of seats in the waiting area. The Hubbs got called right away, and I opted to wait for my favorite gal. The Princess and I sat in the waiting area, playing with her keys and giggling.
Then I got called. The Hubbs was still in a stylist’s chair at the back of the shop, and The Princess was happily playing in my lap. I asked my gal if it was okay for The Princess to sit with me during my cut. She assured me it would be fine with her, so we headed on over. I crammed my hand into my purse, frantically digging until I found it. The magic toy: pony beads and a long, long string. I sat in the chair as the gal put my cape on, and lured The Princess up into my lap with the promise of beading. She sat there like an absolute angel throughout my entire haircut, stringing beads like a champ.
Until the gal started up the hair dryer. Why hadn’t I thought of this? Loud noises can be a big no-no in Princess Land. I froze.
I needn’t have worried. The Princess giggled and squinted, turning around to face the gal…asking for a blast in the face. She loved it.
Here’s to trying new things. Turns out they’re not always bad after all. Scary, sure. But not always bad.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Glimmer
The past few days have been hectic around here, to say the least. The flying monkeys are having a hard time, I can’t do anything to help, and it’s been driving me crazy. Crazy momma + school + kiddo’s therapies + day-to-day stuff = just a little stressed.
Monday sucked. I’m talkin’ full-out, wish-it-never-happened, why-isn’t-there-a-reset-button kind of suckage. The Princess awoke, screaming, at about 7:00…a full hour and a half before her normal wake up time. She simply couldn’t be happy, and that little lip protruding from her face was getting me all choked up. I can’t take the pain away, and that kills me.
She was having GI issues again, and there’s nothing we can do in these situations except to let them work themselves out. Sometimes a bath helps; sometimes prunes do. But it’s largely a waiting game. The day was monopolized by the poor thing’s misery, and when she finally started to feel better she was just so tired she couldn’t even think.
On the way to OT, she fell asleep. This is never a good thing…she stopped taking naps eons ago, and when she falls asleep in the car it’s not uncommon for her to scream her bloody head off for an hour or more after you wake her up. To try, or not to try? We were already about two thirds of the way there…I figured if she freaked I could just turn around and go home, explaining the situation to Sakina by phone.
But she was okay. I woke her up, she rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times…getting a feeling for her surroundings. She signed “play” and shot out of the car like a rocket toward the clinic’s door. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, I told myself. She made it through OT without much trouble, though she wasn’t too happy about anything pressing on her tummy.
For the rest of the day, The Princess ran around half-heartedly…with much down-time shared with her companion, Dirt Pink.
Monday evening we all curled up in front of the TV to watch Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, which was surprisingly fantastic. I laughed until my face hurt…something I needed pretty badly at that point in my day. The Princess even watched bits and pieces from her little arm chair. See? Even in a bad day, there’s a little glimmer of good.
Due to the high levels of suckitude and small amounts of rest we’d all had, we made a group decision to end Monday early and went to bed. It never hurts to snuggle up under the covers and pray that tomorrow will be a better day.
Monday sucked. I’m talkin’ full-out, wish-it-never-happened, why-isn’t-there-a-reset-button kind of suckage. The Princess awoke, screaming, at about 7:00…a full hour and a half before her normal wake up time. She simply couldn’t be happy, and that little lip protruding from her face was getting me all choked up. I can’t take the pain away, and that kills me.
She was having GI issues again, and there’s nothing we can do in these situations except to let them work themselves out. Sometimes a bath helps; sometimes prunes do. But it’s largely a waiting game. The day was monopolized by the poor thing’s misery, and when she finally started to feel better she was just so tired she couldn’t even think.
On the way to OT, she fell asleep. This is never a good thing…she stopped taking naps eons ago, and when she falls asleep in the car it’s not uncommon for her to scream her bloody head off for an hour or more after you wake her up. To try, or not to try? We were already about two thirds of the way there…I figured if she freaked I could just turn around and go home, explaining the situation to Sakina by phone.
But she was okay. I woke her up, she rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times…getting a feeling for her surroundings. She signed “play” and shot out of the car like a rocket toward the clinic’s door. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, I told myself. She made it through OT without much trouble, though she wasn’t too happy about anything pressing on her tummy.
For the rest of the day, The Princess ran around half-heartedly…with much down-time shared with her companion, Dirt Pink.
Monday evening we all curled up in front of the TV to watch Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, which was surprisingly fantastic. I laughed until my face hurt…something I needed pretty badly at that point in my day. The Princess even watched bits and pieces from her little arm chair. See? Even in a bad day, there’s a little glimmer of good.
Due to the high levels of suckitude and small amounts of rest we’d all had, we made a group decision to end Monday early and went to bed. It never hurts to snuggle up under the covers and pray that tomorrow will be a better day.
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