Yeah, I'm Asking a Lot

We want our son included.

We want him to have the independence he craves.

We want support to make that inclusion and independence possible.

We want those in supporting roles to not restrict his abilities.


We realize that all of this is a challenge.
We want it done anyway.


We want our community to acknowledge Down syndrome and the individuals experiencing it.

We want all of this done with reverence and consideration.

We appreciate hearing that improvements need to be made when it comes to awareness, acceptance, and respect for those with Down syndrome.

We are frustrated to see that proverbial ball dropped time and time again.


We realize that all of this is a challenge.
We want it done anyway.


We want to be heard without arguments or tired excuses.

We want to be partners, and not ruffle feathers.

We will continue to work, and work, and work.

We will persist, because he is worth it.


We realize that all of this is a challenge.
We want it done anyway.

Alex and His Soccer Pals

Sports are an important part of our culture. They provide entertainment, build communities, encourage strength (mental and physical) and teamwork. There are many benefits to having sports programs, from little leagues clear up to the professional ranks. As with anything, the fascination with athletics varies from person to person, from sport to sport. I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of any one sport. I like to watch certain teams (go Bucks!), and I love the Olympics, but mostly, I can take it or leave it. I do always enjoy the human interest type stories that evolve from the athletes' experiences; often, I think those stories entertain me more than the games themselves.

Five years ago, our very own story began with a local sports team.

In the summer of 2012, I received information about a soccer camp that was being hosted by a nearby high school soccer team. At that point, Alex was the only one of my kids who was old enough to participate, so I asked the organizers how they felt about having a camper with Down syndrome (that was back when I asked; now I typically don't give a heads up and just expect that he will be accepted into community programs). They enthusiastically welcomed him, and one hot summer evening, an almost eight year old Alex showed up to camp.

He promptly refused to play, and we left shortly after that.

The next night, though, we tried again; this time, a high school player took Alex aside and passed a ball back and forth with him. That passing drill somehow evolved into a game of Duck, Duck, Goose. I nervously watched, worried that Alex was distracting the high school player or the other campers, but the coach assured me that he was fine and that as long as he was having fun, that's all that mattered.

He had an absolute blast.

Alex finished that week of camp with a big group of new high school friends. He had a great time, and while he didn't develop many new soccer skills (by his own choice, not because of a lack of effort by the team!), he found something perhaps more important: inclusion and friendship.

Several weeks after the camp, I received an email from the coach, checking in on Alex and asking if there was a way that the team could remain involved with him. We were so touched that they were still thinking about Alex, and we invited the soccer team to join us at the Columbus Buddy Walk that year. We were blown away by their response: the coaches, players, and their family members supported our team, walked with us, posed for photos, and once again illustrated how great inclusion can be. Alex was thrilled to see his new friends again, and the following summer, he returned to camp.

Like the first year, he didn't care for many of the soccer drills, but he had a ton of fun and continued to make new friends, and those new friends once again showed up to support Team Alex at the Buddy Walk. Soon after that, the team decided to host another camp, just for individuals with Down syndrome. This pattern has continued ever since that first year, and as Alex gets older, those friendships grow stronger. Alex's original friends from the team are now college students, but they still make a point to visit with him and exchange hugs and high fives. He feels like he's part of that team, and that's how he's regarded by the players and coaches. It's a remarkable thing to see.

This past summer, as we drove to the first night of soccer camp, I suggested to Alex that maybe he should run the soccer drills rather than play Duck, Duck, Goose. "No, Mom!" he replied. "They like to play Duck, Duck, Goose! That's how they include me." After realizing that he was right, I stayed out of it. These kids get it. Alex is treated like any other kid, but they know when he needs a break or when something needs to be modified (or changed completely!) to suit him. They look after him, and he looks up to them.

Alex started attending the high school soccer games a few years ago, where he sometimes finagles his way to a seat on the bench, to fiercely support each and every player. Perched on that bench with his soccer pals is one of his most favorite places to be. He gives pep talks, he encourages players as they come on and off the field, and he cracks jokes to make his friends laugh.

Last night, we took Alex to see his friends play their last home game of the season, and it was Senior Night. Alex has been around the program as long as this group of seniors has, and he was really excited to celebrate them. He was invited out on the field with the team before the game started, to line up with them as the seniors were recognized, and he gave high fives to everyone as they passed by him. Admittedly, I'm a big cry baby any more, and it doesn't take much to make me cry; I was teary eyed as the tributes the players wrote to their families, teammates, and coaches were read as they walked across the field with their parents. When one of the seniors stopped to give Alex a huge hug, I may have choked back an ugly cry right there in the bleachers. It was such an amazing demonstration of the friendships Alex has developed with the team over the years.

It's our hope that these high school kids, their coaches, and their families know how truly grateful we are for them. Inclusion is not always an easy thing to accomplish, but they pull it off so effortlessly, making Alex feel like part of their soccer family. We look forward to continuing the tradition, and while Al may not attend that particular high school, he will always be one of the biggest fans of that soccer team.

After spending this many years observing at soccer camp, watching my younger son play on his teams, and attending these high school games, I still can't claim to know much about the sport of soccer. What I do know, though, is that it brought my family a beautiful gift of inclusion, and for that, it might just be my very favorite sport.

Nevertheless, He Persisted

Alex, after watching videos of a new Cars inspired race track on YouTube, is convinced that he has to have said track RIGHT THIS MINUTE. He received an Amazon gift card for his birthday, so we looked up the toy to see if he could order it.

The track costs $100.

He was understandably disappointed, but I wasn't about to cough up the $75 needed to complete the purchase. I took the opportunity to stress the importance of doing his chores to earn his allowance, which he could save up for the track.

He wasn't interested. He wants that track NOW.

After I concluded my lesson, he stormed off, and I figured he would stew in his room but soon forget about the track. I was wrong. Instead, he marched up to me with his box of coins, proudly presenting them and asking that I place the order.

I counted $2.50 in quarters, and explained that he still wouldn't have enough to buy the track. He wasn't giving up that easily, though. He spent the next five minutes trying to change my mind, hoping that I would just buy it for him.

"C'mon. You'll be the best mother ever!"

"Count it again. I don't trust you."

"Will you please just get me it??"

"RUDE." With that, he stormed away.

I continued with my work, but heard change rustling downstairs. A few minutes later, Alex returned with more coins in his box. This time, I counted $2.72, and reminded him that he can't just take coins out of my change bowl.

He didn't listen (he's nothing if he's not persistent!), and returned several more times. The last time, he presented $3.37, and an old bobby pin.

"Alex, you have to do your chores and save up to buy the things you want. Mom won't just buy whatever you want, when you want it. Enough!"

He sulked away, recognizing his defeat, and settled in to watch an episode of his favorite show on Netflix. I bookmarked the race track on Amazon so I would remember which one he wants. Santa will need ideas soon enough, right?

What I've Learned in My First 13 Years As a Parent

My oldest son Alex recently celebrated his 13th birthday. Thirteen! Now officially a teenager, we've opened a new chapter in that non-existent parenting guide that we all think we should have.  To commemorate our entrance into the teen years, here are 13 things I've learned in my first 13 years of parenting:

1. There are few guarantees in life. 

After Alex was born and I was released from the hospital to visit him in the NICU at a different hospital, I was given time alone at his bedside to bond. I almost immediately became overwhelmed with sadness. I felt sorry for him and for us, envisioning what I thought his future would be: no prom, no driving, no college graduation...all because of his Down syndrome diagnosis and the misinformation I had received. Then, it sharply occurred to me that there are no guarantees in life. None. It is what we make of it. And with that, I became an advocate. We've learned the importance of flexibility and celebrating every little milestone. It's my goal to help him achieve whatever it is that he wants to do. He'll get there, eventually, with the proper support and encouragement. That is something I will guarantee.


2. I am an excellent hoop-jumper.

From the time that Alex was just months old, and for now and probably forever, I've been jumping through hoops to get what Alex needs. I've learned that an initial "no" does not always remain a "no". To get it to a "yes", though, sometimes requires jumping through endless hoops. Fortunately for Alex, his mother is pretty stubborn, and someday I do expect to earn a gold medal in Hoop Jumping from the Disability Parenting Hall of Fame. (If not that, then perhaps a bronze in Sarcastic Blogging?)


3. I will make mistakes, I will stumble, I will lose, but I will never give up.

I'm constantly learning how to be a better parent for all three of my kids. Parenting Alex, so far anyway, has proven to be the most challenging. Fortunately, we have a lot of support and resources to help us along the way. That said, I am far from perfect, and I will screw up along the way. It has happened, and will happen again. The most important lesson I can take from that is to not give up.


4. The opportunities to educate others are endless.

Not many people know a lot about Down syndrome, or the disability community in general. I didn't, before Alex was born. I will ashamedly admit that I was an ignorant user of the "r-word", and I wish that someone had called me out. I should have known better, but I didn't, and I contributed to the problem. There are so many opportunities to teach our peers about Down syndrome and inclusion, and while finding the best technique to do so is tricky, it's worth it in the end.


5. Finding your tribe is important.

Parenting takes up a lot of time, and often, we find ourselves distanced from our friends just because there aren't enough hours in the day. This is especially difficult for parents in the disability community, as we endure extra challenges on a daily basis. Having someone, or even a group of people, who truly understand why it takes four days to return a text, are supportive when you have to cancel plans at the last minute, and who don't judge you when you look like a zombie more often than not are so important to have in your corner. If you have a tribe, be thankful. If you can bring someone into your tribe, do it. We need each other.


6. Introverts make pretty good advocates.

I am an introvert: I do not like confrontations, speaking in front of people, or being the center of attention. I've learned, though, that when I do have to do any of these things, I can handle it. I never thought I would have to speak up the way I have, and I know I have a lot to learn, but I'm proud of the advocate I'm becoming.


7. Not everyone advocates the same way, and that's ok.

Just like we all have different parenting styles, parents in the disability community have different advocacy styles. I often feel like I'm falling short as an advocate, and catch myself comparing my actions and philosophies against others'. We are the experts on our own kids, though, and we're just trying to do the best we can. I am trying to remember that as I continue to learn the best ways to advocate for my son.

8. Siblings are awesome.

Alex is lucky to have two younger siblings, both of whom are becoming terrific advocates for their brother. I am always impressed to hear them stand up for their brother when he's not being included, and they are confident enough to do this without prompting. While it's not always easy being the sibling of someone with disabilities, they do know the importance of advocacy and inclusion. They are both amazing kids, and I am very proud of them.

9. Nothing is as picture-perfect as it seems.

With social media being such a driving force in our daily lives, it's difficult to avoid feeling the pressure of presenting the "perfect family". While I'll be the first to tell you that my household is a hot mess, I feel bad that my photos and posts on social media give an illusion that everything is sunshine and unicorns. That is just not true. Each day brings many challenges, and I'm just trying to get through it all with a little humor and grace.

10. Kids are gross.

This has nothing to do with disability parenting; it's just a fact. If I never find a booger smeared on a window again, I would be a happy lady.

11. Rest is important, and that is annoying.

Caregiver fatigue is a real thing. Parents of kids with disabilities are often running on high levels of stress and exhaustion. I can't tell you how many times, in the last 13 years, that I've been encouraged to "relax" or "just breathe". Sorry, but it doesn't work like that. Even if I had the time, I don't have the staff to cover all of the daily responsibilities, which would allow me the relaxation I deserve. Although he is 13 years old and is growing to be more independent each day, I still can't leave Alex unattended as I would a typical 13 year old. It is what it is. That said, I can always tell when I'm ready to hit a wall. Aside from the obvious crankiness and exhaustion, I will earn myself a nice migraine when I'm not careful to take a break. This is also something I need to work on: more breaks, and not feeling guilty for taking them.

12. The laundry will never be done, so don't even try.

I'm constantly trying to conquer Mount Washmore, and it just never gets any smaller. At this point, as long as everyone has clean underwear for the next day, I consider it a success.

13. Being a mom is by far the best thing I have done in my life.

As frustrating and exhausting as it may be, there is always a joyous moment in my day. I wouldn't trade being my kids' mom for anything, not even for someone who could contain Mount Washmore. And that says a lot.


As my kids continue to learn and grow, I will do the same as a parent. They are teaching me far more than I could ever teach them. Here's to the next 13 years!

Happy birthday, dear Alex!

Big Announcement

I enjoy writing. I've been told that I'm fairly good at it; at least, my Facebook posts keep people entertained. So much so, in fact, that I've been encouraged many times to write a book.

The thought of that scares the snot out of me.

Why? Not because of the work it takes to write a book, or the very possible chance of rejection by publishers, or the fact that I already can barely keep up with all the projects on my desk. The real reason it scares me is this: people on the internet are mean. Awful, even. I often find myself breaking a major rule of Facebook scrolling (Thou Shalt Not Read the Comments), and some of them really upset me. If I write something that is featured online somewhere, would I be able to handle it if people said terrible things about my writing, or my family? Doubtful. But, that hasn't stopped me from submitting essays I've written to online journals, and so far I've survived the treacherous comment sections after my pieces were published. Because I would probably forever regret it if I didn't try, I've decided that it's time to put pen to paper (er, fingers to keyboard?) and write the message that's been on my heart for a few years.

I've already started outlining my ideas so I can begin to craft the first draft of my book. My book. I'm excited, but may throw up. I'll keep you posted via Facebook. Seriously, though, I have no idea where this will go, but I'm doing it.

Thanks to all who have encouraged me, and hopefully I won't disappoint anyone (read: disappoint myself). For now, keep your fingers crossed, say a little prayer for me, and stay tuned...

Advocacy Doesn't Get a Holiday

When one of your children has disabilities, holidays may not always resemble the traditional celebrations that others enjoy. Independence Day, with all its patriotic fanfare, can be an absolute nightmare for a child with sensory sensitivities (and also for their families). 

For several years, my family has not attended community fireworks displays because the crowds and sounds have just been too much for my son. We have also spent time apart on the holiday so that I could take the younger kids to the parade. This year, we decided to try to spend the holiday together. We decided to watch a local fireworks display at an off-site location, one that was just far away enough to see everything but with a fraction of the noise. We also took a big leap of faith and attended a parade as a family. This was an even bigger deal, because my son tends to associate parades with sirens (as the police cars and fire trucks participate in the parade, and those sirens are just too much for him), but we figured we should give it a try this year. Although he struggled at the beginning of both of these events, he was eventually able to relax and enjoy them, and now even uses words like "awesome" and "best ever" to describe them. That is a major milestone for us!

While we found a way to celebrate the holiday this year, we are still dealing with sensory issues in our own home. Neighbors who choose to terrorize the most vulnerable residents of our community with their illegal fireworks, in order to satisfy their pyromaniac tendencies, make a challenging holiday exponentially worse for families like mine. Last week, after many rounds of pro-firework vs anti-firework posts on our neighborhood Facebook page, it was suggested that we confront neighbors who choose to ignore the laws regarding fireworks, rather than posting passive aggressive complaints online. Last night, I found myself in that situation. I was angry because my kid (and dog!) were terrified, and I decided to address it directly rather than post in the Facebook group and inevitably cause another battle. When I approached a group of neighbors to inquire how much longer their obnoxious antics (which took place one block from my house, sounded way louder than the community display we watched, and caused mass hysteria) would last, I was verbally attacked. They belligerently told me to "relax, it's the 4th of July," and "it's my right as a Vet to celebrate my freedom." When I explained that my son also has rights, the gentleman who described himself as a Vet called me an a**hole. There was absolutely no compassion, no apology, and no respect.  

I was shocked and upset. I wasn't trying to kill their fun; I was requesting that they observe the laws regarding fireworks. They could have celebrated at one of many fireworks displays around town. Their good time should not have superseded common courtesies. My responsibility is to my kids; if I can advocate for my son and raise awareness of a situation (as I know that others in our neighborhood are also struggling with the noisy amateur fireworks), then I will absolutely do it. No one deserves to feel unsafe in their own homes, and yes, that includes people with disabilities. 

Now more than ever, we need to be civil to one another. Acting in kindness would be ideal, but if that is too difficult, I implore you to at least be respectful. When you are stubbornly insisting that you have a right to engage in illegal behavior that is scaring children with disabilities, there is a major problem. If pointing that out to you makes me an "a**hole," then fine, yeah: I'm an a**hole. It's probably not the first time I've been called a name because I've stood up for my kid, and it probably won't be the last time, either.

Waiting for the July 4th parade to begin

On Top of My Soapbox...Again

Sometimes, advocacy just creeps right up on you.

The other night at dinner, we were talking about silly names, and Andrew said he should be called "Mustache McGee". That made me snicker and recall some ridiculous moment from what I remembered as a scene from Saturday Night Live (I later learned that it was actually from a Will Ferrell movie, but whatever). When the kids asked what I was smiling about, I told them it shouldn't be mentioned at the dinner table. Andrew immediately thought I was referring to something with a swear word, and I then had to explain to him that while some words aren't "bad" like swear words, they just aren't nice and shouldn't be used.

"Like 'retard', or 'retarded'?" asked my daughter, her eyes wide.

Whoa. Until then, I naively thought that my kids were just oblivious to that word. They know some swear words, sure, but we don't use the r-word and I didn't think they were really exposed to it. I was wrong.

Addie and Andrew proceeded to tell me that they hear the r-word used on their playground at school. From their stories, it doesn't sound like it's used in a name-calling way, but more like an "Oh, I missed that goal, that's so retarded!" kind of way. I probably shouldn't have been, but I was stunned. But, the kids kept talking.

They told us that they correct people when they hear them use the r-word. We also learned that the accessible playground equipment is monitored by our kids, and when they see someone not using it properly, they speak up.

I was so proud to hear of my young advocates speaking up for what they know is right. But, I was sad to hear that this awful word is still so prevalent among young people. Why aren't more adults standing up against hurtful language?

I think it probably comes down to a few reasons. Topping that list: people still don't understand that the language they choose is important. When I correct someone for throwing out the r-word, I am usually immediately told "I didn't mean it that way". Do yourself a favor, and start paying attention to any derogatory language you use, and then make a real effort to discontinue it. This isn't something you do just for yourself; other people are listening to the words you choose, including your kids. If a child hears their parent saying something, then they probably won't hesitate to repeat it. Most times, they don't know any better, but the adult in this scenario should. This is a difficult transformation to make, but let's give it a try, shall we?

Beyond that, there are probably people who just don't care, and we can just hope that through our advocacy we can continue to change those mindsets. There are most likely others who think their kids would never say such awful things so they don't address it with them. This is a big issue, far beyond language choices. I don't think my kids would ever bully someone, do drugs, or steal from others, but we still have discussions about why those things are wrong. Why aren't we doing that when it comes to issues of respect? Even if you don't think your kids would ever use the r-word, it's still worth a conversation so that they know why it's wrong. This is how we build advocates.

I don't think this is something that will easily go away. Too many people think it's funny to use the r-word, and too many people find it acceptable to disrespect anyone who is different. This will not keep me from spreading awareness, though. From our dinner time conversation, I now know that my kids are on board with me, and for now, I'll take that as a win.

Pizza Is Our Friend

Sometimes, I have a momentary lack of judgement as a mother. Today brought one of those times.

Because Andrew needed picked up from day camp at 4pm, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to go shopping for Father's Day gifts, since we would already be out.

Right before rush hour.

In the midst of ridiculous construction traffic. (Seriously, close more roads.)

When everyone was tired after a looooooong week.

So, yeah, lack of judgement. But, the kids did want to select treasures to present to their dad on Sunday, so we had to carry on with our mission. After sitting through relentless traffic, we made it to Target, and I discovered that Alex had fallen asleep. Major dilemma! I knew he would be a wreck after waking up, making our cranky shopping trip even worse, but it took us about 35 minutes to go five miles, and I wasn't about to commit to trying again on Saturday.

We waited about 10 minutes, until Alex groggily agreed to walk into Target, but we weren't four steps into the store before the kids wreaking havoc. Hanging right by the door was a large collection of Cavs t-shirts, which immediately caught Andrew's eye. He wanted to give Mark a playoff t-shirt (I talked him out of that one; can you really expect a jilted fan to wear a playoff tee when their team lost??), and then a kids' t-shirt (again, talked him out of it), all while Alex stealthily moved away from us, hunting for the Hot Wheels. And, as per typical Kearns Target Protocol, Andrew announced loudly that he needed to pee, causing the boys to race to the bathroom.

After bladders were voided, we started our gift hunt once again. Alex, still desperately wanting to find the Hot Wheels (for himself, mind you, not as part of his dad's gift), planted himself in the middle of an aisle while the younger kids debated on another gift idea. There he sat, in all his angry criss-cross-applesauce glory, while other shoppers pretended to not watch the Kearns Family Circus. Eventually, he was back on his feet and we continued on with our shopping.

Once we finished at Target, we got back into the annoying traffic, and headed toward the grocery store. We were all even more hot and grumpy, and I knew the quick stop at Kroger was going to be a nightmare.

The kids did not disappoint.

They fought over which cart to choose, who would push the cart, what we were buying, through which line we would check out. Alex attempted to run down at least three other shoppers with our cart (and please, for the love of everything pure and good, if he ever tries to do this to you, do NOT smile and say "It's ok!" while I am reprimanding him...but that's another blog for another time).

We stumbled back out into the parking lot, loaded up our groceries, and Alex reminded me for the 432nd time that I had promised him a pizza for dinner. Fortunately for him, I was in no mood to cook AND I had a coupon AND I could pick up the pizza to save the delivery charge and tip. I ordered online and decided that I would stop and pick up a little treat for my own dinner while we waited for Al's pizza. We finally reached our fourth and final stop (hallelujah!): the pizza joint. I pulled out my phone and checked to make sure we weren't too early, although it had been at least 15 minutes which was plenty of time to make a plain cheese pizza. Right?

Wrong!! Why on earth did they need 65-75 minutes to prepare my takeout order? I had no idea, but I was determined to find out.

I marched the kids inside and pointed at a bench; they must have sensed my exasperation because they all sat down (in birth order,  no less!), wide eyed and ready to watch their mom handle the situation.

I began my sob story to the young woman behind the counter: "I ordered 15 minutes ago," "we've sat in traffic all evening," "my kid has a disability and I promised him this pizza." I quickly realized that I had draped myself over the counter, arms splayed out as I leaned in (probably looking crazed and scary!), but I went one further: "You're gonna need to help me out here. I either need a refund, or a pizza, like right now!" I wasn't rude, as it wasn't this person's fault, but it was obvious that I was agitated.

The young woman looked at me with a rather incredulous gaze, quietly asked for my name, and then said "You're pizza is ready!" I stood up straight, smoothed out my shirt, lifted my chin, and signed the receipt. I then herded the kids back to the car and we once again slid into our place in traffic and eventually made it home.

I could blame the erroneous confirmation email on a wonky automated system, but no. You know why that pizza was ready after 15 minutes and not 65? BECAUSE PIZZA IS OUR FRIEND AND WILL NEVER LET US DOWN. I just know it.

I also know that I really, really need a vacation. Or, at the very least, a day without being imprisoned in my car with all three kids, stuck in traffic.

Yay, summer.

An IEP Poem

'Twas the night before the IEP
annual update and review.
Mom lies awake in her bed,
wondering "What more can we do??"

Her boy deserves the best.
He's more than a label.
How well could she express that,
sitting nervously at that table?

She's fought for so long,
and is more than a bit tired.
But the dreams of her boy
have kept her inspired.

So they've called in extra help,
and will hope for the best.
Her strength and her courage
will be put to the test.

For him she'd do anything,
so this she'll do, too.
They will advocate tirelessly
for one of the Lucky Few.

In Defense of Caillou

These days, there is so much controversy on the internet. While I swore that I would not contribute to the nonsense, I just can't hold it back any longer. I've been holding this in for a long time, and I know you will probably have some pretty strong opinions about this, but I feel that I'm overdue in my confession.

I don't hate Caillou.

Parents disagree an many things; thanks to those moms' groups on Facebook, it's clear that there are no shortages when it comes to differences in opinion. One thing that I've found that most everyone agrees on, though, is their undying hatred of the whiny cartoon character, Caillou. I completely understand why parents don't like him; as cartoons go, his is quite annoying. But that animated preschooler has bought me too many much-needed breaks from parenting that I otherwise would not have had, so I feel I must defend him.

Before judging me as an unfit mother, allow me to explain. My oldest son has Down syndrome, and very much enjoys routines. When he was younger, he became quite attached to Caillou, and after seeing how long he sat and quietly enjoyed the show, I eagerly agreed to let him watch it. It was well worth listening to the 20 minutes of obnoxious Caillou lessons each day to be able to catch up on tasks around the house...or even just sit and zone out while my kid happily indulged in his favorite show.

Even now, at almost 13 years old, my son will occasionally veg out with Caillou. It's a comforting, familiar groove, and I'm not about to argue with him about it. Is the show still annoying? Absolutely! And, not only is the sound of his voice just as irritating, but it's also very difficult to find an outlet on which to watch Caillou (all you haters have done a good job in making him scarce!). But, I still need those breaks from special needs parenting that sometimes only a petulant, fictitious kid can provide, so I will always feel the need to defend his existence.

So, there you have it, my darkest secret. I am thankful for Caillou. This parenting gig can be so weird.

This represents 60 minutes of peace and quiet...

#JFKpositive365

In addition to writing more in 2017, I'm also challenging myself to recognize the positive moments that occur each day. Big or small, I'm hoping these moments will help me balance out the chaotic, overwhelming nonsense that tends to crowd my mind. (Ah, the glamorous life of a special needs parent!)

The first entry in this exercise? FaceTiming with Alex earlier this evening. As difficult as he can be, he always tells me his misses me when we are apart.