To My Alex

More than eight and a half years ago, my whole world changed.  I became a mother for the first time.  That should have been enough, but no, there was much more going on.  My first son was born, with a head full of crazy blonde hair.  He was red and wrinkly and pissed as all get out after being removed from his mama via c-section.  He was beautiful.

And we soon learned that he had Down syndrome.

Boom.  World stood still.

Even though I was in a foggy, drugged haze, I can still hear the doctor on call trying to explain to us that Alex  was "mentally retarded" (I still cringe on that one) and that he would soon be transported to the local children's hospital because they also suspected that he had a hole in his heart.

The doctor left, unscathed by his harsh announcement, and we were left to digest the news.  Although I wasn't supposed to be up and moving around so soon after a c-section, the nurses loaded me into a wheelchair so I could sit and hold my baby before they took him away to the other hospital.  I feebly smiled for photos, which they gave to me, and watched them pack Alex up to go in the ambulance.  As the nurse wheeled me back to my room for the night, the only thing I could do was ask for another cherry popsicle, and she happily obliged.

The next morning, Mark left me to go to the children's hospital to see Alex (my parents had spent the night with Alex so he wouldn't be alone), and I was left to ponder what exactly was happening to us.  We didn't have any idea that Alex would be born with Down syndrome; we were expecting a typical birth, a healthy baby boy.  I didn't know the first thing about Down syndrome, I was a first-time mom, and I was panicking.

My dear OB/GYN (who, even though I only see him once a year now, still asks me how Alex is doing and is a big Team Alex supporter) was just as floored as we were, and I remember him checking on me in the hospital and crying right along with me.  I didn't quite know why we were crying; I think I was probably just scared to death, and he felt bad.  He generously discharged me from the hospital early so I could go be with Alex in the children's hospital NICU, and I arrived to give Alex his first feeding (he had been fed through an IV until that point).  Shortly after I arrived, everyone else left to give me a moment, and I began to panic again and feel sorry about the situation.  I think those feelings lasted about 30 seconds, because as I looked down at my beautiful son I realized that there were never any guarantees.  Nobody could have ever promised that he would be an all-star athlete, drive a car, go away to college.  But, I promised him right then and there that if he wanted to do those things, and more, I would do everything in my power to give him a fair shot at it.

I've spent the last eight and a half years working on that promise.

March 21st, or 3.21, is World Down Syndrome Day.  It's a day to raise awareness that individuals with Down syndrome are equal participants in our communities, and should therefore be treated as such.  It's a time to let others know what Down syndrome is, and what it's not.  For me, it's a day to be thankful that I was chosen to be the mother of one of the very best people I've ever met.

Alex demonstrates true joy, love for his family and friends, and passion for his favorite activities. He laughs from his toes when he thinks something is funny, and sings for all to hear when the mood strikes him.  On a daily basis, he teaches me love, patience, and compassion.  When he was born, I became a mother, an advocate, and his biggest fan.  I'm quite certain that he will continue to teach me much more than I could ever hope to teach him.

I hope you'll join me in celebrating World Down Syndrome Day.  Wear crazy socks to raise awareness ("Rock Your Socks").  Check out our Team Alex fundraising page at www.columbusbuddywalk.org (I will launch it very early on 3.21!).  Reflect upon the importance of inclusion for every single person in our society, not just those who fit the mold of the "typical" person.  Be a friend, an advocate, and recognize how individuals with Down syndrome are more like us than they are different.

For my Alex, it will probably be just another day to enjoy school, spend time with his family, laugh, and command us to "shake your tushie!!" (one of his signature lines).  It will be a good  phenomenal day.

Don't Rain on My (St Patrick's Day) Parade!

Ah, March 18th.  It's a Monday; a rainy one, at that.  Typical Monday stuff is happening: housework, laundry, grocery shopping.  And, of course, reading all the Grinchy outcry against the fun some of us choose to have for St Patrick's Day.

I'll admit it: I'm guilty of making St Patty's Day more fun for the kids than I probably should.  My kids make leprechaun traps (although this year, my daughter made a house because she felt he would not come if he knew he would be trapped...smart girl!) and were thrilled to find that "our" leprechaun, Freckles O'Leary, had indeed visited and brought a handful of chocolate coins and some other small trinkets.

We had all the fun that $2.40 could buy at the party store, and the kids loved it.  I definitely did not put on as big a production as some other parents do, but I'm hopeful that my kids will forever have fond memories of this "holiday"...and it cost me less than my beloved espresso at Starbucks.

So get over it, cranky moms.

I see all the blogs and Facebook posts complaining about parents like me, who like to acknowledge these quirky little holidays.  Why all the anger?  Nobody is shunning you for choosing not to participate.  I'm certainly not.  I'm also not wagging my finger at you when you post photos of your lavish Disney vacations (we haven't been on a vacation in a couple years) or bitching when my six year old asks me for an iPod Touch because so many of her first grade friends have them.  Sorry, I don't think she's ready for the responsibility of having her own pricey electronics.  That's what I believe is right for my kids, but what you do for your kids is your business.  Boom.  Easy enough, right?

My youngest son will get angry with me when we're grocery shopping because I won't let him ride or stand in the back of the cart.  I simply tell him that it's against the rules, as that's easier than trying to describe all the gross bacteria that is probably living in the basket of the cart, since that is where most people place the groceries they want to buy (like raw meat...ew).  We inevitably stumble across another mom shopping with her kids, and usually one of them is jumping up and down in the back of the cart.  "HEY!!", he'll shriek, "Why does HE get to sit in the back?!?".  I calmly explain that they don't have to follow our rules, just like we don't have to follow their rules.

It's the same for all of this holiday nonsense (listen, just because I choose to participate does not mean that I don't think it's nonsense...).  If you're not into it, cool.  But if other families are into it, that's cool too.  Don't make the moms that are trying a different approach than you feel bad about what they are doing; just move on.

It doesn't come down to publicly pleading for the overachieving, Pinterest-obsessed, self-proclaimed Wonder Moms to knock it off with the faux holidays and stop blowing the real holidays out of proportion.  Nobody has ever published a manual that explains that this is how you do one thing or another (or if they did, I didn't get a copy!).  You do what you're comfortable with, what makes sense to you, and what works for your family.  Believe me, as long as there is money to be made off of these extravagant holiday events, they will keep getting bigger and bigger (notice how many non-candy things are being sold now that fit inside a plastic Easter egg!).  No one is forcing you to participate, though.

Let's leave the cranky fits for the holiday dinner table, shall we?  Oh, and let me be the first to wish you a happy Forgive Mom & Dad Day (3/18), and don't forget that tomorrow (3/19) is National Quilting Day.

The Anticipation of Spring

Done.  Absolutely, totally over winter.  Do you hear me, Mother Nature?  Enough already.

And it hasn't even been that bad this year.  Definitely more snow than last year, but I don't think it has been so bad, temperature-wise.  I'm still done, though.

I'm tired of the extra ten minutes it takes for the kids to put their coats on, then take them off again when we get into the car.  I'm also tired of the extra ten minutes it takes for the kids to put their coats on AGAIN when we reach our destination.  Seriously, who has time for that?

Don't get me wrong; I'm also not a huge fan of summer.  I don't like the heat, the humidity, the sun, the sweating.  I'm very fair, and I burn after about seven minutes in the sun...even when wearing my SPF 50+.  Ridiculous.  My theory that I am descended from vampires makes a lot more sense after you spend a summer day with me.

But spring...lovely spring.  Blue skies, chirping birds (winter days seem so quiet!), flowers sprouting up from the ground.  It's like a redo on the year, a few months in.  Let's face it, New Year resolutions are probably long forgotten by now, but with the arrival of spring also comes a renewal of motivation that helps jump start whatever goals you were working on.  (Note to self: dig running shoes out of closet...)

Spring is the time to get back outside, to enjoy the fresh air that we avoid in the winter for fear of freezing to death while breathing it in.  It's also a time to clean up; after all the snow melts, you can see all the crap that escapes your recycling bins on windy days, only to get buried in snow or blown down the street by icy winds.  New plans for landscaping are made, barbeques are planned, and drinks are poured on patios (even though sometimes you sit, shivering, under blankets because spring in Ohio is still kind of chilly...but it's SPRING, damn it, and we are not sitting inside!).

Of course, as I sit and write this, I'm already thinking how ironic it is that in just a few months I'll probably be posting "The Anticipation of Fall" because I'll already be over summer.  Don't judge; it's tiring to chase three kids around the neighborhood with spray cans of sunscreen.

But until then, I will indeed look forward to leaving the house with everyone in light jackets that can easily be worn in a five-point-harness car seat.  Right now, that sounds quite heavenly, as I see that there is more snow in our forecast...

Happy Monday...?

Most people don't care for Mondays.  Having a "case of the Mondays" (thank you, Office Space, for forever imprinting that phrase into our vocabularies) is not rare.  We complain about it all Monday long; some even start on Sunday night.  Even if one has a bad day through the week, they take comfort in the fact that "at least it's not Monday".

I kind of feel bad for Monday.  Unless it enjoys all the negative attention; if that's the case, I don't have as much sympathy for it.  Anyway...

I don't typically mind Mondays.  My kids return to school, leaving me some time to catch up on, well, everything.  Grocery shopping, meetings, laundry, and whatever else I can squeeze into that glorious seven hours.  It's much needed time for me to regroup, reorganize, and recharge for the rest of the week.

This is the one Monday of the year that I despise.

Daylight Savings Time...who came up with this idea??  Every year, it inevitably throws my kids into a spiraling, out of control, at-least-one-week-long tantrum.  You wouldn't think that one hour would really derail their schedules so much...but it does.  It is so not worth the extra drama that I have to deal with, just to have an extra hour of daylight.  Seriously, wouldn't it eventually stay lighter if we just sat back and waited?  Of course, that requires patience, something that we all tend to struggle with, so I suppose that is what sparked this grand idea of DST.  (Please note the sarcasm dripping off my words here; obviously, I do know the origins and reasoning behind DST.  Ha!)

I knew that this morning would be a battle.  Most Monday mornings are, but this one would be different.  The big kids (you know, the ones who actually needed to be up and moving; the little one bounded down the steps extra early today, go figure!) slept "late", meaning that they actually slept until their normal time, but because of our egotistical manipulation of the clocks, they overslept.  Yes, I could have dragged them out of bed "on time", but that would have led to more tantrums.  So, I took one for the team and let them sleep as late as possible, and then I got to run around, squawking like an irritated parrot, to get them ready to go.  "Eat your breakfast!...Where are your shoes?...Put this in your backpack!...Shoes, find them!...Did you brush your teeth?...Seriously, the shoes!!!"

All of this drama, plus the absence of their beloved bus driver, made my oldest kiddo decide that he was not going to the bus.  Sorry, kid, not happening today.  I shoved my feet into my sneakers, took his hand, and escorted him to the bus.  Not a pretty sight, mind you, as I had spent all my time thus far getting the kids ready to school.  The substitute bus driver smiled, waved, and asked "How are you today?"  It was all I could do to not answer "Well, I'm bringing my kid to the bus, in my pj's and no bra, and some serious bedhead.  How do you think I'm doing today?"  I would have never said that out loud; rather, I smiled widely, pretending that I always parade around my driveway looking like this, and wished him a good day.

A good Monday.  I'm determined that it really is a possibility.  I know I'm ready to cut Monday some slack and get to work.  But don't get me started on Tuesdays...

Tough love is...well, tough.

My daughter is a Daisy Scout.  I currently have 200 boxes of Girl Scout cookies sitting in my dining room to prove it.  She enjoys scouts, and it's a great social activity for her.  Today, the scouts enjoyed their annual "Thinking Day"; they spent the morning learning about things related to this year's theme, Italy.  When I received the information for the event, I signed her up right away.  What a great, inexpensive weekend activity for her!  But, as the event drew closer, I began to realize the logistical issues that accompany a weekend event.  My hubby works most Saturday mornings, and today was no exception.  That left me to get three kids out of bed, dressed, fed, and out the door almost as early as we do through the week.  Ugh.  Add in the fact that they know it's Saturday, and we usually don't get up and go that early, and they were cranky.  It was loads of fun just getting them ready.  The boys lost their morning television and iPad privileges before 8:15am.

Oh, but the fun didn't stop there!

I asked the boys no less than 15 times to get their coats so we could go.  They refused, so we left without coats.  It was chilly this morning, but not freezing cold and not raining or snowing, so I figured I would teach them the importance of listening to my words without being too mean.  I was being stubborn; all too often we are late to events because I am dealing with the behavioral issues exhibited by my son with Down syndrome, and copied by his younger brother because apparently it's fun to make your mom's head explode.  I warned them that they would be cold if they didn't bring coats, yet they continued to dismiss my words, so we left.  I had to teach them a lesson.

When we arrived to the school where Thinking Day was held (right on time, for once!), my oldest son made quite a bit of noise about having to get out of the car without his coat.  I simply stated, "Mommy told you to bring your coat.  You did not listen.  We don't want your sister to be late.  Let's go."  Then I repeated that phrase, many times, until he reluctantly left the car.  He proceeded to wail, at the top of his lungs, "I'm freeeeeeezing!!!"...which, of course, led to staring by all the judgmental parents that have obviously never dealt with a child with special needs.  You could almost read it in their eyes: "How could she not put a coat on that poor child?!?"  Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately?), I'm getting more and more used to these glares, and my return glares have an obvious message back to them: "Mind your own damn business, and go suck an egg."

Totally not nice, I know.  But, go through this several times a week, and you lose your patience with those who seemingly judge how you react to this type of public tantrum.  I don't have time to address them more diplomatically, and in the heat of the moment, that's the look they get from me.  Based on how quickly they drop their eyes tells me that I'm getting through to them.

It shouldn't have to be that way.  All kids have tantrums, rough days, episodes in public that embarrass their parents.  Nobody needs an audience, or looks of pity, or strangers offering "words of wisdom" (yes, that's happened to me before...I almost bit my tongue in half trying not to tell them what I thought of their advice...).  Just let the parents deal with it; don't add to the incident.  That's not helping anybody.

Somehow, we made it back to the car, and before I could blink, the tantrum was over.  We made it home, the boys played well together, and before I knew it, we had to head back to pick up my daughter.  I was surprised (and a little smug!) when my boys immediately grabbed their coats when I told them it was time to go.  I did it!  I won a battle!!  If nothing else gets accomplished this weekend, I can take comfort in the fact that I got through to them: when Mom says to take your coat, do it, or be cold.

There will be many other times when the message does not get through so easily.  I will definitely refer back to this incident to remind myself that I can get through to them, and that I will do it regardless of how many dirty looks I get from people around us.

Confession

I am not Super Mom.

There, I said it.  No, I'm not fishing for compliments or trying to reaffirm my awesomeness.  I'm honestly telling you that I am not as strong and wonderful as everyone thinks I am.

Sure, I try to be.  And just like everyone else, I fall flat on my face more often than not.  I see how moms everywhere secretly try to outdo each other.  I'm on Pinterest.  I go to parties at my kids' schools.  One mom has a huge score with an adorable treat or craft, and all the sudden, she gets labeled Super Mom.

That is a scary and dangerous title to be given.

I have a feeling that most moms are more alike than different; everyone is just trying to be a "good mom".  Whatever that means.  To me, it means teaching my children that no matter what, they are loved.  It means being their parent and not necessarily their friend (that will probably come into play more later, as they get older).  It means teaching them to respect others (ALL others), use their manners, and to find the beauty in anything.  It means instilling values into them that will serve them well their entire lives: being kind, working hard, staying true to themselves.  It means advocating my ass off to ensure my child with Down syndrome gets what he needs (and will mean advocating for the other two if/when that time comes).  Of course, it also means teaching them to do their homework, clean their rooms, brush their teeth...all that basic parenting stuff.    I try to expose them to new cultural ideas, feed them organic vegetables, and keep the house spotless.  Actually, I stress out if they aren't getting those things in their daily routines.

Even if they get all that, though, I'm still not Super Mom.  I feed my kids Happy Meals.  I let them watch Sponge Bob.  Sometimes I give in to things I probably shouldn't, just so I get some peace and quiet.  I realize that some of you reading this probably have to stop and pick yourself up off the floor.  That's ok.  Judge me all you like, for deep down, I know you have some Mommy Secrets that you are not terribly proud of, and judging me just makes yourself feel a little better about those things.

I would encourage you, though, to come to terms with those issues.  It's ok.  Being a parent is totally a work in progress.  Nobody gets it "right" the first time, and what is "right" for you is not going to be "right" for me.  Stop comparing yourself to other parents, because that isn't fair to anybody.  As with everything else in the world, live and let live.  As long as your kids are loved (ok, and fed and clean and educated), then you are doing your job.  Let's put the Super Mom myth to rest, shall we?

Now, I'm off to treat my youngest to a sugary donut before we rush off to dance class and school.  That totally makes me Super Mom in his book...and since it's coming from him, I'll take it.

Spread the Word

Imagine being born with a characteristic over which you had no control: big feet, red hair, brown eyes.  Maybe you were born with one of these traits, or perhaps you have a child or family member who has one or all of these.  Now imagine hearing, on a regular basis, others use an offensive term based off one of those traits to ridicule someone else.  NOW imagine hearing other people defend their right to use such an awful term, and even go so far as telling you that you are being oversensitive to the word's usage.

Welcome to my world.

My oldest son was born over eight years ago with Down syndrome.  Every day, I have to hear or see some reference to the word "retard".  Today, Special Olympics and Best Buddies are hosting their annual campaign, Spread the Word to End the Word, to raise awareness of the hurt the "r-word" brings to individuals with developmental and intellectual disabilities.  Obviously, I am a huge supporter of this campaign; all it takes is one glance at my Facebook page to see that.  It goes beyond this one day, though.  I have made it a personal mission to spread awareness about the use of the "r-word", and the attitudes that surround it.

I won't pretend that I'm innocent and have never used this word, either in an attempt to be funny (calling someone a "retard" if they do something senseless) or to express discontent ("That store's return policy is so retarded!").  It's not something I'm proud of; in fact, my face still burns bright red when I think of how thoughtlessly I threw that word around in my youth.  I sincerely wish that someone had called me out on it.  Would it have been awkward?  Sure.  Embarrassing?  Absolutely!  But, I would have walked away having learned an important lesson: words hurt, even when said with absolutely no intention to offend someone.

The birth of my son quickly taught me that lesson.  There I was, a first time mom, meeting her son and hearing the doctor say "There is no easy way to say this: your son is retarded." Whoa, whoa, WHOA!   I was all kinds of drugged, having just had a c-section, but I can still remember the hot flash of anger I felt when I heard that word.  That doctor had no right to make that announcement to us, in that manner, and I hope that someone has expressed that to him by now.

Unfortunately, that was just the first of countless times I've heard that word and felt that anger.  Some people have told me that it's ok to use the word because it's still used in a "clinical setting".  Not only do we need to change that, but since I spend very little time in a clinical setting talking with people, that's not an excuse.  I've also heard people say that it's their constitutional right to use whatever language they choose.  True, it is.  But it's also my constitutional right to respond to your choices, and you can bet I'll call you out on it.  Some people are like I was, and just don't realize how powerful our words are, and the effect they can have on people when you don't even mean it.  Whatever the reason, it's time to make a change.

It all comes down to respect, and being kind and considerate to others.  Any parent, sibling, or friend wants their loved ones to be accepted and included.  If you didn't realize until now that the r-word is offensive, that's fine; start today and make a conscious decision to stop using this word.  Go to www.r-word.org and take the pledge.  Call your family and friends out on it if you hear them say it.  It doesn't have to be a big confrontation; simply start out by saying "I think you would want to know that your choice of words is offensive...", then explain why.  Throughout history, derogatory language has labeled individuals who were somehow different, and those terms did not go away without a fight.  Help us fight this by bringing awareness to everyone so that individuals affected by this word can get the respect they deserve.

Spread the word to end the word.  Not just today, but everyday.  When we respect everyone and care about how our actions affect others, we not only improve the world we live in, but we improve ourselves too.

An oldie but a goodie...

I have a huge head. Not as a result of an overactive ego, just a physically large head. Seems ironic and cruel that I love hats so much; I seem to be on a never ending quest to find a cute, stylish ladies’ hat that actually fits my head. Perhaps this is why I tend to take on so many projects: I want to figuratively “wear many hats”. My list of commitments seems overwhelming to most: stay-at-home-mom to three kids (although, we’re never actually at home), PTO Co-President, leadership representative with a direct sales company, board member, committee member, volunteer, fundraiser. I imagine each one of these as a different hat; some are bright with big feathers, others are more subdued. Perhaps my hardest earned hat is that of “advocate”; my oldest son has Down syndrome. This hat goes from conservative and understated to colorful and wild, depending on the day.

I advocate for my son so many levels. I work with his school to ensure he receives the proper education in an inclusive setting. I oversee his community activities to make sure he is treated as all the other children are treated. I watch him like a hawk on the playground or even in our neighborhood to make sure the other kids are including him in their games. As he gets older, I know it won’t get any easier; my advocacy efforts will focus on workplace equality, or making sure there is a place for him in continuing education opportunities. Sometimes I do these things gracefully and with a calm demeanor, while other times I am “that mom” who ends up taking out all the day’s frustrations on whatever issue is closest at hand with the awkward gusto of an irritated elephant. Either way, I get my point across…eventually. I like to consider myself a “pick your battles” kind of girl, but when it comes to advocating for my son, I will get my way. Patience is a good byproduct of advocacy, but not an easy learned lesson. For every “no” I hear, I have to revamp my argument and efforts until that “no” becomes a “yes”. It can be exhausting. I will do it, every time, if I truly believe that whatever it is I am fighting for will help Alex in any way. Small change or huge impact, I will do it.

I imagine my advocacy “hat” to be slightly tattered, and not as fancy as my other “hats”, but it is by far my favorite. I wear it proudly, and every time I see my son’s smile or hear his laugh, it mends itself and gives me strength to take on my next battle. And battle I will; you can bet your hat on it.