Monthly Archives: January 2012

January 30, 2012

The Vomit Diaries

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have two stories to tell. The first one is true. Not internet forward true, but really, truly true. I know because I was there.

The second is one our pastor told in church today. He read it from someone who heard it from someone else, so the thread of truth is slightly murky. But it’s a good story nonetheless.

Story One

Nine years ago, I found myself on a flight from Toronto to Calgary with my two small daughters. Armed with fishy crackers, colouring books and 14 pacifiers, I was sure I could handle a two-year-old and a five-month-old on my own.

By hour three, we were running perilously low on smarties and I had detected an unholy smell in our section. With a sigh and a prayer for strength, I buckled the baby into her carrier, grabbed the diaper bag and wrestled my overtired, and extremely ripe, toddler out of her seatbelt. As I stood, I lifted her up under her arms and propped her on my hip, then shuffled my way into the aisle.

The next part of this memory plays in slow motion. She leans forward slightly, just over the seat in front of us, opens her mouth, and vomits all over the poor man’s head. I spin her around as quick as I can, spewing vomit on myself, the baby and the seat behind us.

My eldest child is a prolific puker. It’s kind of amazing.

I’m sure it was an unpleasant awakening for the man in the front seat. And he was not impressed. He began yelling and cursing and screaming for the flight attendants. They rushed over to clean him up and tried to calm him down, while I apologized profusely.

He did not accept.

Standing there dripping vomit and smelling so bad, we all three started to cry.

Worst flight EVER.

Story Two

My second story is somewhat similar. A mother and infant boarded a plane wearing sparkling white dresses. The baby looked up eagerly with each person who walked by: “Dada?” As she began to fuss, Mom pulled out a bottle of orange juice. This apparently was the best way to pacifiy Baby Girl, especially when the plane hit some turbulance.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. As the flight grew increasingly choppy, the next part seems inevitable – sticky, orange vomit from head to toe.

I’m sure she wiped it up as best she could, but that didn’t help much. By the time the plane landed, Mom was frazzled and overwhelmed. As they disembarked, the baby looked across the tarmac and shouted “Dada!”

There stood a young man, also dressed in pristine white dress shirt and pants, waiting for his family. I imagine the handoff was a quick one, as Mom dashed off to clean herself up. Most of us would hold that smelly, sticky child at arm’s length; perhaps find some way to cover up the worst of it. But not this Dad.

He eagerly scooped that vomit covered child right into his arms and held her close. With a smile on his face, he kissed her head and snuggled her all the way through the airport.

I’m struck by the contrast in these two stories:

the censure of the disapproving man

VS.

the embrace of a loving parent

It reminds me of the two gods I have believed in.

The first is a distant stranger, angry and disgusted by my mess. This god requires polite, well-behaved followers. I must carefully control each word and action so as not to offend. Mistakes will not be tolerated. I am small, insignificant and afraid. I would never approach a god like this; instead I would hide, sit behind and desperately scrub everything clean. But it’s never good enough.

This is the god most good church people expect. And he makes sense to me.

The other guy, the one who barely notices the filth, seems weak and permissive. Isn’t God supposed to be pure and perfect? Aren’t we?

I am reminded of a third story.

I’m pretty sure vomit played a part in this one as well, so it fits. There were years of hard core partying, homelessness, depression and scrounging rotten food from the slop. It got messy.

The father in this story Jesus told had been rejected and publically humiliated. He had every right to be angry. But when the prodigal son slunk back home, his Dad ran to meet him, sweeping him up in his arms and holding him close.

The God of the story is a delighted Father who longs to hold me close, no matter what state I am in. This Daddy-God is not horrified by the ugly parts of me. Nor is he surprised when I screw up. He wants me at my best, even those clumsy attempts and lopsided efforts that don’t quite work. AND He wants me at my worst, with my slimy, sick failures and vomit encrusted regrets.

This is the God of the Bible.

So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves.

Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children.

Now we call him, “Abba (Daddy), Father.”

Romans 8:15

So here’s me, messy and screwed up… and loved, always.

How do I react to the mess of others? When life gets ugly, which story do I resemble?

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting, spiritual

January 27, 2012

Friday Favourites 7: till death do us part

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

This week I told my love story. That’s right – cue the “awwww”! Suffice it to say, it’s been a nostalgic love fest in our house all week. And it’s not my fault.

You may not know this to look at my husband, but beneath his scruffy, cynical concert t-shirt beats the heart of a real SAP. He is definitely the romantic in our relationship. I must confess, I would never have remembered our first date-iversary, but he’s not one to let these special days pass.

In high school I was the grateful recipient of not one, but a dozen “I love you” mix tapes.

Tapes are like CD’s, only they fit in a ghetto blaster…um… cassette player…it’s like a…walkman… never mind kids. It’s what we called “playlists” in the olden days.

Our song du jour is a tune I’ve always loved, but hadn’t really notice the words until Glen told me the last part reminded him of me. Eat your heart out Bryan Adams, there’s a new “our song” in town!

Quote

Then the letters all flash through my head,

with the words that I was told about the fading flesh of life and love, the failures of the bold.

I can list each crippling fear like I’m reading from a will.

And I’ll defy every one and love you still.

I will carry you with me up every hill.

The Airborne Toxic Event – from The Graveyard Near The House

Song

Not everyone will find this song about decomposing corpses romantic, but we sure do!

Blog

Speaking of death, one of my favourite bloggers is a funeral director. That’s not just a clever segue. Caleb Wilde offers a glimpse into the bizarre world of modern mourning. Nothing like unusual casket options and wacky eulogies, or Slogans for Death’s New PR Campaign to brighten my day. But most importantly, he provides an insight about life that only someone who walks with the bereaved every day can offer. Challenging and uplifting, because often life is seen most clearly in the light of death.

iPhone/iPad App

Speaking of grabbing life and sucking the marrow out of it… ya, this clever segue is not going to work. How about: in this life we all have to learn our times tables, might as well have fun doing it!

For the first time in C’s life she is not kicking arithmetic butt. No matter how thoroughly she understands multiplication, she has not memorized and deeply ingrained the times tables on her soul. Until now… we have tried a number of apps, songs, videos and good old fashioned drills, but Math Bingo is our favourite!

After playing each round you earn a “math bug” which you can use to play another game. It looks like the love child of Angry Birds and Pong to me. And the price is right at only $0.99!

Free Stuff

Personally, I don’t like audio books. Give me written word or give me nothing (or, you know, television). But my kids love it!

They still listen to Adventures in Odyssey each night. They LOVED the Narnia audio books, so I was pretty stoked to hear about Free Audio Books at booksshouldbefree.com. They have every classic I could think of, including some of my favourites: Jane Austen, Montgomery, Alcott… We are starting with Little Women and Pinocchio.

You can stream them from the website or download as a podcast. If you go through Amazon audible, it’ll cost you in the end, so be careful. Thanks for the tip Janis – everyone needs a home school mom in their pocket.

Instructional Video

Cute and funny – my kids even laughed. Okay, made a chuckling sound, maybe just a smirk, but I’ll take it! It’s a Book for anyone born in the last 10 years, and a reminder for the rest of us.

Is it ironic that I watched this on my iPhone? I’d like to buy this Lane Smith book in print. I hear people can still do that.

Book

If you are like me and need a real book in hand (or at least on the kindle) try Mennonite in the Little Black Dress. If you grew up Mennonite, or brethren (like me), or any old school church that spent a lot of time trying to be “in the world, but not OF it” you will LOVE this book. My sisters and I howled over it on our road trip. We sang all the old bible camp songs at the top of our lungs until Glen was ready to chuck us out of the car on our “sitter-downers”.

Don’t expect a devotional or some Janet Oke-ish love story, but it’s an interesting peek into both this strange little subculture and the cold world of academia.

So here’s me, with mine hand on mine self and vat is das here, das is mine tinker-boxer mine Mama dear. Tinker-boxer, tinker-boxer, ja, ja, ja, ja. Dat’s vat ve learn in der school. Ja Ja!

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in favourites, Uncategorized

January 25, 2012

When I was 16…

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Twenty years ago, the boy I had a huge crush on took me on my very first date. Turns out, it was my only ‘first date’. Because sometimes one is all you need.

When I was 16…

you took me on a walk at Glenmore resevoir. You told me you had a question for me, but you kept changing the subject and clearing your throat. We talked about exams and schoolwork. We talked about our friends. We talked about the gifts we had gotten at Christmas. We talked about the weather, for Pete’s sake. I wondered if you were ever going to get to the point. Finally, as we turned towards home you blurted out “doyouwantogooutwithme?”

Of course I said “YES!” and then tried desperately to act cool about the whole thing.

When I was 18, you took me on a walk at Glenmore resevoir after dinner. You put your suit jacket over my shoulders to keep me warm. You were fidgety and nervous. I wondered what was wrong with you. You got down on one knee, right in the snow, and blurted out “willyoumarryme?”.

I think there was some stuff about how much you loved me et cetera… but I was crying and laughing and entirely giving up any pretense of coolness, so I don’t really remember.

When I was 16…

you reached over and took my hand for the first time. It was a bit awkward. We hadn’t figured out how to fit our fingers together just right, but you didn’t let go all the way back home.

When I was 23, you held my hand while we waited for the results of the pregnancy test. You held my hand in the hospital waiting room. You held my hand when the doctors told us our baby had died, and during labour and delivery. You held my hand when they took him away. You didn’t let go, not then and not through the sad, sad months to come.

You held my hand through 4 more children. Two girls, another stillborn baby boy, and our youngest who came one month early with a little extra in the DNA department.

Our hands fit together perfectly now; we don’t even have to think about it.

When I was 16…

we played Monopoly and you tried to slip me money so that I would win. You crushed me. I was embarrassed because I wanted you to think I was smart and capable, and because I really, really like to win.

When I was 30, we started family games night. Candyland, then Trouble and Sorry, eventually chess, Scrabble and Monopoly. You help the girls here and there, you give them tips, but we don’t let them win every game. It’s more fun that way, a real challenge. Because we all really, really like to win.

When I was 16…

we went to A&W for dinner, then to see Beauty and the Beast in the theatre. I was skeptical that anything could compete with Little Mermaid. We shared popcorn, and halfway through the movie you put your arm around me in one quick, smooth motion, and then let out a sigh of relief.

You were so cute! I couldn’t believe how fun this dating thing was turning out to be.

When I was 36, you took me to A&W for dinner, then to the movies for our 20 year “anniversary”. Beauty and the Beast 3D was playing and that seemed romantic, but we decided to see Sherlock Holmes instead. We’ve seen enough kids movies to last 3 lifetimes. I ate all the popcorn and you drank a huge pop. You had to go to the bathroom 3 times and I teased you mercilessly about it.

We still laugh and act like teenagers when we are on a date. I have more fun with you than anyone else.

When I was 16…

you walked me to the LRT station. I leaned in to hug you and you stole your first kiss. I was shocked. Church girls like me didn’t expect that on a first date. But you were worldly and wild like that.

When I was 22, you decided you wanted to serve God with your life. Your family thought we were crazy. Mine thought we were saints. They were both wrong. I knew our life wouldn’t be normal or easy; it wasn’t what I expected. But you were brave and devoted like that.

Now we live in the real world, and that ministry life is a memory. We’ve learned a lot since then. And the kissing has just gotten better and better.

When I was 16…

we had our first fight. My friend Claire and I smoked a cigarette in the alley behind my house. The next week I drank half a pitcher of real margaritas at a restaurant and got a little tipsy. You were appalled when you found out. You wondered who I was. I called you a stuffed shirt.

When I was 19, we had our first married fight – day one of our honeymoon, at the breakfast table. I ordered Eggs Benedict and you had the pancakes platter. I snagged a piece of bacon and popped it in my mouth. You looked at me like I had kicked your puppy. Apparently, you do not share food. This has not changed.

But you’ve shared everything else with me for the past 20 years, so I’m not going to complain. You can have all the bacon.

I picked the best man in the world when I was 16. I let you think it was all your idea, but I knew what I wanted. And I really, really like to win.

So here’s me, SO incredibly grateful that I got to grow up with you by my side.

12 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in marriage

January 20, 2012

Friday Favourites 6: Happily Ever After

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

That cute guy I sleep next to every night just got his dream job!

He already had a perfectly good (read: better paying, working from home) job, but this one offers a level of fulfillment that we couldn’t pass up. Not only will he be doing work he enjoys, but supporting a cause very near, and dear, to our hearts… and our thoughts… and cuddled in our laps… and messing up our house.

Glen is the new Director of Marketing and Development for the Down Syndrome Research Foundation.

Quote

“It is only possible to live happily ever after on a day-to-day basis” Margaret Bonnano

Blog

When I think of living happily ever after one ordinary day at a time, I think of blogger Emerging Mummy. She finds poetry in the everday. Her writing is beautiful, challenging and inspiring. It’s not something to skim quickly on my way out the door. You’ll need to sit down with a knife and fork and really chew through it.

She will not settle for the idea that women exist to be footnotes in the world of men. Nor did God design us to be merely ornamental. Or MERELY anything at all.

Book

Which brings me to one of my favourite books. It pushes the envelope. It is bold and unexpected. It breaks down the barriers of the fairy tale genre.

If you refuse to accept that women are merely damsels in distress, Paper Bag Princess is a must read. Plus, it has one of the best closing lines ever!

“Ronald, YOU are a bum!”

Video

I have to confess, my girls used to have a bubble gum pink bedroom with Disney Princess posters on the walls. For years we lived a love-hate affair with these fluffy characters. Neither strong or smart enough to be real heroes, but oh, so well marketed.

We spent a lot of time talking about what we do and do not like about the Disney gals. Which is probably why I like this little video so much. Despite the title, it is intended for the grown ups (language warning).

Also available: Belle on abusive relationships and Ariel on cosmetic surgery.

Show

As usual, I’m late to the party when it comes to T.V. shows, but I have recently discovered Once Upon a Time. Living in small town America, the characters are unaware that they are actually fairy tale heroes under a terrible curse. They are not only stuck in time, but denied their happily ever after (yep, sounds like small town living to me).

I’m not going to lie, I thought it all sounded pretty lame. Turns out I like both the modern and fairy tale storylines. Plus, the evil queen is satisfyingly hateable and Rumplestiltskin is deeply CRE-E-EPY. Good villains can really make the show.

What story character are you? 

So here’s me, The Old Lady who Lived in the Shoe. Because my happily ever after still includes stomach bugs, snow storms, tears, blood tests, book reports, tears, sleepovers, budget worries, more tears, snuggles, chores and Dr Seuss stories.

9 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in favourites

January 17, 2012

The Great Boot Debate of 2012

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Call it karma. Call it genetic predisposition. Call it reaping what you sow. I call it parenting the child I deserve.

She is me. In so many ways, good and bad. A smaller, spunkier version of myself. And usually that seems like a good thing.

When I was 12, I put my foot down… right into a snow bank. What self-respecting 7th grader would wear ugly, clunky snow boots when they could be rocking a pair of thin white sneakers with flourescent green laces? So what if I had to walk 3 blocks to the bus, knee deep in the snow? What is a little suffering in the name of fashion?

Moms just don’t understand. After as much arguing and weeping as I dared, she decided to let me try it my way.

It took almost a week for my toes to thaw out.

I grudgingly wore my boots the next day. Lesson learned. Sigh.

Me 2.0 has had several upgrades. She is funnier, more creative and, oh happy day, even more stubborn. Excellent.

This morning was a blow out. Her black boots with the silver stars no longer fit. It takes her 20 minutes to squeeze her feet in and she can’t do the zipper up at all. I have 2 pairs that are a bigger size, but apparently the Hannah Montana pair her sister loved are “so embarassing” and the other pair “don’t work at all”.

With over a foot of snow in the school yard, we are out of options. We only have about 1-2 weeks of snow each year, so there is no way I am buying another pair. The school is not as forward thinking as my mother with her let-them-suffer-that’ll-teach-em philosophy. So she has to wear them.

By the time we were walking out the door (15 minutes late, mind you), I was in full froth. Almost an hour of relentless bargaining, whining and outright wailing had taken its toll. In my loudest Angry Mom Voice, much louder than I intended, I yelled “THEY. DO. NOT. FIT. YOU!”

YOU… You…you….echoes through the neighbourhood.

As my howling 4th grader throws herself into the van, I look up to see two sets of neighbours loading their own kids into their vans. Trying to pretend like they weren’t looking. Fantastic.

No one can push my buttons like this kid. I’m pretty sure she was put on earth lest I become conceited about my life and my superior parenting. And she is doing a fine, fine job.

After school, we talked about it. I apologized again (this time with my teeth unclenched) and I told her a story about the olden days when florescent colours were cool and I longed for sneakers in winter. I’m sure we’ll be recapping this discussion again tomorrow morning, but I think I’m ready for it.

The boots might not fit, but she does. Here, with me, always. I thank God for her, especially those rough edges that remind me so much of myself. My children are the best curriculum He’s ever given me. As I teach her, I am learning too: to be teachable, to choose substance over appearance, and that life may be full of necessary unpleasantness, but a good attitude can make all the difference.

I see the best of myself in her also, and am amazed.

I wonder, when God looks at me, does he see himself?

Creative.

Compassionate.

Kind.

Patient (okay, probably not that one).

One day when my little girl is all grown up, she will spit on her thumb to wipe the schmutz off her child’s face and come to the shocking realization: “I’ve become my mother!”

Oh sweetie, you’ve been there all along!

So here’s me, counting down the days until I can start giving my grandchildren ugly, clunky boots. Then I will sit back and watch the fireworks. And I will laugh and laugh.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in parenting, personality, spiritual

January 15, 2012

Unspoken Things: Is This Grief Normal?

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I’m like a badly dubbed foreign film. The words sound right, but the voice is all wrong. My lips keep moving long after the words are said. It feels laughably false, but they keep on watching anyway.

If I go through the motions, I may actually start believing what I say. It’s not lies or misdirection, simply an unspoken truth that lingers in the air.

I am desperately sad that I cannot have another baby.

There, I’ve said it. And very few will understand. It seems I am speaking a foreign language after all.

“ANOTHER? You want ANOTHER child? Seriously?” the woman shrieks at me, wide-eyed and astonished. I wish I had just left it alone. This is why I stick with the abridged version, the words they expect, familiar phrases that mean less than nothing at this point. No one wants to hear about this crazy hope I have been clutching for years.

Even my dearest friends, who love me and listen patiently, do not understand.

I love the life I’ve been given. I adore my three beautiful daughters. I have been absurdly blessed. And I feel greedy wanting more of it, but I can’t seem to reason my disappointment away. I have tried and tried.

I still remember the parade of doctors that came to my room: GP, OB, Nephrologist and even a few nurses. They began to cautiously broach the subject in the days after B was born. I had made no secret of my desire to have a big family, at least four (and a whisper in my head adds “or five, or six”). Add that to my “religious” demeanor and I can see why they were worried that I wouldn’t listen.

No more babies for me.

My kidney would not survive, and neither would I.

I didn’t give it much thought at the time. A twinge of sadness that I would not feel the wonders of pregnancy again; a sigh of relief that I would not feel the wonders of pregnancy again. Of course we would adopt. It had been discussed since we were starry-eyed teenagers planning our perfect life.

I’ve been holding tightly to the dream ever since. My husband, not so much. As we enter our third year in the process, almost a full year with our name on the list of approved homes, it has finally occurred to me that this may not happen.

No more babies for me.

After all the classes, workshops, paperwork, praying, homestudy, endless discussions, hopes raised only to be dashed again, waiting, waiting, waiting… we are near the end. We aren’t on the same page anymore.

He’s been good to do this for me, though now I wished we hadn’t even started. It was something he felt we should do, but had no actual desire for. But adoption is a team sport. And when push comes to shove… well, I just can’t keep pushing.

I know this isn’t a real tragedy. I’ve lived through that before, the complete and utter devastation of it.

But in some ways this is even lonelier. I feel guilty for being this sad about a normal thing. So I minimize the longing and paint a happy face on it. I’d rather keep it to myself. It’s so much worse when I share and they stare at me blankly. Or, worst of all, act like I’m crazy for feeling this way. Because deep down, I wonder if they’re right.

It’s time I face it, so I can move on. I want to dream new dreams, but first I have to grieve the old one.

We all must learn to lament,

otherwise “year by year,

as we deny and avoid the pains and losses,

the rejections and frustrations,

we’ll become less and less,

trivial and trivializing,

empty shells with smiley faces painted on them.”

Eugene Peterson (Leap Over a Wall)

So here’s me, and this is my lament. Because God hears my secret disappointments… especially when no one else understands.

What about you? Do you have a grief that people don’t understand? How do you mourn for hidden hurts?

19 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in adoption, grief, OneWord 2012: Dream, parenting, spiritual

January 11, 2012

Friday Favourites 5

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Learning to Shut Up, High Tech Family Time and British Melodrama

This week I’ve gone back to school for the first time in 17 years. I was a bit of a keener back in the day, but it’s a whole new ball game now. I like to sit at the front with my friend Beth, and I try – I really, really try – to bite my tongue and play it cool.

But we’re talking about childbirth and parenting styles in Developmental Psychology. We’re discussing the school system and learning disabilities in Life Writing. It’s fascinating. It’s controversial. It’s Totally My Area of Expertise.

Today the prof was talking about stereotyping, something we tend to do upon first impression.

“For example,” she says,

“I usually peg students in that first week: the quiet one, the shy one, and

(turning to look right. at. me.)

the one who does all the talking.”

My New Motto:

“‘Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

Blog:

Although we may differ in opinion about the inherent creepiness of snakes, Becoming Cliche is one of my favourite blogs. I’m sure Heather has deep, deep, important thoughts… but the rest she puts online to make me laugh. On a bad day, she makes me smirk; on a good day, I’m reaching for the Depends. You can also find very important information there; for instance, the Comprehensive Guide to Passive Aggression.

iPhone/iPad App:

This Christmas, we spent a lot of time passing iPads and iPods around the room. After a few days of her wondering what on earth was going on, we managed to get Great Grandma in on it. Board games have been born again!

No more lost pieces, no more dishonest bankers taking unauthorized “interest payments” (you know who you are), no more table-clearing brawls over who gets to be the top hat, and no more heated debated over the word Q-A-T (yes, that is a real word). Board game apps are the best thing since sliced bread – not absolutely necessary, but a whole lot less work! Our favourites are Scrabble, Monopoly and Risk.

Video:

Getting tired of weepy celebrities pimping sad, sad stories of the third world? Slide shows of dying children set to makes-me-want-to-slit-my-wrists soundtracks? There’s been a lot of talk lately about poverty tourism and condescending attitudes within charities. This video represents a new way of doing things. It brightened my day and made me excited about giving again – as a partner, not a patron. Plus, I love the tagline: Keep the Pity; Unlock the Potential.

Cheesy British Series:

For the past three years, BBC’s Robin Hood held this place in my heart. It petered out in the third season, but we had a good run. I was content.

THEN, my sister-in-law Erin introduced me to Downton Abbey. And now I see it everywhere I turn around. This Jane Austen-style soap opera is strangely addictive. Honestly, I have important things to do like housework, studying, talking to my husband, maybe even sleeping. But instead I’m glued to the screen desperate to find out if Lord Grantham can break the entail or if that weasel of a footman is promoted to valet. All that Regency-era historical fiction I read in my teenage years is FINALLY paying off. I knew it would some day!

Book:

Things are busy and I’m feeling overwhelmed. As much as I’ve been enjoying “A Life-Span Perspective on Human Development” (and who wouldn’t) there may come a time when I have a spare moment… I live in hope. When that moment comes, I will spend it with a familiar old friend – Valancy Stirling. Literary comfort food for hectic times in the form of The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery.

Valancy is unloved and unwanted, a spinster by age 29 (we’ll call that the bad old days), who gets some alarming news and decides to reinvent herself. You can’t help but love her and hate pretty much everyone around her. I have read this book at least once a year since puberty, and you should too.

So here’s me, playing my new game: WWDCD? What would the Dowager Countess Do? It involves a lot of sniffing disdainfully and saying things like, “We can’t have him assassinated… I suppose.”

4 Comments   |  tags: , , | posted in favourites, Uncategorized

January 11, 2012

The “R” Word… Part 2: Actions Speak Louder Than Words

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I noticed her right away when we walked into the doctor’s office. She was a lady in white: white shoes, white tights, white skirt, white blouse, white hair and perched on top, a white nurse’s hat – the old fashioned kind I’d only ever seen in skimpy Halloween costumes. She was a piece of history come alive in our G.P.’s waiting room.

She rushed over when she noticed us, and peered into the car seat where baby B was studying her own fingers.

“What a sweet little mongoloid!”

When I finally managed to unhinge my jaw, I’m pretty sure I muttered something about Down Syndrome being the appropriate term. Did I hear her right? About 100 years ago the label “mongoloid idiot” was discarded along with leeches and flat earth theories. Could someone in this day and age actually be using the term?

But she did. Just as people in this day and age still use the term “retardation”. Including my parents and many of my relatives.

Are they ignorant? Clueless? Or even worse…gasp!.. not reading my blog? (The “R” Word Part 1)

Not at all! In fact, there were few things more forbidden growing up than using the word retard as a put down. “There really are retarded people” my Mom would say. And she would never allow us to disrespect them by misusing the term.

  • It is not the USE of the word retardation that is offensive, but the MISUSE.

It is actually a clinical term, meaning held back or delayed, hence the diagnosis mental retardation. My Aunt proudly displays a plaque on her wall celebrating her years of service to the Glendale Association for the Retarded. She is proud to have sat on the board of directors and feels no shame in referring to herself as retarded. Nor should she.

  • Language evolves over time.

Words are not static in their meaning, but change alongside culture. When my husband was growing up, the ‘D’ word in his house wasn’t the same as in mine. It was ‘dork’. To this day, he dares not call his brother the ‘D’ word in his Mom’s presence (naturally he waits ’till she turns around). She hears something the rest of us don’t. Perhaps it is her training as a marine biologist, but to her ears ‘dork’ clearly says “whale penis.”

Once upon a time, “idiot” and “moron” were appropriate medical terms; now they are names for tail-gaters and obtuse civil servants. They’ve become insults and nothing more.

Clearly, the term retardation is heading in the same direction. It no longer means what it used to, at least outside of a clinical setting. It is too wrapped up in social stigma.

  • So, we’ve created new terms.

Intellectual disability, developmental delay, mental handicap, differently-abled, cognitively-challenged, low incidence… Some are good, some are kind of silly, but the whole thing is REALLY confusing. I used to think it was political correctness gone mad. Until it was my kid they were talking about.

Now it seems important to find the right words to express, not who she is, but the struggles she faces. As a community of parents, professionals and self advocates, we need to get together and find a common language. It doesn’t matter so much which one we choose, we just need to get on with it.

  • Words are important, but ACTIONS and ATTITUDE are even more important!

Of course I think words are important. I’m a writer, it’s kind of my job. Plus, I totally kick ass at Scrabble.

But when we get bogged down by the nit-picky specifics of word usage, sometimes we miss the point. I’d like for people to use respectful language, but it’s most important that they actually respect my daughter. When push comes to shove, intent trumps nouns, verbs, and adverbs… every time.

That olden times nurse who offended me on our first meeting proceeded to shower B with attention. Each time we came for the next few years, she would drop everything to come and visit with her. She was amazed by her every accomplishment and was always telling B what a “smart, smart girl she is”.

I don’t see her anymore and I miss her. She loved B. She treated her with respect. She may not have said all the right things, but she took the time to get to know my daughter. And that’s what matters most.

So here’s me, differently-abled in many ways myself. I can curl my tongue and fold it over, but I can’t for the life of me wink.

What do you think? Which terms are you most comfortable using? Why?

1 Comment   |  tags: , , , , | posted in special needs

January 9, 2012

The “R” word

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

For Christmas Grandma gave B a boatload of Calico Critters for her dollhouse. They are so cute, with 14,000 tiny pieces: chairs, tables, a wood fireplace, plates, cups, even a little bar of soap. Apparently she should have included a jackhammer, because getting them out of the box was almost impossible.

“This packaging is so retarded!”

And I feel my stomach sink into my shoes. I can’t believe I just said that.

Rumor has it, I’m not perfect. But still, I should know better.

It is a habit, a pop culture reflex that most of us has picked up over the years. But of all people, I should know better.

There is a big push these days to ban the “r” word. Youtube videos, T.V. commercials and celebrity endorsements have made this a trendy topic to support. For me it’s personal.

In some circles it has become the true measure of evil. And although I’m certain that the torture and slaughter of small, woodland creatures factors in there somewhere, I get it. I really do.

“Don’t be a retard!”

“I am SO a retarded!”

“The instructions for my new Ikea shelf are retarded.”

I am not easily offended, but I cringe every time I hear it. It feels like a casual slap on the face. Even worse, on my daughter’s face.

To my husband, it is exactly the same as using her name as an insult. He is even harder to offend than I, but be warned: If you say this in his presence, you will get it!

“It” being a stoney silence and angry, angry thoughts. He is not a confrontational man.

My daughter works 10 times harder than the rest of us to communicate, to learn and to find new places to hide things (her nickname is the Destroyer). But she still has time to entertain, charm and amaze us every day. Not only is she fun and affectionate, but she has an iron will and refuses to be left behind. She deserves respect and admiration, not to be the punch line of a joke or a derogatory descriptor.

When I’ve finally worked up the courage to speak up about it, it is with great understanding. Okay, fine, it is with a passive aggressive move, like, say, writing a blog about it. I can certainly understand that it may slip out from time to time. As much as I may want to take offenders out back and “educate” them, instead I will simply say that it hurts me and my family, every time.

My daughter, and amazing men and women like her, are an inspiration, not an insult. So this is one habit I intend to crush with extreme prejudice. If I have to wash my own mouth out with soap… so be it.

So here’s me, wondering if my use of the word “doofus” is disrespectful to losers everywhere?

The “R” Word Part 2 is now up. I originally titled it: In Defense of the “R” Word, but my husband hated that. Confused? It all makes sense, I swear.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in special needs

January 5, 2012

Friday Favourites: Rachel Held Evans, LaDiDa, Post-Apocalyptic Fiction and more

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

I have a lot of favourite things! Enough to keep me going on these lists for a while. Here are some random favourites.

FYI, I am Canadian, so YES this is the correct way to spell “Favourite”. If you disagree, the first entry is for you.

Favourite Quote: “The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off.” Gloria Steinem

Favourite Blog: This was the first blog I started reading regularly. Rachel Held Evans explores deep topics with enough humour to make it entertaining, and the eloquence to make you really think. I also love her book Evolving in Monkey Town and not just because I’m a sucker for a clever title (Rachel grew up in Dayton, Ohio – site of the famous Scopes Monkey trial). If you are intelligent, open-minded and appreciate dry wit, you will love this blog.

Favourite waste of time on YouTube: “Because two minutes in heaven is better than one minute in heaven.” Thanks to my pastor for sharing this classic with us. Not in church, mind you; that’s what staff parties are for.

Warning – do not call your children to gather ’round to watch Business Time by Flight of the Conchords. It is for married people. I don’t mean that in the x-rated sense… exactly. Calm down mom. Never mind, you’ll see.

Favourite iPhone App: When my nephew was born a few months ago all the girls gathered round the iPhone to sing him Happy Birthday. With the LaDiDa app you simply sing a song and it will add a beat and accompaniment to your voice. Then you wow the masses (a.k.a. the grandparents) via e-mail, Facebook or Twitter. They call it reverse karaoke. We prefer “rhythm synth pop” style, but “tasty breaks rap” is cool too. Only $2.99, but worth the hours of fun my girls have had playing around with it, especially since we discovered it will also create a video of you singing.

Favourite movie about/for teenage boys: I have nothing against teenage girls. I was one. I plan to have 3 myself, buuut… the boys crack me up. It’s one of my favourite genres. In the grand tradition of Stand By Me and the Goonies, I thoroughly enjoyed stinky teenage boys punching and insulting each other while trying to save the world (and get the girl) in Super 8.

Favourite post-apocalyptic book series: This is definitely my favourite “read for fun” book genre these days. There is something fascinating about society remade.

About this time last year I started reading Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It is a dark and disturbing world where children are enlisted to fight to the death to both entertain and appease a corrupt ruling class. Not for the faint of heart, but very intriguing.

Also, an honorable mention to The Uglies by Scott Westerfield about a tightly controlled world where everyone is forced to undergo drastic plastic surgery at age 16.

So here’s me, wondering which post-apocalyptic world is more horrifying.

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in favourites