Growing Up

The little ones in my life finished their school year a few days ago.   They started the school year thinking they would be in the South for who-knows-how-long...and finished the year in the Midwest. 

They grew and changed and embraced change and made me one proud momma.

T-Man took the changes in stride.  He smoothly transitioned from one climate and culture into the next.  He is a helper, a leader, a reader, and radiates positivity.  Ironically, his name means "long-winded talker" and "cheerful".  Both of those meanings fit our little T-Man perfectly.  And I love him to pieces for both of those qualities.

Fearless had the hardest time with the changes--he is one that loves the routine and anticipating what is coming next.  Moving and starting over with new school rules, new friends, new climate...it took awhile for him to adjust.  But being the little rock star he is, he realized he was having a hard time and every night he would pray that he would be happy.  And each day he tried hard to choose to be happy. 

That attitude is pretty grown-up for a five year old.  I'm so proud of him for pushing himself to grow and embrace the change. 

And this little lovey?  She's still my doll-baby; but she's grown-up too.  She loves her independence and is communicating what she needs and wants like a champ.  And although we lovingly refer to her as our little F5 Tornado (or just F5 for short) I love her curiosity and her sense of adventure.  I love hearing about what is going on in her mind. I love learning what is important to her, so it can be important to me too. 

Having them all home everyday means that our home is full of ruckus & chaos at any given moment--and surprisingly, it doesn't bother me.  Just having them close and deepening our relationship is worth all the noise and Lego messes.

Yay for 3 months of uninterrupted time for me to spend with my little ones!!

Bring on summer!!

Spring/Easter/Birthday Mash-up. Or: Miss Banana Turns Three

In our family, birthdays and holidays seem to come together.  My birthday is New Year's Day.  T-Man's birthday is right around Labor Day.  Fearless was born right between the 4th of July and Pioneer Day. You might think that Dr. C didn't get he birthday/holiday memo, because he was born at the beginning of August, but it turns out his birthday is on National Lighthouse Day.  AND, lately, his birthday has fallen on the back-to-school sales-tax holiday, which might even be a better than National Lighthouse Day, don't you think? 

Maybe he got the memo after all.

And then there's Miss Banana, whose birthday is today, two days before Easter. 

Of all the birthday/holiday combos we have in our family; I think Miss B's is the most significant.  Her birthday is nestled in the midst of the Spring & Easter themes of everything new, fresh, clean, beautiful, growing, and reaching for more.  From watching the grass turn green, to the flowers that start to bloom, to the new baby birds chirping in the nest of a nearby tree, to thinking about our Savior, Jesus Christ, overcoming all and living again; Spring and Easter, to me, are about new life.  This time of year signifies the possibilities that we have inside of us if we let the sunshine in and allow ourselves to grow and become more than what we were before.

To me, Miss Banana being born during the time when the world was going through the Springtime renewal was not a coincidence.  During the dark, cold winter months when we received Miss B's diagnosis, I felt like life was against me.  The snow dumped down, the wind blew constantly, and my heart was devastated.

And then the ice began to melt and acceptance grew.  The daffodils in my front yard started to bloom.  The sun began to shine. And my little lady, with her wisdom and strength, was born. 

A new life. 

A perfect, beautiful, new life.

 

Having her join our family was like pulling back all the curtains, opening the windows and letting the sunshine and fresh air pour in.  It was like a big dose of spring cleaning in my heart.  The bleakness of winter was gone; the despair of the unknown replaced with hope and joy. 

 Life with Miss Banana has opened my eyes and allowed me to see more beauty in the world than I had known existed.  Because of her, I've grown, I've stretched, I've become something more than I ever was before.  Dr. C and I will often divide our life into two time periods: "Before Miss B" and "After Miss B".  Because having her in our family changed us forever. 

It was the beginning of a New Life.

 I thank my Heavenly Father for sending her to our family.  I am grateful for the Savior's example of overcoming all and for the Atonement of Jesus Christ that allows me to repent and be renewed.  I am eternally thankful that I have my little Miss B to teach me and help me grow.  I cherish this Spring/Easter/Birthday time and how it reminds me to celebrate the joy of Life.

 

Happy Birthday, my little lovey, I love you to the moon and back.

Forward.

Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed with all of your love and support.  I feel so blessed to associate with so many selfless, thoughtful friends and family that rally around us whenever we need it.  I am humbled and inspired by your examples of service and generosity.  From the bottom of my heart, Thank You. 

To me, the likely possibility of Miss B having leukemia, was like getting hit in the head with the Life-Is-Hard stick.  And it hurt!  Bad!

But as I've had the past week to move forward, I have come to the conclusion that Miss B either has leukemia, or she does  not.  Only God knows what is in store for her.

And while I will pray constantly that Miss B will be healthy; I am determined that the fear of future possibilities will not paralyze me in the present.  I will push forward with faith, trusting God that all will turn out for the best.

As Helen Keller said, "Life is either a daring adventure, or it is nothing." In our house, life being "nothing" is not an option.  I refuse to allow us to dwell and fixate on the storm clouds that could be brewing, instead of enjoying the sunshine of the moment.

Our lives will be a daring adventure.

Leukemia or not.

Welcome Back to the Pinball-Machine-Life

After our crazy year with Miss B's diagnosis, Dr. C's PhD, Miss B's birth, Open Heart surgery and then our move down here to a state I'd never even visited before...I was in desperate need of a soft place to land.  We had been living the pinball-machine life and I craved feeling like I was settled into Home. 

The South has taken me in, showed me some amazing hospitality, soothed my soul, and treated me like family.  And while The Village can't provide all of the things the city-girl in me misses; The Village has given me respite from the weariness I felt when we arrived.

So when Dr. C applied for a job back in the midwest back in August and asked me if I was ready to move again, I told him I'd think about it if he got an offer.

When he asked again after the phone interview back in September, I said I'd let him know when I saw the offer letter in his hand.

And then after they flew him up there for in in-person interview in October; and I felt like a little kid sticking her fingers in her ears--na-na-na-I'm-not-listening!

And then the offer letter came two weeks ago.

And I had to seriously think about moving. 

AGAIN.

Our sixth move in 9 1/2 years of marriage.

As we thought about it and prayed about it...I was conflicted.  We have been digging in here...we have our friends-that-are-family, Dr. C loves his job here, I was finally making progress on a Down syndrome group, Miss B is in the most wonderful preschool and has amazing therapists, T-Man and Fearless are excelling in school. 

Most of all, how could we walk away from the people and the place that took care of us when we needed it most? 

It is times like this...the times when you have a choice between good and good...that praying and receiving answers to your prayers is the only way to move forward with confidance.  I didn't know what we should do--Should we uproot our family again for the unknown?  Should we stay and make The South our permanent home? 

After much prayer, apparently God wants us bounce back into the pinball-machine-life and we have decided that our time in The South is coming to an end--Dr. C starts his new job in Des Moines, Iowa on Dec. 5th.

I know this is the right decision, but it is with a heavy heart that I have been getting our first home ready to sell...ready to be enjoyed for years to come by some other family.  And while I'm excited to live closer to my sisters...I will deeply miss all of my Southern family here.

Even though The Village and The South aren't going to be our lifetime-Home, I will always look back on these two and half years with gratitude for the wonderful people that have made my family part of their family; for the place that was a balm to my frayed nerves as I began our new journey having a child with special needs; for teaching me that slowing down is a good way of life; for giving us that soft place to land.

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

The Third Year.

Three years ago yesterday, I got a phone call that would change our lives forever.  Three years ago yesterday, we got the results back from my quad screen test that indicated our little lady had Down syndrome.  A few weeks later, amniocentesis results in hand, the quad screen test results were confirmed.

Since then, October has become a "reflection" month for me.  A time to look back and evaluate how our lives have changed since that phone call.  A time of introspection.

On the day we found out, I felt devastated...and that word doesn't even begin to describe it.

A year later, I felt like I was on the offense--I joined several different Down syndrome advocacy groups and felt the fire to rid the world of the injustice toward people with Down syndrome.  When people would make comments about Miss B or about Down syndrome, I immediately became a mother bear, protecting my little one.

By year two, I was exhausted of being in constant "Down syndrome" mode.  And so I stepped back, and simply enjoyed my daughter and the blessing that she is...We didn't do all of the therapy-homework we were supposed to do.  I didn't read every news article about Down syndrome that came out.  I didn't talk about Down syndrome constantly.  We all just went about our daily lives.

And now, at year three--I am trying to find the balance of the two--being mother bear for people with Down syndrome when necessary, but living life just like any other family would.  As I've tried to find that balance--to walk the line of "same as everybody else, just different than most"--I have struggled.  How do I make a positive change in the world for people with Down syndrome without it consuming my life? 

The push to make the world a better place for my little Miss B has driven me to start a Down syndrome group here in The Village and surrounding towns.  As the President of this new group, I feel enthusiastic and optimistic that we can make a difference.  And I'm excited that, in our little corner of the world, I am promoting inclusion and acceptance of my little lady.  However, despite my enthusiasm, I worry about my life becoming engulfed by all things Down syndrome.  While I want Miss B to have every opportunity to have the good life; I think that part of having "the good life" means that we shouldn't always live in "special needs land" and that we need to be a family first--a regular ol' family--and a "family touched by Down syndrome" second.

At the same time, I have guilt that I haven't done enough for Miss B.  Like the other day when a friend used the R-word and I just let it go without saying anything...I felt like I was letting Miss B down.  Or when I read about all of the different therapies and reading programs and equipment and toys and foods and vitamins and experiences that are recommended for people with Down syndrome--and I know that we are only doing a small fraction of what we could be doing--I lay awake at night worrying that we are failing her.

And so three years later, I have come to the conclusion that there will always be struggles in life--things that make you worry and times when you have to push forward or pull back--and that is okay.  And I've realized that I feel so blessed to have these struggles.  I feel infinitely grateful for the growth and change and learning that takes place as we find our footing on this path in life.  I feel blessed to wake up each morning to my thoughtful husband and three beautiful children.  I feel grateful for the change that Down syndrome has brought into our lives.

And while we don't have it all figured out yet...there is no hurry, we will get there someday.

While our life is not perfect...it is good.

Compartmentalized.

When I was in college, training to be a social worker, I remember a professor telling us that you had to learn to mentally compartmentalize the emotional stress that comes with the job.  She suggested having a specific routine every night after work to help you mentally "put away" your work (that was pretty heavy emotionally) so you would be yourself for the rest of your day.

It was (and is) wise counsel from an experienced professional who has skillfully helped many people through some very very difficult situations.  It helped me--the greenie social worker--to soften some of the emotional turmoil that came with dealing with children who had gone through horrific experiences.  It was (and is) a useful skill.

Except when everything comes back out.

Let me back up a bit and explain.

Dr. C and I have had the unusual habit of getting a degree and moving across the country every time we've added a child to our family.  With T-Man, we moved from Utah to Missouri when I was 38 weeks pregnant.  With Fearless, we moved from Missouri to Nebraska when he was 3 weeks old.  With Miss B, we moved from Nebraska to The South when she was about 4 months old--3 weeks after major open heart surgery.

With each move, I compartmentalized the stress that came with place.  For example: In Utah--I was working 20 hours a week; taking 22 credits; doing an internship 20 hours a week and was pregnant.  Locked that away. In Missouri--being a first time mom, Dr. C in grad school, pregnancy...etc.  Close that one up.  The feeling were put into a little mental box and closed up until time and distance shrunk them to nothingness.  And the compartmentalizing worked out okay because now I remember that there was stress associated with those times...but all I feel when I look back is happiness and fond memories. 

But the last year in Nebraska was the most stressful time in my life ever.  So when we moved--when we left my beloved Midwest and headed to a state that I'd never even stepped foot into before--I compartmentalized the unknowns in Miss B's pregnancy, the long hours alone with two young boys and a complicated pregnancy while Dr. C finished his PhD, the stress and worry and fear that came with open heart surgery, the emotional turmoil that Miss B's diagnosis threw me into.  I guess I thought I could just lock up all those feelings, move across the country, and over time and distance they would be gone.

I was wrong.

A few days ago, for the first time since Miss B's pregnancy, I met a mom, in person, who is pregnant with her third child.  A girl.  Who will have special needs.  Previously, I had only had the privilege of talking with other moms that are expecting children with special needs through email or blogs--but this time, in person, seeing her cute baby bump...it was so much more real and personal.  And while the specifics of her pregnancy and the special needs of her child are different from mine--the unknown-ness of the situation is still the same.

And that little compartment where I had stored all those feelings--all the emotions that came with Miss B's pregnancy and heart surgery--came rushing out.  So I did what any sensible person would do in the middle of church right before you have to go sing happy songs with 30 children.

I burst into tears.

Perhaps it was a bit of PTSD? or maybe it was just pure empathy that could express itself in no other way.  I don't know.

But my compartments failed and I wished with all my heart that I could have taken the stress and worry away from that momma, added it to the suddenly-freed stress and worry that came with Miss B in Nebraska, shove it back into the compartment, slam the door, and never have to see it again--to let it shrink to nothingness without any effort on my part.

But since that meeting...there have been little pricks--a tv show depicting the passing and funeral of a sister with Down syndrome, a talk in church about overcoming trials and another one about the lessons we can learn from children--that have me in tears again when usually I would be fine.

Maybe it's time to purposefully open the compartment and empty it out permanently.

An Unconventional Mother's Day.

On most Mother's Days, we head to church, then come home, take a nap, and then Dr. C makes dinner for me.  This Mother's Day was quite different.

We went to church, but then Dr. C and most of the adults left after sacrament meeting to go help with tornado cleanup.  Since I'm in charge of the Primary, I (and some other adults) stayed to do our regular schedule.

Dr. C working hard to clear away trees and limbs.  Isn't he handsome??

After church, instead of heading home to take the usual Sunday afternoon nap and have Dr. C cook for me, the kids and I headed out to Webster County, MS to help with the clean-up too.  You might have heard of this small town--East Webster High School was hit pretty hard by a tornado.  I had seen the pictures...but they didn't prepare me enough for the enormity of the destruction. 

It was incredible.

Just one of the many big trees that were completely uprooted.

I had a hard time taking pictures because no picture can help someone really understand just how utterly devastated these areas are.  If you zoom out...you get a better idea of the grand scale of the tornado path, but you lose the fact that these are individuals' homes and lives.  If you zoom in to get the details--the book stuck in the mud, the TV smashed to pieces, the smashed Easter basket full of Easter grass, insulation and glass shards--you lose the idea that it wasn't just ONE house...it was many, many houses.  And this was just in rural Webster County, MS...I can only imagine what Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Smithville, Mississippi--where huge swaths of the city were wiped off the map, look like in real life.  The pictures are bad enough.

This pile of rubble was a double-wide mobile home.  It was picked up and flung into the street.  FEMA came through and bulldozed it out of the way to clear the street--and in the process discovered the homeowner trapped in the wreckage with a broken neck.  Amazingly, after surviving the tornado and almost being bulldozed over, the man is still alive, but in the hospital.  Notice the mailbox is still standing. 
That's the randomness of a tornado for you.

Simply heartbreaking.

Part of East Webster High School



Another part of the High School--check out how the basketball hoop is outside the building, on the roof.  And I think that big black piece is from the roof of the brick building above...keep in mind that these two buildings are at least 200 yards apart.  Crazy.



And so the kiddos spent Mother's Day hanging out in the van watching movies...while Dr. C and I, along with many others of the Mormon Helping Hands crew, spent the day hauling away trees and debris for FEMA to come pick up. 

I have no idea what FEMA is going to do with it all.

Despite the unconventionality of it--giving up my nap and dinner seems like such a small price to pay when others so close to home have lost everything.

I'd say it was a Mother's Day well spent.

Sometimes I Really Just Want to Play Ostrich

Wouldn't it be nice sometimes to stick your head in the sand and just be oblivious to whatever happens around you? 

Photo from http://www.ostrichheadinsand.com/ (Side Note--National Geographic says that ostriches putting their head in the sand is a myth, but for the point of this post, let's just say this picture--and the myth--is real)


I've been feeling that way a bit lately.

We went to the kindergarten open house for Fearless last night and picked up his kindergarten registration packet.  A few weeks ago, we went to a meeting put on by the nearest Down syndrome support group about Miss Banana making the transition from Early Intervention to the school system.  While both events were informative and beneficial, at some points I had to fight the urge to cover my ears with my hands and do the juvenile "la-la-la-I'm-not-listening!" chant.

Fearless starts kindergarten in August. 

Miss B's first transition meeting with the school is in four months.

My babies are growing up.

And with that--they have to go experience new things.  And some of those things strike fear in my heart.

Will Fearless pay attention?  Will his teacher quickly learn how to handle my little wildcard?  Will he make good friends and be a good friend?  Will he get good grades?  Will he be happy?

Will Miss B be able to communicate to me what happens at school?  Will the other kids be kind to her?  Will she get a good education?  Will I know when to compromise and when to take a stand?  Will she make friends and be a good friend?

All the questions just swirl around in my head along with the fear that we will get some scrapes and bruises along the way as we move forward.

The emotional part of me just wants my kids to stay little and at home and safe with me.  Part of me just wants to stick my head in the sand and ignore filling out those registration forms or taking classes on how to write a good IEP. 

At the same time, the logical side of me is bustin' its rear-end trying to learn all I can about the Special Education laws so that Miss B gets the best education possible.  And part of me is working with Fearless on sitting criss-cross-applesauce, saying the requisite "yes ma'am" and learning how to open his own cheese stick wrappers.

Change is coming.  And if I want the best for my children, I have to be a grown-up and prepare and meet the new challenges face-to-face.

(But it still would be nice to just play ostrich.)

Generations

I don't think the "Generation Gap" is as big as people think. Sure, each generation has its own set of challenges and circumstances that form the identity of that generation...but when you get down to the basics--each generation learns a lot of the same life lessons--that working hard pays off; that family and relationships are most important; that we all still have a lot to learn. The young, the middle-aged, the old...we all have a lot more in common than we initially might think.


Take my 91-year-old Grandma for example. She was visiting my aunt and uncle in Louisville, KY (only 7 hours from us) so we went up there to visit her a few weekends ago. My cousin took my family and Grandma shoe shopping. I thought I was a major shoe-shopper and that I could spend days looking at shoes, but my Grandma outshopped us all. In the crowded mega-shoe sale, she was squeezing through the crowd and trying on shoes like nobody's business. And then in the checkout line? My cousin had one pair of shoes, I had 2 pairs for me and one pair for Miss B....but my Grandma? 6 pairs. And she could have kept going!!

She is my hero.

Generation gap? Nah.

Choice and Chocolate Fondue

I had a whole post written out about my rotten day yesterday.  In it, I complained about waking up to stinky diapers smeared around the crib, unknowingly sending Fearless to preschool with strep throat, finding out about someone having a blatant disregard for my input and feelings, and Miss B hating the annual Valentine's Day Fondue Dinner.

It was whiny.  It was complainy.  It was a rotten post.

Before I could finish my gripe session, I had to go pick up T-Man from school.

The sun was shining.  The weather was perfect for opening the sunroof, rolling down the windows, cranking up the radio and singing along.

And as I sang The Plain White T's very singable "Rhythm of Love" at the top of my lungs (much to the dismay of Fearless) and felt the warm spring air...I snapped out of my complaining funk.

Sure, a bunch of bad things happened all in one day--all on the one day that love should abound--but it is my choice to feel the love.

One of my favorite quotes from the Harry Potter books is from Dumbledore, "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." 

So maybe I don't have the ability to have the picturesque pottery-barn-Norman Rockwell-Valentine's Day I had envisioned.  But I do have the choice to feel happy or not. 

And I chose happy.

So instead of the intimate look at all the not-so-great parts about this past Valentine's Day, I'll leave you with the highlight--Chocolate Fondue. 

Seriously, I love that stuff.  And, as if chocolate fondue wasn't a treat on its own, T-Man and Dr. C made it so I could take a break.

The love of my family and chocolate covered fruit--what more could a girl want on the Day of Love?

Pinball-Machine-Life and Home

So far, my life has been like a game of pinball.  You know the game...a little metal ball, starts out in the chute on the side, you pull back on the button, release it and it goes hurtling out into the table.  There, it bounces and *pings* back and forth between the different obstacles...rolling down small hills, hitting a post then zooming off in a totally different direction...each bounce either gives you more energy to stay on the top of the table...or you lose momentum and fall down through the flippers at the bottom and you have to start at the chute again.

My life as felt that way.  My growing up years were like the waiting in the chute...with maybe a few false starts where I immediately fell down through the flippers, and my Heavenly Father lovingly placed me back in the chute to try again.

But since leaving home...I've spent a lot of time on the table...and a few more trips through the flippers and back into the chute...but most of the time...I feel like I have been *pinging* back and forth, up and down...never knowing just exactly where the next twist in life will take us. 

I certainly never expected that I would marry a farmer
*ping*
...or that he would eventually become a professor after spending several years in graduate school and after moving 5 times in 8 years
*ping ping*
....or that we would be living here in The Village in The South
*ping ping ping*
...with our three small children, one of whom has special needs.
*ping ping ping ping ping ping ping* 

Who saw that coming?!?

It has been a crazy, exhilarating ride, but recently, I've felt that it's time to move on from the pinball-style life and live in one of the more plant-based life analogies...you know, dig in roots, bloom where we're planted and all that.

Not that I think that the unexpected won't happen to us anymore...but I don't want to live always waiting for the next *ping* to happen before we push deeper into the life we are having at the moment.

And it starts with letting The South and The Village become Home.  We have lived here for over a year, and yet I still think of The Village as "the place where we live" as opposed to Home.  To give an example...we've lived in our house now for almost six months and I have yet to hang up any pictures.  I think I've just been waiting to see if this really will be Home, or if there is another *ping* around the corner that would send us hurtling off to who-knows-where to try out a new adventure.

Maybe it's because it's Christmastime in our first house and I'm eager to create a gazillion memories of Home for my children...or it's because you can never plan for all the *pings* in life so I might as well settle into the lull that we are currently living in and love it.  I don't know.

Either way, it's time to hang up the pictures, plant some roots, work to feel like I belong in The Village, and let it's culture and traditions and nuances become part of my identity, just like all of our other stops have.  It's time to let it become Home.

Two Years of Knowing

Last year on this day, I finally wrote about getting Miss B's diagnosis. 

As I read over that post now and think about the lady that felt those emotions and the lady that wrote about the emotions a year later and about myself now--I'm just in a very different place.  The shock has turned into acceptance.  The fear has turned into faith.  The tumult has turned into peace.  The grief has turned into joy.

Two years ago, Down syndrome felt like the end of the world.  It felt as someone had ripped my "ideal life" right from my dreams and put some big dark and mysterious cloud in it's place.  I wasted a lot of time crying and worrying and feeling physically ill during those first few months of knowing. 

But now?  Down syndrome is a wonderful part of our lives.  The diagnosis that I had thought was going to forever roadblock our happiness was actually a gateway into a whole new road with some frightening downhills (like open heart surgery and all of the other medical scariness) but when we come back up, life is even more beautiful than we could see before.  The little joys that I used to take for granted, are now noteworthy events.  That extra chromosome that I thought would limit my path has actually pushed me higher than I would have ever gone without it. 

A lot of times when people find out that Miss B has Down syndrome, they say something to the effect of "that must be hard" or "that sounds really tough" or something like it.  But it's not.  Really.  Sometimes people don't believe me when I tell them that Miss B is not hard.  In fact, she could quite possibly be the world's easiest baby.

I wish I had known that two years ago.  I wish I had believed the other moms that are further down this road that also promised that Down syndrome is not bad--Really.

My hope is that someday, some mom that has just received a diagnosis will read my post from last year.  And then hopefully read my post from this year.  And I would bet my post next year will be even better.  And as this mom reads, she will find a glimmer of hope in that dark, mysterious cloud...and maybe, just maybe not let the cloud be as terrifying as I originally thought it to be.  Maybe she will find the joy sooner.

Because Down syndrome is not bad.

Really.

I Have A Voice

Kristin over at Two Kids, a Dog, and a Blog posted this awhile ago...and I fell in love with it.

Simple, but powerful.

The Reunion

After high school graduation, I left my hometown of St. Louis and headed out West to BYU for college.  And other than some holidays and a few summer vacations, I haven't really been back.  The last time I saw someone from high school was at a wedding six or seven years ago.

We had our ten year reunion on Saturday night.  (Yes, I'm from the Class of 2000--I debated about blogging about this or not...but so much has been written and studied about our class...I thought I might as well throw my two cents into the mix!)

It was interesting.

I really didn't know what to expect.  I wasn't really nervous...more just curious about the real-life science experiment about to play out...the one where I walk into some strange paradigm and my previous life and my current life collide with unexpected results. I have changed so much in the years since high school...what about everyone else? 

As I was getting ready, Dr. C (who is the best husband in the world) gave me these words: if you have a great time, then fabulous.  And if not, then remember that you have a husband and three great kids at home that love you. 

And you know, it was weird and good--at the same time.  There were people I recognized immediately.  People that I recognized, but didn't remember their names.  And people that I wondered if they actually went to my school or if they just snuck in to get some free food...and then later figured out that I had sat next to them at lunch daily during those tumultous teenage years.  Thank heaven for nametags.

And I've decided that people do change.  And that people don't change.  And the people that mattered to me then, still matter to me now.  And the people that didn't, still don't.

It was fun remembering some of the crazy-growing-up-years antics...like the time in 7th grade when I got caught passing a note to a friend...and the note said I hoped my teacher's bum grew together...and of course that teacher is the one that intercepted the note...I think it's even funnier now then it was in 7th grade...and it was pretty darn funny then.

And then talking to some other people and just finding out that they are good and happy and that life has been kind to them...was just...comforting.  An affirmation that life is good.

My biggest take-home lesson of the whole thing is that I am totally happy with where I am and who I've become.  Don't get me wrong, I know I still have many, many things to improve on, but I am comfortable with me.  I am a wife and a mother.  My family is my life's great masterpiece.

The evening was like finding a favorite childhood blanket after many years...there are parts that are worn out and not so pretty--just like you left it years ago...and parts that you remember tracing your finger over and over when you needed comfort...and as a whole--the good and the bad, it still warms you and makes you feel good. 

Me with E.Lee--Girl, it had been too long.  Love you!

Two Encounters

A few weeks ago, I had two encounters--a day apart from each other--that made me stop and think.

Encounter #1--I went by myself to a new fabric shop here in The Village for the first time.  The lady that runs the shop was extra chatty...and to make a long story short, she mentioned something about working on quilts when she spent a long time in the hospital while her informally-adopted son was sick with brain cancer and then he passed away.  I said something about knowing about hospitals because my daughter had had a congenital heart defect.  She then asked if that had stunted Miss B's growth.  And I told her that yes, she is little, but she has Down syndrome, so who knows if she is little from that or from the heart defect or the combination of the two?

As soon as I mentioned "Down syndrome" the lady, who had been pleasant (pushy, but pleasant) made a face...like the "I just smelled something really stinky" face.  Then she went on to say that she has "a r*tarded brother"--and she said "r*tarded" in the slang way, not the medical way--"who only has the brain function of a four year old...And how when he was born, the doctors didn't think he could live so they just left him in the incubator pushed to the side to die...but he didn't die...And how he rides horses and does the contests where they jump over fences and bushes and such...and how everyone says how great he is doing at it and what a wonderful rider he is...when really it's just a great horse and her brother can't really do anything..."

Every sentence was full of disgust and irritation and...embarrassment maybe?  I'm not entirely sure.  But not positive AT ALL.  She went from being chatty to venting...and then after she vented about her brother, she couldn't get rid of me fast enough.  It was eerie and unsettling and offensive...I mean really, didn't I just tell her my daughter has Down syndrome?  Did she expect me to wallow in her intolerance with her?  I know that life can be hard on siblings of kids with special needs--that is something I worry about with T-Man and Fearless--but I certainly hope that in our family, Miss B brings out more tolerance and patience and love in all of us...not bitterness. 

Which brings me to Encounter #2--I went to another fabric place--a furniture factory warehouse where you can get upholstery fabric for $4/yard and under (LOVE that place!).  As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a truck that had the same Down Syndrome Awareness specialty license plates that we have on our van.  I got excited because I VERY rarely see other people with Down syndrome...just a handful of times in the past two years...so I figured I'd have to walk in with my radar on ultra high, just so I wouldn't miss them.  As I was unloading Miss B and Fearless from the van, an older typical man walked out, alone, and headed to the truck.  I was disappointed that I still would not be seeing anyone with Ds, but either way I didn't want to pass on the opportunity to speak to someone else in The Club.

So I said hello and pointed out that we had the same specialty plates...and instantly, I went from strange-lady-in-the-parking-lot to a close friend.  The man had an 8-year-old granddaughter with Ds and he told me all about how she was just wonderful.  And he wanted to meet Miss B and hold her and talk about any health issues she'd had and tell me about his granddaughter's health issues and on and on.  He ooohed and aahhed over Miss B just like she was his own granddaughter. We stood there talking for 15 minutes in the hot, humid Southern summer...simply because we both loved someone with some extra genetic material.  When the conversation ended, I was on cloud nine.

I've been rolling these two encounters around in my brain...trying to figure out the difference in reactions.  What happened in the first lady's family that caused her to be so bitter?  What about the Grandpa made him so loving of not only his own granddaughter, but even toward my daughter--whom he had never even seen before?  Is it just different personalities?  What do I do to encourage T-Man and Fearless turn out more like the Grandpa and less like the fabric shop lady?  Why do some families embrace and encourage their family members with special needs while other families splinter because of it? 

I don't have any of the answers to those questions...but the stark contrast between the two encounters has deepened my resolve to do whatever I can to foster good relationships between my all of my children.  To teach them all to respect each other and support each other.  I know it can be done.

Oh, how I hope we are on the road to that place!

And Then There's a Rainbow

Last week was a hard week.  Dr. C was out of town; we had the toilet episode, then the faucet on one of the bathroom sinks broke, then the air conditioner in my van broke during a solid week of 100+ degree heat index days, then the dryer (that was already taking bites out of our clothes) started squeaking in that make-dogs-go-crazy way.  Then the phone company and the Internet company had some miscommunication and turned off our phone service.  Then I hit the wall for the first time running.  Needless to say, it was not a pretty week.

Sometimes I think it takes those low weeks for me to recognize all of the good things that I have going. 

One of my favorite hymns:

When upon life’s billows you are tempest-tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings; name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.

Now I don't think that last week counts as being "upon life's billows" because we've certainly had harder weeks than that one.  But when something seems to go wrong everyday, my usually-sunny disposition gets overrun by dark thunder clouds of grumpiness.  Ironically, the weather the past few days has seemed to mirror my mood.

But then the other night we were driving home in the rain with the windows rolled down (no air conditioning!) and the rain cooled things off a few degrees.  Grateful for some relief, I could feel my irritability lessen a little.  And then T-Man yelled from the back seat that he saw a rainbow.

A rainbow.  One of nature's simple, beautiful phenomenon.  A flash of color over a dismal gray sky.  A small reminder that the gray doesn't last forever and there are wonderful things just around the corner.

In an instant, as I appreciated the wonder of the rainbow and heard my children oooh and aahh over the beauty of the colors, my grumpy clouds started to disperse and life was good again.

To top it off, Dr. C has returned and has been fulfilling his role as my knight in shining armor.  He fixed the faucet, restored our phone service, figured out what was wrong with the dryer (waiting on a part to get it totally fixed) and the van will be fixed hopefully by the end of the day today.  I love that man.

Today, I am thankful for rainbows--the ones that show up in the sky after rain and for the people around me that break through my grumpiness and remind me that there is beauty ahead.

Miss Banana's Heart Day

June 26th is holiday.  Maybe not for the rest of you, but to us, June 26th is the day we celebrate the anniversary of Miss B's open heart surgery.  The day we celebrate that she is alive and well.  She is now a one-year-open-heart-surgery survivor.  AMAZING.  I am so grateful for modern medicine and for Dr. HeartSurgeon for making it possible for our little lady to be around to light up our lives like she does.  She is our little miracle baby. 

As I've been reflecting on this day last year, I remember feeling like June 26th was the day that the calendar stopped.  I couldn't really imagine what life would be like after that day--some parents of kids with congenital heart defects spent a few days in the hospital after surgery.  Some spent  months.  Some had children that didn't make it out of surgery.  Or that had serious complications during recovery that took their child.  I remember wondering which group we'd be in and that no matter which group it was--our lives would never be the same. 

We literally had to place our child's life into someone else's hands and then trust the surgeon and Heavenly Father that the best would happen.  We had to sign papers that said we knew that our child could die from the procedure.  We had to watch them wheel her away on the hospital bed, oblivious to what would happen next.  We had to wait and wait and wait as the surgery took place--the nurses came in and updated us occasionally...but there were long stretches where we did just about anything we could think of to keep our minds occupied so we didn't go crazy with worry.  We had to wait after they moved her into the PICU for them to get her body calmed down.  We had to walk in and see her intubated, covered in wires and drainage tubes filled with blood.

But then we got to see her recover.  The first few days seemed to drag on forever, but by day four post-op, she was ready to head home with only Tylenol as a pain reliever.  Once home, she really started to shine.  With a her heart pumping correctly, she was finally able to eat and gain weight.  She gained strenghth and started rolling, laughing, eating, crawling, and now, even pulling to stand.  Each of those accomplishments is a miracle.  An absolute miracle.

What a blessing that her surgery went so well.  Each day, I thank my Heavenly Father for her little life.  I am so grateful for her and for a loving God that knew how much I needed her and allowed her to stay on Earth with us.

We celebrated today with a Heart Day party.  Some friends, some heart-healthy food (well, except for the heart-cake!) played some heart games.  (No pictures of the party because it was a little wild, but Miss B wore her cute heart dress, we decorated in red and any other heart decoration I could find.  T-Man and Fearless had a lot of fun with it!)  We took a few pictures afterwards, just so we could see how much she's changed since this day last year. 

Amazing. 

Really, amazing.

Happy Heart Day, Miss B.

We Dance

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning how to dance in the rain."

--Anonymous

It's cliche, I know.  But we live it.  And we don't just dance--we rock out.  Air guitars and all.

Sometimes there's even some "Thriller" dancing.

And lots of love and happiness.

My kids are rockstars.

We are teaching Miss B to love the rain-dance too.

And you know, I think she likes it.