Working Girl

Get me: I'm bringing home the bacon.

Ok, I'm only bringing home some bacon, a few slices at best, but a paycheck is a paycheck.

I have been fortunate enough to do some contract work over the last few months; I never realized how much I enjoyed working in an office until I recently returned to one.  Of course, it's much different now: I can work around the kids' schedule, and I don't have to go every day.  I'm guessing that if I had to work a strict 8am-5pm shift every Monday-Friday, I'd be singing a different tune.  For now, though, I'm just going to appreciate it.

I also love being able to financially contribute to our household.  Don't get me wrong; if we put a price tag on all the tasks I do for the kids and house, it would be mind boggling.  But, the harsh reality is that I don't receive a paycheck for those duties (unless you consider the money we save in daycare as "income").  I am positively giddy when I see an amount of money in our bank account that I earned and contributed.  It seems like such a small thing, I'm sure, but when the house is constantly a wreck and the kids aren't listening, even $10 seems like a million.  I succeeded in earning that, whereas I usually feel like I'm failing in one way or another with the kids and/or the house.

Today, being the second full day of the kids' summer break, I was especially excited to go to work.  I love my kids to the moon and back, but I was totally ready to escape to the office for a while. My parents graciously agreed to watch the kids this afternoon; not only do the kids love spending time with them, but not having to pay for child care is always a bonus.  I got to sit and work uninterrupted for several hours, then I was able to go with my hubby for a happy hour.  I don't remember the last time we went for happy hour right after work!  It was lovely.

Working outside of the house has definitely reminded me of how difficult it would be to juggle full time hours, plus all of the kids' activities, as well as all the household tasks.  I know there are parents that do it, and I have complete admiration for them.  Bravo!

I probably still have a couple more years before returning as a member of the full time workforce, and I need to appreciate the opportunity to stay home with the kids while they are still young.  I'm sure that in several years I'll be wishing the opposite, so I will be more careful to not wish away this precious time.

I totally should have never used that bacon reference...now I totally want some bacon...

Dress Rehearsal: Round One

How stinking cute is he?!?

Now that we've finished the End-of-School-Year Chaos, we can move on to End-of-Dance-Season Chaos.  This entails two nights of dress rehearsals and two days of performances.  That's a lot of dancing, yo.

Tonight, it was Andrew's turn to strut his stuff.  He is the only boy in a class of four sweet kiddos; all the girls wear fluffy pink tutus and tiaras, and he totally rocks his black and silver costume.  Being that they are all around four years old, this is probably their first experience on stage (this is the case with Andrew, at least).  The class took the stage, all sparkly in the splendor of their costumes, and it kind of all fell apart from there.  They all seemed to forget their dance routine, but they smiled and were so cute.  They are sure to steal the show on Saturday!

Of course, after an afternoon at the park followed by dance, Andrew was beat after rehearsal.  He climbed out of the car, told me with a slight hint of indignation that "sparkles are for girls", and quickly dug out his Star Wars figures.  Apparently, he had more than his share of the spotlight this evening.

So Long, School Year

I feel like I blinked, and we went from August to June.

The school year didn't seem to be moving so fast when we were in the moment; in fact, I thought it might never end.  Overall, the kids had a good year, so I really have nothing to complain about, but now summer break is here and that presents a whole new set of issues.

Having a child with special needs definitely throws a wrench into the "lazy, carefree days of summer" theory. At least, it does for this family.  My kiddo with Down syndrome needs a routine that he can count on, or he flips out.  Tomorrow morning, he will undoubtedly wake up and want to get ready for school.  "We have PE on Wednesdays," he'll say, and he'll ask me what the cafeteria will be serving for lunch.  When I try to explain that there won't be school because now it's summer, he'll pout for a while, then come back a few minutes later and tell me that he needs his sneakers for PE because it's Wednesday.  We'll do this for a couple of weeks, before he realizes that he's on a new schedule.  It will be exhausting for both of us.

It is my goal to have a "summer schedule" in place by next week (Mondays will be library day, Tuesdays we'll go bowling, etc...something along those lines), but all of the short-term summer camps and programs that the kids will attend will not allow me to have a consistent schedule all summer.  This will cause stress to my kiddo with Ds, which will in turn cause stress to the rest of us.  And then, quicker than it seems right this second, it will be time to send them back to school, and after a couple weeks we'll finally be back in the swing of things.  So, we're looking at about 12 weeks of unrest.  Swell.

When school does resume, I'll have a third grader.  Already.  Didn't I just drop him off for his first day of preschool, like two minutes ago??  The scary thing is that I remember third grade.  I loved it.  I met several friends with whom I'm still in contact, so very many years later.  That kind of freaks me out...he's just growing up too fast.

As much as I do dread summer break (if this puzzles you, please reread from the beginning...), I'm hoping all three of my kids have an enjoyable 10 weeks.  Even though there is sure to be drama, I'm hopeful that there will be enough zoo trips, backyard water fights, picnics, bug chasing, fountain playing, bike riding, gardening, and other pint-sized shenanigans to make some nice memories for all of them.

Welcome, summer.  For better or for worse.

MISSING: Three Sets of Listening Ears

What a freaking ridiculous day it's been.

Before I begin, I know I shouldn't complain about such trifle issues.  Big picture: everything is grand.  We are blessed to have three healthy children, a house, food on the table.  I recognize that.  However, I will now continue with my rant.

Seriously.  The school year is not even finished yet, and I'm done.  DONE.  It's been a bad day.  I need to regroup before that bell rings at 1:30 tomorrow, or we're all screwed.

My children have somehow forgotten how to listen and follow instructions.  This is not just a random slip up, people...they are not listening to a single word I say.  Not one!  I ask them to pick up their stuff, then walk past it again a while later, and they claim I never asked them to do it.  Or (and this is my all time favorite thing, ever!), they ask me a question, and I answer them, and then two seconds later they ask me the exact same question.  Then, two seconds later, they ask it yet AGAIN.  Is anyone else experiencing this phenomenon?  End-of-School-Itis, perhaps?  Whatever it is, it can go away, immediately.

After hours and hours of this today (with most of it coming from the little one, as the other two were at school and didn't return home until around 4pm), I snapped.  I started sending kids to their rooms, with threats of not renewing water park passes for the summer.  Ugh.  I hate "that Mom".  I'm sure the kids don't like her very much, either.  But, when you have no helpers during the day, and it's one of "those" days, something's gotta give.  Fortunately, my husband arrived home this evening before I started revoking birthday parties and library cards, and he is now supervising the kids in the backyard so I can vent...er, write.

Write, of course, in between the laundry, dishes, and school tasks that need to be finished before bedtime.  It never ends, does it?  I was just lugging a load of laundry up the stairs when I got intercepted by the little one (he's really on a roll today!).  "Mom, I need a pair of socks.  Can you get me some?" (he can't reach his sock drawer...)  Of course, I impatiently replied, "You don't need socks.  You're running around barefoot in the backyard.  Wearing socks with no shoes would just be ridiculous."

As I struggled with the laundry, he eyed me carefully and shot back, "So...it seems like you're NOT going to get me the socks...", which was met with my left eyebrow rocketing off my face.  He got the point and quickly retreated back outside.

Eh, well.  Tomorrow is a new day, right?  Perhaps the Listening Ear Fairy will deliver three fresh sets to my children as I sleep tonight.  It's a long shot, I know, but I'm going with that.

Eight Legged Bullies

Many of us have irrational fears; I happen to have more than I probably should.  Heights, flying, snakes, the dark, tucking the back of my skirt into my underwear, public speaking, success, failure...the mere thought of any of these causes me to break out in a cold sweat.

There is one thing, though, that can paralyze me in fear: spiders.  I can't handle spiders.  I know, I know...spiders are good for us, they eat other bugs, blah, blah, blah.  I don't care.  They are scary, and I don't like them.

I could be minding my own business, then one little spider goes scurrying across my path, and boom.  Done. Completely frozen in fear.  Then, for days I'll have nightmares about the incident.  What is so horrible about an encounter with the little boogers?  I have no idea, but it truly is horrible.  I find myself constantly on the look out for potential spider attacks whenever I head to the basement to do laundry, if we're playing outside, even when selecting a bunch of bananas at the grocery store.  I'd say that 98% of the time, there is no spider...which is good, because if one did show up, I'd freeze and there would be absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I can remember visiting my aunt and uncle's cabin in Kentucky when I was little, and my sister and I came within inches of a huge, orange spider.  It was easily six inches long, as it was clinging to a board on the ceiling, all spread out like it owned the place.  Ugh.  The memory of that hideous creature still gives me the creeps.

Then, on my honeymoon in Mexico, I was apparently bitten by some eight legged monster.  Thankfully, I didn't see it, but on the plane home I felt like I had the flu (chills, fever).  I finally went to urgent care where the doctor guessed that I was having a reaction to a spider bite, and I was given a tetanus shot.  Good times to start off the marriage, ha!  I'm actually glad that I didn't see the spider, or I probably would have dropped dead from fear.

Since the kids are getting older, though, I'm really making an effort to contain my adverse feelings toward spiders.  I don't want them to inherit all my irrational fears; they should have the opportunity to develop their own.

I was really challenged this afternoon, after Alex insisted on dragging in a chair that has been on the patio all weekend.  Apparently, he thought it would be a nice addition to the living room.  I have always warned them that they'll invite creepy-crawlies into the house by bringing in their outside toys.  They don't listen to anything else, so I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't listen today.  And low and behold, not two minutes after he brought that stinking thing in, did I hear them screeching "SPIDER!!!"  Addie began running around, trying to find something to kill it with, and I heard Alex freaking out because she decided his new Pete the Cat book would be a good spider weapon.  What's a mom to do?  I took a deep breath, went running in, and squashed the little bastard.

I was a freaking spider ninja.

Ok, maybe not.  But I did look pretty cool in front of the kids, swooping in to save them from the big, bad spider (that was less than an inch big).  Yes, maybe I should have shown more compassion and taken it back outside.  But, hey, my house, my rules.

I will enjoy my act of heroism for now...and hopefully all the other little spiders will take note and stay outside, where they belong.

Baa, Baa, Red Sheep

This one has been rolling around in my head for the last week.  The kids' Spring Break kind of took up all my writing time...but they are back to school now, so here we go...

Last week, the world watched as Facebook lit up with red equal signs, a sign of support for marriage equality.  My profile picture was changed; I was proud to do it.  I firmly believe in equal rights for all people. Period.  No exceptions.  Beyond the fact that I feel like it's a no-brainer (haven't we watched other minority groups fight for equality in the past?  Why make group after group prove their worth??), I just don't feel like it's right for me to advocate for equal opportunities for my son with Down syndrome and his peers, and then sit back and say nothing when another group is being so blatantly discriminated against.  It makes no sense.  Who are we to decide who is worthy enough to enjoy the same rights, in this example, as heterosexuals in this country?  We've seen in the past that narrow-mindedness loses.  I strongly hope that it loses again.

One lovely feature of Facebook is the "stalker bar" where you can see what your friends are "liking".  You know what I'm referring to, and you've clicked on it; don't pretend you haven't.  I found myself being a busy-body last week, clicking from one entry to the next, to see what my friends were up to that morning.  I noticed that a friend "liked" a status from a conservative group, which was accusing everyone who changed their profile picture to the red symbol of the Human Rights Campaign of being a sheep.  A sheep?!?  Really? From a conservative group?  The same group of people who banded together to eat at Chik-Fil-A on the same day last summer?  The same group of people who went sideways on the Starbucks Facebook page last week when the CEO allegedly told everyone that if they don't believe in same-sex marriages to take their business elsewhere?  Puh-lease.  They are hardly in a position to call anyone a sheep for following suit with their like-minded peers.  It was a classic bully move, pure and simple.

I was irritated...I am irritated...by that comment.  Apparently, as with everything else, it's ok when your political group does something but completely unacceptable when the other party does the same thing.  I should know better; it's always been that way, and will continue to be that way.  Politics.  Ugh.

It's more than that this time, I think.  For a reason I can't wrap my head around, those who are against marriage equality are not only making it their job to fight against the issue, but also to drag down anyone who supports it.  Why?  Why do they care??  Religion is typically the reason thrown out to defend the objections, but we must remember that to be a citizen of this country, one needn't be a Christian.  It's ok to have those beliefs, and I absolutely respect that.  However, it is not ok to expect everyone in this country to abide by your personal beliefs.  End. Of. Story.

This issue will not soon go away, I fear.  Some people would rather watch others suffer and be treated as second-class citizens than support their equal rights as peers in our society. I will never understand why.  I won't try to understand it.  Instead, I'll continue to participate in this grassroots equality movement, even if it's just a small gesture of changing my Facebook profile picture to help spread awareness of the issue.  If that makes me a sheep, so be it.  Baa.

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.