What message does it send?

By writing this, I am not trying to be critical of other parents and the decisions they make in this situation.  I also want to make it known that I understand that every child is different.  And every situation is different.  And that what may be the best for one child is not necessarily so for another. 

And one other little disclaimer…what follows is my opinion based on my experience, of which I don’t have a lot.    I have only four years of experience as a mother of a child with a disability.  And we have only just entered the world of education and school and homework and projects and grades and all that comes with it.  So I reserve the right to change my opinion as my life becomes more rich with experience.  I don’t think I will.  But I never like to say never…     

Here goes…

Henry is a very smart 5 year old little boy.  He learns quickly.  He is outgoing, and confident, and happy.  And Henry is hard of hearing. I am well aware of the fact that that puts him at a disadvantage.  I don’t understand it completely.  I hear.  I don’t know what it’s like to not hear well.  I don’t fully understand what he has to do to keep up with us hearing people.  But I do know that it is a significant effort.  And I do know that he will have to work pretty darned hard to do some of the things that most of us do without even thinking. 

When I originally wrote this, I stated that teachers in our county are able to grade children with an iep on an adjusted grading scale.  What I have learned since is that children with ieps may have an adjusted curriculum.  Yes, the two are different, but in the end, they have the same effect.  And they both lead me to the same conclusion.

To be honest, I don’t even know what an adjusted curriculum is.  What is the reason for, and what are the consequences of an adjusted curriculum? I don’t know.  I don’t know which children qualify for this “adjusted curriculum.”  Does it have to be written into the iep?  I don’t know.  Are all children with ieps considered for this?  I don’t know.  (And frankly, I wonder how it is that I haven’t even heard of this before now.) 

I don’t know enough about it, clearly.  But it really got me thinking about Henry’s education, his life, his goals, and through what lens I want him to be viewed.  Yes, he has a disability, but no one should let that label cloud their view of him.  It also got me thinking about people, and how we treat each other, and how something as wonderful as compassion can evolve into something unintended.  Something that sends an unintended message to a little boy. 

I don’t know when we began trying to make everything fair.  Life isn’t fair.  Sometimes it is terribly unfair.  Is it fair that Henry doesn’t hear very well?  No.  It’s not fair.  That is his challenge.  But he has gifts, too.  We all have gifts.  And we all have challenges, granted that some are much, much greater than others.  The reality is that people are different.  Kids are different.  Some kids are athletes.  Some kids are leaders.  Some kids are social butterflies.  Some kids are smart.  Some kids are creative and artistic.  Some kids will change the world with their kindness.  I want my kids to discover their own gifts, and understand that those gifts, along with the challenges they own, are what make them who they are.  I want them to learn to live with and overcome their challenges, and I want them to use their gifts for good.  These are the ideas I believe in.

But then we do things as adults to try to make all children the same…make everything fair.  Why do we try to even everything out?  Do we make the world a better place?  Do we make things fair by doing so?  And where is the fairness for those kids that really excel as athletes or scholars or artists?  Aren’t we taking from them at the same time we are giving to others?

What message are we sending to this little boy of mine?  What message do we send to his siblings, and his peers?  I mean really, really think about this…  He has a disability.  If his curriculum is changed based on the fact that he has a disability, what does he learn from that?  Are we telling him he’ll never be on the same level, no matter how hard he tries?   

How would I explain to my son that he isn’t quite good enough, smart enough, fast enough, strong enough to do this on his own, just the way he is?  I have spent the last four years since his diagnosis telling him that he IS enough, just the way he is.  And I believe that.  And if he IS enough, just as he is, then why is there any reason to even things out?  I wonder what unintended consequences this all has.  I wonder what he learns, and what other children learn from situations like this. 

I don’t want his successes muddied.  When he succeeds, I want him to be proud of himself, and know that his accomplishments are all his own.  He will know how hard he worked for something, and he will appreciate it.

And Henry is going to have to work hard.  Harder than most other children.  Yes. 

But he will.  And he will know that he did it. 

He did it just the way he is.

A Letter to Seasonal Viruses

Dear viruses,

I hate you.

Love,

Kristen

What You Don’t See

Thirteen years ago, I woke up to the gray pattering of rain.  Yellow leaves spun and twirled to the ground.  I sipped my coffee and prayed for the rain to stop.  I had a big day ahead. 

Just a few hours later, I married The Man.  And now, I sit here, trying to think of some way to put thirteen years into a few paragraphs.  That is rather impossible, I suppose. 

I could say that a snapshot of my life looks rather what I imagined it would look like…  The house.  The kids.  Me and The Man.  But that snapshot is just a picture.  And behind that picture is a story of all that two people go through to come to the point, thirteen years later, when that picture is taken.     

It is Barbados.  Cobbler’s Cove.  Rum punch.  And nothing to do all day.

It is Coco, who really taught us how to parent. 

It is Hokie games. 

It is dreaming of our children.  And the birth of those four children. 

It is watching your toddler son recover from a stroke.  Learn to roll over again.  Learn to sit again.  Learn to walk again.  Learn to run. 

It is the special need of another son.  Helping him to hear.  To speak.  To listen.  It is watching him soar. 

It is miscarriages. 

It is losing Coco. 

It is our first home.  And leaving our first home. 

It is finding our forever home.  And trying to rid that forever home of it’s ant infestation.  

It is families.  And it is saying goodbye to some of those that we hold the most dear.

It is friends.  BBQs.  Fireworks.  Happy hours. 

Vacations at the beach.  Camping.  The cabin. 

Collecting acorns. 

Spiders in our ears. 

Carving pumpkins. 

Jumping in piles of leaves.  And being stung by bees for hours afterward.

Turkeys.  Cutting down our Christmas trees.  And decorating them.

And Christmas Eve masses. 

And paper valentines. 

And Easter egg hunts. 

And Easter Sunday bonnets and gingham bow ties.  

It is spring walks to the river.  

It is first steps.  First words.  Lost teeth.

And oh the tantrums.  And the kisses.  The hugs.  Tears.  Laughter.

The soccer games.  Baseball games.  Football games.  Basketball games.

The flu. 

It is coming to compromises.  You get your hoop in the driveway…I get my dog.

It is sipping wine on the stoop and together, watching the neighborhood nod off. 

It is all the dreams I have of a future with him. 

We are different now, thirteen years later.  Our life is different.  It is not exciting…it is not flashy and new.  It is worn, and comfortable and it fits.  It is soft.  Mostly, this life brings the greatest joys I have ever known. 

That is thirteen years.

What I want.

I can’t quite tell for sure

what is wrong.

But you are not you.

You collapse on the couch.

An unhappy lump.

I stroke your hair and your little boy back.

You shiver in your sleep

and now I know

why you have been so…

prickly.

What I want is to hold you.

But your baby sister wants Mama.

Your baby sister wants chapstick.

Your baby sister wants markers

paper

milk

snack

anything.  She wants anything other than

to let me sit

and be with you.

And your big brother needs help with his spelling.

And supper…I have to make supper.

Laundry.

Dishwasher.

Smears and spills and sticky stuff.

And all I want is to sit down

and pull you onto my lap

and kiss your forehead

and wrap my arms around you

until you feel better.

What I want is to hold you

but I can only manage a glance your way as you wake.

You are the most beautiful thing

and the most pathetic

and even now you want to help me.

Help me empty the dishwasher.

Help me set the table.

Help me get Ella in her seat.

Henry.

You make me want to be so much better.

Tonight I watched you 

feverish…sleeping…

and sadness filled me for what I couldn’t give you today.

I fail daily

to be the mother you deserve.

That all of you deserve.

I don’t know how to do this better.

But tomorrow I will try

Again.

Winner!

Here’s a funny thing.  The contest ended on Thursday at 6:32pm.  Wednesday night I figured out my winner and had this post all ready to go and nearly hit publish.  Then, I realized the contest was a good 20 hours from being over.  So I had to do the random number thingy all over again.  I clearly have it all together over here.   Anyway, here it is, correctly this time:

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

7

Timestamp: 2009-10-08 00:20:19

That would be you, Heather of the EO!  Woohoo!  Email me and I’ll put you in touch with Rebecca to claim your prize! 

To the rest of you, thank you for entering! 

And Mom, seriously, I was hoping you’d win.  (Not that I’m not happy for you, Heather of the EO).  But Mom, wouldn’t that help make up for the fact that I am over one month late with your birthday present?  I have it.  I love it.  But of course that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have it.  And I’m late.

Cute

Kate is a cheerleader.  Can I just say it?  I.Love.Cheerleading.  The entire thing is just.stinkin.cute.  Seriously.

Cute little poms…

 

Cute little shoes…

 

Cute little crates with cute little cusions for their cute little buns to rest upon…

 

Cute little smiles…

Just.

Plain.

Cute.

Fall Ball

You should see him out there.  He is something else, let me tell you.  And check out the face he makes when he runs…but only when he runs fast.  I never noticed it until I looked at the pictures. 

Boy do I love this kid. 

Go here for more Wordless Wednesday photos…

An Update on Misery

After that God-sighting, things began to look up.  Actually, there were several more mis-haps, none of which bothered me in the least.  Which is wierd.   

Case in point:  I broke the dryer.  Broke it.  You know the little doohicky that clicks when you close the door so that the dryer will turn on?  You know that little thing?  Well, when I was pulling some sheets out of the dryer, they snagged on it and bent it up.  So I thought “I’ll just bend it back down.”  So I did.  Yep, I bent it down and it snapped right off.  “Uh-huh” I said to myself.  So I just figured I’d take some tape and tape it back on there.  And what do you know but it worked.  And also, Dad, I did not use duct tape.  I have not sunk (sank?  sunken?) to that level.  Although I’ve come close a few times.  Anyway, the tape is only a temporary solution, but whatever.

Then I began to try restoring all the files I lost on my old computer.  It took me about three hours but I was finally able to re-download my accounting program free of charge.  Then I began restoring the data files…that only took about 4 hours to complete.  But you know what?  They are all there.  And you know what else?  So is that folder full of pictures that I couldn’t find last night.  Carbonite, I think I may love you…

So in the midst of all this computery stuff, my friend Jenny brought me some Nutella to indulge in.  Isn’t that nice?  Only I can.not.get.the.top.off.  I’ll have to have The Man loosen it in the morning or I’m going to go insane with the drooling. 

I threw together a really nice roast chicken with herbs and artichokes, asparagus, kalamata olives, tomatoes, garlic, onions and white wine.  Then we headed out the door to t-ball.  We were in such a rush to leave, and Henry still did not have his cleats on (even though I’d told him to get ready like a million times) so I told him to just grab them and I’d help him tie them when we got to the field. 

So we get to the field, and he hands me the shoes.  Well what do you know but he didn’t get a matching pair.  Not only that, but he managed to get two left shoes.  One was his left shoe from last year which is too small now, and one was William’s left shoe.  So on his left foot I put the too-small left shoe, and on his right foot I put the too-big left shoe.  And I said how does that feel?   And he said fine, I can wiggle my toes and everything.  And I said then get on out there and play ball.  No one will notice (that your mother is a moron).  And I just laughed.  Kate and William looked at me like I was losing my mind. 

I remember this one family that used to go to church and the kids were always a mess…bedhead, and socks that didn’t match, and shoes untied…you know the ones I’m talking about.  I remember thinking that I would never be like that mother.  Nope.  Not me.  I would have it together. 

I just sent my child out onto the field to play ball with two left shoes on, neither of which actually fits.  And I did it knowingly.  And I laughed.  Now, I am that mother.  

Closing the book on this day…

PS…don’t forget to enter my giveaway!

Monday

Well, it was a weekend full of yuck.  I felt miserable.  Luckily The Man came home early on Friday to help me make his birthday dinner.  I started on the dessert and realized that there was no way it was going to be ready to eat with our supper–it had to chill for 4 hours after cooling to room temp (which took three hours).  So we had brownie sundaes instead, and told ourselves we would eat the pumpkin cheesecake with gingersnap crust for breakfast on Saturday.  Which we did.

Then Ella threw up because I gave her a bite of shrimp and I forgot that I think she’s allergic to shrimp because she always throws up when she eats it.  Brilliant deduction, right?  So we were both up half the night with vomit and vomity laundry. 

Saturday morning the weather was gorgeous.  I went to Henry’s t-ball game (picture to follow), and felt gross.  It actually took my mind off of being sick for an hour though, watching Henry instruct each of his teammates to throw the ball to him if they got it, so that he could get an out.  He’s nothing if not confident.  Good for him.

I came home, ate some lunch and put Ella down for a nap.  Then I watched the Hokies online because the game wasn’t televised.  They won.  It wasn’t the best performance.  But they won. 

Then I took Kate to a party where they did her hair all cute and funky with twists and braids and sparkles.  And there was some blue eyeshadow involved.  A little thick, imho, but it was cute for a little girl playing dress-up.  I was exhausted.  While the party was going on, I did a little shopping.  And I coughed a lot.

Sunday morning I felt gross.  Or gross-er if that is possible.  I did some laundry, made a grocery list, hung a fall wreath and took a nap.  (It wasn’t really a nap.  It was more like rest.  And it wasn’t even very rest-y.  Because I couldn’t breathe.)

Then I went grocery shopping.  That was un-fun.  I have to do it, though, because I’m a freak about the food we buy, and I get annoyed when The Man shops because he gets the wrong stuff.  I make life so easy for myself, don’t I?

Then I came home and did more laundry and read books with Ella while The Man made supper.  We ate, showered the kids, read more books and tucked them in bed. 

I searched for about an hour on this computer for a folder of pictures that is apparently gone.  (Did I mention that I have a new computer?  Yeah.  I have a new computer.  The other one croaked.)  I read blogs and went to sleep.  

Today, I woke up with a headache.  I’m tired.  I don’t feel well.  And I have a full week of stuff to do, not the least of which is restoring a bunch of accounting programs.  Which I have been putting off because I dread it.

Before school, William argued with me about wearing a coat.  It is 52 degrees.  I said wear a sweatshirt or a light jacket.  He couldn’t find his sweatshirt.  So he had to wear a jacket.  (I guess that is another instance of how I ruin all the fun around here for him).  This was like a repeat performance of Friday morning.  Only this time I kept it together and hugged him and told him I loved him and completely ignored his anger.

Then I got home from the bus stop, and the first thing I notice is Kate’s homework folder that she was supposed to bring to school.  And I think very briefly about bringing it up to the school for her.  But then I decide that she has to take responsibility for her work.  And it makes me almost cry because she is typically so responsible.  And I think she left it out for me to sign so it’s half my fault.  But she should have completed it before this morning, 5 minutes before we’re supposed to leave. 

Now I’m sitting here, and the reality of it being laundry day creeps in and I know I have a lot of laundry to do.  The washing, the drying, the folding.  The piles of laundry everywhere.  I am swimming in the every-day mundane tasks of motherhood.  Normally, I feel joy in the mundane.  But today, it just feels overwhelming. 

Ella is beside me.  I watch her squeeze her bagel and make a complete mess of the cream cheese and think she is just the most precious thing in the entire world.  And my.heart.leaps.  Wow.  I am lucky to be her mother. 

And then Henry asks me if I want to see his muscles.  How glad I am that I am a mother of boys. 

That was what I needed.  A God-sighting.  Right there.

Saturday Evening Blog Post

This post was intended to be published last night.  However, you actually have to push “PUBLISH” for it to be published.  Which clearly, I forgot to push.  So here you go, my Sunday morning Saturday Evening Blog Post…

——-

I’m sitting here, way too late at night, sipping my theraflu and watching college football.  Well, I guess I’m listening to college football and reading blogs.  And I came across The Saturday Evening Blog Post by way of Heather of the EO (who by the way is fab).  Here you can link up with your favorite post from the previous month.

So I went back and took a little look-see at what I had going on in September, and what I found was that there was not a lot going on apparently.  (Which is strange because I somehow have not had any time to clean this house for the last two weeks because I am so busy.  I have been staring at the same string of drips on my hardwood floor for a while now.  And I keep thinking I’m going to get those…as soon as I finish suchandsuch I’m going to get those drips of whoknowswhat.  And yet, there they remain.)

Anyway, the one September post that stood out to me was this one.  If you’ve got something to share, head on over.  If not, head on over anyway, you’re sure to find something worth your while there. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go to beddy bye.  The events of last night have me worn down completely.  And let me just be clear here in that they were not “good” events.  There was throwup.  And I think that’s all I need to say.

Oh, PS, check out my giveaway below – Woohoo!